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Secret Revealed
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Chapter 5: Stopped in the Name of Love

“I still think we should make bouillon.  More to go around,” Lemonhead was saying.
Guybrush watched the flickering shadows on the wall as the cannibal leaders argued around the fire how to eat him.
“No bouillon!” cried Guybrush. “My skin will get all wrinkly! I’ll look like ET™!”
The tribesman with the guacamole headpiece stared at him, or at least Guybrush thought he did; it was hard to tell where they were looking with those masks.
“It doesn’t matter what you look like,” he said, “we’re already going to eat you the way you are now.”
“Oh. Hey!” exclaimed Guybrush.
“We could raffle him off.” suggested another elder.  “After all, tax income is down.”
Guybrush couldn’t stand to listen to anymore of their recipe plans.  His mind wandered off, unbound by the constraints of the rope.  He could see in his mind Elaine as she heard the news of his tragic end.  They’d been through so much, all to have him served on a platter surrounded by banana leaves and finger dishes.  Hardly seemed fitting for a hero of his proportions.  His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the doorway.
“You can’t eat this man!”
Guybrush sighed with relief.
“At least not before I kill him.”  The navigator’s daughter stepped from the shadows, sword drawn and ready to strike.  Although slightly cleaner than before, she still wore an air of total confidence.
“I have an idea,” Guybrush said. “Why don’t we untie the poor pirate man and have a little discussion.  I know a great place for squid.”  The sword point slipped under Guybrush’s neck, forcing his chin upward.  The girl’s eyes glittered dangerously.
“No dice, Mr. Threepwood, I’m afraid that this is your day to die.”
Guybrush soon found himself on the edge of the path jutting out over the crater of Mt Acidophilus.  He held his sword, but he wasn’t sure how much good it would do him in a situation like this.
“If you win, miraculous as it may be,” the girl was saying, “you may go free.  However, if I win, which is guaranteed, you’ll find that the fires of Mt Acidophilus are hardly a place for a summer vacation.”
Guybrush carefully glanced over his shoulder at the percolating lava far below him.
“I though Sherman couldn’t handle transfatty acids. I’m going to give him indigestion for weeks.”
“Sherman moved out.” Lemonhead said helpfully, from the safety of the cliff.  “We got a new tiki god.  His name is Chuck-Chuck.”
Guybrush nearly tumbled backwards into the pit in shock.
“And of course it’s only coincidence that LeChuck is running rampant.  I don’t want to fall in that volcano!” he squeaked. “I’m doomed!”
“Which makes this inevitable. Now raise your sword; I’ve got a lot to do today.” said the girl.
“WAIT!” hollered Guybrush.
“What?” chorused the cannibals.
“Is my health plan going to cover this?” asked Guybrush.
The girl gritted her teeth in annoyance.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have used an HMO. Now if you don’t mind,”
“WAIT!” howled Guybrush.
“What?” cried the exasperated and drooling cannibals.
“Don’t I get a last request?”
“Okay, fine. Whatever. What is it?”
“I want to go free.”
“Request denied. Anything else?”
“Can I get a phone call?”
“Yes, but nothing long distance. Our calling plan doesn’t cover trans-island communication.”
“Never mind.”  The girl opened her mouth to speak.
“WAIT!” bellowed Guybrush.
“WHAT?!!”  roared the exasperated and starving cannibals.
“I want to know the Secret of Monkey Island™.”
“Sorry, can’t help you.”
“Well if I don’t find out, my tortured soul with haunt you forever.  I’ll ensure you get hangnails on all of your fingers, and everytime you watch TV, it will be stuck on the music channel with 24 hour videos of famed country western star Conroy Bumpus™.”
 The cannibals looked at each other in dismay.  The navigator’s daughter tapped her foot impatiently.  The guacamole chief stepped forward.
“We’ll give you ten minutes. If you’re not back in that time, we’ll raid the resort.”
“But you’re going to do that anyway.” Guybrush said confused.
“Yes, well, we have no alternatives to give you.”
“Don’t I get to see a lawyer?”
The chief shook his head.
“We have no need for lawyers in our society.”
“Really?” said Guybrush in surprise. “I’d have thought that with all you bloodthirsty goons running around that there’d be at least one.”
“Eight minutes.” said the girl.
Guybrush ran down the path.
Stan still stood grinning and gaudy in his cryptic shop.  He could stay as long as he wanted; after all, he was the head storekeeper.
“Quick!” cried Guybrush, “I need the head of Bucktooth John!”
“An excellent choice, even if I do say so myself.” beamed Stan.  “Now, will that be cash or charge?”
“Well, charge.” said Guybrush.
“Alright,” said Stan, “I’ll need five positive forms of identification, a certification from your dentist confirming that those are your own teeth and nobody else’s, a letter of recommendation from your local congressman, two house keys, and I’ll also need your pants as collateral.”
“Ummm,” stammered Guybrush, “I do have this temporary library card.”
Stan glared down his nose at our hero.
“You must be joking.  I’m sorry; that will be 25,000 pieces of eight.”
“I’ll uh, I’ll be back.”
The Voodoo Lady was not in her room when Guybrush blew in like a whirlwind.  She had, however, been working on a magnificent life-size voodoo doll.  Guybrush recognized the unfinished work clearly to be Griswold Goodsoup.  The over stuffed head, leaking with sawdust and blue Styrofoam packing pellets, really did resemble a partially rotting head in a sick and revolting way.  Wrenching it off of the body and stuffing it in his pocket wasn’t exactly under regulation protocol, but Guybrush had only minutes to decide the fate of an island.  What he really wanted was a drink…..
“Goodsoup!” he cried, “I need something really strong! And make it a double!” (the writers and production crew do not in any way endorse drinking or alcohol of any kind. We trust that the readers can handle themselves more responsibly than an early Caribbean settled pirate who lost his parents at a young age and is being constantly tormented by an undead rival suitor for a girl who broke his heart two episodes ago.)
Guybrush woke up just in time to see the cannibals racing through the lobby, fondue sticks brandished high.  The good news was, he really tasted rather nice glazed in a butter and brandy sauce.  The bad news was, the game’s over.
You scored 20 out of 20 points.
There were no voices to credit.
Hope you had fun while it lasted.
In the meanwhile, enjoy this nice sunset.
“Wait!” hollered Guybrush. “I’m not dead yet!”
 You’re dead, you were eaten.
“Am not were not! And when did you get back? I seem to recall LeChuck sending you somewhere…”
He did. I’m back now.  I got time off for good behavior.
“That’s sick!” protested Guybrush.  “I don’t believe you.”
Okay, okay.  You’re right. LeChuck actually brought me back to kill you in case he didn’t get there in time.
“This is so unfair.” He grumbled. ”I don’t even have an impartial narrator.  Narrator, you’re fired.”
You can’t fire me. It’s impossible.
Guybrush frowned.
“Alright then,” he decided. “I’ll ignore you instead.  I’m going back this way, because I know the people in the drawing board department are still on my side….. there. I’m back on the path headed towards the hotel. Beat that.”
You’re dead.
“No, I’m rewinded.”
You’re dead.
“I’m not listening. La la la la la la la la. Only the wind, only the wind.”
Not this again.
“What? Did someone say something? I guess not.” Guybrush ran off to the hotel.
The Voodoo Lady was not in her room when Guybrush blew in like a whirlwind.  She had, however, been working on a magnificent life-size voodoo doll.  Guybrush recognized the unfinished work clearly to be Griswold Goodsoup.  The over stuffed head, leaking with sawdust and blue Styrofoam packing pellets, really did resemble a partially rotting head in a sick and revolting way.  Wrenching it off of the body and stuffing it in his pocket wasn’t exactly under regulation protocol, but Guybrush had only minutes to decide the fate of an island. Even more conveniently, the Voodoo Lady had several love bomb bags sticking out from a heavily packed suitcase.  Guybrush swiped all three, and hoped that no one would ever be desperate enough to actually need the kit.  On his way through the lobby, Guybrush couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of Herman sitting in his corner.  He clutched the umbrella tightly to him, his eyes locked intensely with disappointment on Madame Xima.
“Gee Herman, what has you down?” asked Guybrush.
“Gravity, my friend,” replied Herman, “Gravity and the charm of that enchanting woman.”
“Phooey!” growled Madame Xima, glaring at the shirted sailor.
“Turned you down, eh?” said Guybrush.  He whipped out one of the love bombs and lit the sequined fuse.  “Try giving this to her.” He told Herman. “Chicks dig candles.”
Guybrush hit the door just as the bomb exploded.  He cleared the porch, landing right in the middle of the raiding party.
“Well?” said the chief.  “Do you have the answer you seek?”
“Actually, yeah.” said Guybrush as he pulled out another love bomb. “It’s really quite simple, and I’m willing to share it.  Now if you’d all look here please.”


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