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the adventures of Diamond Dave, episode 67
03 September, 2008: [246/365], 15:59.08 [Wednesday]
Filed under: Microfiction

“Whoa, Gordon fucking Bennett, you just narrowly missed that yacht; that’s the third one in the last two hours!” Roger clutched his chest, feigning an anxiety induced heart attack. He had been the ship’s navigator for 28 years, and never in his highly distinguished nautical career had he ever been as insulted as he’d been for the last five weeks. He’d been in battles in the south Pacific less harrowing.

“Yowza! Man, this is a trip! Shit, did you see the tits on that babe right there?” Captain Roth trailed off again. There was no “babe”, and Roger just sighed. Well, this is the pitiful note on which I’m going to retire, isn’t it? he thought. At least I’m not in a shopping mall, impersonating half the cast of ‘Love Boat’, like some of my old mates. But maybe this is worse.

David Lee Roth thought he looked like a captain. He had the hat and the dress shirt with the epaulettes sewn on, so he figured he was a shoe-in. He strolled into the office in late July and said he wanted to see the world and lots of babes and stuff; it had been his dream (as if he’d never done that before in the first place). Of course, Heaven’s Gate Cruises, Inc. hired him. The star power would make them number one. Roger argued that the company was already number one and they didn’t need Captain Roth, but the navigator’s boss just responded with a line of corporate gibberish, in the middle of which Roger walked away, merely shaking his head.

“I guess I can’t drive fifty-five, eh? You know, fifty-five? Get it? OWW!” David Lee Roth raised his hand in anticipation of a high five. Roger frowned.

“That wasn’t even you, it was Sammy Hagar, you empty tosser,” Roger groused. David Lee Roth wasn’t even listening, naturally. He was wandering off, pulling random levers and pressing buttons, hoping they would either deliver booze and cocaine or scantily-clad groupies time-warped from 1984.

Suddenly, the two were thrown to the ground and several klaxons simultaneously sounded, producing a cacophony of chaos. Screaming erupted from the deck into the brisk evening air combining with the horrifying squeal of twisting framework and crumbling sheet metal. “Oh, what did you do this time, you fucking—“ A large section of the ceiling crashed down on Roger’s lower half, severing his legs and inflicting massive damage to his gastrointestinal tract. Roger tried to shriek, but only blood came.

David Lee Roth danced around, giggling like an autistic child hopped up on ephedrine. “Yoww! Hot for teacher! Might as well jump!” He strutted out the door and started chatting up a group of women who were not really there. As the ship’s bridge began to collapse in the structure fire, David Lee Roth was going to third base with a coat rack hat he believed to be Lindsay Lohan’s slutty thirteen-year-old sister.


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