"Hey, I'm naked in here!" came a startled voice.

Nick, having recently drunk himself knurd, politely averted 
his eyes.  "I see.  I shall vacate and leave you to your 
business, ma'am," he replied, unflappably.

"You see?  You saw, more like it!  Pervert!  HENTAI!!"

The red-haired girl Nick had walked in on promptly executed 
a fine example of the Cute Girl Slap Effect, smack-smack-smacking 
him about 3,427 times in 0.75 seconds.  She then pulled a nice 
fluffy white robe out of Object-X Space, and stalked off toward the
main region of the party.

Nick, meanwhile, lay in a crumpled heap and held an internal poll.  
one hundred percent of his body agreed that drinking his way from 
knurd, looping back through drunk, before hitting knurd a second 
time, and finally breaking beyond knurd and into qehax (1).  Well,
plus or minus five percent for statistical error.

The girl stomped down the hall, glowering, wondering what kind of 
lecher would walk in on a girl when she had no clothes on.  Ooh, 
that nasty...

She was so lost in her little riff, that she walked straight into 
Dan.

They both stumbled back, and Dan quickly made apologetic gestures.

"Sorry, didn't mean to do that.  Are you OK, Miss...?"

The girl seemed to cool down, and replied, "I'm fine.  The name's 
Hott Coffee."  She extended a hand for Dan to shake.

"Nice to meet you.  Let's go find Delfina.  Maybe she can Kawaii 
Wosname Henshin Blah-Blah up an outfit for you."

"Cool."

Hott Coffee paused before adding, "By the way, don't install a 
K-Mart Super Lo Cost Cutter Teleporter in your closet.  They don't 
teleport your clothes along with you."

(1) 'Drunk' rot-13ed.  No, it doesn't make any sense nor is it 
particularly funny.  Life's tough all around, isn't it?

 * * *

Improfanfic Party, part 5
"Improfanfic Asylum of the Terminally Otaku" 
by Anonymous
started by W4

 * * *

"Ding-ding-ding-a-ling," said the happy bell.

Normally, this would have lead to the bell being crushed under a 
deluge of approximately 172 mallets, 17 tables, 6 fish of assorted 
types, 2 chainsaws, and a small yak with irritable bowels.  But, as 
the owner of the happy bell had not yet incountered the Impro crew and
their tendancies toward casual violence, and indeed knew nothing of 
anime, fan fiction, and the sundry other topics that fell under the 
Impro-Otaku Treaty of September 3, 1998.

And so, the hot dog vendor peddled her cart along the broadwalk of 
one of San Deigo's fine beaches.  The sun was out, the sea gulls were 
searching for garbage, and no medical waste had washed up on shore.  
Even the hot dog sales had been brisk.  It had been an overwhelmingly 
pleasant day.

If only Scott were here to share it with...

A few moments later, she spied a nearby group engaged in a game of 
beach volleyball.  Turning off the boardwalk, she rode down and stopped 
near the game.  The quaint umbrella to shade her cart went up, her sign 
was hung, and it was time to engage in the entrepenuerial frankfurters 
for monetary compensation racket.

After the players completed the round, several wandered over to get 
some food.  One, a short guy who had been bouncing around the court like 
a superball on crack while screaming jibberish and making insane shots 
and spikes, came up.  "A hot dog with everything and a coke, please."

She passed him his order.  Pausing, she turned to look at her customer.  
"Have I seen you around here before?  You look kinda familiar."

"Mww phmm whh wwm wwwff," Twoflower replied.  His intelligability was 
hampered by his having crammed the entire hot dog into his mouth in one 
go.

"I know!," she happily chirped.  "You were here yesterday with Scott."  
You could practically see the cloud of pink hearts fluttering around her 
when she spoke.  "Is Scott here today?"

Twoflower swallowed his hot dog and gingerly took a step back from the 
nice loony girl.  "Um, Scott?  ...Scott?," he asked uncertainly.  
Suddenly, it clicked.  "Oh.  You mean W4?  He's up at the house," he 
said, indicating by pointing at Chez Impro, overlooking the beach.

"Thank you!," said the girl.  She began to pack in her supplies in 
jig-time.  

"Wait, before you go Mysterious Hot Dog Vendor Girl From Chapter 1, 
Scene 3, at least tell us your name!"

"You can me Jess.  Bye!"

With that, the hot dog girl executed a text-book example of Amazon Style 
Food Cart Driving.  In mere seconds, she was just a trail of dust receeding 
towards the house.  Twoflower coughed, waving the dust cloud away.  He 
turned to address his volleyball co-horts.

"Eslington, Stephica.  One last round, then I think we ought to head 
back to the house.  My Twoflower sense is tingling...."

 * * *

The Impro Iceberg shone in the sun, shining shinily.  Snow glittered, 
forcing the pair of would-be snowboarders to don spiffy-looking sunglasses.  
Charging up the slope, Eric (aka nihility) and his brother Aaron, revelled 
in the sheer snowboarding bliss.

Standing at the iceberg's summit, nihility looked down the slope.  "You 
ready to do this?"

"But of course, mon frere."

nihility twhapped the back of his brother's head.  "Quiet, ya cheese-eatin' 
surrender-monkey.  Just hit the slope."

Which they proceeded to do.  Down the slope, doing a number of kewl 
snowboarding things which the author knew zilch about.  Suffice to say, 
they looked really skillful and cool doing whatever tricks and such they 
did.  Up until nihility managed to snag a particularly jagged bit of ice, 
sending him cartwheeling the rest of the way down the slope.  He landed 
at the bottom, producing a fairly spectactular plume of snow.

Aaron slid to a stop next to where his brother's feet protruded from the 
mound of snow he had crashed into.  "Wrf...," said the feet.

Aaron gripped his brother's shoes, and tugged, pulling nihility free.  As 
Eric sat up, trying to rub the cyanotic tint out of his face, something 
glittered in the nihility-shaped hole, catching Aaron's eye.  Scooping the 
worst of the snow away, he leaned in for a closer look.

"Hey Eric, help me clear the snow away from this, OK?"

nihility shrugged.  "Sure.  What'd you find?"

"You'll see."

Two minutes of shoving snow out of the way later, a large block of ice was 
revealed.  Within, a figure, largely obscured by frost could be seen.  At 
the moment, the only feature the Pinnick brothers could make out was an 
outstretched hand.  Around the wrist was a shiny gold Rolex.

"Do you know what this is!?," exclaimed Aaron.

"A caveman, trapped in suspended animation for thousands of years, who 
we'll revive, have wacky adventures with, culminating in being chased by 
evil, but incompetant government agents and our new caveman friend getting 
some?"

Aaron sweatdropped, of course.  "No, you goof.  It's a solid gold Rolex!"  
Whipping a hammer and chisel out of nowhere, he chiseled out the area 
around the visible hand.  Deftly sliding the watch off the mystery corpse's 
hand, Aaron slid the watch on his own wrist.  Holding it up to his ear, he 
noted, "Cool.  It still works."

Meanwhile, Eric had cleared away part of the frost obscuring the frozen form.

"Holy shirt!"

"The Pope's laundry?"

"No!  Look.  Is that who I think it is?

""I don't know.  Who *do* you think it is?"

"I think either I'm hallucinating or we've found Leonardo diCaprio's frozen 
corpse."

"That would be the case, then.  Since this is the iceberg that hit the Titanic, 
I guess that sort of, kind of, makes sense..."  Aaron trailed off, pondering 
that particular bit of specious logic.  After a second, he broke out into a grin.  
"Cool, I just stole diCaprio's watch."  His eyes lit up with little dollar signs.  
"I can get so much money for this on eBay."

"Mom would be very disappointed."

"......"

nihility went around to other side of the ice block.  "OK, now all we've got to 
do it haul this back to the house.  Help me lift."

Aaron rubbed the back of is neck.  "Why take it back to the house?"

"Come on, everybody's gonna want to see that the little punk got what was coming 
to him," smirked nihility.  "And, if nothing else, they can chop this up for 
spare ice.  Now, give me a hand."

 * * *

Elsewhere, the doorbell was ringing.

This meant that someone was going to open it.  And that someone was W4.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he grumbled.  Like he wanted more people to turn up.  
Maybe he could go hide under one of the beds for a while.  A year or two.  Just 
until the raw nerve-searing panic at the presence of other people went away.  
W4 opened the door.

The man in the white chef's outfit at the front door was unexpected.  He spoke 
for a bit in accented Japanese, bowing formally.  A sub-title appeared in mid-air 
before him.

<Good afternoon, sir.  I'm am Iron Chef Chen Kenichi, and I believe I am 
supposed to be catering a party here.  Normally, I wouldn't do this, but two 
hundred thousand dollars, plus expenses is a very generous offer.  Where's 
the kitchen?>

W4 produced a nice example of the blink sound-effect, and indicated the general
direction.  "...." he directed eloquently.  

<Thank you.  I'll get started right away.  The fellow who called was very 
insistant on having sushi.>

W4 stepped aside, letting Chen enter, his last sub-title trailing behind him.  
He stood for a minute, slack-jawed, pondering just why anyone would have hired 
a celebrity chef to cater a party for otaku.  He wondered just what other 
wackiness would be inflicted on him before the party was over.  

"SCOTT!"

Speak of the devil...

W4 looked up to where the shout had come from.  Charging up the front walk 
was one of those combination bicycle-food carts that looked like it had rolled 
out of a Norman Rockwell painting of 1950's Coney Island.  The speeding 
conveyance screeched to a stop three inches from the doorway.  Giving W4 a nice, 
close view of his new guest.

The cheerful smile.  The raven-black hair.  The ruby lips.  The green eyes 
that spoke of intelligence.  The pleasant curves.

He knew this person.  The hot dog vendor girl of his dreams.  His heart 
thumped like an off-balance washing machine.

She reached out and grabbed his hand in both of hers.  "Scott, I'm so glad 
you're here.  I've been wanting to talk to you for so long."

W4 did what he did best in these situations, and passed out.

Jess looked at the crumpled form of W4.  "Scott?  Are you alright, honey?"  
With no response, she shrugged and drug W4's limp form back into the house.  
She could find a good place to have Scott lie down and wait for him to wake 
up.  Maybe some of the people here would want hot dogs, too.

 * * *

Chris skulked.  He then lurked, followed by bouts of creeping, slinking, 
sneaking, and a last round of prowling.  All without a thesaurus, even.

Finally, he just desided that that being menacing in a basement with no-one 
to terrorize was boring.  He also realized he was hungry.

"Grumble," said his stomach.

Chris wandered upstairs and snuck into the kitchen.  There, he found it.  
The thing he had wanted for so long.

A big platter loaded with sushi and sasami as prepared by Iron Chef Chen 
Kenichi.

Wasting other people's money was fun.  Tasty too.

Snatching up the tray, Chris wandered off to find Ravi.  Idly, he munched 
on his treats.  Soon, the unrighteous would fear the Impro Inquisition.

Mwa ha ha yadda yadda.

 * * *

The karaoke was going well.

Lusipher had just finished a decent rendition of 'Highway to Hell', and 
now Todd Harper was stepping up to the mike.  His introduction was to 
the point.

"From Slayers, 'Naked Mind.'"

And Todd launched into the song with gusto, as well as a fair amount of 
talent and a fanaticism for all things Slayers that could menace Tokyo.  
The audience was entranced.  They were spell-bound.  Todd's rendition was 
just that good.

At least, up until one of the speakers squealed loud enough to stun wildlife 
in Manitoba.  This was followed by a series of heavy thumps from within, 
accompanied by the speaker executing an impromptu jig across the stage.

Todd, always level-headed in adverse situations, stomped over and solidly 
kicked ten thousand and one kinds of hell out of the traitorous speaker.

"@#$*@*%$?$#@*@#&(!@&{**}:#^&$@!!!"  Yes, Todd Harper was one of the
world's leading practitioners of the Cid Highwind School of Anything Goes 
Swearing.

Under Todd's assault, the speaker did the sensable thing, and collapsed in 
a pile of wood and electronic bits.    Then, like Aphrodite raising from the 
sea foam, but less archetypial and considerably less erotic, a form rose from 
the wreckage.

"hey! everyone"
"i just bought some pokemon cardz!" exclaimed the figure.  The figure 
was bizzare, a comglomeration of mechanical parts, arranged in a vaguely 
humanoid manner.  It was composed mainly of a pair of Playstations, a number 
of old coffee cans, and a whole mess of Erector Set parts.

Everyone gaped.  From the back of the crowd, Calculus shouted, "That's... 
that's a Turing machine!"  He paused.  "Probably.  A really crappy one, though."

The machine clattered across the stage, waving at the crowd.  "Dudez"
"its just me"
"blackmage"
"i am the Evil Dan!"

Behind Black Mage, a blazing aura erupted.  Todd, towering over the hapless 
Black Mage, was resplendant with glowing red eyes and a battle aura worthy 
of Dragon Ball Z.  "You twit!  You ruined my song!"  A giant mallet, roughly 
it size of a Boeing 747, appeared in his hands.  "You're gonna pay for that!," 
he exclaimed... then chucked the mallet over his shoulder.

"I'll let the party's official malleting team do it, though..."

Dashing from the crowd,  Delfina brandished her Mallet O' Doom Or Something 
(TM), smacking Black Mage upside the head-like object.  From the crowd, 
Calculus called out.

"Hikari yo!  Everybody together on the next one!"

A split second later, Roe dashed up with a small gavel-sized mallet.  
He bopped Black Mage on the crown of his head, gonging nicely off of a 
coffee can.

The crowd cried out, following along with Calculus.

"HIKARI YO!"

"ow"
"i just bought da pokemon Cardz!"

 * * *

Chris, Grand Inquisitor of the Impro Inquisition, was looking for his 
lackey.  This involved searching every closet, cabinet, and clothes hamper 
in the house.  Not that this was successful, but it gave him a nice chance to 
root around and nick any loose change and other modestly valuable things.

Eventually, it was just time to give up and actually find him.  Circulating 
through the main room, he donned his Hood of Semi-Evil Identity Concealment 
and looked about for his minion.  Off in one corner, Ravi was chatting with 
Ardweden.  They seemed to be enjoying the conversation.

"So, I said-"

"KNOW, HERETIC, THAT THE IMPRO INQUISITION KNOWS YOUR DEEDS!,"
boomed Chris, looming over their chairs.  The lights dimmed and in the 
distance, there was a flash of lightning, followed by thunder.

Ravi looked up.  "Hi, boss.  Want some chips?"  He held out the bowl 
of Ruffles.

"Why, don't mind if I- I mean, um, minion, seize that heretic!"  He pointed 
at Ardweden, who looked at him like he was a loon.  By an incredible 
coincidence, he was.

 "Aww, boss, do I have to?  Ard's really nice, not a heretical bone in 
her.  Erk!"

The last bit was due to Ravi being smacked with the bishop's staff Chris 
pulled from his robe.

"Yes, you have to.  Now, chop-chop!  The torture of heretics waits for no man."

 * * * 

Elsewhere, Roe was battling it out at Street Fighter with Jake Wallace.  
Naturally, both were playing Dan Hibiki.  Naturally, a taunting contest ensued.   

"OYAJI!"
"YAHOOIE!"
"DOSHITA DOSHITA!"
"ORA ORA ORA!"

*ring, ring*

"Roe, telephone!"

Roe paused the game and scooted over to grab the phone.  "Hello?"

The phone crackled.  "Roe, is that you?  Listen, this is Fatman.  I'm kinda 
stuck in Texas."

"What happened?"

"Ah... My car's fuel pump burned out, so I have to get it replaced.  I'll be 
late, OK?"

"OK, take care."  Roe hang up the phone.

As Roe moved back to the game, Jake asjed him, "So what was that all about?"

"Fatman's going to be late.  Nothing big," he replied.  As he unpaused the game, 
the sad little dieing sounds of a Dan Hibiki were heard.

"You putz!  You beat me while I was on the phone!"

Jake had to scramble to avoid Roe's attempted boot to the head.

 * * *

In the Chez Impro Not-A-Inquisition-Hideout Swapped Gag, a prisoner was facing 
the wrath of the Impro Inquisition.  All two members.

"Look just pretend this cherry tomato is your eye, OK?"

"Alright.  Ouch, ouch, ouchie!  Stop hurting my poor widdle eye with the bad 
needle!  Owie!  Owie!  Wah!"

 "She's not very convincing, is she?  More... cute, really," said Ravi after 
a bit.

Chris looked up from where he was jabbing needles into innocent produce.  
"Yeah.  You were a much better torturee."  He turned to Ardweden, who was 
tied to a chair.  "OK, heretic, confess."

"OK.  What do you want me to confess to?"

"Writing bad Impro, mostly."  Chris waggled his finger in Ardweden's face.  
"You wrote bad Impro, you wrote bad Impro, neener, neener, neener!"  A few 
seconds later, Ravi joined in the taunting.

"Neener, neener, neener!  You write bad Impro!," they chanted.

"No, I don't."

"Huh?," the would-be evil clerics inarticulated.

"I've never written an Impro part.  Therefore, I can't have written bad Impro."

The Impro Inquisition withdrew, and there was a moment of hurried whispering.  
Finally, the Lord High Inquisitor stepped forward.  "Um... Well, I guess you 
aren't a heretic. But, we've still got a use for you!   Minion, bring forth the 
costume!"

At Chris' command, Ravi reached into the Box, and pulled forth an aardvark 
costume.

"Yes, Ardweden, or should I say 'Aardvark-weden,' the Impro Inquisition will 
hold you captive unless you wear this!   Mwahahahahahahackcough cough cough."

Ardweden tilted up her chin defiantly.  "I won't do it.  I like my Aeris costume 
a lot more."

Chris smirked.  "I foresaw this possibility.  Ravi, the sushi!"

Ravi came forward bearing the tray of sushi Chris had hi-jacked earlier.  Each 
of the Inquisitors picked up two pieces of sushi.  "Mmm... tako sushi," said 
Chris.  "Nothing tastier than octopus, is there?"  The Inquisitors turned 
around, making strange movements and little squishy noises, that Ardweden 
couldn't see.

"BOOGA BOOGA!"

The Inquistors spun around, big vibrating chunks of raw octopus dangling 
from their mouths.  The strips of tako jiggled as they breathed, the suckers 
going in and out.  Ravi looked rather green, which clashed nicely with the 
huge blush that was spreading across his face from embarassment.

"Eewww, eww, stop it!  I'll wear the stupid costume!  Just stop being 
gross!," squealed Ardweden.

Ravi spat his tako piece into a near by trash can.  Chris just ate his.  
Munching on the rubbery meat, he picked up the aardvark costume.  Holding 
it out to Ardweden, he swallowed and said, "Great.  Good to have to abroad... 
new kawaii mascot of the IMPRO INQUISITION~!"

"I still say we should have had her wear the Morrigan costume."

"Quiet, Ravi.  Mascots first, then tricking the other girls into wearing 
sexy costumes.  Ooh... Delfina in a Tifa costume.  Stephica in a Mai outfit.  
Hsien-Ko dresse as Hsien-Ko."  He paused and looked a bit puzzled.  "Er... 
and of course, hunting down heretical Impro writers.  Yep, that's my 
diabolical plan."

Ardweden pinched the bridge of her nose.  "You guys are sad."

 * * *

Author's Wosname, Thingagummy, You Know? :

Black Mage's dialogue is supposed to look like how he types in #Improfanfic.

Chen Kenichi is from the Japanese cooking show 'Iron Chefs,' a very cool 
show.  It's dubbed on the Food Channel, but I thought giving him little 
floaty sub-titles was funnier.