“There’s a pirate coming up the stairs,” said Daz. “He’s got a machine gun! Thirty seconds to contact!”
“What are we going to do?” said Andy. “I can’t stop a machine gun.”
Cam snapped his fingers. “Human Voltron,” he said.
“What?” said Andy.
“Well, you can’t stop a machine gun. Neither can I.”
“But together…” said Miles.
“I see what you’re saying,” said Daz.
“All we have to do,” explained Cam, “is join ourselves together to form a giant, super-strong robot.”
“Human Voltron,” said Andy. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s do this! Forming legs!” He got down on his hands and knees about a metre away from the door Randy Van Funk was headed for.
“I’ll form the body!” yelled Daz. He laid on Andy’s back, turning on his side and curling up in a loose foetal position.
“Forming arms!” said Cam, and stretched himself out flat and rigid, face down on top of Daz.
“And I’ll form the head,” said Miles. He climbed up on Cam made himself into a ball, facing upward with his feet in the air.
Randy Van Funk kicked open the door to the bridge. He stood stunned. The envy and anger vanished from his face, replaced by astonishment. In front of him stood a totem pole of nude men, atop of which, facing him almost at eye level, was a pair of hairy white buttocks. And there just above the buttocks, most mesmerising of all, a scrotum popped out between two thighs. Some would have likened the scrotum to a large, malformed kiwifruit; others, a small, hirsute water balloon. To Randy Van Funk, however, with his poor vision, the testes bore an uncanny resemblance to his hero, Poison lead singer, Bret Michaels. In that moment Randy Van Funk’s entire worldview deflated.
“Randy,” Bret Michaels (in the form of Miles’s balls) seemed to be saying, “Randy, what are you doing? This is not what you’re about. What happened to that fun-loving kid who just wanted to write music and change the world? Randy, what happened to you? It’s not too late to change.”
Randy Van Funk dropped his machine gun and stood there crying. What had his life become? Good grief, he promoted child slavery! What a fool he had been. He vowed then and there to change his ways, to be a force for good in the world. He vowed to—
“EEEEEYAAAAAHHH! DIE FUNK!” Drum ran up the stairs and clubbed Randy Van Funk’s knee with a lead pipe. The repentant singer collapsed. Drum hoisted him off the ground and threw him headfirst down the stairs. He landed with such force and at such a vicious angle that his head broke clean off his shoulders.
“Don’t mess with Neon Cyborg!” shouted Drum. He turned to check on his band mates. There, just inside the doorway, he saw the grotesque, naturist Jenga tower. “Human Voltron,” he said. “Nice.”
It took Cam, Daz, Andy and Miles two days to sleep off the effects of Captain Burridge’s pills, during which time Drum manned the helm. As the hung-over band members regained consciousness, they returned, one by one, to the bridge. The band was back together and safe. Drum told the others of his adventures that day on the boat, and they sat enthralled, drinking hot chocolate and cheering his exploits.
Neon Cyborg made it to Mombasa just in time to crash the Grammys after-party—literally. The party was on a yacht, and Drum steered the cargo ship right into it. Eight people died. They were all known paedophiles though, so it was like, yeah, well, that’s what you get.
© 2019 MILES VENISON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED