Okay Bellies; let’s pick up where we left off. Belle of Blue Mountain, sidekick Holden D’Mayo and their battle ready crew are off to pull the plug on Spongebob Kakapos’ anonymous island, thereby annulling Portabella’s contract with the grim reaper.

There’s no doubt Belle was in charge of this operation. Like most North Woods harpists, she’s a strong-willed adrenalin junkie. (See Keene’s own harpist extraordinaire, Martha Gallagher.) Belle was footing the bill and wanted in on the action. Her old pal, retired Naval Air Intelligence Officer, Holden D’Mayo, brought the savoir faire, knowledge of covert operations and the technical support. In preparation for the fantasy island assault, Holden retained two legendary former Navy Seals, the Bobbsey twins, Billie and Jillie. They’d provide security for the crew. Holden and the twins had served together undercover(s) back in the day.  

(Note) The classified DOD file on the Bobbsey twins reads: Stone cold foxes, strawberry blonde, 5’9”/130lbs., built to last. Sign-Gemini, Favorite adult beverage-Maker’s Mark/straight up, Favorite weapon-German STG-44, Favorite food-Nuclear Waste chicken wings, Specialty-Mayhem and massive body counts, Favorite movie-Night of the Living Dead. Warning-Stiff them on a bar bill, say sayonara to your favorite body parts. Burn this file before reading.

Belle’s beleaguered daughter, Portabella, would skipper her sponge boat, Scleropongiae Reaper, in support of the assault and provide valuable first hand intelligence. She’s the only teammate who’d actually been on the island. Holden wanted Guillaume along for comic relief and human bait. Guillaume could also cook the begeebers outta jambalaya, crawfish pie and file a-gumbo. Even rugged Air Intelligence Officers have to eat occasionally. The team was assembled and the plan activated. They were going in at midnight. The Bobbsey twins would land first to secure the beach in the “Irma La Douche,” their Navy surplus ATC-14 Water Canon Boat. Portabella’d anchor out and swim ashore with the rest of the team through shark infested waters. In anticipation, Guillaume sobbed all the way to the island. He just can’t help being funny.    

Pay attention, because the island assault was as expeditious as heart transplant surgery. When the twins hit the beach, they were immediately challenged by an overtly PO’d Smokey, the second hand smoke monster. Without hesitation, Billie Bobbsey blasted the carcinogenic pain in the arse with a 20,000 gallon deluge from Irma La Douche’s high velocity water canon. Smokey bit the big one. Meantime, Jillie had dismounted and was covering Billie’s flank when she was confronted by the two ton polar bear, earlier reported by Portabella. As the frothing behemoth charged from the jungle, Jillie dropped and rolled, firing one 51mm round from her STG-44 through the bear’s descending aorta. The great white hope staggered and fell at Jillie’s feet, exhaling his last. She commenced to skin out the pre-rigor carcass for her new living room rug. She also salvaged valuable body parts on behalf of her clandestine allies in the Asian black market, who use them for elixirs and soups. Yum, bear paw consomme. It seems unconscionable, but earning your living as a mercenary is no rubber stamping party my friends.        

Then the Bobbseys spotted the heavily armed Others lurking amongst the pygmy date palms. They switched their STG’s to automatic and cut loose. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Actually it was easier. The Others just stood there whereas fish in a barrel tend to swim erratically, causing the sharpshooter to occasionally miss.  Regardless, the three major island defensive threats had been neutralized in less than 30 minutes. The twins signaled the Reaper, and the rest of crew swam ashore. Guillaume was so scared of the bloodthirsty reef sharks, he broke Michael Phelps’ Olympic 100 meter fly record and continued 25’ up on the beach before he stopped flailing. He looked like a gravid leatherback turtle burying eggs in the sand.  At this point, Portabella lead the way to the Hatch, deep in the tropical forest.

Suddenly, as they hacked through the palmettos, a lone shot rang out. Belle pirouetted and grand plied face down in a puddle. The unthinkable had happened. Belle had caught one in the jugular and, inconceivably, was gone.  “Mom,” cried Portabella, “Say it ain’t so.” But it was so. The twins spotted the sniper and euthanized him forthwith. “Belle,” whispered Holden, “I’ve always loved you from afar.” Then turning to the crew he somberly ordered the twins to bury Belle to inhibit jungle rot.  The rest hurried on to the Hatch in hopes of destroying the depraved island.  

After planting Belle, the twins rendezvoused with the grief-stricken crew at the Hatch.  The plan was to set the self-destruct button on the alien computer hidden deep in the catacomb below. But, after repeated error messages, it was obvious that the computer was a cheap Ruskie knockoff that automatically went to safe mode with every key stroke. They called the technical support hotline in Siberia, but were placed on indefinite hold.  Heart broken, the crew retreated to the beach. They were quitters. And there at the beach, stood Belle. Filthy, yes, hopping mad, yes, alive, mostly. “Hey, did any of you morons ever think about checking for a pulse before you bury someone?” she demanded. “Ah, no,” they replied shamefacedly.

“Follow me, you dimwits,” commanded Belle. She led them to a large mound just inside the tree line. “I tripped over this on my way to the beach. Look what’s under the duff.” It was a 5’ diameter rubber sink stopper. “Well, I’ll be an orangutan’s little sister,” exclaimed Holden. “Mom, will you do the honors?” tendered Portabella.  With that, Belle pulled the plug on Spongebob Island. The crew gawked in amazement as seawater gushed up like the Gulf oil spill and the island began to sink. Like rats on a floundering tramp steamer, they slogged manically back to their boats and fled the scene, forever.

When Spongebob Kakapos got the word that his 401K island had disappeared beneath the Atlantic he was in his garden sampling heritage Pink Miss tomatoes. He promptly keeled over and died from anaphylactic shock.  He’d forgotten that he was allergic to tomatoes, and mushrooms. Portabella was free, free at last.