From: antifrance@yahoo.com (Antifrance) Newsgroups: alt.fan.tom-servo Subject: What really happened Date: 7 Jun 2004 13:25:16 -0700 WHAT REALLY HAPPENED by Antifrance Off the coast of Oahu, Hawaii August, 1996 A private yacht cut through the waters of the Pacific. The sun beat down on the clear blue water, warming the fish below until the boat's approach sent them fleeing. The sun beat down on the boat, scorching the human skin that danced below. Loud rap music blasted over the boat's PA system. Scantily clad women moved frenetically to the music on the deck. Two beach chairs were carefully positioned along the side of the deck. The yacht's owner, Tupac Shakur, and his friend Antoine, sat upon the chairs, soaking in the sun, the sound, and the sight. "Dis vacation be the shit, bro," said Antoine. "You said it, brutha," Tupac replied. Just then, a smaller boat approached the yacht. Sixteen Polynesian rowers pushed their oars, timed by a woman who stood upon the bow, amplifying her commands through a large conc shell. "Halt!" yelled the woman, as her boat pulled alongside the yacht. Looking up towards the yacht's deck, where everyone was standing along the edge and staring, she yelled, "Who is the one they call Tupac?" "Yo, dat be me," said the rapper. "The King seeks an audience with you." Tupac narrowed his eyes. "Da King of what?" "All will be revealed to you shortly," the woman said. "Please follow us to the secret island of Punamonaloa'a." "What be so secret about it?" "All wil be revealed," the woman repeated. She began barking commands to her crew again. * * * Tupac ordered his driver to follow the strange boat. After fifteen minutes of sailing, the boat commander held another shell high above her head, this one encrusted with jewels. As she moved the shell in a particular way, the space ahead of them seemed to shift. A flash of light later, the island of Punamonaloa'a seemd to appear out of thin air. "Yo, this shit is freaky," said Antoine. "Maybe we ought to be turnin' back." "I want to see what dis is all about," Tupac replied. Within moments, both boats had landed on the island's shore. Everyone on the yacht began to approach the ladder. "Everyone must stay aboard except for the one they call Tupac," announced the small boat's commander. "Anything dis King has to say to me, he can say in front of my bro Antoine," said Tupac. "Very well. Please leave your weapons on board and follow me." The three walked to a large cavern, which opened to a large, ornate throne room. "The King is having his post-nap nap. He will awaken shortly," the woman said, then left into a side room. The rapper and his friend approached the throne carefully. Upon it sat a sleeping man, apparently in his sixties. "He be lookin' familiar," Tupac whispered. "Word. Kind of like dat Elvis muthafucka. 'Cept dis guy be mad old," said Antoine. "Fool, if Elvis wuz still alive, he would be mad old too. Ain't you gots any math skillz?" "My apologies. I not be thinkin'." Soon, the King began to awaken. When he fully regained consciousness, he looked at the two guests. "Ah, Mr. Shakur. I've been expecting you. Do you know who I am?" "You looks like Elvis Presley, but he be long dead." The King smiled. "Yes, of course." He pressed a button next to his throne, and spoke: "Bring me a fried coconut sandwich. With a hunka hunka burnin' cheese. Thanks, darlin'." Tupac stared, wide-eyed. "You really is Elvis, ain't you?" "I am." "Whoa, I not be a big fan of you music, but I gots mad respec's fo' how you disappeared from da spotlight," said Tupac. He sighed. "Sometimes I be wishin' I could do it too." The woman from the boat walked in, and handed Elvis his sandwich. After swallowing a bite, he said, "What if I told you that you could do it?" "What, pretend ta' choke on my own vomit on da bathroom flo'?" "No, no. I faked my death in the way everyone would expect me to go out. You would do the same. And then, all that I have could be yours." "Dat sound nice, but... why you doin' this?" Elvis sighed. "I am dying, Mr. Shakur. I do not expect to see the end of 1996. The world needs an enigma like me, someone who pops up every so often but hardly anyone believes in. I have chosen you to be my successor." Tupac lowered his eyes. "Dis be a great honor," he said. "How will it go down?" "Next month, you will be shot in viva Las Vegas. My people will get you out of there, and replace you with a replica of your body. After medical treatment, they'll bring you back here. "Then, I will use what time I have left to teach you everything I know. This island has everything you could want. I've even built a recording studio, in case you can't give up your music." "Yo, dat sound good. Da world be wantin' an enigma? I release more albums after my death than when I be alive. Dat give people somethin' to wonder about." Elvis smiled. "You'll do just fine." THE END