August, 2004 Edition

by Ms. Duh
Contributing Columnist

Indiana Duh and the Black Evil Mac Ninjas
A Summer Series in Six Installments

Chapter Six: Holy Shazbot! NERDS!! Oh, and me without my decapitating chakra.

The tension you could cut with a dull butter knife, here I am eye to bloodshot eye with wiry, snarling poindexsters - just a quarter inch of glass separating us.

My knuckles are turning white, as I grip the door. Head nerd #1, for lack of a better term, grips the door and starts pulling with all his gathered strength, his face turning a beet red and swelling with blood, his cheeks bloating as if he was one of those poisonous Japanese puffer fish, and drool starting to form in the corner of his clenched up mouth.

Luck was on my side, for what the ninja Erkels posses in brain power, they lack in muscular fortitude. I should have known. Sitting in front of a computer all day is not conducive to building those biceps in to the powerful guns that most ninjas would need to pummel their opponents.

Thinking about this as the ninjas slowly started passing out from the effort it was taking to open the door gave me a tremendously good idea. I needed to play on the weaknesses of my foe.

I took my free hand, pulled up my shirt and pressed my boobies against the glass.

I have never seen so many mouths agape since Michael Jackson smooched Lisa Marie Presley. I had successfully stunned the group of post pubescent assassins into a catatonia not seen in the western hemisphere since Leonard Nimoy's "The tale of Bilbo Baggins" was put into heavy rotation on MTV by a programming technician high on ecstacy.

I force open the door and leap out, high kicking Head Nerd and slapping the heck out of catatonic nerds 2 and 3. I hit the sidewalk running with nerds a'following. I ran around the corner and ducked down the alley. I peered around to assess the deep dog doo I was in. There were only trash cans and rats in the alley, and no way out. Good god, am I gonna have to crawl in the dumpster? But before the voice in my head could say "Ewww gross, no way", three ninja nerds tore around the corner and headed in my direction.

MAN, what I wouldn't give for one of them batman utility belts that I could shoot a cable from and wench myself out of this predicament. But, in lieu of that, I turned to face the oncoming onslaught and prepared to beat the crap out of them with my laptop.

"Now, if you give us the laptop," sneered one of the ninjas, "We will let you go. You want to just GO don't choo, macmac girl?!" "BACK OFF YOU POCKET PROTECTOR PUTZ," I screamed as I tried to keep my balance while doing my angry crane stance.

PHEWW. PHEWWW. Floppy disks came whizzing by my head.

"OR, I could make like a Dell and blowwww." I flipped around and jumped for the fire escape ladder. Now in any other story, our hero, which would be me, would have hooked the ladder and swung up to escape. But this isn't just any story. I leaped like Tonya Harding doing a double axle and like Tonya, I fell flat on my ass. I saw a flurry of black flannel fly at me.

Then I felt something around my ankle, and found myself being jerked into the basement window of the building next to me and fell yet again on my ass. As I lay in the dark, I was perturbed by the amount of time I spend on my ass, but soon this though was forced out of my head by something more disturbing. There were hands pulling at my body.


Chapter Seven: It's dark, and foreign hands are upon my person - another entry in the column of "Why I shouldn't have gotten up this morning."



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