[ Boys and girls, we have a rare treat, in order to celebrate the final chapter of SLUMDOG. Tonight’s reading will be performed by Homie the Clown! ... What’s that? What’s that? Oh, sorry. We just learned that Homie was picked up by the Pleasanton police FORCE outside of Pastout Times Pool Room downtown and that he’ll be spending the night entertaining the drunk tank. So, here’s how Slumdog ends...
Jamal began waggling his head in that odd figure-8 pattern, and replied to the TV show host, “Kind sir, yes, I will take you up on your very, very kind offer to let me phone... phone a friend, my only true friend.”
The host, his voice tense with annoyance, his hand clutching his toupee, replied: “I will let you call, but first you must stop waggling that silly head of yours with those vast ears! What a typhoon you generate! Look, you’ve blown my toupee completely off my head -- I look like Gandhi!” He suddenly leaned forward staring at Jamal, and hissed: “Like.. GHANDI.”
Jamal apologized, “Oh, kind sir, I am very sorry. Please, let me call the cell phone of my dear brother S’lime, my only friend in the world.”
A phone was handed to him. Jamal realized he did not remember S’lime’s cell number. Then he remembered that he might just have one other friend. He placed a call and muttered into the phone.
The audience remained deathly quiet. It was so quiet that noses could be heard whistling. Tummies rumbled. Gas escaped. Suddenly a ring tone loudly began playing the latest hit from the rock band SLIPKNOT (the top band of the ‘dismemberment rock’ musical genre). Everyone around the girl fumbling with the phone angrily shushed her, scolding: “Chi, chi, chi, you skanky dressed, obviously ex-slumdog girl!”
Jamal cried into the phone: “S’lime! Who was the musketeer who invented the sword that would revolve??”
From the audience came a cry: “Jamal, it is Homer Colt! He invented the first revolver pistol!” She was again shushed by the audience.
The host stood and furiously roared: “That was audience participation! Jamal, you are disqualified -- you lose!”
The girl in the audience stood and yelled, “Chi, chi, you typically corrupt TV host! I am at the other end of Jamal’s phone call.” She waved the cell phone. “This is his brother’s cell phone!”
Jamal jumped to his feet. “I agree with her answer! I actually heard it over the phone! It is indeed Homer Colt -- yes, it is!”
The host whirled on him. “You have not won, slumdog! She could have received that call from anyone -- we do not know who you called!”
Jamal waved the phone in the air, crying that he had called the Mumpie telephone call center; his friend had looked up S’lime and forwarded the call, and there would be a paper trail to prove it!
Jamal crowed: “Oh, goodie for me, I have won the 20 million Rupees!” He beckoned to the girl in the audience. “Laxita! Laxita! Come on down, girl! Share in my joy and come dance with your honey!!”
She did and they danced. And the entire studio audience all joined in for one big amazingly perfectly choreographed freak dance, the music supplied by the studio band.
Jamal hugged Laxita tightly and kissed her passionately. Then, he grabbed the briefcase with the money.
But the TV host whipped out a pistol. “Not so fast, slumdog! There is no way a slumdog like you could know all those many answers. You cheated! I will take back that money!...”
He was interrupted by a commotion at one of the studio entrances. All the gangstas of S’lime’s vast local crime syndicate burst in waving large, automatic weapons, led by Laxita’s brother the chauffer who yelled, “Hand over the money, Laxita! I am your older brother, you know, and you must show respect, girl!...”
He was interrupted by several dozen local policemen bursting in, led by Sergeant Vinnie and the Inspector still wearing their bulletproof vests. “Attention, everyone! You are all under arrest! This TV show has failed to pay the new license fee suddenly due right now. Hand over the money to us for safe keeping!” Sergeant Vinnie snickered: “’Safe keeping’ -- yeah, right. That’s a good one, boss! Wait will I text that to my buddies back on the lower east side...” A long, mechanical arm with a large fist popped up out of Chief Inspector Gadgetwoopi’s turban, and pummeled the Sergeant into silence.
At still another entrance, a large crowd of teenage boys with absurdly high voices burst in, waving pinking sheers in a threatening manner.
Rush Limbaugh crashed through still another entrance driving his spare stretch Cadillac.
At another entrance, the Internal Revenue Service burst in, but they were quickly pushed out of the way by the California Franchise Tax Board led by a tall, silver colored robot with glowing red eyes who yelled, “Yah -- my term limit is up, so no more Mr. Nice Governor. Hand over the cash -- my State is broke!”
At another entrance, Mowgli burst in riding a mean, old tiger.
There was a deafening crash overhead as Amelia Earhart’s lost plane crashed in through the roof. Amelia bailed out, her parachute opened, she brandished an old, rusty pistol, and screeched, “Give me the cash -- I need gas money!”
Jamal looked at Laxita. “We have just got to get out of here -- and, for sure, right now, we must get out of here!”
He grabbed the big cup of coffee the host had poured, and downed it.
All the greedy parties were approaching him and Laxita, waving their weapons and demanding the 20 million Rupees (equivalent to 200 trillion Italian Lira, or 20 Euros).
Suddenly, Jamal’s head began to wag in a formidable figure-8 pattern. His vast ears -- more vast than ever before after getting boxed by the cruel police Sergeant Vinnie -- began generating enormous wind.
Laxita handed him the pot of remaining coffee. Jamal looked at it and cried: “No, Laxita! It is Italian roast!”
But the plucky girl just grabbed his vast nose, jerked it back opening his mouth, and poured in the rest of the pot.
Jamal cried, “KAILI!!” at the top of his lungs as his head became a blur. He grabbed Laxita around the waist, grabbed the briefcase full of his winnings, and they lifted up into the air.
The resulting cyclone blew everyone beneath them head over heels, tiger claws over tails, airplane rudder over ailerons, Cadillac hood over trunk -- even the big gold statues of big round Buddhas rolled away.
Jamal and Laxita lifted up through the hole in the ceiling from Amelia Earhart, whom they could still see in her parachute, blown up through hole, dwindling out of sight high above, eventually to be lost forever (again) over the Punjab jungle.
Jamal and Laxita flew non-stop to fashionable Milan, Italy where they settled down, rich and happy -- Jamal opening up the world’s first international telephone call screening franchise (calling it the Taj MyCall) -- and Laxita becoming the Milan fashion world’s top runway model and becoming rich in her own right by introducing an amazing line of do-it-yourself self-scarring kits, totally displacing the otherwise oh! so trendy do-it-yourself tattoo kits.
by DoUgLaS kEnDaLl
Author web site-------------> http://www.DougKen.com
Email comments or the Halloween combo to Golden Eagle Estates to---> doug@DougKen.com
:-) <-- warning to the humor impaired and other forum denizens