Chief Inspector Gadgetwupi strutted back and forth smacking his hand with his elephant-riding crop, in front of the teenager fresh from the streets of Mumpie, India. The boy hung by his tied wrists from the ceiling, stretched longer than he’d ever been stretched before from the weight of a couple of car batteries dangling from jumper cables connected to his toes. And the chipping, flaking paint on the ceiling was lead-based. Most unhealthy.
Chief Inspector Gadgetwupi suddenly stopped and cried, “Go, go, gadget torture!!”
Up from his stylish turban popped eight mechanical blue arms which began tickling the poor boy mercilessly. One arm reached back into the magic turban and drew forth a feather duster.
Life was often this bad for poor Jamal Wilkes Bhoothi. Except for yesterday, when, in order to find the girl of his dreams, Jamal became a contestant on the popular Indian TV show WHO DARES TO BE A MILANAIRE, in which contestants try to win enough money to move to Milan to become wealthy Italians.
Inspector Gadgetwupi continued smacking his hand with the crop. “So, Jamal ... stop that giggling!” He cracked poor Jamal across his vast nose. “Jamal! No one believes you just happened to know the answers to all those questions. Who do you think you are? Buddha?? Son of Buddha? Buddha’s nephew? Buddha’s crack dealer??”
Poor Jamal just whispered: “I just knew.”
“And how did you know?? Do you have vast knowledge, stuffed up inside that vast nose of yours? I think not. How much education do you have? How far did you get in school?”
When Jamal did not answer right away, the police sergeant helping out with the torture swung his vast arm to smack Jamal in the face but Jamal deftly intercepted the blow with his vast nose.
“What is ‘school’?”, asked Jamal. He began waggling his head around in an amazing figure-8 pattern. “I never done school -- I don’t do drugs.” Dejectedly, he continued waggling his head around so much that it made the police sergeant nauseous and he fled to go purge.
“So, then, Jamal, maybe you were just lucky, yes??” The Inspector turned to the somewhat greenish sergeant who had just returned. “Vinnie, increase the voltage!” The sergeant was from New York, hired for his electrically persuasive methods.
“Ok, boss!” He spun up the big black voltage dial, smacked the two cold steel electrodes onto poor Jamal’s naked chest -- shaved because Jamal liked to bike fast -- and yelled, “Clear!!” The inspector took a step backward and then felt the hair on his head stretch upward as thousands of volts zapped through poor Jamal who stretched upwards even more. Inspector Gadgetwupi muttered quickly: “Go, go, gadget grounding strap!”
The sergeant chortled, “Heh, heh, heh! He can have a pretty good spot in the NBA after this, huh, boss?”
“What is NBA??”, the inspector demanded. “We don’t have that here. Get with the program, Sergeant, and learn the ways of your adopted land. You can’t even hold down your curry!”
Jamal whispered the explanation that it is karma and he has the answers only because of events in his life.
Spitting out blood and blowing his vast nose on the sergeant’s vast coattail, Jamal in a ragged voice offered to tell them the story of his life.
“That is okay,” answered the inspector. “But if you waggle that head of yours once more, so help me Vishnu, I will plug you into the wall socket myself -- and it is 220 volts A.C., you know!”
“Okay, okay,” Jamal said quickly. “I’ll be cool -- chill, sahib.”
His story began with his earliest ...
...to be continued TOMORROW night...
by DoUgLaS kEnDaLl
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Email comments to--- doug@DougKen.com
:-) <-- Required warning to anyone with HA (Humor Anemia)