Chapter End.
So we've taken a rather epic journey, dear reader. You, me, and my counterpart. We've managed to waffle through fifty thousand words, ranging from "a" to "antidisestablishmentarianism", in order to tell you this stirring (?) story of two men, their politically corrupt frog, and their brave, insipirational chocolate whale shark. This has been a tale of love, a tale of hate, and a tale of rather explicit proportions which, for your sakes, have hopefully been sufficiently glossed over. I just want to say welcome. To the last three thousand or so words of Pizzazz: A Deep, Meaningful and Abstract Exploration. Thank you for accompanying us on this little journey to tell a story which didn't really make any sense from the word go, but purely for the enjoyment of writing it all down, and achieving a motive that has fueled us since the beginning of November, the completion of this novel has been fulfillment enough.
When we last left our gallant heroes, they were fast asleep, under a blanket of Antarctic stars, high up in the sky, watching the various couples as they slumbered in each others arms. The centenarians known as Mr and Mrs Wrinkles were at bliss with the world at that moment in time, even the pesky cambot had respectfully shortened it's advances in order for their two gnarled hands to tentatively come together. Carver and Helen, after what was possibly the most splendid hour of Carver's life, were utterly exhausted from their antics, and lay rather unflatteringly all over Bobolous and Ben, with Sammy and the man baby attempting to reach their own lovers. Biscuit had scoffed at them all for a few minutes, before feeling sorry for herself and finding the aforementioned penguin to cuddle.
A rather loud raucous sound from Bobolous woke the group up with a start; whale sharks are at their randiest in the morning, you see, and it seemed that Sammy had been tenderly stimulating Bobolous'...dorsel fin. After Helen and Carver had finished laughing, and Ben and the man baby had finished telling off their son for embarrassing their family name in such a way, the group decided that, accompanied by the ever-protecting Mr and Mrs Wrinkles, they would continuing making their way to the South Pole, in order to find the dastardly presifrog, and stop his evil pizzazz-draining lemony schemes.
"Well I WOULD WALK FIVE HUNDRED MILES" - roared Helen
"And I WOULD WALK FIVE HUNDRED MORE" - roared Ben
"JUST TO BE THE MAN WHO WALKS A THOUSAND MILES TO FALL DOWN AT YOUR DOOR" - bellowed the rest of the group, before launching into the various harmonies of the next part of the song, mimicked by the popular animated comedy Family Guy. They had been gaily marching in this fashion for several hours now, and I, your devoted author, am happy to note that they were all in prime fitness during this expedition. Ben and Carver began to walk ahead of the others, even the seemingly unstoppable Helen - she seemed busy attempting to trick the cambot into leaving Mrs Wrinkles' frail wizened body.
"So Carver...well judging by last night, things are going rather well with Helen?" - Ben asked, fairly innocently
"Well yeah...is there any reason why they shouldn't be?"
"Not really. I'm just trying to be the typical "gay best friend" here, surely you understand that. I was just...making sure she's perfectly happy with the situation, because I'd hate to see her unhappy or hurt,"
"Well you have nothing to worry about, comrade. She will forever be treated like a queen by me, because that is the enormous amount of respect that she deserves. Her beauty shadows that of the likes of Helen of Troy, Juliet Capulet, and Angelina Jolie. I shall endeavour to be the man she deserves until the end of time, don't you worry." Carver gushed, a small happy tear appearing in the corner of one of his beautiful eyes, and Ben put an arm around him, squeezing him affectionately.
"You do have such beautiful eyes, Carver,"
"Helen remarked on them several times last night, while she was -"
"PLEASE DON'T MENTION LAST NIGHT."
Helen had eventually progressed to singing Frank Zappa songs at the top of her rather melodious voice, before even resorting to LIVE Frank Zappa songs. It is for this reason that we shall provide one of the final ampersands in this epic novel. Frank Zappa was an eccentric gentleman, as I'm sure you are aware. During his live performances, he would give displays of stupendous talent to his eager audience, as well as, quite simply, having a laugh. His band had been well known to make strange noises which could equate to that of sexual excitement during songs, as well as a repetition of the phrase "HI HO SILVER!" during particular years. It was this certain phrase that Helen had taken it to heart to repeat constantly, for the "entertainment" of the rest of the group. Carver and Ben, even if it was in slightly different ways, both loved her dearly, but even they were beginning to develop a twitch in their left eyes from the number of "HI HO SILVERS" their straining ears were forced to pay listening homage to.
As they drew closer to the imminent South Pole, the seriousness of the mission increased dramatically. Helen, Ben, Carver, the man baby, Bobolous, Sammy, Mr Wrinkles, Mrs Wrinkles, and Biscuit, had decided to become known under the title of the Fellowship of the Lemon, and all had their war faces on after the bout of silliness expressed by Frank Zappa songs. It was surely a most impressive sight to behold, the two majestic whale sharks, fin in fin, walking in the wake of Mrs Wrinkles, the cambot spirit ridden, yet unusually energetic old lady, and Biscuit...the little cat. Carver strode onwards in front of most of the group, but close enough to Mr Wrinkles to remain safe from the pizzazz-draining forces. Various members of the group remarked to each other rather quietly that he really did have an attractive looking behind. Carver pretended to have not heard them, needless to say. Helen walked a little way behind Carver, her happily toned behind provocatively not-shaking as she walked. Alongside her skipped Ben, looking as insanely happy and spontaneous as ever, exchanging raucously hilarious but whispered jokes with his dear old friend Helen, mostly to do with a certain aptitude of Carver's. Helen secretly thought that Ben was just jealous. On Ben's other side walked the man baby, as caring and devoted to his husband as ever, and Ben would of course remind him that he was grateful for this devotion, even though he paid most of his attention, sometimes unwillingly, to the prowess of Helen.
The lava lamp, extracted from Sammy's intestinal duct, was still lying in wait in Ben's rucksack, itching for Helen to drink it's pizzazly innards, to bring restoration and happiness to the world. Helen was still having nightmares about drinking something that came out of a whale shark's anus, but she supposed that if it was for the good of the world, she'd just have to tilt her head back and think of...well...rather a lot of countries. I'm afraid that your devoted author tried and failed to find a list of all the countries in the world separated by commas, but evidently that's too much to ask for on such a vast entity as the Internet.
During their epic final push to the South Pole, the Fellowship of the Lemon ventured through many tundras, many icy glaciers, and saw many strange things. I doubt that any member of that band of brothers, sisters, whales and cats will ever look at penguins the same way ever again. You see, contrary to popular opinion, penguins have highly complicated social lives, similar to that of your average United Arab Emirates expatriate private high school. There was an element of "everyone" in the air, and more often than not they would see a penguin crying in the corner, while several other penguins were huddled together tightly, exceedingly seriously discussing exactly who the crying in the corner penguin happened to look at during the events of the previous evening. Because, you know, it matters that much to penguins. They're like Sims, they're such social creatures. If they don't get their social bar up enough, some penguin dressed up as a clown will come, and unless the penguins set the painting of the clown ablaze, it will plague them forever more, and restrict their health bars from going up.
After these strange sights, Ben stopped the group, and rounded on his friend.
"Helen."
"Ben."
"You do realise that you have to do it, don't you?"
"I'm trying to pretend it's never going to happen, but yes."
"Well we can see the South Pole from here, and it said on the snowflake that you need to drink it relatively early on, to allow it to settle in your breasts."
A pause. Then -
"OH BEN PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS" Helen wailed, before having to be consoled by Carver, who looked equally disheartened by the thought of his sweetheart having to do such a thoroughly disgusting thing.
"Ben, you're a psychic aren't you? Couldn't you -"
"DO I LOOK LIKE I HAVE BOOBS?" Ben roared, his eyes popping out of his head. "Heh, just kidding, I'm not that crazy. But Helen dearest, you HAVE to do it. We'll all be here, holding your hands and telling you it's okay. Because of course, it's not okay. But we'll pretend it's okay."
"Ben...evidently you don't know me as well as you or I thought. You know what all those PE teachers and military generals had to do to get me to exercise," Ben remembered with an uneasy jolt. He did indeed know what all those PE teachers and military generals had to do to Helen to get her to exercise. He didn't want to have to resort to that, though. But perhaps it was the only way. To save the world. From this evil evil force of...evil. Short snappy sentences add to dramatic potential. Did you. Know. Of. This?
"You know I love you, don't you Helen? I just have to do this to get you to -"
"Yes yes, I know, Ben. I've learned to put up with it, don't worry. I won't hold anything against you.
Ben whispered what he was required to do to make Helen drink it to Carver, who, as Ben anticipated, looked utterly scandalised. The look on Ben's face told him that it was the only way. Carver and Ben both took a deep breath. Carver couldn't bring himself to start, so Ben had to.
"HELEN. YOU FILTHY LOWLIFE JELLY DOUGHNUT-STASHING MAGGOT! HOW DARE YOU TRY AND JEOPARDISE THIS MISSION DUE TO YOUR STUPID GIRLY PET HATES?! IF YOU DON'T DRINK THAT LAVA LAMP RIGHT NOW I SHALL SMEAR IT WITH SOMETHING EVEN WORSE, AND MAKE YOU EAT THE GLASS AFTERWARDS,"
"YEAH HELEN," yelled Carver,"NO MORE SEX FOR YOU, EVER AGAIN, IF YOU DON'T DO IT. BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHY!? I WOULDN'T WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH A WIMPY LITTLE GIRL WHO WON'T EVEN DRINK THE JUICE OF A LAVA LAMP THAT'S BEEN IN A WHALE SHARK'S ASSHOLE, THAT'S WHY!"
Helen's eyes filled with tears, at seeing the two men she loved most in the world being so awful to her, but she had to prove them wrong. It was almost as if that necessary little piece of her internal rifle had slid into place, and she was ready to start locking and loading. She marched over to Ben's rucksack, and firmly picked up the lava lamp in question. She focused, with all her might, on the fact that the lava lamp had been closed while it was...up there. So hopefully the juice of it wouldn't be too contaminated with Sammy faeces.
The entire fellowship watched with baited breath as Helen rose the defecated lava lamp to her lips, before downing the shimmering liquid in one fluid gulp. It tasted like a shot of tequila mixed with surgical ethanol and concentrated undistilled vodka in a sulphuric acid solution.
Carver let out a strange 'whoop' of joy before folding Helen into his arms and kissing her passionately. Helen responded with huge gusto, and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her lips even closer against his. Then of course, being the gay best friend, Ben ruined everything by jumping on top of them screaming "GROUP HUG". However, due to the euphoria of the situation, neither Carver or Helen minded, and the three of them lay on the floor giggling and cuddling each other. The slightly more sensible members of the fellowship were standing over them, smiling warmly at the rather touching scene taking place in front of them.
But now was not the time for such gay merriment, the fellowship still had the task of getting Helen to the south pole in time for the lava lamp to work to it's fullest effect, by her baring her rather ample cleavage to the world. Helen, now shining like some pizzazz-full goddess (for she was completely immune to the pizzazz-draining forces after drinking the lava lamp), was carried on the shoulders of Ben and Carver, who ran ahead, up a slight hill, to the now black and desolate pole creating what almost seemed like a crack in the rapidly setting sun.
The presifrog looked on in the utmost horror as the three heroes desperately scrambled to the south pole. It was the sight of this presifrog that caused Ben to stop in his tracks.
"Son...is that really you?"
"Yes father, it is." the presifrog said in a dull uninterested voice, "This is the ideal world that I have always dreamed of. I was born a corrupt politician from the start, but you never took that into consideration. You just kept feeding me joy and happiness and tender care, when it was really the opposite I wanted. I signed up for the Marines a few weeks ago, you know. Purely for the discipline, and the joy of being shouted at, maybe even beaten if I was lucky."
Ben sighed. Masochistic amphibians made him sigh.
"I'm finally doing what my perfect world was destined for now, Dad. I'm getting rid of all those vile forces you subjected me to as a tadpole, and I'm now molding the world into my ideal shape. I am the president, you see. I CAN DO THAT."
"Son...just be quiet. For one minute. Go over there, and resume your being quiet. I couldn't possibly live in a world like that, and you know it. Neither can Helen, your other father, your cat, your long lost younger brother, and the various other people connotated with us. I can't let you go along with this."
Ben then, with a heavy heart, splashed the remainder of the lava lamp juices onto the presifrog's slimy froggy body.
"No. No. Nooooooooo. My pizzazz is returning. I can feel IT! OH NO OH MY LORDLY LORD NO! THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENINGGG, WHY DO I SUDDENLY FEEL SO ELEVATED AND JOYFUL?"
"BECAUSE THAT'S PIZZAZZ, SON! REVEL IN IT! JOIN US!"
The presifrog was utterly stunned at the elated feelings oozing up through his midriff, and he joined his father in an epic air guitar solo to Lynyrd Skynyrd's Freebird, which had conveniently started playing out of thin air. Of course, while they were doing this, the man baby had joined them, in order to create the optimum distraction for Helen to be lifted up by Carver, and for her to pull the totally oblivious Le-Mon off the pole (Le-Mon was still rather tired from Helen and Carver's antics, you see. Helen had formulated a nice little plan concerning utterly wearing Carver out with her sexual advances, and because of the connection between him and Le-Mon, Le-Mon would be too exhausted to put up a fight when they got there.)
Helen clamboured onto the pole with some difficulty - she was still mortally afraid of heights - and discovered that she was in a highly uncomfortable position. She was, however, a psychic. Psychics should never be uncomfortable. That's why they conjure cushions out of thin air in order to make themselves not be uncomfortable. Which is exactly what Helen did, due to her being a psychic. And if you can see through my transparent attempts of finishing this bloody thing by adding a lot of unnecessary sentences then poo to you with knobs on, using the wise words of Blackadder, season 3.
After being seated on her cushion, Helen realised something quite bad. In fact, it was an exceedingly bad thing. She could suddenly see the entire world on top of the pole. She had no idea how she could do this, but the point is, she could. And she got the feeling that it meant that everyone else could see her too. And sure enough, people all over the world were pointing at the enlightened figure down south.
Upon realising that she had to show her boobs to the world, Helen began whimpering. This was worse than she could have possibly imagined. Ben sensed this worry, and summoned the thoughts of Brianna Banks, Jenna Jameson, Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton, and Kelsey Michaels to guide her through this difficult time. Their thoughts echoed as one.
"Helen. We've all done it. It's not nearly as difficult as you would imagine, all you have to do is FLAUNT WHAT YOUR MAMMA GAVE YOU! FOR THE GOOD OF THE WORLD! GO FORTH, SISTER!"
Thinking of the momentous introduction of Heroes of our Time, by Dragonforce, Helen took a deep breath. It was the deepest breath ever heard on the entire planet. She then unbuttoned her shirt, letting it drop down to the ground.
A second later, her bra had dropped down to the ground as well.
Helen now perched, completely topless, on top of the South Pole, with wolf-whistles, cheers, orgasmic gasps, and screams echoing towards her from the rest of the world. All things considered, it was a very special moment. Despite the fact that she'd just shown her boobs to everyone in the world.
A vibrant red and purple light escalated upwards, encircling the opening in the universe, and bringing all the lost pizzazz back down to the world. It flew back into the world, before the entire globe partook in one huge street party. It was certainly a bonny day that day.
And so we are nearing the end of this epic tale of Bobolous the whale shark, of Ben, Helen, Carver, and the man baby. Of Sammy and Biscuit, and of Mr and Mrs Wrinkles. The presifrog had once again become the faithful and intelligent president that the world so desperately wanted, and Le-Mon had also lost his lemon-ness, for it came about that the cambot was the cause of the strange connection between him and Carver. So now these two separate people were able to live in the same universe, as two separate human beings. Both of course very happy, as they were both united with the persons they loved.
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