Week 123

Ariana Huffington and George Takei watched as the giant waterbug carried Kanye West away into the Insekt spacecraft.

“Didn’t see that coming,” Takei said. “I did,” the psychic sorceress responded smugly.

“As did I,” came a thought, unbidden, into their minds. It was Pulpo Paul, standing in his walking suit next to Toki.

“Cover me, George!” Ariana cried, forming an orb of protection around herself just as Paul unleashed a blast of psychic energy.

The two foes faced each other across the sand, which was slick with black bug’s blood. “Say that three times fast!” Paul challenged.

Huffington merely laughed. “Not a chance!” She narrowed her eyes, then unleashed a riposte: “Silly sheep weep and sleep!” Paul grimaced.

The psychic cephalopod realized he should not underestimate Huffington’s powers. Only one of them would survive this direct confrontation.

Both George Takei and Toki, the robo-monkey martial arts master, remained on guard, protecting Ariana and Paul as they faced off.

But more and more, the Insekts seemed to be concentrating their attacks on the rapidly tiring Snowy and Murder Cat, further up the shore.

“Preshrunk silk shirts!” Paul thought forcefully. At last Huffington felt the octopus’s power. “Preshrunk silk shirts! Three times, fast!”

Kanye’s robot squire, confused by his sudden absence, somehow discerned Pulpo Paul’s thoughts and began rummaging in the wardrobe bag.

He pulled out a lavender preshrunk silk shirt and moved forward toward the octopus, but Toki, seeing this as a threat, leapt into his way.

The metallic macaque twirled his nunchaku, but the robot squire had no threat-recognition programming and so continued toward Pulpo Paul.

Paul and Huffington glared at each other; Takei killed the occasional giant flying roach with his sword. No one was watching the robots.

Faster and faster, Toki twirled his danger sticks in more and more elaborate patterns as Kanye’s robot squire came ever closer.

Just as he reached Toki, the robot squire held out the preshrunk silk shirt—ensnaring the nunchaku so suddenly that Toki’s arm broke off.

“Eleven benevolent elephants!” Huffington thought triumphantly. Pulpo Paul blinked. “No,” he countered, “it’s seventy-seven. Try it.”

“Seventy-seven benevolent elephants?” Huffington paused. “Seventy-seven benevolent elephants, seventy-sefen benefolant … ARGGH!”

George Takei wheeled around just in time to see Huffington’s head explode, splattering her brains across her orb of protection.

Watching the monitor inside the K-7, Black Ops saw both robots disabled, while Pulpo Paul and George Takei eyed each other warily.

“Peaches, and/or Herb!” he called. “Can you take me to shore? I have to some repairs to tend to!”

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