The Corruption and Degredation of Mary Sue

Author’s note:
Keep in mind my sense of humour is eccentric (to be polite about it). So try not to be offended by the twist my brain has inflicted on this tale.

Chapter 15: Strangeness Afoot

The two men headed down the tunnel they were travelling through. Underneath the mountains of Afghanistan they had wandered through a network of natural caverns and passages, safe from American bombings.

“Which way now?” demanded the stout Iraqi of his companion.

“Allah will guide us,” he replied, stroking his considerable beard. The shorter man rolled his eyes.

“Look! We’re lost, just admit it!”

“Oh shut up Saddam and be thankful Al Qaeda was able to smuggle your cheap heretical Iraqi ass into Afghanistan,” retorted the bearded one, adjusting his turban.

“Well, Osama, what’s the use of being alive if we’re lost and starving in these stinking caves?!” shouted Saddam. Osama held up a hand.

“Silence, infidel. See? Allah be praised. He has shown us the way forward!” Osama gestured towards the end of the passage where a faint light had started to glow.

“Careful! It may be an attack by the Great Satan!” warned Saddam, suspicious.

“Well, you ARE lacking in faith,” sneered Osama. Bloody Iraqi. Osama knew damn fine well that Saddam was about as religious as a dead camel half devoured by desert winds and vultures. Still, he was an ally in the fight against the dawn of American imperialism and was therefore more useful to the terrorist alive, even if he was a corrupt and heretical jerk.

“I AM SADDAM HUSSEIN! I AM LOVED BY ALL MY PEOPLE AND SOON THE WORLD WILL KNOW WHAT IT IS TO KNOW MY VENGEANCE!!!” shrieked Saddam, getting excited.

“Good for you,” said Osama vaguely, not really giving a shit anymore. Useful as he was, Osama was fairly certain he’d be able to cope fine if something nasty happened to the irritating little dictator. Murmuring a prayer to his creator and palms forward, Osama bin Laden headed towards the light.

“Wait for me!” shouted Saddam, hurrying after and waving his pistol eagerly as the corrupted cleric reached the light and seemingly vanished into it. The dictator was swift to follow. For a minute everything when white and then suddenly Saddam found himself stumbling over bin Laden surrounded by a stunning yet exotic landscape dominated by a great tower at the base of a range of imperious mountains.

“You know… I don’t think we’re in Afghanistan anymore, Saddam,” said Osama, staring at the strange and ominous looking tower.

“No shit,” replied Saddam, wishing he’d brought a couple more vials of anthrax with him to this strange new scene. He looked behind him and saw that the cave from which they emerged was now nothing more than several old boulders stacked by nature and held in place by tree roots. There was no entrance.

The two Arabs looked around in a mixture of shock and awe (author: I can’t help myself. I really can’t. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I’m a political junkie.).

“What do we do?” Saddam asked Osama. Up till now he had been personally responsible for ensuring the safety of the despot and Saddam had consistently relied on him to provide solutions to the multitude of problems they had encountered trying to avoid captivity by the Americans.

“Find someone and ask them where we are. Then begin spreading the word of the Koran?” suggested Osama. Saddam rolled his eyes.

“Look. I’ve got two vials of anthrax, a small canister of mustard gas in an aerosol can, as well as semtex, wires, and a suicide bomber kit in my backpack. Let’s find out where the nearest source of oil is and take it over and I can start re-building my great empire!” said Saddam excitedly.

“Patience. It is a virtue. Let us find out more about this place we are in before we make any decisions,” replied Osama, clearly somewhat saner than Saddam (relatively speaking here, of course).

“How about over there?” said Saddam, pointing at the tower.

“Well obviously. Can you see any other signs of civilization?” snorted Osama, striding off. Saddam scurried on his shorter legs to keep up with the lanky terrorist. They drew closer to the massive spire that loomed into the sky, pag thg through a well kept but silent courtyard. It seemed to be the only sign of life anywhere. There were no paved roads or telephone cables. The landscape was strangely bereft of signs of human infrastructure. A large black and sinister door up a flight of stone steps with no banisters seemed to be the only entrance to the massive stone structure.

“Should we knock?” asked Saddam, staring at the door ominously. Osama ignored him, and began walking up the steps and knocked on the door. Saddam again hurried behind him. “You COULD consult me, you know,” he muttered, hurt.

“Silence, infidel,” replied Osama. He knocked sharply again and the door flew open. An irate-looking white haired man in white robes answered stuck his head out and glared.

“I don’t want any! Whatever you’re selling, I have it!!” screamed Saruman the White, irritated that these wretched humans had disturbed his meditations.

“Er… you’ve got anthrax?!” said Saddam getting excited. Osama, looking calm and dignified raised one hand and clipped the Iraqi dictator on the nose with it. He squeaked rud rubbed his nose indignantly.

“We mean no harm, brother. We are lost and this was the only sign of civilization we have come across. We will not take up your time, but would beg for provisions and a map,” said Osama, turning on his charisma. “We can pay you with a few blocks of semtex if payment is required.”

“Semtex? What are you talking about?” snapped the wizard, somewhat intrigued but still mostly irritated.

“You’ve not heard of semtex? Plastic explosives?” cried Saddam, somewhat shocked. Saruman shook his head.

“Plastic? What is this ‘plastic’ of which you speak?” he demanded irritably.

“It’s a non-biodegradeable chemical compound that can be used for a multitude of reasons,” explained Osama.

“But it’s best when it goes BANG!!” said Saddam excitedly.

“Shut up, infidel,” whispered Osama out of the corner of his mouth. The dictator ignored him.

“I can give you a demonstration if you like,” offered Saddam.

“Fine. Show me this plastic explosive of yours,” replied Saruman dryly. These morons were clearly selling something
and once they proved how crappy their product was he could stun them and then rob their fresh adrenal glands for his own dark purposes.

“You need that tree over there?” asked Saddam, pointing at a rather elderly oak.

“Not really,” replied Saruman, coming out of his tower and shutting the door behind him. Saddam, carrying his backpack and still wearing his now-tattered military beret scampered over to the tree and pulled out a brick of semtex, some wires, and a timing device. He began setting up the equipment with considerable expertise, fiddled with the timer then scurried back to the steps.

“You might want to take cover,” said the Iraqi.

“I’ll be fine,” snorted Saruman. He waved his wand and a strange transparent shield appeared, surrounding the three. Seconds later there was a massive explosion and the oak tree shot several hundred feet into the air before crashing back down and splitting open as intense heat scorched the green leaves and blackened the bark.

“Impressive!” said Saruman. He had not seen anything like it. Who were these fools? And how did they come to possess such power? “Come in. We should talk,” said the wizard insidiously. He smiled at the two strangers.

“I thank you for your hospitality,” replied Osama.

“Nice one, beardy,” said Saddam, elbowing the cleric roughly. Bin Laden rolled his eyes and muttered something unpleasant under his breath as Saruman led them into the Tower of Orthanc.