Chapter XI – Jim Stalin Goes To Paris
"How the hell did we get here?" Jack Wack asked as they walked out of the airport, "Weren’t we just talking to that prissy Ferguson dude?"
"Shhh," Jim told him, shucking the uncomfortable tuxedo for the loud Hawaiian shirt underneath it, "Not nice to point out holes in the plot, even if they are big enough to drive Anna Nicole Smith’s ass through."
"You realize in another three years that joke is going to be utterly humorless?" Jack asked him, "Just like that shirt is now?"
"So is Sackenbrenner," Jim shrugged, "But either he hasn’t left the office and seen his Yugo yet or figured that sending me to France was ample punishment."
"So is that shirt," Jack shuddered, "So do we have any contacts here?"
"Not a one?" Jim said, "So we do what any red blooded American would do in France?"
"Visit Oscar Wilde’s grave and party?" Jack asked hopefully, knowing he would be disappointed.
"That’s what I get for having a gay Jewish Black dude for a sidekick," Jim frowned, "No. We’re going to go straight to the Louvre and piss off someone enough so that they will help us figure out where Da Vinci might have had that orgy."
"Are you sure that you want to do that?" Jack asked him, "I mean this is going to be a spoof of the Da Vinci code, so we should give the author a chance to read it again."
"True," Jim agreed, "But if the author has any sense he’ll either fake it or stop writing long enough to read a piece of it."
"Ok," Jack agreed, "But at this point we’re still not helping him waste any words, which is what he needs more than anything."
"That is the truth," Jim nodded, "So maybe we should go to a restaurant and have dinner while being waited on by a snooty waiter?"
"Sure," Jack said, "That will work. Especially if it gives us a chance to meet the bad guys again."
"Mmm," Jim said, thinking about Reizvolle’s curves, "Maybe I can get some more eye candy too."
"Think Adam is that good looking?" Jack wondered, forgetting that his friend was straight.
"No," Jim said, smacking Jack upside the head, "Let’s go to a restaurant. You know they will show up."
"What would your wife say about you thinking about that blonde?" Jack asked him.
"Selene won’t know," Jim said, "And that woman is worth drooling over."
"I thought her name was Sherry," Jack said, "Didn’t we have dinner with her last year?"
"Whatever," Jim shrugged, "It doesn’t matter."
"Think they’ll try to kill us again?" Jack asked, ignoring the shot, "I’m getting rather annoyed with that, by the way."
Jim went out and found the car rental place. It wasn’t hard to find out what they would be driving. Admiral Sackenbrenner had finally found his beloved Yugo and made certain that they would be driving appropriate transportation. The nearly destroyed Gremlin that had been left outside the airport in America had been transported on a military transport plane and put outside the rental place, with instructions that it was the only vehicle they were to drive.
"Man," Jack said, "You have to admire the Admiral’s vindictiveness. It takes work to get a broken down Gremlin from the U.S. to Paris in less time than it takes us to fly here on a commercial jet."
"Nice," Jim agreed, "Think it still runs?"
"One way to find out," Jack shrugged, pulling out his keys, "Let’s drive."
They managed to get around in Paris traffic, despite the fact that neither one of them spoke a word of French. Despite several dozen near misses and the fact that Jack had never been in Paris before they managed to get to one of the best restaurants in all of France. The name was something that no one cares about because it is French and it is boring anyway. At least I think so, and I am writing this story so sod off if you do not agree.
"I think this is the place," Jim said, "It looks snooty enough."
"Are we dressed right for it?" Jack wondered, "I mean I always look good, but you generally look pretty rumpled dude."
"We’re still wearing the tuxedos," Jim reminded him, "You think we had time to change clothes between chapters? Let’s go inside."
They walked in to the posh restaurant and saw plenty of snooty French people littered the place eating very snooty food and looked down at Jim and Jack because they were obviously Americans. Jim shrugged and went up to the head waiter, whose name was so obviously snooty that it won’t be repeated here, and demanded a table.
"Ok slimeball," Jim said, "I need a table and I need it now."
"Now see here," the waiter said with a horrible French Accent that I won’t repeat here, "You may be some American swine, but what makes you think that you will get a table here?"
"Twenty bucks," Jack said, trying to act cool enough to cover for his friend’s impetuousness, "My name is Jack Wack my friend and we’re here to partake in some of your very fine cuisine."
"You are not a normal American," the snooty waiter said, "You’re one of those homo types…"
"I’m a 100% Gay Jewish Black Dude," Jack said, "And that twenty is just for you, my man."
"Get out of here," the snooty waiter said, "You moron."
"My turn," Jim said and walked over to the waiter, "Now, are you going to do better than that?"
"Get out of here you American loser," the waiter told him, "I piss on your soufflé."
"You hear that, Jack?" Jim chuckled, "He pissed on my soufflé. I think he needs to pay for that."
"Do your worst my man," Jack said, "He’s a snooty jerk."
Jim Stalin went over and looked around to make sure that there were no police around. Of course there were not any, as it would be counterproductive to this bit as it is being written just to state how much the author dislikes snooty restaurants and snooty jerks who think they’re better than anyone else.
"Ok," Jack said to the author, "Stop that whining and start with the funny stuff."
Jim went over to the snooty waiter and did a few distraction maneuvers. He then held out a hand as if to shake hands, though he kept his fist balled up. The snooty waiter, of course, had never seen a Three Stooges film and smacked the balled fist out of the way. Jim was pleased to complete the maneuver and let the fist go around in a circle and smacked the waiter on top of the head.
"Nyuk, Nyuk, Nyuk," Jim said in a Curly imitation, "Wise guy, eh?"
Jack chuckled as Jim went through a few minutes worth of Stooge moves, complete with smacks, eye pokes and a set of pliers applied to the snooty waiter’s nose. Jack only shook his head at the display, because he knew it was pointless and they were going to get to go inside anyway.
"Ok," Jim said, "Here’s the finale, are you ready?"
He walked a few steps away, turned around, and did the Curly shuffle across the waiting room and kicked the snooty waiter in the stomach, knocking him backwards into a conveniently placed fountain. He landed roughly and you could almost see the birdies flying around his head as the water came down on top of him.
"Don’t get up," Jim said, "We’ll take care of ourselves."
They walked into the restaurant and took a seat, where a lower waiter who had witnessed the display calmly and happily took their orders. What else did you expect, Jim to beat down the entire restaurant? That would be overkill. Just wait until next chapter when Adam and Reizvolle join our hero and the gay Jewish black dude for a nice quiche soufflé.
"Oh god," Jack moaned, "Not more soufflé."
"Just so long as the waiter doesn’t piss in it," Jim shrugged, "Garcon! Your best champagne!"