Date: Friday, 17th of August, 2275 A.D
Personnel: Gabriel Angelus, Brother-Captain of the 101st Blood Raven marine squad
Subject: Remembrance

It’s been about a month since we started our mission to hunt down the queen’s nest among the ancient and desolate ruins of what used to be the thriving city of New York, or Los Angeles, or… I’m not really sure. None of us are sure. The last recorded history of pre-21st century human civilization was lost forever after the bunny rabbits overwhelmed the last human city of Honolulu, Hawaii when they somehow figured out how to swim in salt water and annihilated the city with a beach-head assault several decades ago. Now that city lies in ruins along with the rest of the Great Ruins of the Ancient World of Man.

Sigh. Bunnies. It’s hard to imagine that a long, long time ago we used to associate that word with small, cute and furry little creatures that hop and scurry around in meadows and gardens. Of course, their physical form stays the same to this day – they are still small and furry and cute - but what changed them was their evolution during the late 21st century – from gentle, carrot-munching rodents to flesh-eating, man-hating little devils capable of forming a hive-minded society. According to the Old Wisemen from the Cave of Chronicles, when humanity finally found out what was really going on, it was too late. Within less than 10 days they rampaged and scourged their way into almost every major city in the world, decimating the 8 billion population of Man to just a barely surviving 48 000.

Yes, only 48 000 of us survived the bunny apocalypse, and my great, great ancestor was among them. Humans lived in unspeakable hardship ever since then, forced to live in underground silos and bunkers to hide from the common yet terrible danger of bunny attacks. I remember the last time I saw the faces of my mother and father as they tried to run away from a horde of the furry beasts, trying to reach into the safety of our underground bunkers. They were running too slow, and those…bunnies…hopped too fast. The horrifying scene of my parents screaming in painful agony as they were devoured alive while I helplessly watched as the hatchet closed still haunts me in my dreams to this day. I even swore on my parent’s graves that I will send as many of those furry little bastards to hell, my plasma rifle as the primary tool for me to reach that goal.

Sigh. Why do I even bother writing this journal? Nobody will read it, most of all me, because reading the depressing entries of days gone by only makes me sad. Sad that people are being killed not by plagues, earthquakes or wars, but by being eaten by rabbits. Cute, little, furry bunny rabbits.

My wristwatch says the time is 2357 hours. Time to get some shut eye so that I can prepare for the preliminary recon mission to search for the cave of the Queen’s nest tomorrow.


Date: Saturday, 18th of August, 2275 A.D
Personnel: Gabriel Angelus, Brother-Captain of the 101st Blood Raven marine squad
Subject: Ambush

My god, we didn’t even saw them coming. It was dusk. Our squad of 50 men was somewhere near Perimeter 16-7 scanning for rabbit burrows when the bunnies ambushed us from out of nowhere and from every direction. They came out of the ruins and abandoned buildings, the dilapidated vehicles lining the desolate streets, the cracks and holes on the ground, everywhere. They were hundreds of them - our squad had finished emptying about 20 clips of plasma against those wretched rodents within a minute, yet they still came pouring in strong.

The fire fight lasted about half an hour. The aftermath was an incalculably huge number of rabbit corpses littering the whole scene, all mutilated by the hot plasma from our rifles, their blood still hot all over out boots. Unfortunately, we lost Rodriguez and Barclay in the fight. Both of them were cut off from the main group during the attack and were surrounded by the bunnies when they ran out of ammunition. They were brave soldiers.

(Although depressing, I think it should be worthy of note that it took the clean-up crew about 5 hours to pick up both of the soldiers’ torn and mutilated bodies strewn everywhere. Both of them have families back home.)

Before we left the scene, we cut off the heads of 20 of the bunny corpses and stuck each one of them on a pike. I just hope that rabbits have already evolved to have even a small bit of a conscience to recognize the decapitated heads as a sign of warning not to mess with us again. Ever.

We made camp near a riverbank in Perimeter 13-3A. Tonight we’ve held a ceremony, biding farewell to the fallen soldiers for one last time before we cremate their bodies. We cremate our dead not because of some religious or supernatural belief. Instead, it’s a long tried preventive measure so that those bunnies won’t be able to reproduce after nourishing themselves by eating the remains of our dead. We cannot bury them, because the hatred of those bunnies towards us humans goes so far that they would sniff out the buried bodies with their hyper sensitive noses and dig them up again. Once, we even tried injecting our dead with harmful poisons and chemicals, hoping that the bunnies would die after devouring them. It turned out that the bunnies have evolved to such a high degree that they are immune to most poisons and other harmful substances.

Nature has a way of telling us to sod off.

It is 2230 hours now. Once I’m done writing this, I’m going to take a shower and then go straight to my bunker for some sleep. After an entire day of seeing carnage and blood, a relaxing hot shower is the most I look forward to. It lets me wash away the blood of those who died under my command, along with the white strands of fur from all the bunnies that I’ve slain.


Date: Sunday, 19th August, 2275 A.D
Personnel: Gabriel Angelus, Brother-Captain of the 101st Blood Raven marine squad
Subject: Jake McLeod

We finally found the cave harboring the queen’s nest. At 0930 hours, the five-men scouting team that was sent to search the cave returned to the camp with only one survivor, Jake McLeod. Apparently, they had come too close to the cave and the bunnies were alarmed by their presence. The result was nobody except Jake escaped from the bunnies. Just barely that is – he was bleeding all over his uniform and missing a left arm when he stumbled into our camp. He was able to tell us the location of the cave and other important strategic details before collapsing into unconsciousness due to blood loss. He died moments later. Jake McLeod, just 17 years old and still a virgin. Sad

I held him in my arms when he drew his final breath, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something peculiar hiding behind lumps of rubble and dirt several yards away. I only managed to catch a glimpse of it before it noticed me and scampered itself out of sight. The thing was small and had long ears. A rabbit. Darn it, the little bastard must have followed the smell of Jake’s bleeding all the way to our camp.

The cremation ceremony was held tonight, each one of us swearing in our hearts that we would not let his death be in vein. Throughout the night, me and several of my lieutenants went over the battle plans on how to strike the Queen’s cavern. By the time we were all finished, the time was 0145, and I almost didn’t update this journal due to exhaustion.

I’ve posted extra guards around the perimeter of the camp, suspecting that the bunnies would attack the camp after their little bunny spy trailed Jake and managed to discover our camp earlier. The thought of a malignant army of bunnies swamping our camp in the middle of the night made me feel like sleeping with one eye open and a gun under my pillow, but no matter. Tomorrow, I’m going to kill so many of those freaking rabbits that hell will smell like road kill by the time I’m done.

(Journal extension, logged at 0346 hours)

At the time of this writing, we already succeeded in defending the camp against an invasion by the bunny horde, although with heavy loses to camp equipment, several regretful casualties and a dozen others suffering from minor to serious injuries. It turned out that my hunch was right – that bunny I saw earlier today had informed its ilk of our location and launched an offensive towards our camp at night when most of our forces are asleep and non-alert. In the end, the whole camp is torn apart, with rabbit carcasses everywhere. Below is a list of the brave soldiers who lost their lives during the attack:

John ‘Cheese Man’ Farlane
Bertha ‘Black Biatch’ Simmons
Jay ‘Crazy Legs’ O’Hare
Ricardo ‘Lowtax’ Kyakina
Stephen ‘MC Hawkins’ Hawking
Kelsy ‘Oooga Booga’ Grahambell

Those names were procured from the dog tags that we found on the horribly mutilated, half-eaten bodies of the dead soldiers. About 3 or 4 more personnel are still unaccounted for, but I’m willing to make a pretty safe bet that if they are out there somewhere right now, they’re probably far from being alive.

I thought I should just stay awake all the way to next morning, but then good senses came to me and decided to go back to sleep to prepare myself for tomorrow’s mission. After we’ve done the cleanup of the ravaged camp, I posted several more of the surviving troops to guard the camp through the rest of the night, updated this journal and went back to sleep. Again.


Date: Monday, 20th August, 2275
Personnel: Gabriel Angelus, Brother-Captain of the 101st Blood Raven marine squad
Subject: True fear

This might be my final log in this journal. I’m not sure why I’ve decided to stop, but after reading what I am about to write, perhaps you might understand.

It was an hour past afternoon, 1300 hours, when we silently made it to the edge of Perimeter 32-B, the site where Jake told us about the cave housing the Queen. Me and four of my most elite men sneaked to a spot on top of a high cliff overlooking the cave and took out my binoculars. There it was, the terrible cave where the Queen gives birth to approximately 300 baby rabbits a minute. Several groups of bunnies seemed to pace about the area surrounding the cave entrance, probably guarding the cave from intruders, especially the human ones. It was a rabbit fortress.

I zoomed my binoculars closer to the cave entrance and saw two Bugs Bunnies standing on guard. We call those things ‘Bugs Bunnies’ because, unlike the other rabbits, this particular breed are about as big and tall as a human, much like the famous Warner Bros. cartoon character Bugs Bunny. And like the cartoon character, they have very tough hides and extremely resilient bodies to the extent that they would probably survive from having an anvil dropped onto their heads. They represent the bunnies' milestone in warrior breed perfection.


I put away the binoculars and signaled to Larry ‘Blaskowicz’ McPherson, our demolitions specialist, to ‘smoke the hole’. It was a code word for launching a nuke bomb with the shoulder-mounted Redeemer AR-90k type heavy warhead launcher and detonating it from the inside of the cave, killing everything in it, including the Queen. Larry took about a minute to ready his aim with the Redeemer launcher, trying to target-locking the mouth of the cave on the LCD display panel on the launcher. As soon as the panel bleeped for a target-lock, Larry pulled the trigger and sent a nuke bomb propelled right out of the weapon and flying right into the cave, passing the two Bugs Bunnies who were shocked after having a missile of unknown origin zipped right pass them. The smart path-finding system guided the nuke bomb through miles and miles of the labyrinthine maze inside the cave and straight into the heart of the earth where the Queen was most probably residing.

Larry dropped the Redeemer launcher aside and pulled out a remote detonator, waiting for a bleeping sound signaling that the nuke bomb has found the target.

The detonator bleeped. Larry said a few prayers and pulled the trigger button.

Boom.

The earth shook with seismic force as the nuke bomb exploded. The mouth of the cave seemed to roar violently, and then a tremendously powerful burst of nuclear energy rushed out of the mouth of the cave, sending the two shocked Bugs Bunnies flying high and the rest of the patrolling rabbits around the area in bewilderment. I pulled out a flare gun and shot it into the crimson evening sky, the signal for the assault team to come out from hiding in the hills and move in and kill all the surviving rabbits. Within minutes, the sound of plasma rifles and the smell of burnt rabbit meat filled the air.

The mission was a success.

After the main confrontation, we gathered all the rabbit carcasses into a pile and burned them. About 1915 hours, we set off into Perimeter 56-H to make camp there. There are still many Queens out there – the one we’ve just slain was just one among thousands that are infesting our world. This fight of ours won’t end for a very long time. There might not even be an end to it that is in our favor, the only end being that all of us humans are driven into extinction.

As I said, this will be my final post in this journal of mine. Why?

Before we left the scene, we made our way above the hills overlooking the blasted land surrounding a huge smoking crater which used to be the cave of the Queen. It is at this moment when I saw, far in the horizon, a thin white line stretching along the horizon as far as 10 miles, the line getting thicker by the moment. And it was moving. I took out my binoculars.

They were bunnies - an ineffable number of them, marching this way to answer the distress call of their now-dead queen. My god, there were so many of them, probably millions or even billions, that from afar they looked like a giant white blanket. The earth must be crying out at their damnable weight.

I used to think I knew what fear was. After seeing their infinite ranks of rabbits, it is now that I really know true fear. When my men saw the bunnies marching, I could tell from the look on their faces that they had already lost hope.

When you're a soldier fighting a losing battle, hope is the most important thing you must hold on to. Hope for peace, well being, prosperity, anything. No amount of plasma rifles and power armor is enough to substitute the psychological power of hope. When a you lose hope, you lose yourself.

And then the rabbits will take this chance to devour you alive.

As I write this very post, tear drops wet the pages of my journal after realizing that our situation is hopeless. Humanity is hopeless. With each rabbit we kill, another 1000 will replace it, and for every man we lose, another 10 000 of them will be given birth. The army of the dark is upon us and it has no end. With such great numbers, there is no hope to defeat them, and it is only a matter of time before every single human being is wiped out from the face of this earth.

We are doomed.

THE END

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I remember back when I was about 7, and my mother and I went to the local cinema to see a movie in the weekend. I was too young back then, too illiterate to read English and too naïve to give anymore care about films than any normal child should, so I didn’t quite remember the title of the film. That feeling of apathy changed however after I watched it, and it was the most fantastic experience I had back then. The acting, the screenplay, everything about the film struck my little infantile mind like pitchforks jamming into my brain, telling me to wake up and realize the wonderful and magical world of cinema. Unfortunately, and perhaps sadly, I never knew what that film was. I tried checking video stores everywhere and described the film as I experienced it to the clerks, but none of them knew what I was talking about. To this day that film still remained in my memory as the greatest masterpiece of a film I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

And that brings us to my review of Snakes on a Plane.

It was a cold Friday night, and I sat in the middle row with my usual combo of large popcorn and Pepsi. While the big screen was blaring cinema ads, my mind was brainstorming on what sort of steaming pile of feces Hollywood has squeezed out of its wretched anus for film buffs like me to suffer. However, when the opening credits started to roll, I found out to my utmost regret that I had made a gross misjudgment.

What was presented on the big screen was a masterpiece unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, unprecedented even when compared to the likes of Schindler’s List or Citizen Kane. All the elements of the film seemed to blend in seamlessly with each other and everything else. I was only 10 minutes into the opening scene and already the film struck me straight at the heart, grabbed the very core of my soul and pulled me away from my world with its masterful cinematography, brilliant screenplay and unrivalled acting.

I don’t want to spoil anything, but since the film is majestically good, here is a short summary about the whole plot. The film is about snakes. On a plane. The simplicity and non-sequitor nature boggles my mind to this end, as if the seemingly simple titular plot has a much deeper meaning than what can be expressed by simple words about serpents and avionics. No, my dear readers – Snakes on a Plane is more than just a film about snakes or planes or snakes in planes for that matter.

I also noticed that the film has countless threads of deep symbolic meanings, most of them allusions to issues regarding the very nature of humanity and the mind-numbing complexity of the human psyche. There was a scene where the ‘snakes’ (representing the slithering fall of communism during the post-Soviet era, referencing on how the Russian people learned how to ‘shed their skin’) came out of the ‘cargo bay’ (an allegory to free commerce brought upon by the influencing force of western Capitalism) and ‘rampaged’ (representing the rampaging riots caused by the oppressed and subjugated people suffering in various third world countries such as Uganda and Bosnia due to corrupt leadership and unethical administration practices) through the ‘aisle’ (the ever advancing aisle of modern technology and infrastructure) in the ‘passenger cabin’ (a reference to the ever-increasing risk of flying as an aftermath of the terror attacks in 9/11). It’s amazing how David R. Ellis, the gifted director of this majesty of a movie, crammed up as much meaningful content in a 5-minute scene, and that’s still not counting the emotional parts yet.

If there ever was an autobiography written about the life of Samuel L Jackson, then it will require three 500-page volumes alone to cover every single detail on his role as Agent Flynn, the protagonist and central object to everything that made Snakes on a Plane a modern masterpiece that would have been created by Leonardo Da Vinci if he had lived until today. Mr. Jackson is certainly a masterful thespian, a guru in his own trade – his character portrayed layers upon layers of emotion, and if one were to look into his dark, pearly eyes during the scene in which he was beating off the snakes from his body (of course, a symbol of the Protestant Revolution of 16th century Europe ‘beating off’ the old Roman-Catholic practices), one could almost feel the gut-wrenching spectrum of emotions such as anguish, fear and helplessness in the face of a venomous enemy (an homage to the ‘venomous’ effect of nuclear arms development by the Iranian administration). Truly Mr. Jackson will be hailed as one of the best actors of all time, if not THE best. So great was his performance that I predict him to be a deserving winner of the 2006 Oscar Awards for Best Actor, and Menacing Cobra #3 a nominee for Best Supporting Actress.

After the film was over, when the end credits began to role…I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move. I was bewildered, as if the world I once knew ended at that very moment. Even after my girlfriend Sarah Tan urged me to get up and walk out, I still couldn’t budge. The movie made me ponder about a lot of things – things that I’ve always accepted to be true and took for granted, things that meant a lot to me yet felt so meaningless. I thought about the nature of existence, about fate, and the presence of a benign God. Too many thoughts raced in my mind that salty tears of incomprehension started to form in my blank, clueless eyes and roll down my cheeks. It was only when Sarah Tan promised me a blowjob once we get home that I finally had the will to get up from my warm seat and venture out once again into this cold, cruel world we call life. Please note that I left not because of the promise of sexual gratification, but rather out of the ultimate realization that oral sex is the critical key to world peace. Politicians and leaders the world over can learn a lot from watching Snakes on a Plane.

I feel that no film buff will ever be able to put into words the sheer brilliance of Snakes on a Plane, nor will they ever be another movie that would transcend it in our lifetime. I certainly recommend this to everyone from all walks of life - men and women, young and old, the born and the yet to be – not just for a mere two hours worth of entertainment, no, but also for the huge amount of gain in personal enlightenment and self-discovery. I may never know the title of that film I watched when I was 7, but thank god, at least now I know the title of another film that is forever etched into my mind whenever I think of the best film that ever existed, and that title is called Snakes on a Plane.

P.S: The movie is 18PL: Rated for extreme scenes involving religion, sex, violence, or a combination of the three.

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Once upon a time, deep in the enchanted forests of Forestland, Sang Beruang was lying next to a log, wasted after a long night of booze. Suddenly out of the corner of a bush came out Sang Kancil, hopping and prancing ecstatically here and there with joyful abandon.

“Hey there, Beruang!” yelled Sang Kancil as he passed by. “Oh, look at you, you look so down and pale. Maybe you should stop your drinking habit and come join me in hopping around. That way you’ll be all happy and full of life, just like me!”

“Geez Kancil, you’re right!” exclaimed Sang Beruang, snapping out of his wasted condition. Maybe I should stop my drinking habit and join you!”

The now sober and full-spirited Sang Beruang joined Sang Kancil as they hopped together happily in the forest. They soon came upon Sang Musang, who was cowering inside a hole, shivering because of his drug addiction.

“Good day there, Musang!” yelled Sang Kancil as he, along with Sang Beruang, passed by. “Oh my goodness, just look at you, all shriveled up and shaky! Maybe you should stop doping on drugs and join me in hopping around. That way you’ll be all happy and full of life, just like me!”

“My god, you’re right Kancil!” exclaimed Sang Musang, coming out of the hole and ceasing to shiver. “Maybe I should stop my drug addiction and join you guys!”

The now clean and full spirited Sang Musang joined Sang Kancil and Sang Beruang as they hopped together happily in the forest. They soon came upon Sang Harimau, who was sitting under a tree puffing a bong.

“Hello there, Harimau!” yelled Sang Kancil as he, along with Sang Beruang and Sang Musang passed by. “Good lord, look at you, your face so lifeless and unhapp-“

Before Sang Kancil could finish his sentence, Sang Harimau roared with anger. “Leave me the fuck alone, you stupid fucktard!” roared Sang Harimau as he threw a large rock at Sang Kancil’s head. Sang Kancil yelped in pain as he ran away, disappearing into the depths of the brush and canopies of the forest.

Sang Beruang and Sang Musang were bewildered, at the same time disappointed at Sang Harimau’s negative attitude. “Why did you treat Kancil like that, Harimau?” growled Sang Beruang. “All he wanted was to make us all happy!”

“Yeah, Harimau,” added Sang Musang. “Kancil was just trying to help us overcoming our habits. Why did you have to act like an asshole?”

“Humph,” grunted Sang Harimau as he continued to smoke his bong. “Whenever that bastard Kancil gets high on weed, he’ll always hop around the forest telling people to join him.”

It was a lively and sunny day in Forestland whenThe King of Forestland, Sang Singa, held a mass meeting with all the animals in the forest to discuss about a certain issue. The crowd was packed, from small creatures like birds and woodland creatures to huge beasts such as bears and crocodiles.

“Greetings, my animal friends and loyal subjects,” Sang Singa spoke to his audience as he stood on the podium-shaped rock. “Today we have a matter of great urgency to discuss.”

The ranks of animals in front of him murmured amongst themselves as Sang Singa cleared his throat. “For the last week, I’ve had talks with Gajah, our Minister of Energy and Animal Resources, and we’ve decided that, due to the fresh water crisis, we will have to increase the price of fresh water up to 6.5 Acorns per litre.”

After the announcement, loud gasps reverberated throughout the crowd, followed by unanimous boos and yells. Soon the crowd erupted into a state of anger and dissatisfaction, with insults to Sang Singa being heard from the far rear ranks.

“Now now, I know that this doesn’t bode well with all of you,” said Sang Singa, trying to calm the crowd. “But the short supply of fresh water still remains a problem, and we all must do our part by adjusting our lifestyle to accommodate the new circumstances. For example, whenever you want to pee, you should find a split coconut shell and pee in it. That way you can drink it up the next time you feel thirsty, thus conserving fresh water for me to wash my furry ass after I take a crap.”

By now, all the animals were in rage. The monkeys were howling like mad while the elephants stomped the ground, their trunks thundering derogatory remarks at Sang Singa.

“As King of Forestland, I too have to make sacrifices,” continued Sang Singa. “For example, I was planning to turn Forestland’s one and only waterfall into my own personal fun lagoon, but since we’re having a fresh water crisis, I’ve opted for the estuary instead. As you can see even I have to struggle during this difficult tim-“

Before Sang Singa could finish his sentence, a coconut, thown by an enraged monkey, flew right towrads Sang Singa’s head, knocking him unconscious. By this time, all the animals were roaring and growling as they thrashed the whole place in a fit of angry protest. Two baboon bodyguards dragged Sang Singa out of the fray while the badger riot squad rushed in with their sticks to suppress the growing riot.

And so all the animals of Forestland lived happily ever after.

Will Turner scratched his head in confusion, a part of his mind straining to comprehend what Jack Sparrow had just said. Both of them stood on the Black Pearl, the chilling wind of the night piercing into the skin of the busy crew on board the pirate ship.

“I did it, Mr. Turner,’ the enigmatic captain Jack Sparrow said waving a rolled parchment in one hand and a bottle of rum in another. “I’ve finally broken the code!”

“Jack,” Will retorted, his eyes staring hard into Jack’s, trying not to be distracted by his odd posture and movement resembling a drunken trapeze monkey. “It’s just a piece of aged cloth with an image of a key stained onto one side.”

“Aye, of course it does seem to look that way,” replied Jack as they both walked along the port side baluster discussing about the mysterious parchment. “But to a keen pirate’s eye, this here that I hold in my hands reveals the truth, Jack. The single, most absolute truth.”

Jack lifted the bottle of rum he was holding on his hand and took a sip. He then put aside the rum to unroll the aged parchment, the bottle placed on the baluster.

“Look here, Mr. Turner,” said Jack Sparrow. “As you know, this image is clearly the image of a key.”

“Um, yes,” Will Turner replied, the look of confusion forming on his face. “I guess that seems…so.”

“What wasn’t apparent to you, Mr. Turner, is this key right here has a symbolic meaning to it. You see, I’m not only Captain Jack Sparrow, world renowned pirate of the seven seas and captain of the Black Pearl. I’m also Dr. Jack Sparrow, renowned cryptologist with a Ph. D in Pirate Symbolisms.

Will Turner could feel something throbbing in his forehead, the mental pain that a person would usually feel if he or she had just heard a really stupid claim made by somebody who is batshit insane. In this case, a really drunk pirate.

“Ugh, Jack, I think you’ve just had about enough of rum for one day.” Will Turner said as he reached for the bottle on the baluster.

“No, don’t touch the rum!” Jack Sparrow was quick to reply, his hands quicker in intercepting Will Turner’s hands. However his careless haste caused him to accidentally knock the rum bottle off the baluster and into the Caribbean sea bellow. The bottle floated idly for a while before a large enough wave swept it up against the port side hull, smashing the bottle into pieces.

“Argggghh,” Jack Sparrow cursed, at the same time trying to sound like a real pirate. “Rum isn’t easy to come by these days, and our stocks are low. I just hope there’s a Seven Eleven once we’ve reached Singaporean shores. Also I don’t actually know what a Seven Eleven is. I just felt like saying it as if the word makes much sense to me just now.”

Jack Sparrow’s face suddenly lit up, as if he had just remembered something. He then continued to reach down into his underpants and pulled out another bottle of rum from his crotch. Will Turner was as much awed as he was disgusted at his friend’s disturbing obsession for rum, at the same time wondering what sort of vile taste that would come out of a rum that was crotch-brewed for at least an hour.

“You’re sick as shit, Jack. You know that right?” Will Turner saw Jack Sparrow taking a gulp from the bottle, and instantly he felt something coming up his throat and felt like puking off the baluster into the sea. He restrained himself from doing so.

“Now, back to the symbolic parchment.” Jack Sparrow said as he wiped the rum off his mouth with his sleeve. “Now Mr. Turner, let me ask you a question. What does an image of a key on an aged piece of cloth symbolizes?”

“I have no idea, Jack. I have no idea what the fuck it symbolizes. I don’t even know what in bloody hell the word ‘fuck’ means. I just felt like saying it, as if it’s the most natural thing to come out of my mouth in my fucked-up state of mind.”

“Of course you don’t know, because you’re not a Ph. D certified cryptologist like me. But I can say this, Mr. Turner, that the key here which lies in my hands is the key which opens what all pirates treasure most. Care to take a guess at what that is, Mr. Turner?”

Will Turner scratched his head for a while, thinking up possible and logical answers for Jack Sparrow’s probably pointless and inane question. “A treasure chest, I guess, or maybe even loot?”

“Nooooooooooooo!” Jack Sparrow shouted into Will Turner’s ear. “The one thing, Mr. Turner, THE very absolute one thing that ALL pirates treasure the most is…”

Jack Sparrow paused to give dramatic effect.

“…pussy, Mr. Turner, and this key is to open the chastity belt worn by of a hot, voluptuous and very repressed virgin lady somewhere.”

That pain in his forehead again. Will Turner could feel the veins in his temple bulging at the sheer intensity of stupid he had just heard. “That is…it’s…wow…Jack, I never knew you’re so fucked up. And again, I still don’t know what ‘fucked’ is.

“But that’s not all, Mr. Turner,” Jack continued on his explanation. “You see that this key has twin shafts, and the word ‘key’ has the initial ‘k’. So this means this key leads to the glorious pussy of a lady whose name bears the initials ‘KK'.

"What in the bloody hel are you talking abou-"

"And since there's a small hole on the helm of the key, this combined with the twin shafts would mean that this lady likes to have it in the ass and in the pussy at the same time."

Will Turner was now convinced that his friend was insane. “And who might this girl be, Jack? Your mom?”

“No, my dear sarcastic Mr. Turner. Not at all. The only lady name that I can come up with that has the initials of KK is…’

Jack paused again. The moment was the climax, the suspense building up from the point they found the parchment to this moment of undeniable truth. The crew on the birds nest drummed on the wood to make the stage effect of a drum roll towards a climaxing event.

“…Kiera Knightly. Mr. Turner, this key belongs to the chastity belt worn by Kiera Knightly, the bisexual lady!”

Both of them stood silent at Jack Sparrow’s revelation, one of them couldn’t comprehend what he had just said while the other couldn’t believe how insanely stupid his friend was.

“Well then,” Jack Sparrow said, snapping out of the silence. “Now that we know which pussy this key belongs to, we should start looking for her then!”

Will Turner didn’t answer. He knew that whatever answer he would give will just add into Jack Sparrow’s pool of dumb thoughts.

“Ahoi, mateys!” Jack Sparrow shouted toward his crew on deck. “We shall have ourselves some pussy!” The whole crew shouted cheerfully.

“Now, let us set sail towards Americaland,” jack Sparrow continued. “I heard that’s where all the best pussies come from. Pussies and threesomes here I come!”

“Fuck you, Jack” Will Turner uttered. “And for some reason, saying that felt so much satisfying.”

THE END.

Most of you readers probably know that Xbox360, the highly-anticipated successor to the Xbox developed by Microsoft, has already been released for retail a few weeks ago in the United States while the rest of the world will have to wait for the coming December or early in 2006. The gaming rig, armed with advanced processing power, cutting-edge Radeon graphics, sleek new design and a spanking list of 20 new titles for the launch, will face fierce competition when Sony and Nintendo, two of the biggest names in console development, releases their next-generation console systems, the Playstation 3 and the Nintendo Revolution respectively, with both of them scheduled for release in mid 2006.

As a veteran and hard core gamer, I feel that a momentous occasion such as the release of Xbox360 serves as a footnote in gaming history, as Microsoft’s C.E.O and Chairman Bill Gates is poised to turn the Xbox line of consoles into a household name while trying to dethrone the all powerful Sony Corp and, at the same time, chisel away the old school Nintendo Ltd out of the competition. As an accomplished journalist, I, Raysheadth Roseland, took some pains to conduct an interview with none other than the multi-billionaire Bill Gates himself to discuss the future and opportunity for the Xbox360.

ME: Thank you, Mr. Gates, for taking some time out of your busy schedule to sit with us for this interview.

BILL GATES: We’re chatting on MSN Messenger, Mr. Roseland.

ME: I know that. I just like to imagine myself being in the host of a popular talk show, sitting on a nice comfy sofa on a stage set with a live audience cheering in front of me, so please bear with me. Oh, and by the way, please don’t call me by my last name; I’d rather you call me Mr. Raysheadth instead.

BILL GATES: Oooohkay…

ME: I’m glad that you understand, Mr. Gates. Please, by all means, have a sip of Mochachinno on the table next to you.

BILL GATES: …

ME: …

BILL GATES: …

ME: Ehem, so Mr. Gates…if there is only one question in the world that I could ask of you, then it would either be if there is any way I can be as filthy rich as you are or whether or not the Windows OS was coded by Satan. But since such unprofessional questions would be extremely offensive to you, I’m left with this query: What are your thoughts on the recently-released Xbox360? Any expectations?

BILL GATES: Well, I can’t tell you my secret to become a multi-zillionaire like I am, and I can’t reveal to you the details and intricacies behind the development of WindowsXP, although your accusation of it being programmed by Satan was surprisingly close. But I can tell you this, Mr. Raysheadth – Xbox360 is the future, and you should have no doubt about it. We’ve worked so hard to push the boundaries of console technology with the Xbox360. In fact, we’ve even gone so far as to chain the ankles of our Research & Development team, lock them inside the computer lab, and forced them to work their asses off 24-7 under extreme scrutiny, and if any one of the members has the gall to doze off or day dream, then a huge man wearing a LOTR Balrog suit will suddenly appear in front of the poor fool and, with his fiery whip, mercilessly lashes his back like the pitiful slave that he is.

ME: Interesting. I guess morale-boosting techniques in the corporate world have changed a lot these days. Please, do elaborate more on what you meant by the Xbox360 being the future of console gaming. What sort of opportunity and promise does the console hold that would change the console gaming market which, for the last two decades, have been in the tight grip of several Japanese-based electronic companies such as Sony, Nintendo and the now defunct Sega?

BILL GATES: Well, Mr. Raysheadth, to tell you the truth, when I first hatched an idea about an all-American gaming console, I never knew that the system would go so far as to rival the PS or even the Gamecube. But thanks to the Halo series, we’ve finally built a foothold for our expansion into the gaming market, and we’re expanding our frontlines with Xbox360. As we speak, my PR team is working hard with my lawyers to find a lopehole in the judicial system which somehow states that it is illegal for a a family in a household to own any other console besides the Xbox360, and that each person who is 18 or above is required by law to buy at least one copy of any of the Halo titles.

ME: Quite an interesting perspective you have there. No doubt that Halo was one of the important titles that had catapulted the original Xbox among the ranks of the big players and made Xbox into a household name. But with Halo 3 still in development and won’t turn gold until mid next year, what kind of strategy do you have in mind to rope in the millions of gamers who had bought the first Xbox just so that they could play Halo and it’s sequel Halo 2, which are by far the only two games worth playing among the sea of pathetic and underachieving crap titles such as Oddworld and Dead or Alive?

BILL GATES: Good question there, Mr. Raysheadth. You probably remembered how we’ve demonstrated the advanced technological capabilities of the Xbox360 in several pass press releases. What we didn’t show you in the demos was the fact that each Xbox360 machine has a built-in chip that locks into the brainwave pattern of any Xbox360 user, making anyone who so much as even touches the D-pad ends up being instantly hooked to the machine…for life, or at least until Xbox3 comes up.

ME: Er…a sound marketing plan. But, Mr. Gates…aren’t you worried that mind-influencing devices such as the afore-mentioned mind-locking chip would lead to outrage among several public entities including concerned parents, human-rights groups, international governments, and several terrorists organizations? As human beings with a sense of free will, you have to agree that most of us are a little bit unnerved about your idea of a chip that is basically digital marijuana on steroids.

BILL GATES: I sense your worries there, Mr. Raysheadth. Besides, I didn’t become the richest multi-kajillionaire on the planet by ignoring my customers, slave or otherwise. Here at Microsoft, we understand our customers more than they understand themselves, so we know exactly what’s good for them and what’s not. And what’s good for them is that they stay glued to the Xbox360 for the rest of their meaningless lives, only leaving the house just to buy the latest copy of Halo, continuing to feed my wealth into such an ineffable amount that I would be able to buy myself entire countries with a write of a check.

ME: Well, I should say that such a bold move requires extensive planning, not to mention a huge drain on your resources. It is a long shot, and if I am not mistaken, you are beginning to sound like a madman who is hell-bent on taking over the world. Would acts such as forcing people to play the Xbox360 beyond their will and ‘buying entire countries with a write of a check’ constitute to you bringing about a new world order under your supreme leadership?

BILL GATES: Precisely, my good man. I can see it, Mr. Raysheadth, I can see with clarity my future as Imperator Bill Gates, Lord of the Microsoft Empire, Sovereign of Humanity. We’ve already begun a project under the co-operation of several underground pharmaceutical organizations to develop a new type of synthetic humans. These humans will be able to accurately resemble anyone, right down to their DNA sub-structure, and we will send them to infiltrate into the highest ranks of government bodies and organizations by kidnapping real world leaders and replacing them with our puppet synths. As of now, we are nearly done with a prototype synth that resembles George W. Bush, and should be ready to ‘replace’ the President around mid 2006.

ME: Around mid 2006? As I recalled, that is the period of time which you will release the widely-anticipated Halo 3 for the Xbox360. Such an event would surely pull a lot of public attention, thus making the transition between the President and your ‘synth’ that much easier. Mr. Gates, I must say that I admire your brilliance. Since this meeting, I think I’ve begun to have a newfound respect for your wise decision-making and ruthlessness in striving for your goal, both being important characteristics for a cold-blooded despot.

BILL GATES: I’m glad you understood, Mr. Raysheadth., because you might as well kneel before me and kiss my foot as a sign of respect to your future dictator, for I am the future of humanity, and I shall hold a tight grip on the leash of mankind, and that grip will be cold and inhumane. As for those who would have the mettle to oppose my future new world order, we’ve begun an R&D project to create the most efficient and lethal cyborg warrior, codenamed Sentinel, with it’s AI code based on our latest Windows technology. Once the project is finished, we will mass-produce the Sentinels and send them to silence the rebellion. And when I mean silence, I mean that the streets will run red with the blood of the rebels, man woman and child, while their dead carcasses will be sent to bio-processing plants so that they can be processed to fuel the might of my machine-like empire. So says Imperator Bill Gates, Lord of the Microsoft Empire, Sovereign of Humanity.

ME: You shouldn’t count your eggs before they hatch, Mr. Gates. Despite your well-thought-out plans of world domination, there will always be that one person who you’ll forget to count upon, the heroic underdog who will throw a wrench into the cogs of your tyrannical rule. He will be nothing but a simple man; trapped in the wrong place at the wrong time, unsure of his fate, yet eventually he will realize his true destiny and stand stoically against all odds, battling his way through your relentless minions. In the end, he will rise up before you and, in the last climactic battle between the forces of good and evil, finally dethrone you of your unjust ways, thus starting a new golden age of freedom and enlightenment the likes of which has never happened before in the annals of humanity.

BILL GATES: We shall see about that, Mr. Raysheadth.

ME: Indeed, we shall, Mr. Gates.

BILL GATES: …

ME: …

BILL GATES: …

ME: Ehem … well that’s about it for this session. Again, many thanks to you, Mr. Gates for being here in this insightful interview regarding the future of Xbox360.

BILL GATES: You’re certainly welcome, Mr. Raysheadth. And…err, you still realize that this interview was purely conducted through MSN Messenger, right?

ME: Yeah, I know. What can I say … I love Larry King.

Ron Weasley took out a long and huge contraption, which seemed to be made out of several long cylindrical barrels with muzzles at one end, all strapped together by a belt. As soon as Ron initiated the trigger mechanism, the barrels started rotating rapidly, like a cog, and suddenly thunderous booms were heard as flares shot out from the muzzles of the barrels. Within seconds, the majestic unicorn that stood at the end of the field, peacefully munching on the grass, was instantly turned into a bloody carcass of a horse, with numerous gaping holes oozing out blood and various internal organs littered the already blood-smeared earth underneath the unicorn’s now lifeless body.

“Hah, I bet a hundred galleons that you can’t top that one Harry!” shouted Ron with arrogance, so confident that he will win the contest this time and sweep away the coveted prize of Skoozelbum whores.

Harry didn’t even flinch after witnessing such a spectacular performance from Ron’s monstrous machine. Ignoring Ron’s verbal abuse, Harry slowly kneeled down to unzip his huge duffel bag lying next to his feet. He then took out a contraption that seemed like a single long cylindrical barrel, much like Ron’s, except that it was of much superior size, with one end shaped like a metallic elongated mushroom. Harry firmly placed the contraption on his right shoulder, the mushroom end pointing forward, and carefully aimed the the thing towards the second unicorn. With a pull from a trigger, a huge mushroom-shaped head suddenly shot out from the end of cylinder. Its flaming back leaves a smoking trail as it approached in rapid speed towards the hapless pony. Once the object and pony reached contact, all the spectators closed their eyes and ears as a much thunderous sound was made accompanied by a large fiery explosion that blew up the unicorn into small flaming bits. Once the spectating crowds ceased to cover their ears and slowly opened their eyes, they were horrified to find themselves covered with bloody strips of burning flesh and smeared blood. One of the judges threw up after the charred remains of the intestinal part of the horse landed directly on the judges’ table.

“I guess you owe me 100 galleons Ron,” said Harry with a smirk on his face. ”Maybe better luck on next year’s Annual Hogwarts Unicorn Slaughtering Competition!”

* * * * *

After a long night of passionate love-making, Harry lighted a cigarette while Hermione was lying beside him in bed. Harry noticed an unpleasant look on her face, at the same time wondering what he had done wrong this time.

“Hermione,” Harry spoke, “I promise that Ron will not find out about this. Ron and I have been the best of friends, and as far as he knows, my frequent visits to your place are explainable with the excuse of studying Magic Calculus together. I assure you he won’t suspect a thing.”

That look still remained on her face as she turned away from Harry, lying on her side.

“Oh, Harry, it’s not about that,” she said in a slow voice, as if concealing a secret of some sort.

“Then what is the problem then, sugarplums? What, is it the sex? Was I too rough on you? You don’t like me smoking like this? For Pete’s sake, it’s hard for me to figure you out unless you tell me,” Harry replied in a sterner voice.

Hermione turned back facing Harry. Tears ran down from her supple cheeks to her firm, well rounded breasts.

“Harry,” Hermione spoke sheepishly, “this morning at the dorm I took a few pregnancy tests. And the…they…all of the tests…turned out to be...to be…you know…”

“What Hermione, turned out to be what?” Harry asked sternly while staring deeply into her blue eyes, as if he already knew the answer to that question.

“They all tested positive Harry…” replied Hermione. “I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant with your child.”

Upon hearing this, Harry instantly got up from bed and started to walk back and forth in the room in an agitated way, his unfinished cigarette still held in hand as a moment of silence engulfed the room. The look of confusion and contempt on his face gave Hermione the feeling that this news won’t bode well with him.

“Hermione, dear,” Harry broke the silence. “You can’t have the baby. You have to go to the doctor first thing in the morning and get rid of it. I don’t need…”

Before Harry could finish his sentence, his left cheek was met with the flat surface of Hermione’s right hand as she angrily slapped his face.

“You heartless bastard,” Hermione cursed, her faced filled with scorn. “You slept in my bed every night Harry, EVERY NIGHT!! And now you think you can just walk away with this? Curse you Harry! Curse the very day you were born!”

Harry’s face turned red. Not because of the slap, but red with anger. In an instant, Harry raised his palm and struck down Hermione, who was already crying her eyes out for Harry’s irresponsibility. Hermione fell down to the corner of the room, the pain on her bruising left cheek surpassed only by the pain in her broken heart.

“Bitch,” Harry scorned. “I don’t need to deal with this shit right now. You had better get rid of the baby by tomorrow or else I’ll kill you, you understand that you worthless whore? I’LL FREAKIN’ KILL YOU!!”

“You won’t get away with this,” Hermione screamed at Harry. “I swear to Christ you won’t get away with this!!”

Harry then hastily puts on his clothes. He grabbed his Nimbus3000 broomstick, and with a wave from his magic wand, flew out of the window into the darkness of the night, leaving Hermione to deal with the conflict on her own…

* * * * *

The air in the room felt heavy. A glass of water stood untouched on the square table in the middle of the small room, with Miss McGonagall sitting on a chair at one side. Next to the glass was a file brought in by two interrogators. Both of them were in the room with her, one pacing back and forth in front of McGonagall as if to psyche her while the other stood with his back laid against the wall with crossed arms.

“Tell me Ms McGonagall,” the pacing interrogator started to talk. “Where were you during the night of 28th?”

“I was at my office doing overtime,” McGonagall replied. ”The stack of my students’ test papers was piling up high and I need to mark them before class session the next day.”

“Really?” said the interrogator with a smirk on his face. “So you’re saying that you have absolutely nothing to do with the murder of Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?

“My goodness, no” McGonagall replied defensively. “I’ve known the man ever since my first days of teaching in Hogwarts, and I have enormous respect for the old man for being the headmaster and at the same time as an old friend who has been there for me to help me out in troubled times. How dare you think of me as such!”

The atmosphere started to heat up. McGonagall turned to look at the wall-sized one sided mirror, knowing full well that the events taking place in the room was being observed by a number of investigators on the other side. The other interrogator in the room with his back against the wall was still playing it quiet.

“So you were never in any way envied Prof. Dumbledore’s position as headmaster of Hogwarts?” the interrogator asked. “Are you saying that you never held any contempt by the fact that you are unable to take over as Headmistress of Hogwarts until he steps down or passes away? You know what we call that sort of thing around here Miss McGonagall? We call that a motive.”

The interrogator then gave McGonagall a cold stare, trying to break her down. McGonagall felt the stare, and soon nervousness struck her and instantly she felt the need to reach for the glass of water. The gulping sounds were audible as she gulps down the entire glass, trying to calm down the rushing blood in her body.

As soon as McGonagall put down the glass, the interrogator slammed down the file in front of her and flipped it open, page by page, to show her photographs from the crime scene. Most of them show Prof. Dumbledore’s lifeless body sprawled on the floor in his home at his living quarters in Hogwarts. A close up photo of his face clearly showed his gaping mouth and wide opened eyes, as if frozen at the last horrible moment of living. There was no blood. No bruises. No signs of struggling. Whoever did this must have done it using magical means.

“You think we muggles don’t know about the magicks of your kind,” the interrogator spoke. ”But I can assure you we know just about everything there is to know about wizardry and witchcraft. You see that guy standing at the corner there?” He points his index finger towards the other interrogator who has been quiet all that time.

“What, you don’t recognize him, Miss McGonagall?” the interrogator added. “He’s an ex-student of Hogwarts, and he’s currently working in the Homicide branch of Hogs Meade Police Department. Whenever we get strange cases where people drop dead for absolutely no fucking reason, we usually call him to sort things out. And right now he’s here to make sure that you won’t use your dark trade to harm me!”

The interrogator motioned his head towards his partner. “Sam, show her the evidence.”
The other interrogator, who sat still during all that time, uncrossed his arms and reached into his coat to pull out an air-tight plastic bag containing the evidence. He then reached out and passed the bag to his partner. He then went back to his original position.

“Look at this Miss McGonagall,” said the investigator sternly, “look at this very carefully. We found this when we raided your office in Hogwarts shortly after we acquired the proper search warrant. This is your magic wand, am I right?”

“Yes, indeed this is my magic wand,” McGonagall replied questionably.

“Well when my friend Sam here went to check the crime scene, he found fresh traces of ectoplasmic activity that is unique only to your wand,” the interrogator explained. “You can bullshit us all you want lady, but here only the evidence counts!”

“Do you know what the penalty for homicide is Miss McGonagall?” the interrogator continued. “It’s either a life sentence with zero hope for probation or the lethal injection. Now, which one you are going to get depends on how much you are going to cooperate with us on this matter, Miss McGonagall.”

McGonagall sat still. Aware that the two now have enough proof to lock her up, she collected her thoughts and assessed the situation.

“I want to talk to my lawyer.”

* * * * *

Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley met together n Starbucks. They were sitting around a table, talking about the old times; how much they’ve changed after Hogwarts, their lives, their thoughts for the future and as such. However, their conversation almost ended abruptly after one of them happened to mention the death of their beloved Prof. Dumbledore.

“Ah, good ol’ Dumbledore,” lamented Malfoy. “Such a sad thing that such a respectable man had to pass away so soon. I still remember the times when the silly man used to locked himself up alone in his room to polish his aging wand.”

“Yes, good ol’ Dumbledore,” said Hermione. “He didn’t just polish his wand all the time, you know. He would polish the other teachers’ wands for a few magic rocks.”

“Hah, right you are about that,” said Ron. “I think he’d probably polished every wand from here to Hogwarts!”

All three nodded aye as they took a sip from their caffeinated beverages.

“Let us all sing an ode to the old man….”

His mouth flowed withthe milk of kindness;
His lips gave joy,
his tongue flapped as if by wind,
for every man and boy;
His beard ran sticky with the…

THE END