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Jes imagine

Started by onionhead, April 21, 2003, 04:10:27 AM

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onionhead

John Saxon took a drag from his cigarette, tossed the butt into the campfire.  The flames danced hypnotically in his eyes, consuming tinder, smoke rising into the crisp night air.  Just like my career, he mused bitterly.  Sitting in the folding chair, he bent forward to retrieve the Budweiser at his feet, and his head smacked into Sylvester Stallone's, who had been reaching for the same beer.
"Jeez, Johnny, ain't that my brewski?" came Stallone's query.
"Dolt, your's is over there," Saxon replied, rubbing his forehead and pointing at the can in front of Stallone.
"Oh, hey you'se is right; sorry Johnny.  Hey, you seen any good scripts lately?"
Saxon shook his head mournfully.  Alas, no he had not.
"Hmm,"  Stallone began, "well how 'bout some crappy ones?"
From across the came a prodigious belch.  "Oops, sorry," Borgnine said.  "Hey, Stallone, where are the weenies?"
"Uh, I thought you was bringin' them."
"Oh, crap, don't tell me you idiots forgot the meat??"  came Forrest Tucker's voice from the far tent.  He stuck out his head.  "Don't tell me you forgot the meat?"
"Hush, Tucker,"  John Carradine intoned from the shadows.  He had stepped into the trees to relieve himself--age imparts a weak bladder, and beer does not help matters.  "My son and I did not neglect the carniverous natures of our companions."
"Yeah, what he said,"  David Carradine muttered.  He sat atop  battered red Coleman cooler which he slapped with a palm.  "Toob steaks right here."
"Hell, some of us are hungry," Tucker gruffed , coming outside.
"Gimme another beer, okay?"  Stallone said to no one in particular.  "Uh, where are they?"
Christopher Walken stood up from his campchair.  "If I may be so bold, and what the hell, I just might . . .what was I saying?"
"Sit down, Chris."  Saxon could tell what was coming.
"Vould you all jus SHAT APP!  Some off uss vant to sleep!"  barked Scwarzenegger   from his sleeping bag.  
"Oh go nurse your tumor," Borgnine quipped.
"It's not a tumor," replied Schwarzenegger.
"Justa bad accent," the younger Carradine said.
Arnold sat up in the bag.  "I'll show you a bad accent, I knock your teeth out!"
"Any time, ya stinkin' Austrian," Carradine grunted, emboldened by the beer.
"Quiet, please, " the elder Carradine said. "I think I hear something in the woods."
Tucker looked around.  "We're all here, aren't we?"
Walken smiled maniacally.  "Some of more than others,' he said and dropped his smile, "wouldn't you say?"
"Chris, get out of the fire," Saxon said.  "Your shoes are smoking."
Walken looked down.  "Well I'll be.  So they are."  He stepped back.
There was a rustling behind Borgnine.  "What the hell??" he said, turning around to look into the blackness.  "Willard?"
"Ah'll be back," said Scwarzenegger, and he jumped out of the bag and ran in the opposite direction.
"Stinkin' Austrian's buggered out," observed David Carradine.
"Agarn!  Is that you?"  barked Tucker.  "I don't think it's Agarn."
Saxon was the only one who brought a flashlight, and he raised it up.  Unfortunately Walken was supposed to bring the batteries, so it was empty.
"Sly, go see what that is," said the younger Carradine.
"Yo, why me, how come it's always me?  'Sly, go see if there's bees in that log.  Go see if the pilot light's out, just light a match.  Go lick that, go stick yer finger in there.  Why's it always me?"
"Because the rest of us are too smart," Saxon said.
"Oh, okay."  Stallone headed over to the trees.
Suddenly the brush parted, and there hovered a pair of eyes, a set of teeth bared ferally.
"Oh my God! "  howled Borgnine.
"Egads!" said John Carradine.
"Holy crap, it AINT Agarn!" cried Tucker.
"Ow, my toes," said Walken.  
The face took shape as the form burst through and leapt toward the fire.  
"God DAMN it's cold out there!"
"Snipes, where the hell have you been?" Saxon chided.
"And where are the goddam pork rinds?"  David Carradine said.
Wesley Snipes held up an empty pork rind bag.  "s**t, got lost, got hungry."
Borgnine laughed.  "Well, what the hell.  Have a beer, Wes."
Tucker slapped Snipes on the back, dislocating Snipe's shoulder.  "Haw, good to see ya, Agarn."
Walken wandered out into the forest.  "Now where did I leave my keys?'

Some people like cupcakes better--I for one care less for them

The Burgomaster

Unfortunately, they didn't realize that there was ANOTHER camp on the other side of the creek where a similar conversation was taking place. The campers at the other site were:

Eric Roberts
Richard Roundtree
Michael Moriarty
Wings Hauser
Robert Ginty
Andrew Stevens
Michael Dudikoff

and the ghosts of John Carradine, Ray Milland and Cameron Mitchell . . .

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"Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just pretty much leave me the hell alone."