The Search for Fatsquatch: A League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen Adventure

As Jack watched the helicopter touch down in the clearing, he knew that catastrophe had been narrowly averted.

“Hey, Jack!” yelled “Too-Big” Jess. “I got the graham crackers, chocolate bars and marshmallows you wanted. What did you need them for?”

“Ummmmm...,” stammered Jack. “It’s official League business, Jess. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Sounds like you’re making s’mo…”

“I SAID YOU WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND!”

“So, am I an official League member yet?” asked Jess, handing over the grocery bag.

“Soon, Jess. Soon...,” said Jack, leading them back to the camp site.

“But I mowed your lawn like you asked…” said Jess. “Three times, in fact.”

“That was to teach you a valuable lesson,” pointed out Jack. “About the transformational power of exercise.”

“Jack!” shrieked Running on Awesome’s Steve. “Come quick!”

“What is it?” asked Jack.

“We’ve found signs of the legendary Fatsquatch monster we were called out here to investigate.”

Jack, Steve and Jess rushed through the woods to reach a small group of guys… well, it wasn’t exactly a “small” group…

“Wow, look at the size of the footprint,” exclaimed Vinny from Fat to Fit Diary.

“And take a gander at all those Milky Way wrappers…,” noted Scott from Your Inner Skinny.

“Fatsquatch!”

“Crap-on-a-stick!” exclaimed Jack. “Let’s get the hell outta here!”

“But that’s the entire reason that the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen were called out here,” said No More Bacon’s Ryan.

Ummmmm… well, you see…

“Unless you just wanted to go on a camping trip where you didn’t have to do anything,” said Scott.

“You did ‘forget’ to bring your trunk of healthy snacks,” noted Prior Fat Guy James.

“And you ‘accidentally’ brought three cases of beer instead of bottled water,” said Vinny.

“And you sat in the tent watching an entire season of ‘Top Chef’ on your laptop instead of hiking these woods with the rest of us,” said Jess.

“Enough, enough!” shouted Jack. “I brought the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen into this world, and by God… I can take them out!”

“This is bullsh*t!” said Steve. “I could have joined The Anti-Jared’s League of Extraordinarily Fat Facebook Friends instead….”

Suddenly, they heard a loud crash behind them.

A large, horrible-looking figure jumped out.

‘Fatsquatch!” screamed Jess, Vinny, Ryan, Steve and James, who turned and ran off into the woods at full speed. “Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Jack stood there and bravely stared the beast down.

“What’s their deal?” asked the strange creature.

“Welcome back, Fat Daddy,” smiled Jack. “How about some s’mores?”

The Expandables (A League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen Adventure)

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The League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen Rides Again

PART FOUR

The room was pitch black dark.

“I’m gonna need a raise if I’m gonna keep working for the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen,” came Tricia’s voice from the blackness. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this sh*t.”

“Speaking of sh*t,” said Fat Daddy. “I think somebody needs a new pair of britches.”

“He who smelt it, dealt it,” said Jack Sh*t. “Besides, we have bigger problems. Apparently whoever…”

“Whomever,” said Tricia.

“No,” corrected Fat Daddy. “I’m pretty sure it’s ‘whoever’.”

“Whoever or whomever is trying to destroy the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemenm,” said Jack. “Has come here to destroy us.”

The lights suddenly crackled back on.

“That’s correct,” boomed a voice at the door.

“Blogher?” exclaimed Fat Daddy.

“It’s a male, dumbass,” sneered Tricia.

“My name is Dr. Geoff Rutledge,” said the lab-coated figure in the doorway. “And I am delighted to invite you to join Wellsphere's HealthBlogger Network, the world's premier network of health writers, which now includes over 2,000 of the Web's leading health bloggers!”

“Dr. Geoff!” smiled Jack. “Of course. It all makes perfect sense now…”

“As a member of the HealthBlogger Network,” said Dr. Geoff, “You'll enjoy the greatly expanded reach and exposure to Wellsphere's more than 5 million monthly visitors, innovative special features and functionality for your blog, and an exclusive badge to recognize you as a leading health blogger. Once you join, we'll begin promoting you and your blog as a great source of health knowledge and support, featuring you in rotation on our homepage (www.wellsphere.com), republishing your posts on Wellsphere, giving you special status on Wellsphere and linking back to your blog from your articles and from your profile.”

“Never!” yelled Jack.

“Let me tell you a bit about me and about Wellsphere. I'm a physician who has taught and practiced Internal and Emergency Medicine for over 25 years at Harvard and Stanford medical schools, and am passionate about helping people get the information and support they need to be healthier.”

With that, Dr. Geoff pulled out an UZI and aimed it at Jack, FD and Tricia.

“I'm now the Chief Medical Information Officer at Wellsphere.com, where I manage the HealthBlogger Network. Wellsphere, the fastest-growing consumer health website, is revolutionizing the way people find and share health and healthy living information and support. We've recently merged with The HealthCentral Network, Inc. (www.healthcentral.com), and together we're now serving more than 10 million people a month!”

“Well this is it,” said Jack. “The end of the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen.”

“Nah,” said Tricia. “I bet it’s another cliffhanger ending.”

Dr. Geoff raised his weapon, a murderous smile on his face. He clicked off the safety and took aim.

Jack Sh*t smiled a knowing smile.

“I’ll take that bet,” he said. “Dr. Geoff… say hello to my little fat friends.”

“POM’S AWAY!” came a chorus of wild raging voices from the back of the room.

Suddenly, Dr. Geoff was pummeled mercilessly with miniature bottles of POM pomegranate juice.

Tony the Anti-Jared, Carlos, Pink Panda Tony, Sean and Stephen were gathered at the far end of the table. They were pulling out bottles of POM from a stack of boxes, unscrewing the tops and firing them at the Wellsphere doctor. Pink Panda Tony nailed Dr. Geoff in the throat with a fast-ball special.

“Ha!” laughed Tony. “It’s pretty ironic that I’m the only one of us that doesn’t throw like a little girl.”

“Shut up and keep throwing,” said Carlos. “I’ve got some of my famous beans on the stove and I need to get back to them before they scorch.”

Splattered with juice from the barrage of POM bombs, Dr. Geoff swore under his breath and rushed away, leaving a purple trail behind him.

“Should we go after him?” asked Sean.

“You just want to interview him,” said Stephen.

“Let him go,” said Tony P. “I haven’t told the rest of you this yet, but… that man is my father.”

“Good news,” said Fat Daddy. “TOM just called and he’s feeling a ton better. He’s staying with his Aunt Dot and Aunt Flo until he’s completely recovered.”

“Well, all’s well that ends well,” said Jack, shaking hands with the other League members. “Tricia, somebody needs to mop up all this pomegranate juice before it stains the floor.”

“I hate this job,” she said, taking a mop from the closet.

“Please, Tricia,” said Jack. “Save it for the blog.”

Starting to mop up the huge puddle of purple juice as the League members celebrated, Tricia muttered under her breath: “Worst. Ending. Ever.”

- THE END -

The Chapter Without a Clever Title

PART THREE

“Well?” asked Fat Daddy the next morning at the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen’s headquarters in Obese City.

Jack Sh*t, still decked out in his Sherlock Holmes outfit, was examining the conference room table with his magnifying glass.

“Well what, Fatson?” asked Jack. “Do you have a question for Sh*tlock Holmes?”

“Ummmmm, you said you know who tried to do in TOM.”

“That is correct, Fatson. I have used my powers of deduction to deduce the identity of the perpetrator in question.”

“You gonna keep calling me ‘Fatson’ until this whole adventure is over, aren’t you?” sighed Fat Daddy.

“Indubitably,” remarked Sh*tlock. “Now… who wants to destroy TOM forever?”

“Ummmmm,” answered Fat Daddy. “Every woman on earth?”

“Precisely!”

“Okay,” said Fat Daddy. “So you’ve narrowed our suspects down to every woman on earth…”

“Don’t make it sound so crappy,” said the detective. “I’ve cut the suspects down by roughly 50%.”

Tricia approached them with a handful of phone messages.

“Carlos called and said somebody just blew up his commuter train,” said Tricia. “Luckily, he just talked about riding the train and never actually rode it.”

“Probably just a coincidence,” said Jack.

“Probably,” said Tricia. “Also Tony Pos.. Pasnon… Picklenancy…ummm… Anti-Jared called to say some mysteriously clad dude who was supposed to be spotting him at the gym dropped a 400-lb weights on his neck.”

“Ouch,” said Jack.

“Yeah,” agreed Tricia. “Apparently, it left quite a bruise. And Stephen just tweeted that somebody just tried to run him down while he was training for his 5K.”

“Hmmmmm,” said Fat Daddy.

“And Pink Panda Tony got fired at from somebody with a crossbow…” said Tricia.

“Really?” asked Jack

“No,” replied Tricia. “But somebody did leave a really nasty anonymous comment on his blog, and Irene called to say somebody tried to take Sean’s tape recorder away from him last night.”

“I’m beginning to think that there’s more to this than we first thought,” said Jack.

“No sh*t, Sherlock,” said Fat Daddy. “I mean, Sh*tlock.”

“Apparently,” said Jack. “Someone is out to do away with the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen.”

Suddenly, the lights all went off. A little girl’s blood-curdling scream filled the room.

“I’m sorry,” said Jack. “That was me.”

“This is another cliffhanger ending, right?” asked Fat Daddy.

“This job sucks,” said Tricia.

TO BE CONCLUDED…

Another Unexpected Visitor

PART TWO

“Well, I’m pretty sure that TOM’s going to live,” said Downsizing Doc, loading up her medical bag.

The medical professional had met Jack Sh*t, Fat Daddy and Tricia at the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen headquarters, a 25-story tower in downtown Obese City. She had just finished examining the bloodied body of TOM, one of the League’s founding members.

“Why were you stabbing him in the chest and guts with a Bowie knife?” asked Jack.

“Ummmmm,” said Downsizing Doc, darting her eyes. “I was checking for internal injuries.”

“And why’d you have to hit him in the crotch with that hammer a dozen times?” asked Fat Daddy.

“Testing his reflexes,” said the doc. “Look, I don’t have all day to stand around and answer a bunch of silly questions. He’ll be okay in a few weeks.”

The doctor exited the headquarters, and Tricia started gathering her things.

“Well, I’m off for my dentist appointment,” she said.

“Isn’t tonight trivia night?” asked Fat Daddy.

Tricia shot him at glance that might have struck dead a lesser man.

“That’s okay, Tricia,” said Jack, deep in thought. “You can leave early.”

“I’ll come in late tomorrow to make up for it,” said Tricia, gathering her things and walking out quickly.

“Fat Daddy, I think somebody was trying to kill TOM,” said Jack.

“Ya think?” smirked Fat Daddy. “Look at all this blood.”

“I’m alright,” moaned TOM. “It was… it was…”

At that point, TOM passed out.

“Damn,” said Jack. “It sure would have been convenient if TOM had stayed conscious long enough to tell us who his attacker was.”

“Now,” said Fat Daddy. “All we have to do is figure out who would have wanted TOM out of the picture. This calls for a little detective work, Jack. Jack? Jack?”

FD turned around to see that Jack was suddenly decked out in a full Sherlock Holmes outfit, complete with magnifying glass.

“Have no fear, Fatson,” said Jack. “Sh*tlock Holmes is on the case!”

“Who the f*ck is Fatson?” frowned Fat Daddy.

“I know who the would-be killer is,” said Jack.

“You’re going to do another one of those cliffhanger dealies, aren’t you?” asked Fat Daddy.

“Indubitably, Fatson” remarked Sh*tlock. “Indubitably.”

TO BE CONTINUED…
even later this afternoon

A Sequel With No Equal

“I hate this job,” muttered Tricia.

“For the ten thousandth time,” said Jack Sh*t, standing beside the secretarial desk. “Please wait until I leave the room before saying that out loud. Better yet, why don’t you just blog about it on Fight Fat Phobia.”

“Because you had Stephen lock down the firewall,” sneered Tricia, turning back to her computer. “No blogs in, no blogs out.”

“That’s not exactly true,” smiled Jack.

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” frowned Tricia. “We can still get Jack Sh*t, Gettin’ Fit.”

“Well, what more could you ask for than that?” asked Jack.

“How about giving us our instant messaging back?” pleaded Tricia. “Poor Dina died from loneliness because I couldn’t IM her during the day.”

“C’mon,” laughed Jack. “We both know Dina died of tequila poisoning.”

“To-may-to, ta-mah-to,” replied Tricia.

“Well, since you’re the secretary for the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen, you don’t need to be wasting time farting around on the internet,” exclaimed Jack. “Now what’s the status of the next meeting…?”

Tricia consulted her notepad. “Ummm, Gay Tony’s busy redecorating his blog again, Not-Gay Tony is out hoodie-shopping, Stephen is still training for his big 5K. Carlos said… wait, I wrote it down… oh, here it is. Ummmm… can’t read my own writing. It either says ‘f*ck off and die’ or ‘f*ck off and diet.’”

“Hmmmmm, it’s gonna be a light meeting, I guess,” said Jack. “Well, not a ‘light’ meeting, but you know what I mean.”

“By the way, I’ve got to leave early today for trivia.”

“For what?” asked Jack.

“Ummmmmm… dentist appointment,” replied Tricia.

Well, before you leave, what’s the status of all those applications we received?” asked Jack. “Keeven, Phil, Doug, Joe, Ron, Josh, Roder, Foolsfitness, Stages of Change, Big in Okinawa. I saw all their paperwork sitting on your desk this morning.”

“I… ummm… filed them,” smiled Tricia. “That’s showing some initiative and spunk, huh?”

“Yeah,” replied Jack. “Especially considering we don’t have any file cabinets. Where did you file them?”

“In my mind, Jack. In my mind.”

Suddenly, Fat Daddy entered the room, completely drenched in sweat. It took several minutes of heavy panting before he was able to speak.

“Still… don’t… know… why the elevator… doesn’t work… without special key,” panted Fat Daddy.

“C’mon, FD,” said Jack. “It’s just 25 floors.”

“When am I…,” wheezed Fat Daddy. “Gonna get a key?”

“This is about the transformational power of exercise,” smiled Jack, putting a friendly hand on Fat Daddy’s shoulder.

“Well,” exclaimed FD. “There’s something you’re really want to see down on the first floor in the conference room.”

“You head on back then,” said Jack. “I need to tell Tricia something that, quite frankly, is beyond your security clearance level.”

“Well, at least it’s down the stairs this time,” sighed Fat Daddy. “But hurry… it’s quite urgent.”

“Okay, okay,” nodded Jack. “I’ll probably beat you down there anyway.”

Fat Daddy shrugged, gathered himself then slowly headed toward the stairwell.

“What’s so important that you gotta tell me in private,” asked Tricia. “That you got the hots for me?”

“No, I need you to go fetch me my elevator key that’s in my desk drawer,” said Jack.

“The snack drawer?” asked Tricia.

“The left drawer,” answered Jack.

“The candy drawer?”

“The lower left drawer,” said Jack.

“Gotcha,” winked Tricia, and hurried into Jack’s executive office for the key.

A few minutes later, they met Fat Daddy in the League conference room.

“Now what’s so important that you had to…” started Jack, but he immediately clammed up when he saw the scene in front of him.

TOM was laid out on the table, completely soaked in blood.

“Is he dead?” asked Jack.

“I don’t think so,” said Fat Daddy. “I’ve got Downsizing Doc’s number on my cell phone, but I left it upstairs.”

“Well, hurry up and call,” commanded Jack. “This could be life or death.”

“Ahem,” said Fat Daddy. “Could I have the elevator key?”

“What part of ‘the transformational power of exercise’ did you not understand, Fat Daddy?” snapped Jack.

Sighing, Fat Daddy limped off towards the stairs.

“What we have here is a mystery,” said Tricia.

“What we have here,” corrected Jack, rubbing his chin slowly with his fingers. “Is a cliffhanger ending...”

TO BE CONTINUED…
this afternoon

A League of Their Own

“Damn, but I hate flying!” boomed the voice in the foyer.

“Yes we all know it’s one of your ‘not-so-private hells,’ but I appreciate you coming, Fat Daddy,” said Jack Sh*t, leading the larger-than-life blogger towards a set of oak double doors. “I know this is a long way from your home at Fat Daddy Rants, but this is a grave emergency.”

“This,” said Jack, swinging the doors open wide, “is the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen.”

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Fat Daddy. “I’d always assumed that there was some sort of alliance of male weight loss bloggers…”

“We’re it,” remarked Tony “The Anti-Jared” Posnanski, sitting at a large conference room table and curling a 90-lb barbell as he spoke. “The Leauge of…”

“Yeah, I got it the first time,” said Fat Daddy. “How’d they get you down here, Carlos?”

“I came for strippers and barbecue,” replied Carlos of You’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat. “They told me it was Tony’s bachelor party.”

“I’m married, dumbass,” snapped the Anti-Jared, on his 175th rep.

“The other Tony,” said Carlos.

“I’m gay, dumbass,” piped up Tony from I Don't Want to Die of a Heart Attack When I'm 25.

“Hey,” said Jack, rapping on the surface of the long table. “What’s going on back there in the back?”

“Oh,” said Stephen from Who Ate My Blog? “Sean is interviewing me for his audio widget on his blog.”

“This is Sean Anderson from The Daily Diary of a Winning Loser,” said Sean Anderson from The Daily Diary of a Winner Loser, “and I’m talking to one of the most fascinating weight loss bloggers out there…”

“Stop that!” commanded Jack. “We’ve got serious business here.”

“Serious business?” said gay Tony. “Since when are you ever serious?”

“Yeah,” said Sean, clicking off his tape recorder. “And how come you’re even in this group? What have you contributed to the weight loss community?”

“Are you kidding me?” asked Jack, shaking his head incredulously. “Who named this group ‘The League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen’ anyway? You guys used to be called ‘Who Gives a Big Fat Flying F*ck!’.”

“I liked that name,” smiled Carlos.

“That’s because you came up with it,” argued Jack. “Look, this petty infighting is getting us nowhere. Somebody wants to do in all of us male weight loss bloggers. I got this email saying we’re all in danger.”

“He may be my arch-nemesis,” said not-gay Tony, “but Mister Sh*t does have a point.”

“What do you suggest we do, Jack?” asked Sean. “Interview everyone in the blogging world? I’ll take on that assignment…”

“Give it a rest, Sean,” snapped Jack. “Stephen, you’re good with computers. Can you hack into the CIA’s mainframe and trace the source of the email I got?”

“I could, but I don’t have to,” said Stephen, studying the printout.

“Why not?” asked Jack.

“Well, it says who it’s from right there on the email.”

“Where?” asked Jack, a confused expression on his face.

“Right there,” pointed Stephen. “In the ‘From’ box.”

“Blogher?” said Jack.

“Blogher?” repeated both Tonys in unison.

“Blogher?” echoed Carlos, Sean, Stephen and Fat Daddy.

The double doors swung open, and a large woman entered the room, laughing. She had the face of a million female weight loss bloggers morphed together and the body of… well, let’s just say she wasn’t shopping in “Petites”…

“That’s right,” she bellowed ferociously. “Blogher!”

“I don’t get it,” said Fat Daddy. “I thought Blogher was a group blog and online community.

“It’s also an annual blogging conference for women,” explained Sean. “You know, I’d really love to interview you, Blogher.”

“I’m here to destroy your little band of blubbers,” laughed Blogher with extreme menace in her voice. “Your big losses demoralize the legion of female bloggers.”

“Obviously you haven’t read my blog,” remarked Carlos.

“Band of blubbers,” chuckled Jack. “That’s pretty good. Can I use that?”

“I harness the power of every female weight loss blogger in the entire blogosphere,” she boomed. She raised her arms and hurricane-force winds began tearing through the room. “There is nothing that can stop me.”

“Could this be the end of the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen?” exclaimed Jack dramatically. The rest gripped the handles of their chairs and braced themselves for whatever would come next.

Suddenly, the door cracked open and a lone figure walked in.

Blogher turned and looked at the newcomer, then screamed in horror.

“No, it can’t be,” she wailed. “Not YOU, you bloody bastard!!”

“Am I late?” asked TOM.

“No, you’re right on schedule,” smiled Jack, as Blogher fled the scene, wailing and crying.

“You’re right on time.”

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