Scientist Running Down a One Way Street / Dr. Johnson opened his eyes. This was good - he wasn't dead. Or if he was, it was taking a long time to kick in. A lethal pun booted him in the belly and he doubled over. Perhaps he'd spoken a bit too soon. / But he hadn't spoken at all. / Not soon enough... / The words bubbled past his lips like a torrent of green amyl nitrite foam. / Yet all toboo... tooboo... booboobububbub... To tell the truth, it was a torrent of green amyl nitrite, erupting from the crucible of his gorge like the juices of a young lusty lover. Well, one who should really call his urologist. Green? / As the foam dribbled down his chin and spattered off the wall, it began to collect on the floor, culminating at a puddle at his feet. Eventually, the force of this spewage increased to such a degree that Dr. Johnson was actually propelled backwards, standing tall, hydroplaning on these small green bubbles which originated from his own stomach. / Then, like a faucet turning off, it was over. A few coughs and some bleeding hacking, and he took a long, deep breath. Then he giggled. Only a little. You see, amyl nitrite is laughing gas. / Chuckling to himself, he took long, slow steps through the foamy brack, up to his knees, to a switch. Flipping the switch, an air filtration unit kicked in somewhere as the contaminated air was pumped out of the room. The difference in air pressure literally sucked the foam down the drainage grates in the floor of the laboratory. / Not the green then... I'll check that colour off on my list. / ... With a half block between them, the hunter and the hunted engaged in their eternal chase. He wasn't holding the gun anymore but his frantic escaping motions had still caught the attentions of the policeman, who had been chasing him for some six blocks now. / He wasn't in particularly good shape, but patting the reassuring bulk of the loot under his leather jacket, he wouldn't need to be for long. Still, this was an odd predicament he found himself in, since the wealth he had procured happened to belong to his own bank. Through a magnificently devised system, he had managed to insure his own wealth, and that of everyone who had bought into his bank. Perhaps, it wasn't so ingenious. Well, it wasn't ingenious at all. He'd simply bought the rarest bunch of bananas in the world. They were rather odd-looking things: they grew in rectangles, and every five minutes, a monkey popped out of the stem. The monkeys were very small, at first, but if they got wet enough they grew to a sturdy two and a half feet. / He suddenly giggled at this notion. It was rather silly, now that he thought about it. When they had originally found the strange and other-wordly bananas, everyone had been so impressed by this seemingly miraculous event that it hadn't occured to them how damn silly it was, monkeys popping out of rectangular bananas. / He continued to titter, and suddenly noticed that he had stopped running. Or, perhaps he was running so slowly that it felt as though he had stopped. He'd seen that on Ducktales. His gay tittering transformed into chuckling as he remembered other hilarious episodes of that wonderful show, involving Huey, Louie, Dewey, their greedy Uncle Scrooge, and his own personal favourite, Launchpad McQuack. His chuckling turned into a healthy laugh. He'd become obsessed by the show. He'd even called up Disney and threatened to kill Chip and Dale if they didn't start a 24-hour Ducktales TV station. His wife had eventually left him, leaving him ranting into the phone with a very scared Michael Eisner listening to him. He was glad his wife left him, the fat bitch. / With that, he roared with laughter and fell to the ground, landing on the policeman who'd decided that crawling around on his elbows while yelling INDEPENDENCE FOR THE SOUTH URUGUYANS! was about the funniest thing ever accomplished. / ... With a flash! and a bang! a big wisp of multicoloured smoke crept down the street, leaving flowers and rainbows in its path. From this emerged an old WWI Panzer tank, with a man hanging out of the cockpit on top. Who he was would remain an enigma as he was wearing quite a cumbersome gas mask. However, he wasn't laughing. / Achtung! Gett in! / The man with the bananas in his jacket (or maybe he was just happy to see me) held his breath until he stopped tittering, then vaulted on top of the artillery piece. Treads groaning and rumbling, it tore up the street as it backed into the coloured mist from whence it had emerged. / Victory! Hee hee hee. / But fate was not on their side. No sooner had they cleared the other end of the mist, the tank now looking like a Fokker warplane, when a motorcycle came up behind them and started flashing a blue siren. / Pull over and akt innocent! And here, putt these on! / A pilot's goggles and earflaps were tossed into the rear cockpit, and the giggling thief struggled to maintain his dignity as he put them on. / The hefty officer strutted over to the driver's side of the plane, and addressed the stereotypical German fellow. / Yew know, this here is a one-way street, and normally it bein' for cars an' stuff I'd have to wraht y'all a ticket, but ah see that yew and yer friend here... yer.. beep beep beep BEEP! / The cop's head exploded in a shower of latex and a chrome skull peered evilly out of the neck. Its one red eye glared balefully. / please hand over the bananas we are reading through the lining of your protective garment stop we have come from the future on a mission seeking fruit of unusual shapes to protect the present of the past stop if you do not comply i will have to sing to you stop. / The banker had no intention of handing over his prized bananas, so he plugged his ears. / And the robot sang. The garbage dumpsters joined in, lids clanking, and the tin cans rolled in rhythm, and soon every metal object in the city was grooving to this mineral tune. That included several integral components of the warplane, and when the banker got to his feet from the pile of rubble, the robot was gone, and so were the bananas. But what was this? / From out of his breast pocket crawled a very small monkey with three heads. / ... ansi by happyfish of mistigris / story by cthulu of mistigris / and patrick monahan, who stopped by to collect some old warez.

-- ansi by happyfish, lit by cthulu and paddy monahan. click here for the original ansi --