Director's Cut

(previously unseen footage that didn't make the final cut!)

Patrician Go looks solemnly and owlishly into the camera.

Patrician Go blinks.

Patrician Go looks at the camera some more, now gravely and solemnly.

Patrician Go yawns.

Patrician Go stares at the camera thoughtfully.

Patrician Go scratches.

Patrician Go stands up, easing his easy chair back from his regal presidential desk and strides lankily out the room.

Unseen person's hand appears on-camera and touches the chair Patrician Go was seated in a moment ago.

Pat pat pat.

patpat.

"Wow. This seat is really nice and warm!"


*****
(Axed after worries about copyright infringement and involvement of RSPCA.)

Hiss... purr... hiss.

Two lonely figures stand motionless opposite each other on the thousandth storey sundeck of the Waffles Metropolis Centre, cloaks snapping and billowing wildly in the high winds.

Vzzzzoiinnng. Two lightsabre-thingummybobs blaze to life, the eternal colours of good and evil. Blue and red.

Naturally, Kit's is blue and the Emperor's is red.

Cascades of fiery sparks fly through the air as the two men leap at each other and rain blindingly-fast flurries of lethal deathblows upon each other, each parrying and then riposting in smooth, swinging, beautifully-choreographed arcs of their swordarms.

A passing pigeon with the IQ of a US presidential candidate (ie, a pretty average pigeon) wanders obliviously across their paths and explodes into a shower of feathers and gore.

Vvvvzonnnng. Blinded by his own sweat and the ridiculous floppy fringe we've omitted to tell you about till now, Kit temporarily stumbles and drops his guard. The Emperor's blade slices cleanly through Kit's left forearm, severing his hand at the wrist, but mercifully cauterising all major arteries as it cuts, sparing us yet another boring Quentin Tarantino Fountain of Red Ink special effect. Kit screams like a stuck pig and falls backwards onto the ground and rolls frantically to avoid the Emperor's searching blade, coming to a stop at last right at the edge of the building, which naturally has no parapet...

These are both cinematic conventions - reel-life heroes always roll themselves from positions of relative safety to locations of certain death, generally involving sheer drops of several thousand stories to add what we call "Dramatic Effect" to otherwise ordinary fight scenes. A variation on this theme was the Matrix 2 fight sequence in which morpheus was knocked off the side of a careening tractor-trailer truck a grand total of at least thirteen times, just in case any of us weren't quick witted enough to appreciate it the first three times.
Real life heroes in contrast prefer to roll from positions of relative safety, to locations of absolute safety, preferably dispatching their opponents along the way through cheapshots to the groin. This ensures their continued survival and employment as heroes, you see.

Also, buildings upon which rooftop fight scenes occur are always of the magnitudes of height sufficient, should one happen to unexpectedly fall off, to allow one to experience flashbacks of a lifetime, philosophize over and unlock the secrets of life, the universe, and everything, and begin wondering if there are toilet facilities in heaven, or for that matter, sex. It's such a pity villains (and more rarely, heroes) never carry pens or paper with them when they take the plunge, isn't it?

Buildings like this never seem to have parapets either. Have you noticed that? It's only short buildings that will really, really hurt to fall off but not actually kill you that ever have parapets and safety handrails built in. But we digress...

... The Emperor's blade crashes down with a horrible finality on Kit's head, but somehow, someway, Kit's blue blade flashes up from his side to find itself lying across his face, parrying the certain-deathblow at the last conceivable instant.

There's a faint singing smell as his eyebrows start burning off.

The Emperor's blade remains centimeters from Kit's fast diminishing fringe, then hisses out almost triumphantly. Kit's blade sputters out as well - always remember to charge your batteries at home, kids.

"Kill me, you foul fiend, and have done with it!"

"Wait, Kit. There is something you should know..."

"There is nothing I could possibly want to know from you, you mechanical monster!"

"Kit.. who's your daddy?"

"Up yours, Imperialist wanker!"

"No Kit... you don't understand. I am your father."

pause.

"Oh. But mum always told me I was the son of a cucumber. Or was it a brinjal? I forget, it was some kinda fruit...... Well I guess this does make a little more sense. Eh, so if you're my daddy does that mean I get to rule Singaland by your side and own shares in all the major bluechip companies and buy property cheap-cheap?"

"Yes, son."

"Cool. But you chopped my hand off. That really hurt."

"Sorry son. I'll buy you a new one."

"Hokay, that's all right then. No, but wait... does that mean BG Lea..."

"He is your brother, Kit."

pause

"But... but... he and I... last night... one thing... another... all that wine... NOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

Kit throws his arms up to the heavens in supplication, loses his balance, and falls sideways into the void.

Bugger. He didn't bring a pen and paper either.


*****
(this scene included as per special request from a particularly pervy, sick, disgustingly filthy-minded reader. Gotta love her.)

Kit's lying on the floor at home watching Jean watching him. There's a soft fuzzy glow about everything, and light streams through the tan window shades obliquely, casting a faint halo around Jean's head. They're lying propped up on their elbows, face to face - so close that he can feel her breath on his lips. So close that he can't see her lips, but he can tell from her eyes that she's smiling. It's a perfect moment, too perfect to spoil, and he wishes it could last forever. An eternity passes as they gaze into each others' souls, and then, with infinite care and slowness, she gently inclines her head forwards a fraction of an inch and...

... bites his brains out.

Bang. Explode to light. Pain. Head. Hurts.
Gnngh, Kit groans, his body moving to curl up into fetal position.

"Eh?"

Cold metallic steel handcuffs bite into Kit's wrists and ankles. Kit opens his eyes.

He's lying naked, spreadeagled on a soft queensized bed draped with femininely pink covers. Large full-length mirrors run floor-to-ceiling on all four walls, and there's even a huge mirror on the ceiling as well, showing us all of Kit's... bits. ugh.

"Wha...?" Kit begins to ask, through the fog in his head and the fuzz on his tongue.

The door opens and a ghastly figure glides into the room...

It's Pink, in a short pink chiffon nightgown...

"Heelllooo, big boy..."

"GAh! This isn't in the script! Okay very funny...OK guys I'm sorry I peeked in the women's loo, ok??"

"I've been hoping for this moment for such a loooong time now" she purrs, laughing luxuriously, deep in back of her throat.

"Eep!" Kit gulps as he feels her hands coquettishly brush his... manhood.

There's the faintest of clicks as the metal clasps holding Pink's wonderbra together come unfastened. Artistic soft-focus shot of A-cups falling strappily to the floor, in slow motion.

"OK GUYS! STOP!! THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE!!!"

"Oh just shut up, lie back and enjoy it, Kit. I know I'm sexy, stop pretending. Four thousand fans can't be wrong."

There's a creak as of a bed protesting as someone stumpy clambers up onto it.

Kit groans in sheer horror as he feels hot fingers take firm hold of his (unmentionable) and wrestle it into her warm, moist (unmentionable) with a wet, juicy schlurp.

"Ohhhhh, Kittttttt."

"HAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! MOMMMMYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!"

CREAK.

End scene.

****************************

THE END