Letter F:
 Otherwise known as 16 in Hexadecimal


Written by: Transmetal

Kain turned around to view a sea of people. Not a group mind you, we're talking biblical size group of people. All wore the same black tshirt, adorned with the symble of a white ghost. Quietly at first, but louder and louder they chanted.

"Die Antwort ist B. O. O.! Die Antwort ist B. O. O. ! DIE ANTWORT IST B. O. O. ! DIE ANTWORT IST B. O. O. ! DIE ANTWORT IST B. O. O. !"

"Trans? Cheesy? Grab a bamboo sword..."

Cheesy Boy and Transmetal glance at each other.

"Nah, this one's all yours."

True to their characters, Cheesy rolled into a fetal position and mumbled to himself. Transmetal ran off screaming, leaving Kain with a coconut sword in one hand, and a bamboo in the other.

"Wow... ok."

Meanwhile, Spotlite was dealing with the aftermath of stealing a military jet.

"OH GOD NO PLEASE STOP!!! MAKE THE PAIN STOP!!!"

He will now reside in secret US terrorist prison for the remainder of the series. This is not because he's a boring character, nor is it because the author has some sort of political statement to make. The author is simply running out of ideas, very quickly. Observe the following.

"Alright, lets do this." Kain welds his coconut and bamboo swords, eyes blazing with a desire to sleep in past noon. He pauses for a deep breathe, then postures himself in the classic rentopoopoo style. Allegedly, this style allows one to attack and defend at any point surrounding the person's body. However, on more than one occasion is has caused onlookers to question the martial artist's sexuality. Transmetal had made a comment to this effect, but found himself on a stretcher for a several weeks, wearing a pink dress.

The followers of B.O.O. began walking, then started running, then began to stampede towards Kain. The chanting, Kain thought, is begining to sound kinda creepy. The solution was obvious, beheadings. Lots of them. Coconut swords cut through flesh, second cut through the bone. Right step. Trip next minion. Downward stab through the chest. Side step. Place coins in the coke machine. Dodge follower. Retreive soda. Find out it's not Cherry Coke. Throw bottle at another random minion. Decapitate him. Stab glass. Alarm goes off. Run away very fast.

While this was all happening, Spotlite continued to be tortured. For no real reason.

"NO NO NO NOT THERE!! NOT THERE !!! AAAAUUUURRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Back on the island, Kain, Transmetal, and Cheesy all hid in a cave, whose only exit was blocked by a dead bear carcass.

"Guys, we only have a few minutes until those guys eat their way in. Any last words?"

"Nope."

"Meh."

"Great. So Transmetal, what was your power again?"

"Oh, I figured out I can influence the meta narrative."

"Which means... what exactly?"

"Well, it's pretty deep and philosophical. I can influence fate by manipulating the flow of narrative."

"You have one more try before I cut you."

"I'm really good at plot holes."

"Good, make one."

"All hail the Prophet B.O.O.!"

Kain, Transmetal, and Spotlite (still naked) are in the back end of a mosh pit, filled with the followers of B.O.O. What music plays from the speakers can only be described as hidious. Trance Indian New Age, with a dash of Beck tossed in. Kain gleeful begins slicing down everyone around him.

"So... Why don't you have any clothes on?"

"Clothes aren't the only thing I'm missing now..."

"I... I see that."

"I meant my dignity you fucktard."

At the front stage rests a grand throne, adorned with hundreds of shiny Playstation 2 controllers. A man, dressed in regal wear comes forth to sit on the thrown.

"What... you made Cheesy a prophet?"

"Well, I DID say plot holes. That doesn't imply ANY FREAKING CONTROL OVER WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!"

"Kain, I don't have any clothes, and my diginity has long gone out to pasture. You guys win the bet. I'm going home and getting some pants."

Kain barely looks up from his slicing to nod in response.

A hush suddenly falls over the crowd, as Cheesy stands on his thrown.

"My first decree... Every friday from now forth shall be casual friday, with free ice cream for all!"

Cheers erupt from the crowd.

"My second decree... Every casual friday shall explicitly exlude the use of pants!"

The crowd continues to cheer.

"My third decree... Every day shall be casual friday!"

The crowd cheers louder, and begins taking off their pants.

"Dammit, we're leaving right now Transmetal."

"Via plot hole?"

"No, while part of me says there's no way anything can be worse than this, the other part of me knows how you think. We'll be taking a plane."

And thus it was that the Great Pilgramage ended, with the participants not making it even close to Japan. But that's alright. It's pretty much an analogy for anything we write. Just be thankful we came up with an ending at all.

Tune in next week when Transmetal and Kain realize there's snakes on the plane, and the author suddenly finds himself fired.