They crowded around me and beat me until I was mottled with lumps and bruises. They snatched away the plutonium and tied me to the back of one of their bikes with a pair of pantyhose, then they brought me back do the Drag Cave to meet their leader…
YOU GUYS F***ING SUCK!! and ran as fast as I could, squealing like a little girl. I made it safely to the corner coffee shop and dodged inside. I ordered a cappacino and an english muffin. (With blackberry jam, if you MUST know.) The waitress eyed me suspiciously. I smiled and she returned the gesture. We began to talk. “Freak,” she said. "I…
Nope, we’re going with Jack’s version. 
I wish I hadn’t told them they looked like my mother…
[Let’s call Silverfire/Jack’s thread With A Thumb And a Prayer]
I’m telling your mother!
“Freak,” she said, “I …
don’t mean to be a bitch, but english muffin with capuccino. How ‘bout a friggin’ scone ya uncouth bastard. And this tip, ain’t even close to 15%. What do I look like Bill Gates to you?”
On closer inspection, yes she actually did look a little like Bill gates. But I ignored that.
“What’s your name, sweetcheeks?” I queried.
…
The names Lola. Lola Spanona. Waitress by day, pope pornographer by night.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“P-p-pope pornographer?” I inquired.
“At’s right, stoopid, s’what I said. Somethin’ wrong wid it?”
“No, no…in fact, you’re just what I’m looking for.”
She eyed me suspiciously for a second, then offered me a smile, complete with gaps where she had extracted rotten teeth herself with a monkey wrench.
Then she said…
She said" I want to have your baby. in fact let’s start working on that, here and now!"
“Heck no!” I said, flabbergasted. “I’m not letting you have my baby, you gapped-toothed freak!” And I ran from the coffee shop as fast as I could. I rounded the corner of 8th and Greenleaf and ran smack into those damn bikers. ::insert girlish scream here:: “Where the hell did you guys come from?” I asked, bewildered.
“We’re here to teach you a lesson in manners, boy!” one said.
Another chimed in with, “Yeah, we’re gonna…”
“Enroll you in Ms. Grablinski’s finishing school for tranvestites!”
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Then suddenly, my cell phone chirped in. “Hey dudes,” I said " can I take this call first?" “why, of course, after all that is the polite thing to do.” stated the biker #4. I lifted the phone to my ear. “Bravo 33 Bravo, you are released from all directives.” the strange robotic voice chimed. Like the tide rushing to fill an empty pool, all of the memories of the years past flooded my brain.
Jesus, did I really let Grace Slick give me a rim job with peanutbutter back in '68?
I felt the shivers of realization overtake me.
“Mmm, peanutbutter, mmm.”
I ran to the nearest phonebooth and looked up the address to the Jiffy plant. And with any luck I still had Grace’s number in my wallet.
But first a quick trip to the drug store for some …
pornography. How could I investigate the pope’s pornography without doing some intensive research first? As a matter of fact, I was feeling so intense afterwards that I…
…called Grace Slick up and asked her if she’d like to go out for some peanut butter.
Unfortunately, she knew what I was up to.
“Hell no!”. Then she hung up the phone. I bit back tears.
I climbed out of the phone booth. To my dismay, the ever-present bikers were standing there, waiting patiently (and politely) for me.
The leader of the transvestie/biker gang looked like he had something to say.
I walked up to him and looked in his eyes. His lips trembled, his eyes darted about.
“What is it, big guy?” I asked him.
“I - I,” he stuttered.
“It’s okay,” I reassured him.
“I - I.” He seemed pained.
“Really, you can tell me, I won’t judged,” I placated him as I took his hand.
A look of profound understanding flashed across his face. He removed his hand from mine and took a step back. The rest of the gang look on in hushed awe. The big bulking biker dressed in the pink chiffone evening gown fell to his knees and looked up to the heavens, and bellowed . . .
"I refuse to let this thread die!!!
I rolled my eyes and took out my tazer-gun …
<giant foot from the sky crushes everything>
THE END
Once we did this write-a-novel-in-the-forum on H2G2. It degenerated into dimension-hopping mauve weasels juggling Bob Evans breakfast sausages.