Story Go Round 10/21/2006, round 2, #2


(pre-titled by Terry)

Hans Cruller trotted up to the front door of his girlfriend's bungalow on the Waikiki Beach, energized from his workout. He frowned at the film crew out front. They smiled familiarly and waved. Last time they'd retreated when he flexed, so he tried it again - but most had become bored with it by now, or were inured. He wondered why they came every day and lingered 'til dark, yet cameras never rolled and only a handful seemed associated with the Honolulu news. Opening the screen door, he eased his impressive form into the kitchen.

He stepped towards his girlfriend at the sink, but Fabio intercepted him, coming from the dining room - at least it looked like Fabio. "Wait a minute, there's no way you're-"

The man abruptly thrust a piece of paper at Hans. Flustered, Hans looked down at the birth certificate. An original. Of Fabio's. "This doesn't prove any-" Hans began, but now the man was pressing a plastic card into his hand. The sinking feeling started even before he palmed it surreptitiously. This man must be stopped. Or he will ruin all. Hans flashed dazzling teeth and his killer smile, put his arm on the guy's shoulder and steered him into the living room where a portable DNA analysis machine and an ex-FBI agent put any more protests or doubts to a cold sleep.

This was Fabio. In his girlfriend's house. And the media and hounds were outside. "I'm sorry," Fabio said in his thick accent, "but she doesn't need you anymore. She's got me now. And I'm loaded. You've been Fabiobviated." The camera caught Hans' look of horror.

But Hans was thinking. What had he heard about cloning experiments on another island? Something on NPR maybe? A recent breakthrough, a new era - he could recall all the hype but none of the substance.

"Hans, didn't you get my fax?" Maria was asking.

"Hans, didn't you hear me say to clean out?" Fabio was insisting, and soon he would start using his patented good looks to get his way. (Hans knew, because that's what Hans would do.)

"I have 'people' to read my faxes," he shot back to his girl-friend, assuming that Maria was his girlfriend - so hard to remember, he changed them as frequently as he changed his ingredients for his protein milkshakes. He mustered his most smouldering look and prepared to win her back with his next well-chosen words. "I read about some secret tattoos on the real Fabio in Maxim magazine, honey. Let's have a look-see." Hans advanced on Fabio.

Fabio backed up, uneasy for the first time. "What part of Fabiobviated don't you understand?" he said.

"Now Fabie darling, what's wrong?" asked Maria, entirely too concerned.

Hans heard a sound behind him, and turned to see Fabio's goons bearing down on him, then he saw them hold him down and pull off his Versaches. There were gasps and someone said: ooooh.

"Now that's more like it," Hans said with pride. Even Fabio stared. There were no tattoos, but somehow everyone seemed ready to believe him now. Even Fabio seemed to shrink like a violet as the anti-fabiovational gleam shone off of Hans' workout moistened chest. The most feminine bodyguard fainted. The crowd outside rushed to the bungalow windows as they sensed the transition. Fabio had been Hanstrung.