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

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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.