Part 3: Lucius is Extremely Silly

Pope Lucius was in the Vatican dojo, pummelling away at a punch bag that, using creative use of magazine clippings, had been turned into an effigy of that twat who sings for the Libertines.

"You'd better stop that, Your Holiness," said Cardinal Barry. "Change a couple of words and that opening sentence looks very dodgy indeed."

"Look, replied his Holiness, "I can't interrupt my kungfujitsu training just because some slashfic writers might turn my life into some weird gay boyband fantasy. Anyway, since when did you care about spin? The General Erection coverage gone to your head or something?"

Cardinal Barry looked sheepish. "Well Peter Snow's graphics, they are very clever you know... I mean who else could take the General Erection and visualise it as a RACE?! That's pretty clever if you ask me."

"No, I don't ask you, because I don't care about the next baby-fondling idiot chosen by the small minority of British people who actually give a shit to mismanage their decrepit little country. Ooh, look at me, Tony Twat's made me Lord Arsewad of Shittyton, Essex! At least in the Vatican you get titles that actually MEAN something."

"That reminds me, who were you going to appoint to be Mother Superior of Hot Beverage Construction Duties?"

"Not you."


Pete and Carl sat in the lounge of the Hotel de la Crapeaux.

"I wonder if Busted will ever get back together," Pete wondered. "Do you think they will?"

Carl thought about this for a second. "I don't know, but I know someone who will."

"Who?"

"That bloke from Busted."

"Who? Frankenstein?"

"No the other one. He plays guitar and sings."

"Gayboy?"

"That's the one. I mean I could try Aborted Foetus, but he's always busy."

The phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hello, is that Gayboy from Busted?"

"Certainly is."

"This is the Ovaltines. We were wondering if you were ever planning on reforming with Busted?"

"We'd like to. We really would. But there's just this guy... he's German and he flies a triplane..."

Pete and Carl looked at each other. "We know who you mean."

Werhner knocked at the door, opened it, walked in, shut the door, opened it again, walked out, knocked, jumped up and down 23 times, went "ee-aw!", walked in, punched himself repeatedly in the face, walked out, pulled his trousers down, sang the Macarena, and knocked again.

"Come in."

"Hallo, General Erghn."

"Hallo, Kommander. What did you vish to talk about?"

"I seek permission to relinquish my duties overseeing the control of a certain Englischer boy band."

"Vat vould dis boy band be called?"

"Busted."

To be continued...