Tom “Indiana” Jones and the Temple of Icke – Part 8

Drums rumble like angry beasts, setting the rhythm for the evil congregations incessant chanting. “LATOYA….LATOYA….LATOYA….”

Wee Jimmy Krankie is shackled to an iron cage at the centre of the dastardly dais; he struggles furiously against his bonds, but to little avail.

David Icke, master of the Latoya Jackson cult and evil mastermind behind the hippie’s herbless enslavement, calls to his followers across the room on the other side of a moat of lava.

“Behold! They came to steal from Latoya, but now they will die for her!” He shouts to the crowd who increase in volume their rabid chanting. Signalling to his lackey, Phil Jupitus, Icke continues to stir the congregation into frenzy.

From a side chamber the pie loving Jupitus leads Dr Tom Jones, last of the Welsh Mohicans and five times winner of Bella magazines arse of the year. The Pop God shuffled out, his upper torso naked and shiny from sanctifying oils. Several ladies have to be removed from the audience due to nymphomatic shock, a startling side effect to Tom’s presence that threatened to break their conditioning.

Jones was not himself, his mind was addled by the sodastream evil he had been force fed hours earlier.

“See the non believer had been awakened to our cause. Now Jones, close the cage and send him into the arms of Latoya!” roared Icke, foam flecking his chin.

Jones moved Zombie like to the cage where Wee Jimmy was shackled; it could be only moments before his tiny midget heart was ripped from his body. In his fogged mental state Jones began checking the shackles and Jimmy tried to reason with the singing legend. “Tommy, please Tommy, snap out of it!”

Jones turned his dead eyes upon his half-pint sidekick and simply muttered “Latoya!”

“Noooooooo, Dr Jones, I gotta snap you out of this, there must be a way” pleaded Jimmy but Jones continued his mantra, reciting the queen of bad music’s name over and over.

Jimmy wracked his brains and tried words almost at random “Wales….Singing….Records……err…..Girls” at the last word Jones’ head twitched, Jimmy pushed home his new found advantage.

“Sex, sexy ladies, err…..” Jimmy not being even half the man in stature or bedroom experience of ‘The Jones’ stumbled to find more power words. Tom was starring at him now an inquisitive look on his broad features.

Jimmy tried one last effort “Err….Big….Big….BIG FAT TITTIES!” He yelled.

Tom’s eyes refocused losing their light glaze and he shook his head. In the background Icke was looking troubled. Jones gave him a quick glance and then recited aloud “LATOYA.”

Jimmy’s hopes crashed at the sound of that terrible name, tears welled in his eyed and he looked into his role models face. Jones winked.

“Now Jones, step aside and I will take his heart for Latoya” cried Icke allowing the Welsh legend to pass behind him.

As soon as he was past, Tom quickly set in with the kidney punches, a special move learnt in the working men’s clubs of Cardiff. Icke went down like a sack of leeks.

Phil Jupitus his face slick with sweat waddled over to come to his master’s aid. With a right hook more powerful than a Shirley Bassey Medley Tom sent the fat comedian tumbling to his doom, down the trap door under Wee Jimmy. The Crowd of Smash Hits readers on the other side of the moat could do nothing but shout and throw arm bands for various charities.

Tom swivelled, ready to finish off Icke only to find the crazy cult leader had vanished. Realising they were now alone on the alter, Jones strode over to free his diminutive sidekick. Jimmy grinned at his boss, relief showing in his eyes “What now Boss?”

Jones smiled “Now were getting out of here, all of us”.