Have a funny parody or satire of LOST? Send it to me at chemisist@gmail.com today and it might just be featured on this page! Good luck!
This work submitted by captainaeon.
“It was my idea to blow up the bomb, so that makes me leader again!” Jack stamped his foot. Ever since the bomb exploded and they all found themselves alive back at the beach, they had been discussing where to go from here. Obviously, he was the one to lead them. Obviously. He made his pouty face, a sensitive, yet masculine tear forming in his left eye.
“Would you like some cheese with that whine, Sunshine?”
A man strod out of the jungle. Tall, handsome, metal hand…Bruce Campbell!
Everyone stared and mumbled amongst themselves. “Oh, that’s just great!” Jack exclaimed and sat down near the tree line to sulk.
“Bruce Campbell!” Juliet adjusted her foundation garment and smiled. “How did you get here?”
“I’ll tell you, Bright Eyes. I was editing my latest film Cave Alien 3: It Lives (Again)!, when all of the sudden a rift tore in the space time continuum and I got sucked in. It was almost like someone had hit an old H bomb with a rock causing it to explode during a massive electromagnetic energy discharge.”
“It was me. I made the bomb explode,” Juliet blushed.
“I bet you did, Hot Stuff,” Bruce smiled knowingly.
“So why are you here, Mr Campbell?” Kate asked jumping between him and Juliet like a randy wallabee. “Have you come to fix everything.”
“Sure, Spotty, why not? Just let me consult my highly advanced textbook.” He rummaged in his backpack and brought out a 9th grade algerbra book circa 1971.
“Hmmm… So that’s 42 to the power of 8. Carry the 23…AHA! This should do the trick!” He reached into the backpack again and pulled out a small device. Written on the device ‘Acme Portable H-bomb’. “They sell these at S-Mart. $19.95. And that’s before my employee discount.”
“I’m going to explode another H-bomb!”
“Where’d you get that?” Miles asked. He dripped sarcasm from every pore. It smelled like wild boar. “Those don’t exist.”
“Hey, I’m from the future, Mr Sulu!” Bruce shot back. “We’ve got compact portable H-bombs coming out the wazzoo!”
“But, dude, you’re Bruce Campbell circa 1992 and, like, we’re technically from 2007. So we are way futurer than you.” Hurley, always the voice of logic spoke up logically.
“Oh, a couple of wise guys. Well, Cheech and Chong, I’ve got 2 words for you. Alternate Universe.” Bruce grinned. There was no coming back from an metadesic alternate universe parallex paradox. No way, no how. “Now, somebody hand me a rock so I can blow this popsicle stand!”
“Surely, you aren’t going to blow up the island again!” Some nameless extra said just before he died in a horrible fashion.
“Yes, I am. And...”
“Don’t call me ‘Shirley’!” Hurley and Miles interjected in unison.
“Quiet, you!” Bruce shot them a look that would freeze asbestos. “Now where was I? Oh, yeah, blowing up an H-bomb.” He hit the bomb. There was a bright flash. And then…
Bruce Campbell found himself lying on a chaise lounge on a beautiful beach. It was the same beach but somehow changed. All the ladies from the island were now wearing bikinis and inviting smiles. All the men were monkeys dressed as waiters.
“I had the craziest dream,” he said. He looked at all the beautiful ladies surrounding him. “And you and you, all of you were in it.”
Bruce took a sip of his umbrella drink. “I learned something today,” he said, knowing full well that whatever he said next would be something incredibly amusing if not downright pithy. “No matter how bad things get, no matter how hopeless the situation--I am now and will always be the King!”
“Hail to the King, baby!”
Happy Birthday, Bruce!