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Stan's Pre-Used Adventure
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Chapter 1: Stan, Pre-Used Detective
It was one of those dark and gloomy nights in which you weren’t able to sell a damned previously-used diaper to a desperate mother, when it came to my ears: The Marley-Threepwood’s had mysteriously disappeared! Well, in that moment I was having a “Hula-hula Non-Alcoholic Cocktail”, shorter the HHNAC, in the Lua Bar. Until the news came to me, I pretended to steal the recipe and sell previously-used HHNAC’s around the Caribbean, but then I thought: “Man, why do I have to sell this bad-quality stuff when I can make millions out of the M-T (Marley-Threepwood) case?” “C’mon Stan, do it!” I answered to myself, “Go for the fame and the fortune!” I paid for the HHNAC, went outside and said: “Leave the fortune to me, you can keep the fame!” As I arrived to the place, I bumped into the Governor’s Manor. It smelled quite distinctively in there.
“The M-T’s have been KIDNAPPED by LeChuck!” I shouted.
“How d’you know that?” said a rather rich-looking citizen, I should try to pull his leg.
“Notice that rotten-like smell? LeChuck, of course. Who else would have kidnapped ‘em?”
“Yeah, of course, but there’s still something…”
“Of course there’s something!!! I bet you’re desperate for the brand-new “Stan’s pre-used detective kit”! Only 750 pieces o’ eight each!”
How swell, no fool to trick tonight, huh? Oh, whatever. I’d have to track LeChuck to his hideout…easy meat. Nope, no easy meat, rotten meat instead. Running after the smell of a half-decomposed undead pirate, I noticed the skull of one of his minions rolling around and swearing. I neared myself to him, and grabbed him in fraganti.
“Hey, be careful, you puny mortal…hey, wait, you’re the crazy one in the Blood Island Common Crypt!” He shouted.
“That’s me, Stan, the life-insurance man!” I tried to fool him, actually, I was quite desperate for a mere sell.
“I’m Murray, the King of Evil!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!”
“And I’m Stan, the Lord of the Salesmen!!!!!!!! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!”
“No, no, Stan, I was only joking, don’t take it so seriously...” Murray seemed flattered because of my introduction.
“Oh, whatever. Seen any undead pirates carrying two people around here?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah, lots of ‘em! My good fella LeChuck dropped me here in order to bite anybody that would try to…oops…I forgot to…YEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW!!!!!”
I had already stuck him in a 50 feet-long cannon and shot him away…just in time, I thought…but, oh, darn! I hadn’t asked him where they went! So swell, I found myself in a total blockade…once again. But then, an inner voice told me: “Use the Nose, Stan, use the nose…” ”And the dog’s name was Bingo!!!” I yelled (luckily, I was alone, if anybody would have seen me, I wouldn’t be able to sell him anything…). That was it! I still could smell the bouquet of a rotten undead pirate, but still, I wasn’t feeling A-OK to track him. I needed to sell something, pronto. After years of selling, I’ve realized that selling is more addictive than cocaine, so you can imagine how I was feeling… Completely desperate, I sold a coat to a recently washed-up wannabe pirate. I didn’t make any profit of it, but I managed to control my addiction. Well then, I was ready. I headed for the Mêlée docks and embarked in the “Flying Salesman”, my ship. I won it by betting in a game of insult poker. His former owner, a guy called Lando Calrissian, told me it was the fastest ship in the Caribbean… I still thought it was a big piece of junk, but, whatever. I tracked the smell ‘till Lonely Island, a lonely rock over the ocean. A hermit told me that the LeChuck had stopped there for a while.
“Yeah, they stopped here,” he said. “One of the hostages needed to unleash his instincts.”
“Wha-?” I couldn’t understand a word, “Unleash his instincts??”
“He needed to pee, man. You wouldn’t make it out as a salesman, y’know?”
What the…? It took me a little bit to control myself. “Oh, all right, where did they head for?”
“Dunno. By the way, one of the guards dropped a card.”
I took it. In it, there stood something.
N. O’BRAIN ARMSTRONG
¿Need any immortal protection?
CELL PHONE: 756-910-UNDEAD
Swell idea! I called there, in order to ask for directions.
“Nathan O’Brain Armstrong. No brain, full strength, the best post-mortem bodyguard ever been. May I help you?” a voice said.
“Hrm, yes. I need immediate help. Where could I find you?” I said.
“Which is your position?” he said.
“I have Lonely Island in sight.”
“In that case, mister…”
“Rosenblumenthalovitch. Lazslo Rosenblumenthalovitch.” I lied.
“Well, in that case, mister Rosen’tch, you can find me in Monkey Island.”
I hung up. By the way, how the hell could I have a cell phone then and there? Dunno. Whatever. My mission was clear. I turned around and headed for Monkey Island.