"Malcolm in the Middle: The Next Gen..."
Summary: Eighteen years after high school graduation, the lives of child genius and well-meaning brat Malcolm Wilkerson and his family are rather different yet surprisingly familiar.
Part IX...
[Sorry, weird pasting error. Here's the real thing...]
"Well, well, well..." the rumbling voice of Colonel Harlan D. Saunders III came to Jonas Blueman as he fumbled to remove a blindfold placed on him on his boarding a private jet for his secret rendezvous with his boss' rival and opponent...And he hoped, his ticket to E...That's Capital E, or better be...Cause Blueman, Jonas don't settle for e...small e...asy street. Viewing the Colonel from the chair he'd been placed...
"Yo, Colonel. Say what was the need for the blindfold?" Jonas asked.
"Hmmn...Oh, to keep this particular meeting place a secret, I suppose." The Colonel smiled.
Or maybe I just love jerking a punk like you around...
"Secret? Aren't we in your HQ in Kentucky?" Blueman stared, indicating the large window.
"Perhaps..."
"But I can see the sign right out the window there..."
"Perhaps..." the Colonel exuded a Buddha-like mysteriously calm air. "One might wish you to think so." Smile.
"Fine, whatever...So I'm here now...And I gotta..."
"So you are, Mr. Blueman. So, you are." Serene smile.
"Yeah, yeah..." wave of impatient hand.
Frowns from various guards and personnel...This fellow does not do things the Colonel's way.
And it's not right to not to do things the Colonel's way.
"Why did you cut me out of the negotiations?" Blueman fumed. "Hal Wilkerson told me..."
"You were never included in the negotations, son." Smile.
"What the...! Listen, old man!"
Looking about him as several guards, male and female, all looking well-fed on the Colonel's chicken and, armed, he paused.
"For your own protection, naturally..." smile, benign folding of hands.
Naturally...The Colonel repressed a guffaw.
But...For now...The little punk still may have his uses.
"After all, son...We can't have it known you're on the team already." Warm smile regarding Blueman.
Little punk traitor. Nothin' I can't abide more than a little punk who betrays his own team.
It being likely it'll be my team he's betrayin' tomorrow. When alls done I say it's the oil fryer for this one. Maintaining the benign Buddha pose that had won so many hearts and stomachs around the world.
Especially them Buddha-worshippin' places...I should really consider founding my own religion. The Church of the Colonel, yes indeed. Redemption...And social order through fried chicken.
Over three billion served within a year by my religion boys' and girls' reckonings. But first, we must dispense with the heretics. The Cajun, the Pigtail, the...Vegan.
So that there will be one faith, one church, one Colonel, over all.
Megalomania? Hey, my grandpappy started out with a shack, a chicken recipe he stole, and forced laborers.
"Yeah, yeah...But I shoulda been included in the negotiations." Blueman continued. "I'm a key player, ya know."
Doddering old moron ...Well, I'll be the King of fast-food chicken...Jason assured himself, eyeing the bow-tied said old moron.
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Malcolm in the Middle: The Next Gen.
FanfictionEighteen years after high school graduation, the lives of child genius and well-meaning brat Malcolm Wilkerson and his family are rather different yet surprisingly familiar.
