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J. Jonah Jerkson
Mon Mar 21, 2005 at 11:25:18 pm EST
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The Baroness, Part 26: A colossal cinematic extravaganza (special guest star, Roland Wilton)
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The Baroness, Part 26
A colossal cinematic extravaganza (special guest star, Roland Wilton)

“Cue the trumpet-filled, martial yet democratic, John Williams score.”

“Roll title.”

BARON OTTO AND THE TEMPLE OF BLUE LIGHT


Starring
Baron Ottokar Attila Kublai Tamerlane Zemo von Saxe-Lurkburg-Schreckhausen


“Otto, you’ve got to do something about that name. How about a stage name, like Harrigan Chevy?”

“Peasant.”

“Roll opening credits.”

A STEVEN SPIELBERG FILM


“Spielberg? SpielBERG? HALT! STEVEN SPIELBERG IS A JEW!”

“And?”

“Get me Leni Riefenstahl!”

[The director stalks off the set.]

“She’s dead,” the line producer answered.

“Not undead?”

“I always wondered with those night scenes . . . But, dead.”

“Very well, I will direct this myself. All of you, off the set! Where is the wench?”

“Over here, your baronship,” a key grip pointed.

“Your makeup requires attention. Make the eyes more adoring.”

“It isn’t makeup. It’s just my natural slavish face, O Powerful One.”

“That’s better. You may suffice. Now, ACTION!”

Baron Otto and Losiira of Caph hurried . . .

“Barons of Saxe-Lurkburg-Schreckhausen do not hurry! Stride, yes, hurry, no! What are you, writer, a Jew?”

“Well, actually . . . .”

“Get off of my set! There will be a train waiting for you!”

“Try that, and you’ll never stride again.”

“Grumble.”

Baron Otto and Losiira of Caph hurried toward the hill on which Blair Atoll was gathering the Lemurians for a last stand against Great K-Martu, whose mall was rising majestically out of the sea nearby.

“Are you going to smite the evil Elder Being with magical curses?” Losiira inquired.

“Nein. He knows far more of them than I do.”

“Are you going to confront him with your trusty bullwhip and towel?”

“Where I come from, bullwhips are for insubordinate subjects. And particularly hot nights after a lot of Sekt.”

“So you have a mystical plan to sacrifice yourself for the good of all of us, your subjects, and you will return infinitely stronger as a metaphysical force?”

“Wrong movie. Besides, Zemoes only believe in sacrificing their subjects.”

“You would not sacrifice me before tasting my sensual delights, O noble lord?”

“I’m unalive. I don’t DO sensual delights – or sensual anythings.”

Baron Otto suddenly halted in rapt admiration.

“So you don’t do sensual delights, hmmm? I knew these would change your mind – or your orientation.”

The Baron’s eyes, however, were fixed on a long, low, white concrete building with plate glass show windows, surrounded by a huge asphalt parking lot. “The Temple of Blue Light,” he whispered in awe.

“The Temple of Blue Light?” Losiira murmured.

“The Temple of Blue Light. Great K-Martu’s focus of power. The prototype of manipulative markdowns everywhere.”

“You are not making any sense.”

“I must have it! I will have the Blue Light!”

“And then you will have all of Great K-Martu’s power and free us from this danger?”

“Just keep thinking that and everything will be fine. For me.”

The pair edged towards the endless acres of tar macadam. As they stepped onto the blazing hot surface, Losiira shrieked and shoved Baron Otto aside. “Great Lord, watch out!”

A serpentlike being, made of shiny chrome wires and dozens of rubber wheels, zoomed by. Its tail, a red plasticine tank mounted on more rubber wheels, grazed the Baron’s foot before it bumped loudly into something. Then the whole assemblage roared past with the noise of a lawnmower engine, a red light flashing from a mast at the rear.

“You need not be concerned. I am unharmed.” Baron Otto scrambled to his feet and began striding [there, satisfied?] towards the Temple. From behind him came a low moan.

“Lord Baron, I am hurt. The metal monster smashed me in the ribs.”

“Bah. Take care not to slow me down, woman.”

“I . . . am . . .Losiira.”

Baron Otto ostentatiously made sure he did not hear.

Losirra, limping and clutching her side, did not catch up until His Excellency had almost cleared the parking lot. Somehow, though, the rampaging SUV’s, the meddling security guards and the melted tar pits seemed to avoid her and slowed the Baron.

[“We need more action, Otto,” the line producer complained. “We’ll never do $40 million in foreign sales with this stuff.”

[“I am about to seize the Blue Light, and you are worried about mere money? Fool!”

[“No money, no film, Otto old chap,” warned the executive producer, Roland Wilton. “Got to have some of the old slam-bang, what? Or even better, a wom jep scene or two, eh? The way that girlie looks, we’ll clean up with the teenage male market. Pity we can’t have a few more of her. Quite.”

[“Philistines! I am changing the entire course of Parodyverse history, and you are cooking up T and A scenes?”

[“Someone just tell the writer person over there to add a bit of crumpet to the next whatevers, and we’ll get on with this, what?”]

However, just as the beauteous and somehow unbruised Losiira crossed the last street to join Baron Otto, dark umber tentacles erupted from the earth and grasped her arms and legs, coiling around them and then lifting the supple young woman from the ground. Straining to free herself, the green-skinned alien took deep breaths. Her generous lips trembled and her ample bosom heaved.

[“Otto, Your Lordship, we simply must have a closeup of that h.b. A wide shot won’t attract the acne crowd, don’t you know.”

[“Quatsch,” muttered the Baron. “Very well, dolly in a tight shot on the female. But I get another one, too. Action!”]

“Save me, my lord, from these evil monsters of dread K-Martu!”

The Baron continued his advance on the glass double doors only a few meters in front of him.

“”Oh, save me! The tentacles are creeping close to those parts of my nubile body that I cannot mention in public!”

His Excellency the Baron reached out to open the glass doors, but found them locked. After pulling a second time, he began pounding on the locked doors, ignoring the panicked Losiira. “Open,” he bellowed. “K-Martu’s temples are open to anyone with commercial intent!”

“Hurry, O noble Baron, soon-to-be ruler of Lemuria! The tentacles are now wrapping around my firm abdominals, preparing to stroke me into submission.” (Apparently, her bruised and cracked ribs no longer pained her.)

“This is a 24/7 temple,” Otto expostulated. “I demand that you grant me entrance!”

Dread K-Martu’s voice boomed over loudspeakers. “We accept cash, travelers’ checks, money orders and all known credit and debit cards.”

“How dare you! A Zemo does not carry cash!” He continued, mumbling now, “It may take a couple of more weeks for the credit cards.”

“Hmmmm?” K-Martu’s voice echoed back from the distant mall.

“Wench! Bring me your money!”

“Hee, hee . . . naughty tentacles, trying to get under my bikini. Hee, hee, hee.”

[“Good show! Now, could we just get a little flash of nipple?” the younger Wilton panted.]

“Oh, most estimable Lord Baron, ha, ha, hee, I would gladly gift you with anything I possess, but we Caphan slave girls never carry any money. Our masters provide for us. Are you not prepared to be our master?”

“Damn these cross-cultural differences.”

The probing tentacles, however, had found something: a twenty dollar bill hidden in Losiira’s bikini bottom. As they brandished it in the air, the angered aristocrat stalked back to Losiira and snatched the greenback away. The tentacles swirled madly, trying to regain the cash, but they refused to contact the Baron’s body or clothes.

“How dare you hold out on me!”

“But the great and wise Master Visionary said that mad money doesn’t count.”

“Another thing I will have to have him horsewhipped for.” The Baron turned, preparing to return to the doors.

“But what about . . . hee, hee, ha, ha . . . me?”

“Ach . . . I suppose.” Baron Otto reached for the tentacles, which flinched away as his hand approached. Losiira dropped to the ground, rear first, causing a most enticing heave of her bosom.

“Ooof! Marvelous, O Powerful One. Did you employ some sort of spell?”

“The tentacles only search for living beings.”

“Then you are some sort of dead zombie being?”

“No, foolish wench! I’m unalive. Now stop goggling at me and follow me into the Temple of Blue Light.”

The pair charged toward the doors, which now opened wide to grant them entry. Just within, an elderly servitor greeted them. “Welcome to K-Martu’s Temple! Can I help you find anything? Mystic shrouds for the bimbette, there? The entire Kathy Ireland collection is on sale.”

“Ooooh,” Losiira breathed. “She looked so hot in --”

“Never mind,” Baron Otto snapped. “We are searching for . . . er, . . .

“Isn’t it the Blue --”

“No, hardware. That’s right, blue hardware.” Baron Otto cut off Losiira’s statement with a menacing scowl.

“Aisle 666, right over there,” the codger replied, pointing vaguely into the recesses of the Temple. “Have a nice day.”

Grabbing Losiira’s arm roughly, the Baron dragged her off into the labyrinth of aisles. “Don’t correct me,” he snarled. “No one should know our purpose.”

“Do you know where we are going, O Vengeful Lord? All these passages appear to be the same.”

“I don’t need directions. Anyway, the Blue Light appears at Great K-Martu’s whim, anywhere in the temple, for only short times. Listen!”

A tinny voice was heard over the tannoy: “Attention, K-Martu searchers. We have a Blue Light special for 10 minutes in Aisle 316: Genuine Elder Burys, 75% off. Quantities are limited.”

“Quick, to aisle 316!” Baron Otto shouted, leaping over two shopping carts and landing feet first in the bottom of a pyramid of Tissues of Reality. The more agile Losiira scampered around him down to the end of their aisle, and stopped short.

“They all look the same! Where is this aisle of which dread K-Martu spoke?”

Trotting forward, with several rolls of tissues dragging behind his grey SS-general’s greatcoat, Baron Otto spoke with indubitable certainty. “That way.” He strode forward into the grey twilight of the ancient temple, with the loyal Losiira right behind.

“RrrrRRRRRRR,” was the sound of dozens of animated chainsaws coming to life as the nefarious nobleman and his lovely liege intruded on their sleep of aeons. The ravening tree choppers sped by the astonished Baron Otto, however, and headed straight for Losiira, threatening green Grand Guignol. The Caphan fled back down the previous aisle and huddled behind the white pyramid. As the chainsaws approached, she fended off the maddened machines by hurling rolls of Tissues of Reality at them. With each hit, an animated chainsaw fell to the floor harmlessly.

[“Love the wom jep,” the line producer remarked. Roland Wilton was too busy admiring Losiira’s profile.]

When all the chainsaws had been knocked back into their mechanical sleep, the trembling Caphan woman peered around the remains of the paper pyramid for her leader. The Baron, though, was long gone, with the only evidence of his presence being soft echoes of his Germanic curses as he passed by inert death traps in the dimly lit aisles. The lithe Caphan gathered up as many rolls of tissue as she could and tiptoed out to the end of her aisle, hoping to link up again with the ruler-to-be of Lemuria.

As she turned into a wider walkway, though, another fearsome sound assaulted her ears. This was the subtle whoosh of the Strangling Curtains of Martha Stewart, seeking to envelop and devour anything not decorated in tasteful pastels. Terrified, the olive green alien stepped back silently into her aisle of safety, thankful that the curtains seemed more intent on searching for legal appeals than untasteful sex appeal.

Stepping backward, Losiira was unable to detect the silent advance of yet another adversary, the Form-Fitting Lingerie of Jaclyn Smith. With female cunning, a teddy with built-in corset leaped on the back of the unsuspecting, nubile woman, rapidly tightening itself and forcing her waist down to fetish size.

[“Get the name of that writer,” Roland Wilton commanded the nearest flunky. “He has talent.”]

With her last breath, she grasped a tissue roll in each hand, letting the others fall to the floor and bounce away, and then slammed each roll against her waist. There was a puff of flying tissues, and then the teddy fell to the ground, limp. There was no respite, though, as the Wonderful Bras bound her torso tightly and wrapped about her arms, making another tissue roll defense impossible. (The bras, as advertised, did have remarkable effects on her feminine attributes.) Losiira stumbled forward, helpless, and then stepped on one of the loose rolls. Losing her balance, she toppled to the floor, fortunately landing on a group of the remaining puffy white cylinders. Once again, her attackers fell loose to the tile floor.

Giddy from lack of oxygen, the Caphan houri scrabbled back to her pyramid, and collapsed for a few moments. Then, determination on her face, she began raiding the upper levels of the pile, rapidly building a four-walled refuge.

Almost an hour later, a seemingly untouched Baron Otto wandered by and took note of the tissue package fort. Losiira’s face and a hand bearing a white puffy roll popped up over a battlement for a moment, and then the hand descended.

“You should be dead!” the exasperated Losiira exclaimed. An hour of evading torture and death by possessed lower-middle-market possessions had made her quite edgy.

“I told you, I’m not dead, I’m –“

“Unalive, I know, whatever that means. But where were you when I needed you?”

“Searching for the Blue Light, of course. Your petty problems don’t mean a hill of beans in a world like this, after all.” The tannoy delivered a few bars of “As Time Goes By,” played in swelling tones by violins, to reinforce the point.

“Did you find it?”

“No, but such a quest can neither be easy nor quick,” he replied with full aristocratic pomposity.

“Attention K-Martu searchers. Now, for only five minutes, we are having a Blue Light special in Aisle 665: Tissues of Reality, two ply, for only 40 Zephons a package of 12. That’s aisle 665, now.”

The flashing Blue Light appeared between Baron Otto and Losiira’s refuge. Otto lunged at it, unaware of the rolls littering the floor. As he too tripped and fell, his hand batted the hovering Blue Light into Losiira’s fortress and right into her waiting hands.

“Ohhhhh,” she moaned as she gazed into the center of the Blue Light. “Amazing. Unbelievable. Markdowns on anything I desire. I can buy countries for pennies. Worlds for a few coins. Clothing – well, most of this stuff I’d never wear anyway.”

“Good work, wench. Now hand me the Blue Light, and I shall become the suzerain of this land and your demanding master.”

“No. You don’t even know my name, or care. You abandoned me. You have no interest in my mind, and worse, you don’t even have any interest in my body. You’re self-obsessed, selfish, snobbish and sneaky. The Shoggoth was right. Masters are abominations far scarier than he was.”

“Yield it to me, or I shall take it and have you bound to the whipping post!” Baron Otto took a stride forward, ready to demolish her fragile fortress.

Calling upon the Blue Light’s power, Losiira caused another thousand rolls of Tissues of Reality to cascade down on Baron Otto’s head. There was a deep-voiced scream, and then silence as the rolls bounced around. The Baron was gone.

Triumphant, Losiira of Caph made her way from K-Martu’s Temple, holding the glowing Blue Light in her hands, and walked up the hill toward her sisters and destiny.

"Wait," said the line producer, "what happened to the director? Somebody has to cue the grandiose finale music and the glowing sunlight."

"Fine," Roland Wilton smirked, "cue the grandiose finale music and the glowing sunlight. Quite."

Sorry, but Elizabeth, Sally, Hallie, Agnes and the rest will have to wait until next posting. And the Shoggoth’s in the capable hands of the Hooded Hood, I suspect. Meanwhile, here are the endnotes:

Roland Wilton, frustrated son of Sir Mumphrey and the late Lady Marjorie Wilton, is referenced at The Journal of Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Extract 1. In Sir Mumphrey’s words, “it’s hard to make someone top dog when they’re such a poodle.” Apparently Rollie’s gone to Hollywood to seek his fortune. Any resemblance to Chili Palmer is unintentional.

“Wom jep,” short for “woman in jeopardy,” is Hollywood argot for the predictable scenes in every adventure production where the beautiful heroine is placed in peril.

Baron Otto’s credit card problems surfaced in The Baroness, Part 22.

Tannoy: archaic English English for P.A. system.


Playing the part of Baroness Elizabeth Zemo (even though she's not here):

J. Jonah Jerkson
VOICE OF THE PEOPLE


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