"Yo, Double-D!"
"Yes, Eddy?"
"Can I choose the stor-"
"No-"
"Oh, come on!"
"I was going to say-" It had been some time since the Eds' had paid Jimmy a visit, despite their promise for twelve more bedtime stories; mostly because they wanted to avoid a repeat of their last visit, which resulted in a three hour rescue operation to get Ed out of the chimney into the Christmas morning, but also, of course, because Eddy just plainly hated it. "- No explicit content!"
"What the fuck is that?"
"... Precisely my point."
"Shut up and get to the story!" It had gotten to the point where Jimmy had to lure the three story tellers into a trap using jawbreakers, which they obviously fell into, because as long as the story the three told was entertaining beyond belief, he didn't mind the inevitable destruction that came as a result.
"Right, right." Double-D sighed and waved his hand towards Eddy. "Very well, Eddy; begin the story."
"Hells no, I ain't tellin' no story!" The scammer threw up his hands.
"But you just said-"
"I said choose the story, not tell it!"
"Oh, brother... I assume that responsibility falls on me?"
"Not only you, but Ol' Lumpy over there too!"
"You rang?" Ed, who had been tied down to a chair, perked up at the sound of his name. Well, nickname.
"So, we do this-" Jimmy curiously looked on as Eddy reached into his friend's apparently infinitely deep pockets and rummaged around. Double-D just rolled his eyes and sighed again; some politeness from Eddy's side was something he had given up on a long time ago. "- And violin!"
"I'm not even going to..."
"Here we go!" Eddy triumphantly held up a thick, leatherbound book with 'The Collected Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' embroiled in cursive, golden letters on the cover for all of them to see.
"'Sherlock Holmes'? Yes, I suppose the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would be suitable for this session. Ed, how do you suppose we arrange-"
"Oh, no, Sockhead; this is what you'll be reading!" Double-D's hopes and dreams crashed and burned violently when he saw the conniving smile etched onto his friend's face.
"Eddy, whatever-"
"This-" Jimmy emitted an excited "Oooh!" when Eddy pulled out a small machete from behind his back and effectively cut Ed free from his shackles before shoving his hand in the newly freed oaf's pocket. "- Is what Ed will be reading!" A comic was revealed, the cover of which did not feature cursive, golden letters.
"'Iron Flag Planted in A Better Tomorrow: Enter The 9 Diagrams of the W Forever'? Apart from the ridiculously long title, are you serious, Eddy?"
"And!" Double-D couldn't help himself from a facepalm that could very well rival that of Picard himself. "I will play a random part of a random song on my phone at a random time!"
"... Are you quite finished?"
"Oh, I've just begun."
"... Good grief." Double-D sighed yet again and turned from his so-called best friend, who was now leaning on the machete with a maniacal grin, to the fair skinned boy in the bed who had pulled the covers up to under his nose. "Let's just get it over with."
"Oh, boy, hold on to you butts!" Ed tried and failed to contain his excitement as he flipped open the unusually thick comic book.
It was a dark and stormy night-
"That's the biggest literary cliché there is!"
"Stick to Doy, Sockhead!"
"DOYLE! SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE"
"Same shit, different toilet!"
"... Ed, please continue. And I ask that you make it short."
"No can do, Double-D; it's the special edition with all nine parts!"
"... Of course it is."
It was a dark and stormy night in the slums of Southern Shaolin. The mist lay tight across the streets and alleyways, hiding away the shady secrets of the slums in the darkness.
"Hey, you wanna buy some dank shit?"
"Half price, man; half price."
"For that much, nothing more than a handj-" Eddy, I must protest! You're free to add your narrative too, Doy! ... Doyle. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Whatever; Lumpy, hit it!
But in the shadows, the winds whisper of a man; destined to bring peace and prosperity across the city. A man with unfathomable power, not from this world. His name... Was Sherlock Holmes. Good one, Double-D! Thank you, Ed. Eddy? What? Would you mind if I read the main narrative while you and Ed add the details you want along the way? No offence to Ed, but I think a comic book lacks the descriptive powers necessary to serve as a proper bedtime story. You make a good point there. Lumpy, detail duty! Oh boy! Details! If I may? Go ahead.
And that man's name was Sherlock Holmes.
It had been many a years since the... Slums had spoken of him, he had become more a stuff of legend than an actual force to be reckoned with. Quite simply because no one, not even his trustworthy companion Doctor Eddy Watson (Oh, sure; that's mature), had seen the legendary man since he and his bitter archnemesis, The Genius, tumbled off the latter's transdimensional spaceship! Ed, what kind of comic books do you read? Continue!
It was therefore very peculiar for the good doctor to find himself down at the docks where the mist lay thick for his transmat teleporter had been beyond repair since the unfortunate event with the IRS! The IRS? Internal Rift Service! Ah, yes, how foolish of me.
A note had been left to him, only that morning, to be there at precisely eight thirty. So obviously, Doctor Watson was there at quarter past nine. Oh, ha ha.
Suddenly! A sound from the shadows! The young doctor quickly spun around and drew his hyperreal sword Ultracet, blessed and enchanted by his ancestors.
"Holmes, is it you? Who treads these dangerous paths?"
"Hi-hi-hi!" Was heard from the darkness that surrounded the Shaolin doctor.
"Holmes, I'm not appreciating this! Show yourself, creature of the unknown!" A crate behind Watson tumbled over with a loud *KATSHONG* and startled him. Squinting, he peered into the darkness "Holmes?"
"NOW YOU DIE, Doctor Watson!" From his left, two ninjas wielding the cursed nunchucks of the dark ruler emerged and attacked him head on. Watson's time with Holmes had not been in vain though for not only had his reaction time been severely increased, but he could easily predict his attackers' moves before they were made. With the agility of a mountain lion, he dodged the two servants of the darkness and with a swift motion of Ultracet, he was alone.
The sound of clapping cut through the silence and in the blink of an eye, he had jumped; sword held high in the air, ready to make kosher meat of the newcomer. But he had underestimated the man still enveloped in the darkness who, with a single move, had Watson pinned to the ground with his own sword to his throat, threatening to spill the contents of him.
"I don't know what you heard about me/But a bitch can't make a dollar out of me."
"Holmes?"
"Have I not taught you better, young one?" Watson bowed his head for he knew that his wise master's beard, that had grown long and gray, held many a secrets. Everyone knows a beard automatically makes you wise.
"It's been some time since last, old friend." Holmes pulled the doctor up with a simple tug, the latter smiling warmly.
"Indeed it has, Doctor Watson."
"What's with the hat?" Holmes was very well wearing a black hat, made of a soft fabric, that neatly covered all of his hair. Who died and made you Holmes? Eddy, you wield a sword. So? Holmes still kicked Watson's ass! Continue! Yeah, continue! Apologies, Jimmy.
"It, just as my long beard, holds many a secrets." As he said this, he slowly stroked his beard and Whatsit knew it was so for it was his master who had said it. Watson, Ed. Sorry, Double-D!
"Holmes, old friend; what's with the entourage?" Watson gestured to the... Ninjas who had met their unfortunate demise at the hand of... Ultracet. Good, Double-D! This shan't be for a lack of trying on my part.
"Dark forces are at work in the slums of Shaolin."
"Moriarty?"
"No, far worse than The Genius, young one."
"Then who?"
"I possess not the knowledge nor the wisdom to answer that question!" Hah! "There are only two beings in this mortal world who do!"
"Who then, Holmes?"
"You know but you actin' like you don't know!"
"... Come again?"
"The ones forced into exiled by the dark ruler of all!"
"You don't mean..."
"Yes, indeed. The outcasted ones."
"But... Are they nothing more than a legend?"
"Oh, no; had tea with them a few weeks back."
"So, where are they?"
"Far away; in the heart of The Land of a Million Drums!"
"Since I'm apparently trapped in a game of 20 Questions here; how does one fare there?"
"The journey is not an easy one, quite the opposite; it is a long one and of great difficulty! We must travel across the Shady plains, where no one except the real Shady can speak of ill words, through the lost zone where the Western Shakur and Eastern Wallace villages have raged a terrible war of blood shed for a thousand years, finally reaching the ancient civilization of Brook-Lynn where one must convince the ruler Jay-Hova the Young to let you through the mountain pass. It is a journey that requires strategic planning, courage and a whole lot of luck! If we leave at once, there might just be chance we reach the outcasted ones before the great jam festival of the summer!"
"Here we are! The sacred temple of Stankonia!" Watson looked around in confusion; in one moment, they had stood among the rats down at the docks, in the next, they were standing on the front steps of an enormous temple high up in the mountains.
"How- How did we get here; I don't remember our apparent long, difficult journey!"
"Your mind has yet to adapt to the narrative functions of this story! Only when you open up your thoughts to the ancient power of Shaolin can you understand the concept!"
"Baby, you're making it harder, better, faster, stronger!"
"Good to see you still remember the holy words of your father." Holmes extended a hand and knocked on the majestic oak gate. Observing the surroundings, for it was the very first thing Holmes had taught him, Watson slowly started to realize that they had been here once before during their many adventures.
"Hello." The gate creaked as it was opened by a well-postured man with a cup of coffee in his hand, a satin robe wrapped around him and the bunny slippers of DOOOOOOM on his feet. "Good to meet you both again."
"I was afraid you had forgotten us, Stacks."
"Never could I forget the famous Detective Holmes and his companion Doctor Watson." The man bowed deeply, just keeping the coffee from spilling out of the cup. "Do enter our humble temple, would you not?"
"It would be our honour." Holmes bowed, allowing Stacks to do the same, leaving a confused Watson to bow twice to the both of them.
"Shall we?"
"We shall." Stacks opened the heavy door fully and stepped aside, letting the two guests stride past him, before closing it with a soft *SLAM*
"Nice place you got here." Watson barely had enough eyes to take in the glory and riches of the holy temple as they walked down the well-decorated halls, the murals on the walls telling tales from the days of old.
"I say; I love the way you move!" Holmes said, admiring the enormous mural that covered the ceiling. "The lost city of Idlewild, no doubt?"
"It's better off lost." The good doctor had to stifle a gasp as they entered the most sacred of the Stankonian halls; the Aqueminarium. Hundred feet from floor to ceiling, the murals in here were even greater, made completely from platinum, and told the legends of flowers, stained with the blood of two timin' hoes, instructions to the holy Polaroid ritual of old and warnings of the wrathful goddess Ms. Jackson." If you were to make yourself comfortable, I shall seek out my partner and return shortly." Stacks bowed once before striding out through a small side door.
"Quite impressive, would you not say?"
"Indeed, Holmes; these guys really know what they're doing."
"The correct word is 'did', my dear Watson; the feared ATLiens have been retired for quite some time now." Both Holmes and Watson turned in surprise to see that they were not alone; a man, familiar to both of them, was standing on his knees a few feet away, his eyes closed in serenity. The temple was intended as a place of peace and so, lonesome travellers could stay there and pray if it suited them.
"Ah, Inspector! Long since last!"
"I could say the same to you, Holmes." The man slowly opened his eyes and exhaled peacefully. "Shaolin has not been the same since you disappeared."
"Oh, you know; I've been here and there."
"He grew this bitchin' beard too." The Inspector stood up and smiled, shaking the hands of the two newly arrived men.
"So I see. So, what gives me the immense pleasure of meeting the two of you this deep into The Land of a Million Drums?"
"We are simply here to ask the outcasts' advice on a matter."
"Aside from the fact that we can file this as a business vacation should the IRS ask." Watson piped in. I say, this is going swell, would you not say, Ed? Indeed!
"Ah, yes; the IRS..." The Inspector sighed. "They've been on my ass constantly that roses really smell like poo-poo-poo!" Yes, swell indeed. I'm having a blast!
"That's far from the truth!" The doctor exclaimed.
"Indeed, Doctor Watson."
"So, Inspector; may one inquire what you're doing this far from the Shaolin district?" Holmes raised an eyebrow; he knew for a fact that the Inspector was the sort of man who very rarely left the city limits.
"I..." He paused. "I needed to gain some new perspective on the situation in Shaolin; as you may or may not know, Holmes, Ghostface Killah sprung Iron Lung from prison last week."
"You don't mean..."
"Yes. The Method Man."
"The infamous Method Man... He was always a slippery one." Holmes stroked his beard in thought. "Has he struck recently?"
"Oh, he struck within the hour of escape!"
"Gruesome?"
"Quite so."
"How so?" Watson asked, oblivious to the person discussed.
"The Method Man is known for the horrible methods he uses to torture his victims." The Inspector shook his head.
"For example?"
"Oh, it's too gruesome to speak of."
"I can take it, Inspector!" Ed, I hardly think a bedtime story is the place for gruesome imagery. Oh, there's a T-rated version that's not too bad, Double-D! Very well then.
"Very well then; The Method Man broke into the home of one RolfChronomentrophobia, Chronomentrophobia, Chronomentrophobia, Chronomentrophobia!- erson around half past one, last Wednesday. The victim was not alone at the time, drinking sake with his friend Kevin... Kevin... Damn, the name escapes me. The Method Man quickly subdued them both, taking a certain intimate part of Kevin and putting it on a nearby dresser before bashing it with a spiked bat. BLAOW! As this was going on, he had tied Rolf to a bedpost. The victim testified that the offender took a clothes hanger and left it in the fireplace for like thirty minutes before inserting it into his..." I don't know this word. "- Into his... Spectrum 'real slow'." The Inspector made a motion as if inserting a something into another something while making a "TSSSSSSSSS" noise. Holy fuck, Ed; Double-D fainted!
"Oh, no, Eddy!" Ed, looking up from his comic book, saw that Eddy had been right; Double-D was out cold.
"I don't think he appreciated the methods of the Method Man." Eddy snickered, trying hard not to burst out laughing full force as he saw that Jimmy had managed to fall asleep in the midst of the nonsense story.
"I wanted to know what happened next!" The lovable oaf, who had rushed to his passed out friend's side, shook him lightly before gripping his wrist. "I have a pulse!"
"Good; I doubt Marie Kanker would let you live if you had scared her 'Oven Mitt' to death. Grab Sockhead and let's get the hell out of here, Lumpy; our job here is done!" Eddy threw one last look at Jimmy sleeping peacefully before making his way to the door.
"Do you think Double-D will want to continue the story telling after tonight, Eddy?" Ed, who had flung his lifeless friend over his shoulder, tip toed after the scammer.
"You never know, Ed. You just never know."