Shut Up and Standby

(And...HE'S BACK! *Crickets* Uh, awkward. Anyway, this is Puff Pastry Breadbug, picking up Shut Up and Standby once again for another hilarious, mind-breaking chapter. Not mind-bending, mind-breaking. Prepare yourselves, then enjoy!)

"Bring in the prisoner."

The booming voice rung out deep from within Eoleo's bag. Karis looked up.

"Er, Eoleo? What was that?"

"Wrath," the pirate's son replied, massaging his temples and rolling his eyes. "Don't get me started."

"Who's the prisoner?"

"Who knows?"

Within the recesses of the limitlessly spaced bag, Wrath sat in a throne made out of Chili, Reflux, and Stoke.

Jolt floated into the chamber, leading Glare, Tyrell's Djinn, to his doom.

"The prisoner, sir. Mwehehehehe."

"Prepare...the chair," instructed the dictator.

"Mweheheh-"

"Stop that."

Wrath turned his attention away from the eccentric scientist and instead looked down at Glare.

"Please sir, I'm innocent," piped up the tiny Djinn.

"SILENCE!" shrieked Wrath. "You are now prisoner to me."

"Jolt got me from Tyrell's bag and told me I was in a play," remarked Glare. "This is a bit intense."

Outside, Karis glared at Eoleo. "From now on, we keep Jolt and Wrath apart. Gotcha?"

"Gotcha," Eoleo hurriedly agreed.

"Amiti! Get your comb and scissors!" commanded the Venus Adept. "We need some help here."

Back in court, Wrath was staring imperiously at poor Glare. "Maybe we could have him muck out the stables... never mind, I need Glow right now!"

The puffy Djinn darted across the floor and scampered up the throne of Djinn, where he promptly flopped down in front of Wrath, who put his feet on Glow's stomach.

He said aloud, "I like a warm Djinn belly for my aching feet."

"Mwehehehehe-"

"Stop that."

Amiti looked at Karis excitedly. "Are you finally ready for me to do your hair? You can't keep it in a ponytail forever and expect it to look okay-"

"Amiti, it's about a Djinn, not me," Karis explained quickly, touching her hair to make sure it was still there. "Wrath needs a lesson."

Amiti retched. "You mean the one with both dreads and a mullet? Ugh."

"Yes, Wrath."

"Hey, don't insult my Djinn! I styled Wrath myself," Eoleo retorted.

"...!."

"Good morning, Matthew!" replied Karis, who was the only one who could understand Matthew's strange dialect of punctuation marks. "And yes, today we're doing a dictator's hair. Exciting, right?"

"...?."

"You're right, those dreads on Gears are awful, I'll have Amiti do them."

"How does she understand him?" whispered Eoleo to Amiti.

"..?."

"You too?"

"That meant 'I don't know'. I dabbled in linguistics back in Ayuthay."

"The electric chair is set up, sir," said Jolt, bowing low to Wrath. "Shall we use it?"

"Go forth!" commanded Wrath.

A nervous Glare was shoved over to a menacing chair that looked as pleasant as a human outside after the Grave Eclipse.

In other words, not pleasant.

Glare was strapped down to the chair. Jolt lifted an arm and was about to bring it down when-

Alright, hold it right there. This is Puff Pastry Breadbug, YES, the same PPB who writes this story. Many a time I have seen the deus ex machina put to good use - and bad use - so instead of dragging along a cliché that's gathered more dust than a covered wagon in a prairie, here is an ending with more me in it.

-he sneezed and brought it down on the EXTRA PAIN button.

Glare was fried like a potato latke.

Meanwhile, outside, where Amiti should have been preparing to do something about Wrath's 'do, a shiny clip in Karis's hair had caught his attention and he was manically attempting to attack her scalp.

"ACK!" screamed Karis, slapping at his scissor-bearing hands. "When I get out of this, Jolt. Is. Going. To. Get. IT!"

Wrath looked at his burnt marshmallow prisoner, to his fabulous electric chair, to his Throne O' Djinn Discrimination, to the mayhem outside. He banged his spiked feet on the ground in satisfaction.

"I always get what I want."

(I wrote this at 2:00 AM. It's kinda delirious.)