Title: Monty Python on The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

Author: Samyo

Rating: T

Genre: Humor

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Disclaimer: I own nothing...blah blah blah...you know the drill.

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In the year 1899, the last time Scottland ever qualified for the World Cup, the world was at unrest. Victoria’s Secret had just came out with a new bra line, wait, wrong line. Oh yes, times were hard for a century and an era were coming to a end. One-shot rifles and horse-drawn cannons would be replaced by automatics and submarines, the Beetles would split up, Prince Charles would be called gay...

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Dear BBC,

I am greatly disturbed by this useless nonsense for most of this has absolutely nothing to do with the film. I myself was alive in 1899, and even then, royals were accused of homosexuality, so it doesn’t even really phase anyone, anymore.

Sincerely,

Joan Rivers

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Well, you can’t expect me to stick to the script all the time, anyway, a mysterious shaking of the earth started. Bricks tarted falling to the streets, chimneys collapsed.

“Arthur, the chimney fell off the roof again.”

“What the hell do you want me to do?”

“Go up and fix it.”

“I’m not doing it right now.”

“Of course, because you’re too busy watching the damn telly.”

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“Officer, officer.”

“Yes, Dr. Gumby.”

“A tank is coming this way.”

“Oh yes...what’s a tank.”

“I don’t know.”

But if only the bobby had listened to Dr. Gumby, for a large chunk of metal was suddenly coming his way. The others ran and started hitting buildings with their stick thingys, but he just stood still.

“Stop, stop in the name of the law.”It did stop, it stopped all but three feet in front of him.

“Excuse me, officer,” said a voice inside with a thick German accent, “but may you tell directions to British Museum?”

“Oh, yes; three blocks down, take a right, first building on right.”

“Danke.”

“Hey, are you a German?”

“Nein, nein, I mean, no, no. I born in London, never learned to play football because I got shingles as child.”

“Oh, could of sworn you were German. Well, carry on; heard they had a nice Cleopatra exhibit at the museum.”

Sadly, a mere second later, the bobby was ran over by the tank.

And a mere 45 seconds later, someone cut the cheese.

And a minute later, they had reached the British Museum.

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“Phil, you hear that.”

“No.”

“Don’t you think that we should check it out.”

“Would we be paid extra.”

“Well, no.”

“Then pretend that you never heard it.”

Suddenly, just then, the tank came crashing through the walls, blasting through bookcase after bookcase, crashing a Sports Illustrated model shoot, running over a herd of stoned hippies.

It stopped in front of a vault and one of the beings inside opened a small window.

“Hey, there’s men inside.”

“Maybe one of them is Elvis.”

The tank blew open the vault and men started to emerge from the tank. First came a soldier, then women in bikinis, that more soldiers, a Richard Nixon impersonator, then the Phantom, who started to do a jig.

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“My name is the Phantom, though you may call me Frank. I love to dance the polka, just like Mary Sue. I sometimes press wild flowers, and put on bright pinks pumps. But then again, killing is fun, so kill them all, but leave one alive so...well, you know the rest.”

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“Such treasures,” a soldier said to the Phantom.

“Hey, I think I see the Mona Lisa,” yelled another.

“Treasures, yes, with some worth more than others, some prettier than others, some more intoxicating than others...”

Right...anyway, the world was in shock. Shortly after, the Phantom went to Germany and blew up some zeppelins and kidnaped some scientists, but not before he had tea with his sister in law, gave CPR to a mountain goat, and won the Nobel Peace Prize, wait, the Evil Genius Nobel Peace Prize.

The headlines on the papers could say it all.

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“Great Britain Attacked, Germany Accused”

“Germany says Not Us”

“Women stuck in Well for Ten Hours”

“Gigli Becomes Killer Video Tape”

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Is there any hope, will the world finally be ruled by damn dirty apes? Stay tune, and review, and may God help us all.