2
"You know what, Zack?" said Cody. "I've a feeling I'd get real tired of writing a new disclaimer at the beginning of each chapter, so I think I'll write a disclaimer to end all disclaimers before we start up again."
Final Disclaimer: Although the chances of us being property of some soulless company that used to be about entertaining children but is now about making money and shoving sitcoms with notorious bad writing and even worse acting down our throats is highly unlikely, we do not belong to anyone, nor does our 'Suite Life', which is a somewhat corny title if I do say so myself. Plus, we don't own anything belonging to the masterpiece that is of Agatha Christie—Zack is peeking over my shoulder and telling me that I'm getting long-winded, so I'll stop here.
"I'm telling you, sweet cakes, it'll never work!"
Back on the island, the two loyal servants, Esteban Rogers and his wife Muriel Rogers, were debating over what to do about their impending guests.
"Muriel, have I ever doubted you before?" asked Esteban.
"Gee, how about the time you promised me a thirty-two karat diamond ring, only to give me a thirty-two pound carrot cake?" asked Muriel sarcastically.
"Aside from that?" said Esteban quickly.
"Well, I guess if you say nothing will go wrong, than nothing will go wrong," shrugged Muriel. "I'm just saying that when—"
"Shush!" said Esteban suddenly. "The boat is here."
ZCZCZCZCZCZC
"Isn't the hotel beautiful?" gasped Maddie.
"Yes, it is," said Zack, looking directly at Maddie.
Maddie blushed, but continued to walk up the stony path.
"Hang on a minute," said Cody. "You didn't say anything about the boat docking. How do we know they're on the island?"
"Duh, Esteban says the boat is here," said Zack as though the answer were obvious.
"Yes, but how do we know from the guests' point of view that they did arrive?" argued Cody. "How do we know the amount of time that lapsed between Esteban and Muriel arguing and the guests arriving?"
"Picky, picky," scoffed Zack, rolling his eyes. "This is an amateur adaptation for Pete's sake! We're not writing anything Nobel Prize worthy!"
"Point taken," admitted Cody. "Let's keep writing."
"What kind of stone is this rock made out of?" asked London, pointing to the stony path leading up to the hotel.
"I believe it's made out of limestone to be perfectly accurate," said Inspector Moseby in a most formal manner.
"Where?" asked London, getting down on her knees. "I don't see any limes."
"That's because limestone doesn't have any limes," said Inpector Moseby calmly.
"Then why is it called limestone?" asked London.
"Because it was formed from living organisms in the sea that had a somewhat lime-ish color to them," said Inspector Moseby, trying not to lose his patience. He began to take a few steps forward when he heard the voice of London Marston say, "But why is it called limestone?"
His back tensed up, but he kept telling himself, "Keep going, Moseby. Just a few hours and this brat will be off your hands…"
Soon, everyone had arrived up to the glorious Tipton Hotel, where two perky servants were standing next to each other. "Welcome American peoples," said Esteban. "My name is Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya De La Rosa Rogers, son of Diego Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya De La Rosa Rogers…" He took a deep breath before saying, "And his wife, Gladys."
"Now that's what I call a windbag!" snickered Zack.
"And I'm Muriel Rogers, but call me Muriel," said Muriel. "Welcome to Tipton Island! Now first off, any stories about ghosts coming to cut your heads off in the middle of the night are not true and anyone who told you otherwise is an idiot. Any questions? You, with the purple cap."
"Are you serving limestone for supper?" asked London.
"I don't know about you, but I think this is a good place to end our chapter," said Cody. "It fits the dramatic irony of the comedy perfectly."
"Whatever," said Zack, rolling his eyes. "Now let's tackle that next chapter!"