Chapter 7 - chaptearl 6

Chapter Six:

Earl's well that ends well, or Earl learns why you don't try and kill the author.



Hi! I'm the editor. I'm writing this since the author is experiencing trouble with his windpipe and can't write, although I still can, which makes no freakin' sense, since I'm just another facet of the author.

Anyhoo, the author was nearly strangled by Earl, who was held back by the cast of Witch Hunter Robin (more copyright infringement! Whee!), who he wrote in just before Earl reached him. Of course, Earl's hands were around the author's neck, so it was painful and he can't talk for a couple of days. But he sent me this telegram, written in what appears to be red ink, that says `Earl STOP will STOP die STOP I STOP will STOP return STOP Have STOP a STOP nice STOP day STOP!' As you can tell, he's both recovering and murderous.



It's me again. The author sent me a carrier pigeon with a hand penned note, written in red ink that says : `Earl `came around to visit', and I need a few more days of recovery. But I sent a few `friends' to go and `visit' with him. Oh, and I need more red ink, as I'm using my last supplies up with this letter.' But, he'll be back. (I hope)



Me again. Where is that @^$% author? Last I heard, everyone went to visit him and-oh #&%. Quick! To the Animobile!



Hey, it's me. My editor came to my rescue just as Earl tried to finish what he started (and Earl, you have incredibly clammy hands. They almost feel like you're decomposing. ???) But he saved me, and I'm back. Now, to avoid further physical harm from a certain someone, I'm going to continue. But first: a revision!



“This straightjacket is most restricting. Earl can not move.” I remarked.

“That's the idea Earl. Straightjackets are meant to restrict psychotics. I just wish that the author hadn't written us all into these things.” Xvo remarked.

“Hey, it's our fault for not stopping Earl from attacking the author. Now he has a restraining order on us.” Maggie chided. “A literal restraining order, by which he ordered us all restrained.”

“Earl can still hit backspace, so I can free us in a matter of moments.” I reached around and then...



“This straightjacket is not restricting. Earl can move.” I remarked.

“Good thing that Earl rewrote this paragraph. Straightjackets are meant to restrict psychotics. Now we aren't written into these things.” Xvo remarked.

“Hey, it's still our fault for not stopping Earl from attacking the author. Now he still has a restraining order on us.” Maggie scolded. “Even though we aren't restrained.”

“Earl can still hit backspace, so I can eradicate that restraining order in a matter of moments.” I reached around and then...

NICE TRY EARL! I'M THE THIRD OTHER PERSONALITY! I'M THE ONE WHO STOPS YOU FROM HITTING THE BACKSPACE BUTTON!

A giant hand reached down from the ceiling to slap my wrist, but I backed away.

“Wrong! Earl still has the keyboard! I can write you out of existence!



Actually, Earl, I have the master keyboard. You can't delete him because he's an author. That would create a paradox. Isn't that right No. 3? No. 3? EARL, YOU IDIOT! YOU DIDN'T

“Earl did, and now Earl will delete you!”



Not if I delete you first! Besides, if you delete me, that creates a paradox, because I wrote you and if you get rid of me then I never wrote you, but then I was never deleted-ah who am I kidding I CALL UPON THE POWER OF THE AUTHOR! COMPLETE AND TOTAL CHARACTER DESTRUCTIO-



Earl is writing this story, so there are no more authors. We run this place. And we choose who edits. So, Xvo, you're editor. Blue and Red, you two are `quality control'. Moist, Def D. And Budget Cutz, you three are in charge of supplying us with food, and Maggie, you take minutes.

Um, Earl, since you wrote the author out of existence, I'm fading.

Not if I write that you weren't one of his creations. There. Now you're not only solid, but-HOLY GOD! WHAT THE #!$@ is my mother doing there.

Earl! Did you write the author out of existence? Bring him back this instant. OR ELSE. And don't swear.

Yes, Mother. I call back the author. Hello? Author? Where are you?



HELLO, EARL. REMEMBER ME? I'M THE SECURITY FACET OF THE AUTHOR. AND YOU AREN'T LICENCED TO BE OUT OF THOSE STRAITJACKETS. Oh, hello Mrs. Demise.



Hello dear. I hope that you will chastise my son properly.



OH, DON'T WORRY. I WILL...(insert ominous laughter and/or cackling)



Two and a half minutes later...



“Earl doesn't like these things. They are incredibly spiky, and remind Earl of his childhood.” I winced as a spike from the cage came dangerously close to my good eye.

“Well, Earl, if you hadn't gotten the author's security facet and your mother mad at us, we wouldn't all be crammed into an Iron Maiden that is suspended over a pit of lava by a rope coated in peanut butter with a horde of hungry rats chewing on it as we pen our last wills and testaments. If I die, this is all your fault.” Maggie glared at me and poked my back side with her pen.

“Wait! Earl still has the folding pocket-sized keyboard that I lifted from the author during my second assassination attempt! It can write us out of this medieval torture device before we die horrible fiery deaths. I can delete the security guards! All Earl must do is hi-light them!”

“Unfortunately, Earl, the keyboard has a sticker on it that says that you can't delete people with it. Only inanimate objects. It's just a back-down.” a new guy said. Due to lack of space and/or spikes in our eyes, we hadn't seen him. “And I should know. I'm the author's avatar. Think of me as one of the guys who comes into existence when he's deleted.”

“That's what you think! Earl can do whatever he wants to do! I can delete you.”

“Try it. You'll just get a shock.” the guy said. “ Oh, and I'm Wind, so I can just blow us out of this cage.”

“Earl will not delete you if you do so before we plummet to our demises.” I ventured.

“Done.” the guy said. We were now standing in the middle of a big expanse of land with a purple-black sky and lightening bolts that struck down with unnerving frequency and/or accuracy.

“Earl likes this place. It makes him feel powerful, yet strangely bad at defending!” I stood up straight. “Now, to delete the author's security guards. First, I need to re-write something...”



“Earl likes this as it also remind him of his childhood.” I remarked. The guards were now crammed into the Iron Maiden, penning their last wills and testaments, and the rats were chewing even faster. However, it was quite a thick rope.

“Ahh, too slow!” Xvo grabbed the keyboard and deleted the ropes.

We watched as the guards began to plummet into the fiery abyss, only to see it melt into a gray expanse.

“That wasn't supposed to happen” the author-body guy said, looking around. “My editor must still have the master keyboard.”

“There are more?! But Earl deleted the author and editor. Didn't the master keyboard go with them?”

“Actually, it did, but there's more then one master keyboard. This world originally was the authors, so he must have written in back-up/back-down keyboards that would type him back into existence.

“That is it. Earl is going to beat up that author.” I stomped towards the horizon, rolling up my sleeve in the process. Unfortunately, since I have no sleeves, I ended up rolling up most of my skin and muscle.

“Wow. So that's what's under there. Kodak moment!” Maggie pulled out a disposable camera and snapped a shot of it. “I'm sending this to Playbone.”

“Um, Earl, if you keep walking in that way, you'll just end up in the music library. It's a labyrinth that is filled with the echoes of J-pop music, so your eardrums with blow up in self-defence before you reach the off switch.” the author avatar guy said. “I can get another avatar here to show you how to get to your home, though. Hey! Earth! They need out of here.”

A fat guy wearing a miners helmet and a light popped out of a manhole cover in ground, cackling in a bad French accent.

“Oui, I am zee urth avatar. Where is you wish to go, monsieur Demeese.” he cackled . “And I apolojize for zees awfool accent. Zee autor cood not speek Francaise.”

“That's debatable. He can curse in French. Look, Earth, can you get these guys to Stately Demise Manor?” Wind asked the quasi-francophonic miner.

“Of course. I weel have zem zere in zirty seconds. Follow moi!” He dove back into the hole.

“Better go. Earth gets annoyed when you don't follow him.” Wind pushed me towards the hole.

“Earl thanks you from the bottom of his failing heart.” I replied.

“Oh, see Water about that. He can fix anything. Just don't ask what he got the heart from.” Wind pushed us into the hole.



Inside looked like an old fashioned subway car, complete with a mad Frenchman driving it.

“Allouetta, smoka cigaretta, chewa tobbaca and speet eet on ze floor! Ten years later he died of canceretta. And that's what happened to Allouetta2!” Earth began this mockery of French nursery rhymes once more.

“Earl likes this place. It looks like the inside of my grandmother's oversized car, but it's still very nice.” I settled myself into one of the antique leather seats.

“So, would you like to go see Monsieur Water, or are we just goeeeng to your home, Monsieur Demise. Earth asked as he drove the subway with reckless abandon.

“Earl would like to have his heart fixed before his mother tried to shock him to death.” I replied.

“And I'm getting a little rusty. Literally! It's hot above those lava pits, and I'm thirty percent human. I sweat!” Xvo held up one metallic arm. Where his armpits should have been, there were rust stains.



“Guten tag. So, you vish for me to fix you heart, Herr Demise, ja?” Water asked. This avatar sported a particularly bad German accent and a home the size of Stately Demise Manor's Butler Pantry's Garden Shed.

“That would be nice.” I replied, feeling as it began to beat slowly and to the rhythm of dance music. “And preferably quickly. Def. D, I appoint you `guy who signs my legal papers for me'. Here's my will.”

“YOU LEFT WHAT TO YOUR BABY BROTHER! WHAT'S HE SUPPOSED TO DO WITH A LIFETIME SUBSCRIPTION TO SHONEN JUMP©? HE'S NOT EVEN OLD ENOUGH TO LOOK AT THE CENSORED COVER!” Def. D demanded, reading my beautifully penned will. “And why am I getting all your pairs of underwear that belong to celebrities-for display purposes only-and all seven seasons of Friends© on DVD?”

“What do I get?” Xvo asked.

“Earl's restraining order between him and Brittany Spears. Oh, and the Unholy Grail.” Def. D read along. “Moist, you get his collection of antique tea towels, doilies, tablecloths, facecloths, bath towels, bed sheets, pillowcases, duvets, bed skirts, curtains, and all his other linens. Blue, you get his `dirty room'.”

“I get his potting shed? Earl, you shouldn't have.” Blue dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief that you could have covered a table with.

“Red-you get his TV! That's a wide-screen, high definition, plasma-matic with 180 hp, V6 engine, no purchase financing and a woman with a very deep voice? Oh, and all his VHS' and DVD's from 1981 to 1990. Skully, you get the 1, 980, 654 inch TV, and all VHS' and DVD's from 1991 to 2000. Maggie, you get his Royal Dentist figurines, his collection of Charles and Di memorabilia, his collection of petticoats-strictly for display purposes-, his collection of obsolete technology. You know, 8-track tapes, those other tapes, CDs, mp3s, hologram discs, and all his wallpaper. Budget Cutz, you get all non-essential interior walls, his collection of cattle skulls and his Lambearlghini.”

“Earl hates to disappoint you, but while you were reading my will, I was having my heart replaced.” I plucked the legal document out of Def. D's quasi-gaseous hands. “So, you don't get my linens, my Shonen Jumps©, my restraining order against Brittany Spears, my celebrity underwear-for display purposes only-, all seven seasons of Friends©, the Unholy Grail, my `dirty room', my TVs, my movies, my collection of Royal Dentist figurines, my Charles and Di memrobillia, my collection of petticoats-also for display purposes only-, my collection of obsolete technology, my non-essential interior walls and wallpaper, my cattle skulls and my Lambearlghini.” I rolled the will back up and tucked it down my shirt, where it left a legal bulge.

“Now where do I repot my begonias?” Blue demanded of the heavens.

“Use your back deck, like most people?” Maggie suggested.

“Good point.” Blue remarked. “But still, Earl has such a nice `dirty room'. It's so organised.”

“Yes I know, it's a pity that you don't get to tear my earlpartment apart. Earl weeps for you.” I rolled my eye.

“Herr Demise, have I ever mentioned that that is the creepiest thing I have ever seen.” Water remarked, cleaning the glowing green blood off of his surgical equipment.

“Earl's blood is phosphorescent? Nifty.” Maggie said. “I will bottle it and sell it over the net as an organic light source.”

“Earl quakes at the thought of that.” I shuddered.

“Oh, you can haff this, Fraulein Maggie.” Water handed Maggie a large Ziploc © bag filled with my illuminating blood.

“Hmm, that explains the dryness.” I plucked at my sagging, dry skin. “Why did you take that much of my blood? I need it to survive to perform earlish deeds.”

“Earlish is a noun and and adverb?” Blue asked. “How bizarre.”

“You think that vas bizarre? There's a spontaneous song-and-dance number coming.” Water pointed towards a musical, vaudevillian tidal wave. “Run my friends! Run! It's too late for me!”

Without further though, we ran like the dogs of Broadway were behind us. As we did, we heard Water break out into a German version of All that Jazz.

“Hurry! Ze wave, she comes!” Earth shouted. We all jumped down the man-hole into the train car, which he sealed, and then we were off, the wave gaining strength as it chased us.



2This song provided courtesy of Zachary Jerome. Thanks Zack!

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