With some of the craziness cleared up, Edwood and Bela
embraced like the not-quite-so-young lovers trying their hardest to reestablish
the early dew-eyed phases of their puppy love that they had become. Edwood stared at
Bela, who stared back at him. If only, he thought, there had been one
spelling of “vampire.” No, wait. “Vampyre?” Oh no…
If only, she thought, if only our lives were as uncomplicated as a potatoe…simple,
but able to take so many forms, each enjoyed by so many people on a daily
basis, from the poorest wage-slave to the richest CEO! (This message paid for by the World
Potatoe Farmers for World Domination, not to be confused with the World Potato
Farmers for World Domination.)
If only, Woeisme and Something thought, but their thoughts went off in different
directions entirely unsuited for late-adolescent love-angst and were therefore
ignored.
Off to one side, Jakob stood, seething with inner rage, the likes of which would boil away
the skins of potatoes were they subjected to it. He hated seeing Edwood and
Bela so happy, he hated it. He was filled with the urge to do
something…bad? No, not melodramatic enough. Something horrible. Yes, that was it.
Something horrible to show how horrible he felt at his love for Bela going unrequited.
He felt so horrible thinking about the horrible things he could do that he almost didn’t feel the
black-gloved hand coming down on his shoulder.
“Take it easy man,” said a slightly nasally voice that still gave off an air of cool.
Jakob spun around to see a man dressed in a lab coat staring at him, black industrial
goggles perched just below his spiky blonde hair.
“Listen,” said the stranger, “I know that you think you’re going to do something horrible
to her or to him, and when you do something that horrible it’ll make you feel
better but it’s not.” He shook his head emphatically. “Instead, what’s going to
happen is that both of them will feel horrible and you’ll feel horrible because
you made them feel horrible. You see?”
Jacob thought for a moment. “You know, that’s good advice,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Doctor Terrible.”
“Oh.”
With that, the man turned around. “Okay, gotta go,” he said. “I have fulfilled the
‘One-Josh-Wheaton-per-fanfic’ requirement.” With that, he marched out of Sullen
Manor, sullenly.
Woeisme came and stood beside him, and Jakob looked down at her, wondering how he had
the bad fortune to be runner-up to Bela AND get the consolation prize of
feelings that would get people not in a fantasy novel locked up.
“Jakob?” she asked.
“Yes?” he said.
“What happened to the Potato King?”
“I don’t know,” Jakob sighed. “The way this story is going we may never find him.”
Suddenly, the front door of Sullen Manor burst open. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that!”
came a familiar voice.
“It can’t be!” Jakob yelped, changing into a were-chicken.
“It’s—“ Edwood said.
“—former Vice President Ðìçk Cheney!” Bela finished.
“Oh yeah,” Ðìçk Cheney said, swaggering into the room. He was brandishing a shotgun and chewing a cigar.
“What are you doing here?” Edwood snarled. “Our previously unrevealed pact with the demon
underlords should have prevented you from getting access to this place!”
“Those losers?” Cheney snarled back. “Don’t make me laugh! I’m the former vice-president of the United States!
The most powerful man in the universe, baby!” He jacked a round into his shotgun for
emphasis, letting the previously unfired shell fall to the floor. “I’ve been
shooting demons, terrorists, friends, family, enemies, waitresses, pastry
chefs, artists, novelists, engineers, mailmen, small dogs, goldfish, giraffes,
hippopotami, sheep, cows and telemarketers in the face ever since I had to stop
being vice-president, and I’m here to do the same to Quayle!”
“But why?” asked Something.
“Because I’m Ðìçk Cheney!” said Ðìçk Cheney, “and also he’s a language terrorist!
Putting a silent ‘e’ on ‘potato’ is blasphemy, but actually pronouncing it?” he
shuddered. “My heart would skip a beat if I had one.” He jacked yet another
round into the shotgun, letting the unused shell again drop to the floor.
“Let’s get ‘em!”
• 
Holy cow, that Cheney rant was absolutely amazing. And the were-chicken was very apt, too.
Thanks! Somehow, it seemed appropriate…
I missed my turn (Curse of the trucker), but I stand humbled by your Cheney rant, better than what I had planned.