Fortnightly Writing Competition - TV Tropes (WINNER)

[Sinitrena]

"There are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt" (Audre Lorde)

Maybe it's true that there are no new stories to be told only new ways of telling them, maybe it's not. But I do believe that every story takes elements and concepts from already existing stories and uses them to create something new. That's basically what I want you to do.
The topic for this fortnightly writing competition is

TV Tropes

Head over to http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HomePage (or if you know of a similar site, go there) and chose a random trope (there's a random button on the bottom or a story generator under "toys" on the left) to use in your story, or poem or essay or whatever you want. If you don't want something so random, just write any story you like and look for a fitting trope later.

Post your story and the trope(s) you used until 10. July.
And most important: Have fun!

[Stupot]

Nice theme
I have been known to waste whole evenings on that website, so I thought I'd just go in, press random and get out before I'm sucked in for the rest of the day.
It came up with Nixon Mask.
I guess it will probably have to be about a bank robbery or something.
Watch this space :-)

[Baron]

Awesome topic!  I too spend too much time at the TV Tropes website

However... not to challenge the timelessness of tropes or anything but... what did you call the Nixon Mask trope before the 1970s?  Maybe.... once in a while.... there is novelty in the universe!

[Ghost]

Series about town full of geniuses!
Icey's favourite game series minus fantasy plus Rayman's female guardian spirit!
__
* Eureka! Final-ly!



That's the best of all the themes. Will try to come up with something!

[edit]
I hit the Story Generator and got this as the first result.


Setting: Inn Between The Worlds
Plot: God For A Day
Narrative Device: Final Exam Finale
Hero: The Atoner
Villain: The Fundamentalist
Character As Device: White Dwarf Starlet
Characterization Device: Mysterious Past

I like that. I will use that.

[Adeel]

    Look. What I got: Weakness Turns Her On .

    So apparently, its going to a be love story. I'll try to complete my story (and edit it) within deadline. Best of luck to everyone. 

[kconan]

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AfroAsskicker

Sup homeboys.  Your jive soul bro AfroAssKicker in the house.

[Stupot]

Haha. Nice one kconan.
Ponch will be jealous

[Ponch]

Haha. Nice one kconan.
Ponch will be jealous

I am jealous! Especially since my random trope is "Left the background music on". How I can build a story around that, I have no idea.

[Stupot]

Haha. Nice one kconan.
Ponch will be jealous

I am jealous! Especially since my random trope is "Left the background music on". How I can build a story around that, I have no idea.

Haha. You can have mine if you want. I don't think I'm gonna have a chance to do one this week

[Baron]

Man, this has been harder than I thought it would be, but I think I've finally cracked the concept.  I'm not sure where it's going yet, but I'm fairly confident I can wrap it up in the next three days.  Anyone else still hacking away at this?

[Ponch]

Anyone else still hacking away at this?

I want to. But between failing to finish OROW and unexpectedly having a house guest for the last four days, I just haven't had any free time to sit down and write. Plus, I can't find a good angle to make "Left the background music on" work as a story. Even if I stole Stupot's theme, as he kindly offered, I can't make "Nixon mask" work either. I'm stuck!

[kconan]

TROPE: AfroAssKicker

“I am so sick of these crackas!” exclaimed Superbro.  His best friend, Chuck N. Jive, replied, “Try these Saltines, they are much better than the knockoffs,” and handed him a box of the brand name cracked pepper crackers as they both watched the Soul Train ripoff, Soul Tram.  Jive said, “Yo Superbro, you wanna roll out and get your fro steamed?”  Superbro lept off the couch and, with a big mid-air roundhouse kick, hit the TV off button.  Superbro landed near the front door and replied, “Yea man, we out.”  He opened the door and swaggered out to their stylish ride; the Pimpberghini.  Jive jumped in the passenger seat, while Superbro did a double-twisting backflip into the driver's seat.  The roof of the car was fro-friendly, and so both Superbro and Jive had plenty of room.  They tore off at top speed to their favorite local barber shop:  Mow Fros. 

“I can't stand this whitebread!” declared Superbro.  Jive passed him a few slices of wheat bread and said, “Here, these taste better and are good for you.”  Superbro and Jive had just got their Afros steamed and trimmed to their exacting specifications, and were now relaxing in a Panera Bread.  Jive's phone rang and he answered.  Superbro could see Jive's head nodding initially, and then his brow furrowed with worry.  Superbro rarely worried…Partly due to his being six foot five of rock solid muscle, but mainly due to the fact that he is a superhero.  Superbro is a platinum belt in every major form of martial arts, an expert marksman with every kind of firearm, and he had placed in powerlifting competitions until they kicked him out for winning too much.  He feared nothing...Well, almost nothing.  Superbro had his own version of kryptonite, and his trusty sidekick Jive had saved him on numerous occasions when his archenemies took advantage of this weakness.  Jive put the phone down, sighed, and said, “Superbro, man, I'm sorry but…” and he abruptly stopped talking and exclaimed, “Superbro, down!”  Superbro, knowing what the warning was referring to, buried his face into his hands and said, “Let me know when it's cool.”  Jive motioned for the man who was wearing his friend's Achilles heel to come over.  Jive said to the man, “Look Chet, You're going to have to either leave or take that off.  It's like kryptonite to my man here,” while pointing at his chest.  The man replied, “It's Bif actually, look I don't want any trouble,” and he simply strolled out of the front door.  Superbro queried in a muffled voice, “Yo man, we good to go?”  Jive said, “Yea man…He out.  Why people gotta wear sweater vests anyway?”  Superbro could feel all the women in Panera Bread staring at him, and he said to Jive, “Let's roll Jive...These ladies stare at me too long and they become preggo.”

“Yo Casper, what's doing?” said Superbro to the man dressed up in a Casper outfit standing in front of the costume store.  Jive and Superbro had left the small bakery and were walking around the downtown area and Jive decided to bring up a touchy subject.  Jive said, ”Yo man black power and all but sometimes you say things that could be taken as racist.  Maybe you are trying for double entendres, or irony, or maybe you just innocently say this stuff which could be taken out of context but-“ and before he could finish, Jive was knocked over by a large armed man wearing a ski mask who was sprinting towards a beat-up van.  Superbro shouted, “Yo man, hold up!” and chased after him.  The masked man turned, pointed a Beretta 686 over-under shotgun at his pursuer, and fired.  Superbro immediately lowered his head, and the shotgun pellets ricocheted harmlessly off his afro, and he continued pursuit.  The masked man fired again, and this time Superbro leapt high into the air as the pellets passed underneath him.  While flying through the air, Superbro reached into his fro and began rapidly throwing ninja afro picks at his attacker.  The assailant deflected several ninja picks with the now empty shotgun, while several others impacted into his right shoulder.  He resumed his attempted escape by racing towards the van.  Superbro shouted, “Pump yo brakes fool, Superbro's got beef with you!”  The attacker charged into the van, and was about to start the engine when his door was ripped off the hinges.  Superbro threw the door aside, grabbed his attacker in headlock and dragged him out of the van.  Jive walked up and said, “It's about to get real now homeboy!  You just nicked my man's freshly quaffed fro with pellet shot!”  Superbro lifted the man into the air and preceded to military press him up and down above his head.  The man said, “Ok…ok.  You can have the money, just let me go.”  Superbro threw his former attacker up in the air, caught him, and then piledrived him on the concrete parking lot.  The man was on the ground moaning, and he pointed towards the van and said, “Money…yours…leave me be.”  Superbro and Jive searched the van, and it appeared as if the man had robbed the orphanage nearby.  They tied up the robber and threw him in the back of the van.  Superbro took off for the orphanage in the van and Jive followed in the Pimpberghini.

Superbro walked into the front office of the orphanage and exclaimed, “Hey Honky!”  Jive shook his head and said under his breath to Superbro, “Man this is what I'm telling you, you gotta chill with that racist-“ and was cut off when the headmaster of the orphanage came up and hugged Superbro.  The man pulled back from the embrace and extended his hand towards Jive and said, “Deacon Earl Honkey at your service.”  Jive shook his head and returned the handshake.   Deacon Honkey said, “Thanks Superbro for returning our money and belongings that were stolen last week.  The man apparently was in the process of robbing a house when you guys caught him.  Anyway, drive him over to the police station and they will sort him out.”  Superbro and Jive exchanged a glance, and Superbro said, “Sir, I'm no fan of the Po Po, and so I need you to square it away while Jive and I go out for some smooth Anaconda Man-Beast liquor to celebrate.”  The Deacon appeared to mull this over and said, ”Sure, I understand.  Look I have another issue maybe you guys could help with.  In desperation to keep this place afloat for the kids, I borrowed some money from a seedy loan shark who isn't being very patient with the orphanage's payback plan.  Maybe you could talk to them.”  Jive asked, “Where we rollin?”  Deacon Honkey said, “Rusty Cross Trailer Park.”  Superbro lamented, “Ah man, that's those pajama wearing racist suckah's crib.  MOTHERFU-“

…and now a word from our sponsor:

Do you like fine ladies digging you?  Do you like looking and feeling smoooooooth?  Then you should drink Anaconda Man-Beast malt liquor.  Put some hair on your chest, back, and everywhere else my brother and feel the hissssssssssssss of the Anaconda Man-Beast!
Side effects may include: Increased testosterone levels, deeper voice, explosive diarrhea, standard diarrhea, baby punching, excessive toe jams, hitler moustache growth, intermittent hearing, vomiting

…and now my brothers we return to our regularly scheduled program…

Superbro was in the passenger side of the Pimpbergini as they pulled up to the Rusty Cross Trailer Park.  “Groove Line” by Heatwave had been blasting until Superbro turned off the radio, dramatically jumped out, and marched over to what he guessed was the grand dragon's trailer.   Jive, while smaller than Superbro and not an actual superhero, was tough in his own right and so he accompanied his longtime friend.  The trailers were in a complete state of disrepair, and trash was strewn about all over the ground.  The place smelled of hot garbage.  Superbro shook his head as he walked, ducked under a clothesline, and was about to knock on the main trailer door when he heard, “Git them coons!”  Jive and Superbro both started their attack katas when they heard a shotgun blast followed by a “Yeeehaaaa.”  Out from behind the trailer walked a grimy looking redneck holding two dead raccoons.  The redneck looked at Superbro and said, “Daggum raccoons been tearing up my gardens.” and proceeded over to a pit and threw both raccoons in it.  He then walked back over to Superbro and said, “I know you, you're the superhero who risks his neck for the brother man.“  Jive backed up against the main trailer and looked around carefully.  Superbro replied, “Yea, I can dig it.”  The redneck said, ”But you have a weakness...Merle!”  Suddenly the sound of wheels and pulleys could be heard, and sweater vests were being moved along the clothesline with the largest pair of panties Superbro and Jive had ever seen.  Jive ran towards the clothesline and began yanking the vests off, starting with the Ed Hardy vest.  Superbro was on the ground spasming and frothing at the mouth.  Jive had yanked off his third vest when out of nowhere the monstrous panties were thrown in his face and he found himself in a bear hug.  Jive could hear the first redneck yell, “Yea, get him Big Rita!” and Superbro moaning on the ground.  Jive was able to work his right arm free from Big Rita's grasp.  Just as he clapped her left ear, Jive caught a glimpse of a large skid mark in the panties.  Big Rita reeled from the ear clap, and Jive was able to extricate himself from the panty tangle.  He then headbutted her for good measure, which caused Big Rita to fully release Jive from her clutches, and she fell to the ground.  The first redneck ran over yelling, but was abruptly stopped when Jive shoulder tackled him.  Still thinking of Big Rita's skid mark, Jive vomited up Anaconda Man-Beast malt liquor all over his attacker's face.  Jive then jumped up, grabbed the clothesline, and ran behind the main trailer dragging all of the sweater vests with him.

Minutes later…the head redneck, Big Rita, and Merle were standing near where the scuffle had taken place.  The main redneck said, “That blasted Superbro was laying yonder as a defeated man.  What happened?”  Merle replied, “I'da thought that many sweater vests would keel ‘em.  Them thangs were super douchey to!”  Big Rita scratched her quintuple chin and said, “And whar is dat udder one?”  Superbro soared through the air from the top of the main trailer and dropkicked all three of his foes: Big Rita with the left, Merle with the right, and he nailed the head redneck with his middle leg.  Jive calmly walked over the Superbro who was staring down at his knocked out opponents.  Superbro cracked his neck and then his knuckles, and declared, “Dayum!  Big Rita's got some junk in her trunk.”  Jive chuckled and replied, “She got junk everywhere homeboy, you don't want none of that.”  Superbro threw his big arm around Jive and said, “Thanks for the vest save bro, now let's help the orphanage, find some fly ass hos, and drink Big Rita's weight in Anaconda Man-Beast malt liquor â€" and not necessarily in that order.”

[Sinitrena]

Oh, an entry! Nice.

I hope to read a few others, so write, write, write!

And if you need an extension of the deadline, just ask. I realise that OROW probably took time away for some people.

And just to remind you: I never said you had to use the first trope the random generator came up with. There's always the alternative to write any story and look up a suitable trope later.

[Ponch]

if you need an extension of the deadline, just ask. I realise that OROW probably took time away for some people.

I wouldn't mind an extension of a few days and another roll on the Tropes Randomizer.

[Armageddon]

For the front of my house I made my mind when I chucked the grass and moved the line. This palace is too big but let's not move. Earth is spinning in a billion ways, more than a day of pigs that graze. But I'll shut the shop so I can move on and find a better place, after all, this city is a shame. But hey let's not run away there's all this security why should we leave for some bizarre place that might not work out for us in the end. We could lose it all or lose it all. Hey there's a dog let's eat it's arm and throw it around all over the place but it has barked too loud and the neighbor woke in a daze. So here we are in the back of a car with pretty blue lights running down the way to a square Grey place. Once we leave it will be different but still the same old house in the same old city in the same light of day. Once we leave we can move away. For every line there is another and another and another to find a lounge that will take us is not a shame. For the day is away but the blue is biting us around the icy border of the ground so let's run away. Aren't you tired yet of the rain, we need to get out more. The Chinese will be here in five, lower the volume. But the neighbors are out. We did enough to these people. I had a dream last night of found owls. What are those? The end of lines. Lines to where? Their skull. Food, it tastes nice, we should eat out more. Or we could stay and sleep it away. I can't afford these candies, I'm not Gandhi sleeping in India. Trees falling from leaves are certainly a nice juxtapose. That's not what that. I know.

[Adeel]

An extension of two to three days would suitable and fair. Its up to you to decide, of course.

[kconan]

  I vote for extension, maybe until Friday or Saturday-ish.

[Sinitrena]

All right: Deadline extended to the end of Saturday, 13 july. That should be enough time, I hope.

[Baron]

THE TROPE TROOP

   â€œOK everybody, can you have a seat and we'll get started.  Hey, nice tie!  I hope nobody had any trouble finding the place.  There'll be a small snack-buffet afterwards.  Everybody settled?  Right, here's the pitch!
   â€œYou've all signed up for the heist, correct?  Nobody here for the Mom & Tot Art Seminar or the Longest Fart Society's AGM?  Just checkin' -they share the space.
   â€œSo here's the deal.  Nobody here knows anybody else, and I want to keep it that way for legal purposes, if you catch my drift.  Everyone will receive a codename, and you are only to refer to each other by your codenames.  DO NOT REVEAL YOUR REAL NAME TO ANYONE.  I can't stress that enough.  How's anyone going to rat you out if they don't even know who you are?  It's just common sense.
   â€œSo codenames.  I know you're expecting to be assigned colours or historical figures or whatever, but I find that always leads to internal conflict over who gets the cool names.  So this time we're doing it by TV tropes: I'm gonna call a spade a spade here, which means everyone is going to get exactly what they deserve.  Got it?”
   â€œAre you some sort of... TV gameshow host?” enquired the only attractive woman at the table.
   â€œWhat?  No.  Why would you-”
   â€œMaybe its the too-perfect-to-be-real hair, the overly white smile, or the compulsive schmoozing...” she mused.
   â€œWhoa, hey!  Leave the hair out of this lady!  These plugs cost me a mint.  But, uh, we need rule number two now.  And that rule is, DO NOT REVEAL YOUR OCCUPATION TO ANYONE.  Actually any identifying information is a bad idea.  A very bad idea.  Got it?  Good.”
   â€œHang on, was that a wink-and-a-gun?” the woman asked.  Her low-cut tank-top was now drawing the attention of most of the men seated at the table.
   â€œWhat?”
   â€œJust there.  You gave that guy the wink-and-the-gun when you said 'Good'.  Normal people don't do that.  It gives an impression of slimy-falseness.”
   â€œHe didn't give me anything....” the receiving man said slowly, looking down at this empty hands.
   â€œNever mind, big guy,” the leader said, waving his hand dismissively.
   â€œBig guy!” the woman guffawed.  “You are for sure a TV guy, or at least some other form of shifty reptile...”  She looked him up and down with an expression of utter disdain.
   â€œ....And I give you Alpha-Bitch!” the lead man said, pointing out the woman in case there was any doubt in the room.  “She's conceited.  She's condescending.  She'll put you down and twist her heal into your eye as soon as look at you.  And she'll use you for her own selfish ambitions, so be forewarned!”
   The woman looked at him indignantly.  “And I suppose you're Vacuum Salesman?”
   â€œI,” he said, pointing to himself.  “I am White Male Lead.  Here, I made name tags for everyone in case you get confused.”
   â€œMe OK!” said the slow-witted man when he got his badge.
   â€œNo, it says MOOK,” White Male Lead corrected him.  “You're the Mook.”
   The Mook stared blankly.
   â€œIt's like a soulless kind of henchman.”
   The Mook continued to stare.
   â€œYou'll do great.  And here's yours Trickster....”
   The Trickster looked at his name tag and grinned mischievously to himself.  “I would have called me The Charlatan!” he joked in a kind of goofy-aristocratic schtick.
   â€œWe're sticking to the book on this one,” White Male Lead chided him.  “And yours...”
   The old man scratched his long white beard, brow furrowed.  “Eh?  Electric Motor?”
   â€œEccentric Mentor, actually,” White Male Lead clarified.  “You're like a quirky father figure to the group, bestowing upon us bits of profound wisdom cleverly encrypted within the inane rantings of a gaseous geriatric.” 
   The old man rubbed his finger in his ear and then analyzed the harvest upon the tip of his digit, much to the disgust of Alpha-Bitch.  “Did he say I'm a queer feather to grope?”
   â€œ...And moving on.  Here's one of my favourites: Creepy Housekeeper!”
   A middle-aged lady with frazzled hair and an unhinged look in her eye perked up.  “Oh, yes Master!  Very good Master!”
   â€œThat's the spirit!  And rounding out our team of seven: The Dandy.”
   The suavely dressed and well-composed gentleman at the end of the table tipped his head in acknowledgement.  “What's the score, Big White?”
   â€œBig White.  I like that,” said White Male Lead.
   â€œWhat about... 'Tighty-Whitey'?” asked the Trickster.  “'Cause we're tight, bro!”  He offered props to White Male Lead, but was left hanging.
   â€œNooooooo.” White Male Lead let the word linger in the air a while for emphasis.
   â€œYou can't be serious!” Alpha-Bitch interjected.  “Who picked this team?  With the exception of myself and maybe the Dandy over here, you're just a team of misfitted losers!”
   The Dandy shrugged and slid closer to her.  “I don't know about mis-fitting, but your team could sure be looser,” he quipped in a debonaire tone, staring intensely into Alpha-Bitch's eyes.
   Alpha-Bitch was lost in his dreamy gaze, so the Trickster jumped in (props fist still held high): “He's.... talking about your.... tits!” he giggled.
   â€œHuh?” sighed Alpha-Bitch dreamily.
   â€œI said you're the most stunning creature I've seen,” the Dandy continued.  “What's say, when this is all over, you and I take our winnings to Monte Carlo and have some real fun.”
   â€œOK, OK, enough of that, Dandy.  We need you to save some of that magic for the... for the plan,” White Male Lead protested.  The Dandy had already leaned in to kiss Alpha-Bitch, however, and her eyes were now closed and lips parted in expectation.
   â€œYeah.... the plan?  Guys?” White Male Lead rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers and pointed at the oblivious couple about to embrace.  In a heartbeat the Creepy Housekeeper had leapt the table and intercepted the Dandy's kiss, breaking the spell.
   â€œWhat the f-?!?” Alpha-Bitch began, but even as she spoke the words the Creepy Housekeeper had turned on her.
   â€œDon't talk back to the Master!” she barked, karate chopping Alpha-Bitch right in the head.  Alpha-Bitch collapsed back into her chair as the Creepy Housekeeper turned back to the Dandy and kissed him some more.  He struggled to free himself, of course, but she'd latched on through the force of suction with her tongue down his throat such that he was entirely at her mercy.  There was the horrid sound of choking, and his leg flailed helplessly in the air.
   â€œRelease him,” White Male Lead commanded, and instantly the order was obeyed.
   â€œAs for you, I'll deal more with you later!” she snapped, pinching the Dandy's crotch for good measure.  He gasped, clutching at his throat before collapsing back into his chair.
   â€œNow, if there are no further interruptions?” White Male Lead asked, drumming his fingers on the table.  The Trickster still had his props hanging in the air, eyebrows dancing enticingly.  The Mook still stared at his name badge, and the Eccentric Mentor was still examining the ear wax he had gleaned from his auditory organ.  The Creepy Housekeeper came around the table to stand behind White Male Lead, gently twirling her fingers through his hair.
   â€œYeah, that is creepy,” he confessed, giving a nod to the Dandy who was trying to regain his composure while frantically dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief soaked with hand-sanitizer.  Alpha-Bitch stared daggers at him, but was sullenly silent.
   â€œRight, on to the plan,” he continued.  “Each of you have been chosen for your unique abilities, all of which will be required for the heist to be successful.  Should we succeed, your reward will be one seventh of the proceeds, minus expenses of course.  The target is the Bureau of Engraving and Printing facility in Fort Worth, Texas, where half the paper currency of the United States is printed.”
   â€œOh, my, god!” Alpha-Bitch exclaimed.  “He's going to eat it!”  She pointed helplessly towards Eccentric Mentor, whose wax laden finger tip was manoeuvring closer to his widening mouth.
   White Male Lead grimaced.  “Somebody stop him,” he commanded.  But Creepy Housekeeper was lost in her hair-twirling, humming to herself.  The Mook required step by step instructions to be of much use, and Alpha-Bitch and the Dandy were still recovering from their ordeal.  That only left the Trickster, prop-fist still raised, eyebrows twitching and head affirmatively nodding.  “Oh fine,” White Male Lead conceded, bumping the Trickster's outstretched fist with his own.  The Trickster turned immediately to Eccentric Mentor and with one fluid motion ripped off the old man's pants.
   â€œHow the h-?!?” Alpha-Bitch gaped, but the words caught in her throat as the Trickster leapt up onto the table to dance.  He had one hand in the air, finger pointing upward and twirling, while the other was wrapped around the waist of the empty old man pants, somehow commanding them like a puppeteer so that it appeared as if they were dancing with him.  “The master commands, and the dog PANTS!  Oh yeah!” he shouted.
   â€œOK, that's pretty disturbing as well,” White Male Lead commented.
   Eccentric Mentor stood shakily, his bare knees wobbling beneath the moth-eaten remnants of his forty-year old underpants.  Alpha-Bitch's eyes widened in horror.  “They're gonna give!” she shrieked.  Just at that moment the elastic snapped and the ghostly shroud shot up to land directly on the Trickster's head.  He suddenly twitched violently, eyes rolling back in his head and froth spewed forth from his lips.  The spasms intensified, then he started melting into the table.  In moments there was nothing but a pile of clothes in the middle of the surface.
   The other six team members just stared incredulously at the centre of the table.  No one even breathed.  Then a tittering laugh broke the silence and the Trickster emerged from a darkened corner of the room, naked as the day he was born.  He gave the naked-from-the-waist-down Eccentric Mentor the double gun salute, then perched himself gaily on the lap of the Dandy.  His hand tried to stifle the chortling noises coming from his mouth, then he said in his straightest tone: “Do continue.”
   Alpha-Bitch instinctively slid away from the Dandy and the naked Trickster who was straddling him, only to realize that Eccentric Mentor was still standing, manly in the breeze, across the table from her.  “Can you, like, sit down?” she asked in exasperation.
   â€œJust cause there's a little snow on the roof, doesn't mean the root cellar ain't well stocked,” Eccentric Mentor stated gruffly, then slowly shrank back down into his seat.
   There was a long silence.  “OK,” White Male Lead took control of the conversation again.  “Is... anybody else going to get naked?”  He looked at Alpha-Bitch in particular, then made a discouraging gesture to Creepy Housekeeper, who had suddenly stopped twirling his hair.  Reassuringly she started up again.
   â€œOK, so the plan.  A fleet of money trucks leaves the compound at precisely 8:15 am every week day.  Only next Tuesday there's going to be an accident blocking traffic on their preferred route.  This will be orchestrated by the poor driving habits of Eccentric Mentor, or maybe just by him wandering half-naked through traffic...."  Eccentric Mentor nodded.
   â€œAccording to protocol," White Male Lead continuted, "the base-command will reroute the convoy to their secondary route.  At this point the Mook will push the shiny red button that will block all radio contact and GPS tracking between the fleet and base-command.  Signage on the backup route will have been changed by the Trickster, confusing the drivers and misdirecting them into the shady abandoned factory district.  There, the lead driver and guards will be seduced out of their vehicle by Dandy and/or Alpha-Bitch, depending on their gender and/or sexual orientation.  At this point Creepy Housekeeper will sneak up behind them and slit their throats.  I will then personally switch clothes with the least blood-stained corpse and drive the lead vehicle, bringing the convoy into an abandoned factory where we will gas the remaining drivers and guards.  At which point the Trickster will switch the contents of the trucks with monopoly money photocopied at great expense, and we make our getaway to a foreign jurisdiction, possibly stopping off along the way to indulge in personal vendettas that may well lead to our capture or downfall.  Any questions?”
   They all looked from one to the other.  A hand was tentatively raised behind the Trickster.  “Hey, Dandy, is that you buddy?  What's on your mind?”
   â€œIt's not what's on my mind that's preoccupying me at the moment,” he responded coolly, regaining his composure and dumping the naked Trickster unceremoniously off his lap.  “But about the money... all those freshly printed notes have sequential serial numbers that would be easily traceable if we ever tried to spend the money, wouldn't they?”
   White Male Lead nodded slowly, hands clasped.  “Well.... yeah, probably.”
   â€œAnd aren't all federal currency guards equipped with gas masks?” Alpha-Bitch asked.
   Again White Male Lead nodded slowly.  “Uh.... yeah.  Probably.  Actually, I'll have to look into that one. But good point.  Anyone ...else?”
   â€œAnd aren't all federal employees equipped with anti-arousal devices around their crotches?” asked the Trickster from the floor.
   â€œAh, the jugum!” Eccentric Mentor nodded.  “It's kind of like a bear trap for your-”
   â€œYes, thanks for the timely wisdom, Eccentric Mentor.  All good points so far,” White Male Lead said, still nodding.  “And....”
   He looked at the Mook, who stared blankly ahead.
   â€œUh....” the Mook began slowly.  “Helicopter surveillance common....?”
   White Male Lead nodded once more, slapping both palms down on the table.  “Good, good.  This has been quite the... uh, fruitful enterprise.  Good committee work, everybody.  Lots of ...valid points raised.  Y-ep.  So... next steps.  Ah... What I'm going to do now is play a cheerfully familiar up-tempo track for you from my iPod while you all stare at this magnesium flash-” POOF! “-and Creepy Housekeeper here is gonna hack you defeatists all to pieces with a rusty old hatchet she carries in her purse.  Don't forget to do yourself last, now!  Bye!”
        The middle-aged woman shrieked with hysteric laughter at the prospect.

[Ponch]

All right: Deadline extended to the end of Saturday, 13 july. That should be enough time, I hope.

Thanks! I'll try to make the most of it.