Ozzie knew who he had to seek out first. The old army chef from back in Nam. His food tasted like moldy worms glazed in honey, but Ozzie needed him. He was 19 grams of pure edge. Only problem was that he'd set up shop in Rio De Janeiro, some restaurant called ratatoing, where marcedge secretly ran a drug cartel and crime syndicate, and put addictive substances in the food to get the customers hooked. It was underhanded and depraved, which was exactly why he was ozzie's best friend. He went to a phone booth to escape the liverpuddlian rain and the single mothers who kept ignoring his sexy advances. Shut off from the world in his urine-smelling cocoon he stared at marcedge's number: 666-666-666. As he began remembering his days with marcedge cuts began to appear on his face from the mere memory of the edge. So he dialled the number before it was too late.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
An unfamiliar voice began to speak, If ozzie were sober he'd have remembered it was Marcedge's employee Greg. He described him in Nam as " a green fucktard who keeps givin away my recipes. I keep him around so that i can pay him a 3rd the minimum wage and stab him when i'm bored. Rio's an edgy place, ozzie." It was this rat's voice who greeted ozzie on the restaurant's phone in an obnoxious voice " Hello, you have reached the ratatoing. I can't come to the phone right now because marcedge would cut off my fingers if he found out i'd touched the phone. So if you're hearing this marcedge is either at the brothel, enjoying some toing or he's been kidnapped by a rival gang. Leave a message after the toing. TOING."
"WHAT?" replied ozzie briskly and he slammed his phone through the window of the phone booth, right into a passerby's nose.
Ozzie knew that to have a chance of getting marcedge back he'd have to get to RIO DE JANEIRO, otherwise his ultimate plan could never come to fruition. "alas," thought ozzie, "the Government took all the money i borrowed from the bank of England safe. I can't afford a trip to RIO DE JANEIRO." For inspiration on how to get the money quick he prayed to ozzy osbourne and received an idea from him; he quickly borrowed some money from richard's safe and booked his flight to rio.
His flight would have been ordinary; he booked first class and raided the food carrts before it took off. He had even seduced one of the air hostesses and had played patty-cake with her in the bathroom. However, his bliss was interrupted by the on-flight comm saying " we are currently flying over rio de janeiro, we are scheduled to arrive in new York in approximately 2 hours." Ozzie spent a second mulling over what the comm. Had said, as he ran his 'nam dog tags through his sweet handlebar stache. The realisation of what that message meant hit him like the chairs at his poker games " WHAT" he shouted in disbelief, panicking as he was banned from entering new York city. " I GOTTA GET TO RIO NOW!" yelled ozzie as he thrust himself from his chair; As he rose, the leftover peanuts and in-flight food which had gathered on his lap leapt from him so much that they buried and completely submerged the passengers in front of him.
In this fit of rage he sprinted toward the cockpit, much like the air hostesses had been swarming to ozzie's "cock-pit" but the captain's door was being blocked by a senile old woman. "WHAT!" ozzie announced behind her. "Well, dearie" said the old woman "the pilot is my son, and i'm here to congratulate him for his 200th successful flight.
Ozzie's face screwed up in disgust and rage. He knelt close to her, so much that his stache brushed upon the woman's crooked nose "well I need to get to rio so i can recruit an ex-vet mouse to steal money so i can get revenge on my brother!" Ozzie stood back from the woman then and slicked back his hair, the grease from it was visible and sticky on ozzie's right hand. He pushed the woman aside as she let out an ineffectual "oh, my," This caused hysteria as the plane staff were now rushing to help the old woman, further hampering ozzie's progress to the cockpit. "WHAT?" screamed ozzie, his voice overpowering despite the commotion, and with one swift kick he unhinged the door to the cockpit.
Both the pilot and co-pilot made looks of worry and confusion, but ozzie's face was blank, somewhat akin to that of a dumbfounded walrus. "Evening gentleman" he said, although his speech was hampered slightly by the sweet intoxication of the in-flight wine, "i have a business proposition for you: it would be very profitable for you and your airline if instead of new York, we all went to RIO DE JANEIRO, wouldn't it?" "w-wha?" replied the co-pilot, caught off guard by the boorish veteran. However, this response snapped something in ozzie, he karate-chopped the co-pilot to unconsciousness and turned to the pilot, he placed his right hand on the pilot's chair and swung iit round to face him, pointing his finger directly at the pilot's face with the other whilst angrily swearing to him "LISTEN HERE MAGGOT, I WAS IN NAM, I FLEW A PLANE WITH ONE WING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WHILE PRECISION-AIMING NAPALM TO HIT DANDELIONS. SO YOU LISTEN TO ME OR IM TAKIN THIS SPRUCE MOOSE TO RIO" the pilot gulped hard and replied sheepishly "ok." Ozzie smiled and slapped himself down on the co-pilot's chair. For the rest of the flight, he badly sang ozzy osbourne's "iron man" through the speaker.
Rio was hot. Ozzie hated hot. Rio was poor. Ozzie hated poor. Rio was that stupid animated film about the birds. Ozzie had never seen it.
What ozzie had seen however was marcedge's restaurant "the ratatoing" He asked for directions, but then every Brazilian went into a 15-minute rant about how good the food (and drugs) were there.
But when he got there it was not what ozzie was expecting. He could barely fit his head through the door because the restaurant was built for mice but the sights were still bizarre. There was no worm burgers, no strawberries. There were no class a drugs or rat prostitutes. Gone even was the regular sight of the stage, where marcedge would publicly execute anyone who asked for his secret recipes. "WHAT" ozzie called out to the emptiness, but from behind the counter he got a faint reply "p-pre...cisely." Ozzie's eyes widened (but not much, though) to know that Greg was alive. With his thumb, ozzie tore off one of the walls to climb further in to see marcedge's half-witted assistant. Sure enough there Greg was. His ears and left limbs were missing, and there was a deep gash on his stomach, with his entrails hanging out of it, strewn across the floor. Ozzie briefly stepped out to barf, and then inquisitively screamed at Greg "WHAT?" the rat, although wounded mustered a reply " the other restaurant... Those rats came in, pillaged the place for the recipes but they wasn't here. ... Kidnapped marcedge... interrogate him" his sentence was quickly cut short by a sharp groan of pain, which elicited a sadistic giggle from ozzie. "so" he said "if i scope out deez rats, I've found marcedge?" "precisely" added Greg meekly, "if you get help now, there's maybe i chance i can make it" for a second a twinge of sympathy resonated within ozzie, but he suppressed it and said "there is no time, marcedge is enough" and he walked away, emotionless. Greg was dead in minutes. Ozzie retreated to a cigarette stand to formulate a rescue mission. He looked up at the Brazilian sunset. It was the same sun he used to kiss Jennifer under, which meant the sun only reminded him of how Richard stole her from him. His burning hatred of Richard renewed his steely resolve and he stared in the general direction of the enemy restaurant. He mumbled to himself, with suitable badassery " revenge is a dish best served cold."
"and I hate the cold."