The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet: Chapter Five

(Before I begin this chapter, only two days left to vote in this week's Bad Movie Ultimate Cage Match! I'm being annoying with the reminders cause there's only 6 votes and only one person stepped forward saying they wanna take on whoever wins this week. I need more people to keep this going, yo! I never pressured you to do anything ever! Don't give up the fight, Johnny! YOU'RE THE BEST!!!! AROUND!!!!!! Wait...sorry. Anyway, participate.

And this is probably the weirdest chapter I've written so far, with the Lady Gaga thing and the part of the airplane that I'm sure really doesn't exist. Keep in mind this is all suppose to play out like a bad movie.)

What was weird was prior to boarding the plane I had "Let's Dance" in my head. I really have no idea why it was. Maybe it's fate or maybe I'm partically psychic. I don't know. But now I was looking at the chick singing the song that's currently in my head. How fucking weird is that?

"Yes, I am," Lady Gaga said. She looked out the window. "Why aren't we flying yet?"
"Sorry, ma'am," James said. He went back into the cockpit and got ready to take off. Rick and I took seats next to Lady Gaga.
"I just wanna say I like your songs," I said. I saw Rick moving his head. I think he was agreeing with me.
"That's good," was all Lady Gaga said. She kept staring out the window. The world might not agree with me but I think she's fuckin' hot. Kinda too bad she's wearing a curtain.

The plane started moving forward. I buckled my seatbelt and the plane was just simply rolling on the tarmac. I always hated planes taking off. I barely noticed it on the way to L.A cause I was reading about "The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet". I figured I needed a similar distraction so I turned and looked at Lady Gaga's tits. I gotta say it helped.

Next thing I knew the plane was going up into the sky. I got to see her tit's jiggle. I had to be careful not to get too excited. Soon, the plane was in the air and the jiggling stopped. Lady Gaga turned to me.

"So, what exactly is going on?" she asked.
"My friend is on his way to kill me."
"But you're here."
"He doesn't know I'm here. He thinks I'm somewhere else."
"Oh."
"So, I take it you like to play poker?"
"Where do you get that idea?"
"Cause...poker face?"
"Oh. No, I don't like to play poker. The song isn't about poker. It's about..."
Then Lady Gaga paused. She thought for a minute. Then two. I turned to Rick, who was still moving his head but now I see he was shaking his head. He looked at me and continued shaking his head. I shrugged my shoulders, silently asking "what?" Rick just continued shaking his head.
"...not giving away what you're thinking. Remaing stoic. You know, like this." Lady Gaga then made a blank face. I nodded.
"Awesome," was all I said.

I turned to Rick.
"So if we catch up to him, what's the plan?"
"I don't have one."
"You don't have a plan?"
"No. I like going into situations like this with no plan to see what the mind can come up with at the last minute, you know?"

I thought that was stupid but again I'm not a F.B.I agent. I turned back to Lady Gaga. I decided to try something crazy because how often am I gonna run into a female celebrity.

"So what should I call you? Lady? Gaga? The Ga? Miss Gaga?"
"Lady Gaga's fine."
"Ok. So Lady Gaga, is there a Gentleman Gaga?"
"Are you the paparatzzi?"
"Um, no."
"You know I hate them."
"Right."

It remained silent for a minute.

"Does disco stick mean what I think it means?"
"Yes. I like to fuck. Are you trying to fuck me?"

I was taken aback. I never had anyone be straightforward in asking me that. I actually stumbled for a minute.

"I'll be in the back. Come by when you're ready." Then Lady Gaga stood up and went to the back of the plane. Holy shit, I was gonna fuck a female celebrity. I figured it'd be someone like Scarlett Johannson or Jessica Biel or Alba. But hey, beggars can't be choosers. A celebrity is a celebrity. AND it's gonna be on an airplane. Mile high club here I come.

As I was about to stand up, Rick, who was looking out the window the entire time, grabbed my arm.

"That's the plane!" he exclaimed.
"What?" was all I said, trying to hide my boner.
"The plane your friend is on. I got the numbers from Miss Airhead at the airport and they match the ones on the plane. Come on, we got to get on that plane."
"What? No!" Rick looked at me. "I mean...how are we gonna get off of this plane and get on that plane?"
"Every plane has a secret hatch in the back that you can get in and out of in case of an emergency. The public isn't aware of this, so we can get in there without causing a panic on that plane. I'll talk to the pilot and have him line us up with the back of that plane."

Rick got up and went to the cockpit. I wondered if it was enough time to go in the back "real quick" but by the time I made my decision, Rick was back.

"Ok, he's gonna do it. Come on."

Rick headed towards the back. I followed him and I noticed a small room with a curtain drawn. I went and opened it and there was Lady Gaga. I tried to walk in but Rick quickly grabbed me, poked his head through the curtain and said "Thanks for letting us-oh. Sorry to interrupt you while you were changing. Thanks."

Needless to say, the news and the gossip is wrong about her.

We continued to the back of the plane and Rick was cutting open some fabric. Behind that was a 4 foot wide hatch with a handle. Rick turned it and opened it. The wind was unbearable. Rick poked his head out, then he turned to me and mouthed something. I just nodded. I didn't care. I was pissed.

Rick then pulled himself through the opening and I noticed that we were in fact right underneath a passenger airplane. Rick reached up and found a knob to a similar looking hatch. He turned it with all his stregth and finally it opened. He pushed the door inward and grabbing onto the inside of the second plane he pushed his way in. I poked my head out and made the mistake of looking down.

Suddenly everything was spinning and I felt like throwing up. I might've thrown up, I don't recall. Suddenly, things went black.

The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet: Chapter Four

(Before begining this chapter, if you haven't already, don't forget to vote in the Bad Movie Ultimate Cage Match!)

"Well now, he might not be AFTER me. Maybe he just needs help and I'm the only one he can turn to?" I ask, while Rick fast and furiously drives back to LAX.
"Whatever you say. We just have to get him before he gets on that plane."

We arrived at the airport in record time and ran to the ticket counter. A ticket agent was typing at her computer. She looked up at Rick as he flashed his badge.

"F.B.I. Did you sell a ticket to this individual?" Rick asked while showing a picture of Adam he got from Adam's apartment. The ticket agent looks.
"Oh yeah. He had a weird name. A Mr. Grrrr Rrrrr."
"Grrr Rrrr?" Rick asked.
"Yeah, that'd all he'd say."
"And you sold him a ticket anyway?" I asked
"He seemed pretty passionate about getting on that plane. Who am I to stop him?"
"When does that flight take off?"
"I'm sorry, it took off twenty minutes ago."
"Damn it!" Rick shouted. The entire airport stopped and looked.
"Can we get on the next flight to Indianapolis?" I asked, hoping to calm down the now scared ticket agent.
"Uh...the next flight isn't for another four hours."
"DAMMIT!!" Rick shouted again. He leaned over the counter and says right in the agents face, "DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?"
The agent, who was wearing a name tag but her long blonde hair was in the way, was about to cry. I realized it meant by the time we got on the plane, Adam would be landing in Indianapolis. We needed to stop him before he got there.

I turned and looked out a window that I'm sure isn't normally there and noticed a couple of private planes just rolling around the tarmac. I tapped Rick on the shoulder and pointed out the window.

"Couldn't we just take one of those?"
"We can't afford to buy a private plane. Bailouts, you know."
Holy shit, I was right.
"Well, can't you 'borrow' it, like they do in the movies?"
"That's against the law. That's considered...you know. The H-word."
I nodded. I didn't wanna say the word in a crowded airport as well, with an F.B.I agent next to me or not.
"But you wouldn't be forcing anyone. If they say no, just go 'ok' and try the next one."

Rick couldn't find any argument against that so he sighed and said ok. We quickly ran out onto the tarmac and found the nearest private jet, about to take off. Rick pulled out his badge and stood in front of the plane. The pilot saw him and looked questioningly.

The plane came to a stop and the door opened. Rick, still holding his badge, says "I need to commandeer this plane. It's a national emergency!" The pilot shrugged his shoulders and extended the ladder. Rick and I climbed it and go on board. Rick shook the pilot's hand.

"Thank you, sir. I'm Special Agent Rickard Springfield. This is Jason Soto."
"Yes, from Invasion of the B Movies," I quickly added. The pilot looked at me, confused. Obviously he never goes on the internet.
"We need to find a plane that left from here going to Indiana approximately twenty minutes ago. Once we locate said plane, we will exit your plane and you can go on your way."
The pilot, who's nametag read James Dunn, just nodded and said "Ok, but you might want to explain that...to HER."

James pointed to the cabin. I turned and look and saw there were only a few seats. In one of the seats was a person wearing a lampshade on their head, a small set of window blinds coving their face, and a curtain for a dress. I'm assuming this was a female. When Rick and I stepped into the cabin, the female person finally acknowledged our existance.

"What is the meaning of this?" the female demanded.
"I'm sorry...ma'am? This is a national emergency. We have to stop a plane."
"Fine, whatever. I'm late for the New York Fashion Show."

I half wondered if we stumbled onto the filming of the sequel to "Bruno". Then the female pulled the drawstrings on the window shades and I got a clear look at her face.

"Oh my god. You're...Lady Gaga!"

The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet: Chapter Two

"What?" I asked, not sure if I heard him right. Watching "I Was A Teenage Zombie" can do that to a fella.
"Can I come in, please? I promise I will explain."

Not finding a reason not to, I stepped aside and let the man on through. He looked around my apartment like he was trying to find something nice to say but he clearly thought I lived in a shit hole. Fuck him, I love my apartment.

"Sir-" Rick Springfield started to say.
"Call me Jason. I'm not in the army."
"Sir, am I correct in assuming you are the maintainer of a website called-" Rick paused, pulled out a notepad and thumbed it open. "Invasion of the B Movies?"
"Yeah. Why? Did someone complain about the images? It's just boobs."
"No. I'm going to need your help on a matter that is very important. What I am saying, Mr. Soto, is the United States of America needs your knowledge of bad movies to help save some lives."
"W-w-w-hat? Wait. Did Bill put you up to this? That fucker." I turned away and headed for my phone.
"I assure you I am serious. There has been a series of unexplainable deaths and they all center around one movie. I need to know if you know anything about it or if you are familar with the director."
"Man, Bill must really be pissed at me for all the pranks I pulled on him." I started dialing Bill's number.
"Do you know a director named T. Thomas F. Coltrane?", Rick Springfield (How could I have not realized this was a prank sooner) said, still reading from his notepad.
"No, I don't." Bill's phone was ringing. "How much did he pay you? He must've really saved up. Nice suit by the way."
"How about a movie titled 'The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet'?"
I paused.
"Hello?" Bill answered.
I hung up the phone.
"What did you say?" I said slowly, not believing this.
"The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet. Heard of it?" Rick asked, closing his notepad.
"Not until earlier today. What does that movie have to do with anything?"
"What I'm about to tell you is strictly confidental. Three people have died mysteriously in the past two weeks. When their bodies were found, a copy of this Dr. Feet movie was in their DVD player. It would appear that the cause of death was suicide."
"So people are watching a movie, and when it's over...they kill themselves?"
"The first two people did. The third was a bit unusual. She finished the movie, then grabbed the nearest weapon and killed everyone in her household, then herself. I need to find the director of this movie because he is causing people to hurt themselves and others with his bad movie."

I sat down on my couch. I'm pale in most parts of my body but right now my face was joining various body parts. I looked up at Rick.

"I don't know who the director is. But I know where a copy of the movie is now."

Chapter One of "The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet"

This was the novel I was writing for NaNoWriMo. Majority of the people involved were based on my friends, but with their last name removed. I probably will continue on this later cause it was a lot of fun to write. Anyway, without further adieu:

Chapter One

"Fuck", I said as the ending credits were rolling. I couldn't believe what I just watched. And the worse part is I have to somehow describe the entire movie AND make it funny. I don't know which part of that equation is worse.

I turned the DVD off and sat at my computer. I opened up my WordPad and stared at the cursor, just flashing on and off, as if it was taunting me. "What you got to say, Bad Movie Guy?" I then typed in "Fuck you". That shut it up.

Finally, I thought of an opening paragraph when the phone rang. I grabbed the phone, thinking it was another wrong number or someone looking for "Jason Sado". No matter how many times I tell them, Jason "Sado" does not live here. There's probably some poor guy with that name getting phone calls for Jason "Soto" and he's equally frustrated.

Looking at the caller ID I saw it was my friend Adam. I answered it.

"Hello?"
"Hey, what's up?" Adam replied.
"Not much, just trying to type up this review."
"Oh, sorry to interrupt. Which movie?"
"I Was A Teenage Zombie."
"Never seen it. Is it good?"
"Um...." I struggled with the words to describe this damn movie over the phone. This is gonna be a long night. "No."
"That sucks. Anyway, I just called to tell you that I got your package. Thanks."

I paused and thought. Did I send a package? Not recently. Maybe I sent one a few months ago but it's just now getting there. Adam's birthday was a few months ago. Damn, the post office is really pissed about emails. I don't recall what I sent.

"Oh hey, no problem, dude. Happy...birthday?"
"Uh, it was a few months ago. But thanks?"
"You're welcome?"
"Are we gonna stop ending things with question marks?"
"I don't know?"
"Should I kill you now or later?"
"Later would be fine. Just a quick question, what did I send you?"
"This movie. It looks like a bootleg or something. It just came in a plain black case and written in marker it says 'The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet'. I'm guessing this is some movie you came across and you sent it to me."

Ok, now I really have no idea what he was talking about. I never heard of that movie in my life. But whatever. Adam was happy and he thinks I sent it, so I'll gladly take the credit.

"Oh yeah. I, uh, haven't seen it yet, though. Let me know how it is."
"Will do. I'll let you get back to your review. Can't wait to read it. Later."
"Bye," I said, then hung up the phone. Oh well, that was weird. I put the phone back on the charger and sat back down at my computer. The words "Fuck you" were staring back at me. My WordPad hates me apparently.

I start writing the review.

About an hour later, I was halfway through when I stopped to take an A.D.D break. Even though I was never offically classified as having it, I seem to have A.D.D because I can't even focus my mind on anything for longer than 30 minutes. So I saved my work and went on Facebook and tried to fight my way through ten thousand messages of my friends finding cows on their farms or causes I should join (cause joining these causes will sure save the world.) or top five hair metal bands I should like or go fuck myself.

I was so engrossed with Facebook that I didn't hear the knocking on the door. I finally wondered what that noise was and got up to investigate. I looked in the peephole and saw standing outside my door a weirdly shaped guy with a super round face and big black eyes. After realizing this was because of the peephole I opened my door a crack.

"Yes?" I asked, politely.
"Are you Jason Soto?" the man asked in return. I can now see he was about six feet tall, wore a black suit, dark sunglasses, and had light brown hair, cut short. He looks serious and offical. I knew I should've paid my Netflix on time.
"Maybe. Who are you?"
The man pulled out a wallet and flashed the contents to me. It was a badge and a picture of the man with the words Federal Bureau of Investigation on it. "I am Special Agent Rickard Springfield."
"You're name is Rick Springfield?"
"No. Rickard. Can I come in please?"
"What is this about?"
"Sir, I'm afraid it's about...bad movies."

Chapter Two coming tomorrow.
-Jason