Moe was livid. Saying "I'm trying to control an Outbreak here, and you're drivin g the monkey to the airport.."
Jill, warm, soft breasts jiggling, said "What?" and jiggled her warm, soft etc e tc
"Stop that," Moe ejaculated. "You're exciting the monkey, and I don't want him breaking any of my test tubes. This is no time to be taking the monkey to ride the bomb-sniffing dogs at the airport. It needs to stay here for observation so I can see if the new vaccination can counteract the effects of the pork rind virus."
Moe and Jill decided there was no reason to continue their pointless existence. They set the monkey free, and drove off of the nearest cliff, joining the continuum.
Jill decided this should not be her fate and removed the bra from her enormous warm jiggling breasts, slipped through the car window and parachuted to safety with her bra. Moe, ejaculating once again, for Jill to save him. Just before he became worm pudding. Jill looking in on Moes putrid mass and confesses to Moe that the Monkey had a bigger banana and that the Pork Rind virus was all a hoax to keep the monkey around. One tiny tear leaked from the corner of where one of Moe's eyes should be and his lights went out. Little did Moe know Jill had secret plans for the monkey. That evening Jill dressed the monkey up in a little chauffer's suit and put him on her bed with a live video feed to the internet.
Posthumously realizing Jill's intentions, Moe could do nothing, and so continued to be dead. The Monkey thought it nice that jill had set up such a nice web page, but couldn't get over the horrid suit she had put him in. He began to go into convulsions, which excited Jill all the more. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" Jill shouted, half moaning. The sun was rising, and there was nothing she could do about it.
The sun, a which was unbelievably massive that day, stood full and resplendent in the rapture of the day. Jill, who was also unbelievably massive that day, stopped moaning, stopped writhing, stopped making references to "the monkey’s Banana", and stopped otherwise doing perverse things she was put up to by people who, lets be honest, only found this site because it is located at www.Wiggle.com. For that matter, she stopped existing. Moe, in his translucent void, chuckled at the irony of it. The Monkey, Zanzobar, tore his chauffeur suit from his bristly, distended chest, and revealed a black steel case, standing as tall as he and nearly twice as wide. Opening it, he brought out the following: 1)A suit, much resembling the chauffeur suit, but with a visor and the letter Z inscribed on it’s chest; 2)A death-ray blaster 3)A sidekick And so it was that Zanzobar the MegaMonkey and Dolt the Lintwad climbed once again aboard the majestic Space Zeppelin Nippleze, and went off in search of the Thimble of doom.
Dolt felt the urge to vomit, but after a box of cheez-its and a new hairpiece, he settled down.
POO!
Zanzobar the monkey changed his name to Beeble the Kumquat. He was still a monkey.
Beeble was too cool to notice his soundtrack, reminicant of early Kojack. Water condensed in his foot prints, and people shivered standing next to him. When he went to a resteraunt, he brought his own ice. Oh, yeah. Beeble was solid cool. And when he wasn't catching disco fever or pleasin' the ladies, he was out kickin' heads together. These just happened to the space-mutant kind.
BOOM
And then, the universe exploded. Once, twice, thrice!!! Thus eliminating this writer's competition and the universe heretofore. The Father of All now was free to claim all that was rightfully his...excepting Microsoft, which was now owned by Big Bird. The Father of All, also known as God, Santa, or Inspector Gadget, now set off to do two things, one: to give this story a real plot, and two: to change His name to (Drumroll, por favor) Donny. Donny Jones. Yup, no kiddin'. He also changed his occupation from Father of All to Republican Congressman from Wyoming (which doesn't really exist). At this point in time, the Universe was mending itself. Although as an Arch-Rival to our current Universe, with Bob Dole hosting Saturday Night Live (a new season, no doubt), and Mr. Rogers in the White House.
I will now give a brief run-through on the revised history of the USA. It was founded on Febreary 30, 1666, by the Jolly Green Giant, who first emigrated from Rhode Island, where he was denied the rights to grow gigantic green beans. And so he went to the grand ole US-of-A, where he met the natives, who naturally ate green beans, so he had great consumers for his goods. For a while they lived in perfect economic harmony, until they all were driven out by Lucky the Leprechaun. Jolly offered a compromise of exchanging goods and services, but Lucky refused to yield any of his Lucky Charms, under the pretense of being persecuted because he was Irish. Of couse, that isn't to say that Jolly wasn't persecuted for being a giant vegetable, but somehow its not the same. And so Lucky, backed by the Trix Bunny, declared war on Jolly. In the turmoil that ensued, Mr. Rogers, using his combat force of Bad Children's TV Idols, led by Pee-Wee Herman, took charge of the government, backed by his special task force of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The Rogers Dynasty lasted from November 31, 1890 up until the present day, December 32, 1997.
But that was all about to change.
But that was all about to change.
It was all about to change...with the advent of LES. LES stands for Lobotomies for Every Student. This was a program, originally sponsored by Donny Jones, to avoid false fire alarms in Public Schools. He figured that, by turning students into mindless, slobbering droids, the students would have more trouble getting a grip on the alarm, as their hands would be constantly covered in drool.
At least, that is what Donny said to Mr. Rogers, who actively embraced the idea of an even more dictatorial society. A dictatorial society was always Mr. Roger's goal, even in the former universe, before it exploded, when his job was Children's TV Idol. And a little known fact is, that when his "words of the day" are spelled backwards, they send secret subliminal messages to children. Take "fun" for instance. When written backwards, "fun" spells "Vote Richard Nixon". But, the point is, Donny's real idea for LES was to create an Army of Freedom Fighters, who would be loyal to him and him alone (along with his author).
But Beeble was too cool to notice all that.
So, it is now that Donny's plan is finally ready for action, LES has taken full effect, and Donny's Freedom Fighters are ready to combat the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and their satanical leader, Mr. Rogers. The battle awaits...
Beeble and Dolt, back too the wall, waited for the dust to settle on the new universe. They were pleased to notice that in the phoenix-like rebirth of all that exists (which would really take a lot longer than a simple BOOM) they had been supplied with their very own scratch-and-mix DJ. His name was Morglewort, but to avoid persecution, I'll call him Dolomite.
"I'm ready for a good ol' fashion ass-whoop," said Dolt the lintwad is his sissy-boy nasal voice that made his nostrils quiver. Beeble laughed and kicked the shit out out of him. Mercilessly. I mean, he was pulp by the time Beeble was done. Beeble laughed some more, and continued to pummle Dolt until he was harmless. Dolt laughed too.
Beeble saw the turtles and laughed at there pansy faces. He looked at there pansy shells and there pasny bandanas, and laughed. He knew Donny, and He knew Rogers, and they both fought like girls. So much so, that Beeble took a break right then and there, with the big green pansy menace breathing down his neck. "I'm gonna go get laid," said Beeble, stressign the last word in such a deep, bad-ass tone that it made Raphael quiver with inadequacy.
The next day Beeble was back, dolt was still a slobbering mess on the floor, Dolomite was remixing Edith Piaf classics, and the Turtles just stood there, awestruck. Mostly because they're ugly. With no prior notice or explaination, Beeble broke into free form poetry: "The cattle in the fields. They are just cattle. They are cows, sheep are sheep, pigs are pigs. But when a pig drags a brother out of a car and start beatin' on him, thats when we get new livestock." The turtles remained awestruck, yet somehow no longer felt so inadequate. They were still ugly. Ugly honkies. and they were about to get a whole lot uglier. The battle may have lasted for hours, or it may have lasted seconds, but More Piaf of Paris kept playing and the green supremicists dropped like flies.
Beeble, therefore, was now ready to beat or be beaten, whichever. It didn't really matter, now did it? Hell, I mean, Beeble was just a kid, and therefore subject to LES. And so it was that the hero Beeble was merely a pawn to the soon to be great Donny Jones.
But it was not a wise move of Donny to put any trust in Beeble. Beeble was definately a fruit, as proven by his desire to be laid by a giant turtle named Raphael, or his revised name, Fabio.
So it is time to introduce a woman to the plot, so as to make Donny happy. The woman's name is Alice. She is incredibly sexy, with big breasts and a gorgeous figure and face, and she has nothing to do with the plot whatsoever, she simply exists to add some heterosexual excitement to Mr. Timid's (otherwise known as Beeble) dull life.
And then...a REAL PLOT occurred. Not all the wimpo plots preceeding, but a real hardcore plot, totally serious, totally cool. And it occurred like this...
Alice, dressed in a black suit, saw the building gleam in the twilight. It was totally cool. She was frightened, she was scared, but it was something she had to do. If she didn't, then it could lead to the end of Donny. And if he died, then she would to. She approached the gates, entered in her identification number, and walked inside. She walked up the stone pathway, and saw the door. The door was resplendent with light, the happiness from inside. She knocked, knowing that she too would soon be knocked, but she would be knocked hard, real hard. However, she had to. It was for Donny. The buttler came to the door and let her inside, trying for a pass at her all the time. She slipped past him, though, with only minimal intercourse, and got to the stairway.
She went up the stairway and saw the door to the presidential suite slightly ajar. She walked in, hips swaying. Her suitor's jaw dropped, he hadn't expected something like this, he was used to his concubines being younger, for he was Mr. Rogers. But he was happy enough. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and flung her onto the bed. Alice wasn't surprised, she had been trained well, Donny had trained her.
However, while all this was going on, amends were being made between Donny and Mr. Timid, otherwise known as Twinkie. The deal was that Mr. Timid would become Donny's running mate. In exchange, Mr.Timid would be returned to his original title, Beeble. And so, with Donny and Beeble united, and with Mr. Rogers being seduced, Donny and Beeble would conquer the universe. But first, they needed a Star Destroyer.
And a pair of pants, and an avacado
Sadly, they could only find the avacado, meaning that their Star Destroyer would have no pants. So instead, Donny and Beeble decided that it would be better to just skip the Star Destroyer, and conquer the universe in an old Buick, without and engine, doors, windshield, and/or motor; and the avacado. It seemed impossible, but then again, Beeble the Kumquat was a monkey.
Immediately they sprang into action. Using the avacado in ways that hopefully, will never again even cross a sentient mind, Donny Jones produced noise which resulted in a gold record deal. With the earnings from his album titled "There's green and fuzzy in my milk, that might have come from my nose", Donny purchased an old Buick (with leather interior), only to find that it had no air conditioners. Beeble sprang into immediate action, and stole someone elses old Buick, which had everything required to drive it on the galactic highways.
But sadly, the Buick was owned by Mr. Rogers, who happened to be.. um, taking a nap, with Alice in the back seat. It was to late to do anything except push Mr. Rogers out the window, to die in space, and then have some full frontal nudity.
beeble the kumquat (who was still a full-fledged monkey) hadn't realized the extent of his driving abilities until that fateful day. mr. rogers had given him the gift, and gratitude overcame him. he thought again about pushing mr. rogers out the window,and decided against it. he would be a great help in conquering the universe (even if he didn't have an avocado). sadly, the frontal nudity would have to wait. beeble quickly penned his autobiography (sans nudity or lechery) on the forehead of mr. rogers, who would be a great help in conquering the universe...even without an avocado. not realizing beeble's intentions, mr. rogers grabbed him by the collar and flung him out the window to die in space, nude...he being a monkey and therefore having no need for clothes.
But then, in an effort to simplify and construct a workable plot, Donny Jones utiliezed the wisdom that came with being the diety formerly known as GOD: First, he saved Beeble, and gave him Mr. Rogers clothes (which Beeble removed anyway) Second, (and this is the part where the true genius comes into play) he punched Mr. Rogers in the kisser, then kicked him in the groin (which, naturally, didn't phase him), and then he hit him again. Beeble meanwhile had assumed the drivers seat, which was a good thing, since he was the best driver. Donny Jones, finally finished beating Mr. Rogers a few days later, so he and Alice placed him in the trunk. Soon, the buick, guided by Beeble the Kumquat, landed on a rocky planet, on which they found a big rock, and smashed Mr. Roger's head, convieniently removing a inceasingly stupid obstruction to having a good story.
Soon the trio: Alice the extra person, who hasn't been eliminated because I can't think of a good way how to, Beeble the Kumquat (the driving monkey), and Donny Jones, the diety formerly known as GOD; were on their way. Now, after sidetracking, the crew of the old Buick were on their way again to find some pants, and a star destroyer. Each member of the party had a different opinion: Beeble thought that they could harvest long grass stems and weave a pair of pants themselves, Donny Jones thought that they should try to find them pre-made, if not custom made, since pre-made pants would probably be the best to conquer the universe with. Alice, who had apparently sustained a blow to the head sometime earlier, suggested that the crew return to Earth and buy a pair at their local department store. Obviously she was nuts, and Beeble and Donny Jones would have thrown her overboard right then and their, except that was the moment when the Sonic-Queen chose to attack.
Yes, the omnipotent Sonic, Queen of the Universe. But no, it wasn't, not yet, at least. Instead it was a giant Martha Stuart! And she was singing the Macarena! In Estonian!!! This was the worst horror they had yet encountered! Oh, what a fate to befall our innocent, space-travelling heroes! The giant Martha Stuart approached, climbing across the rocky landscape. Donny, Beeble, and Alice fled as fast as they could, but soon they were halted by the Estonian Macarena. They placed their hands protectively over their ears, so as to sheild themselves from the horrible sound. They were doomed. But then, they saw something. It was high up, real hard to see, but yes!, they could make out a vague outline of...of...
A Star Destroyer. They were awed by it's sheer awesome power, and as they stared at its massive bulk, it plowed into the ground with a force of 20 nuclear bombs. The Martha Stewart was killed, but Beeble, Donny, and Alice didn't get hurt, they was too damn cool.
They jumped into the hatch of the somehow undamaged ship, and a guy in a tight uniform and a light British accent said "help me, help me!!!" They kicked him in the head, and he died.
Now that they had a star destroyer, the felt like they'd better go kill some Rebel ass. But that would be plagiarism from LucasFilm, industries, so they re-christened the ship from the name "Blood-dog" to the name "the Mothership." And they had a huge, funk-fused party. They made all of their funks the P-Funk, oh, and me, my name is Lollipop, a.k.a. the Long-Haired Sucka. But enough of that.
All they needed to do now, was find some pants.
"Alright! What is it with these pants!" shouted Ben from across the library. People looked up to see him glaring at Cordy, a somewhat nerdy kid of the type that was most often found in the school library. Ben wasn't very cool either (at least, not as cool as Beeble), but he was big and on the football team. He was trying to make a funny story, and he knew that Cordy was on Wiggle too, and HE hadn't written that dumb line about pants, so it was time to beat someone's ass (no, that's not an innuendo, it's just your sick mind). Namely Cordy's.
"Ya want pants in the story!" Ben was shouting as he beat down Cordy, "How about we use yours!" Ben recruited some of his friends to go hang Cordy up in place of the flag, and then to bring back some of his earwax as proof it was done. Ben, for he was a neat guy, if not very nice, turned around and turned off Cordy's computer, went over to where he was working, and then gave Beeble the pants. As he was typing, his friends came back with the earwax, which Ben gave to Alice in exchange for her slippers. With that done, and the star destroyer properly outfitted with a pair of ash gray sweat pants, Ben continued writing about Donny, Beeble, and Alice.
"Ouch, that must have hurt!" exclaimed Donny, "Imagine being hung up by your underwear in place of a flag!" Donny shivered. "Ook ook eek." replied Beeble with unruffled cool. "He said that Cordy deserved it," said Alice, at Donny's blank look. "Hmmm.." replied Donny, "Anyway..."
Donny felt like he was in a lost episode of "Miami Vice." Beeble Felt like he was in the next sequel to "Shaft" (Where he and Kojack team up to kick it like a mac daddy). Alice felt like she had bowel cancer. Bah! Nonsense! Kidneys! Oyster sputem!
During this time, Dolt the lintwad and Dolomite the Scratch-and-Mix DJ had not been idol. Or any other sissy eighties pop-icon for that matter; they were still manning the Nippleze searching for the Thimble of Doom. [it is important to note at this time that we are neither dismissing nor forgetting our triplet cohorts universe-conquering crusade, only putting them on the back burner while we catch up on these two) The darkened silhouette of their majestic Zeppelin was edge lit and froofy against the vivid paisley moon as the docked on the multi-leveled cliff face. Dolomite had landed a job in the intergalactic toaster that had been built into the sheer rock face. It was a classic chrome model, and as the Nippleze eased into position, it's reflection spread out across the surface of the toaster, club Throb-n-thrust. As he got out, Dolt expressed annoyance at the obnoxious repetition of certain installments two or three times. He blamed Jesse. When they got inside, a fat, drooling, hairy man who reeked heavily of rat-vomit (a favorite drink around here) explained where Dolomite should set up his turn tables. "It should be far enough away from the slots so that when the toast pops, you won't get singed by the after-burn. I would also prefer that you don't take up any seating space. And when you play, play nice and loud. Just can't fire rye into space with-out crankin' up the polka remix!" That last bit was said with a nudge and a wink, and the man took his pants of and gave them to Cordy. Dolt had used this opportunity to wire a thermal grenade to the giant sheet of Rye bread. He was a pyrotechnic expert, and a job like this was nothing to him. He had learned from the best; he had learned from Beeble. A tear swelled in his eye as he thought this. No. No time for memories. No time for Nostalgia. No time for a musical number. Wait, there had to be time for a musical number. "Oh the Shark Bites... with his teeth babe! And he keeps them, pearly White!" Lawrence Welk swelled in feverish remix; electric ice cream freezers wearing fishnet-stockings and feather arrangements danced in lines, kicking there... er... legs up in a frenzied blur; fat, drooling, hairy men flatulated in the sheer joy of Mac-the-Knife; And Dolt , chest heaving, swung down via zip-cord from the ceiling, singing: "Oh the Line Forms, on the right babe, now that Mac is... Back in Town!!!!" The audience cheered, the rye flew, and the bombs went off. The bombs went off. Quite a finale, but unfortunately it gave away Dolt and Dolomites' all to obvious plan. The Fallout from the toast would cause the shipments in and out of the toaster to stop. And who depended on the toaster? Los Testiculos Verdes. The Green Testicle. The single biggest runner of drugs, guns, slave-porn, and small countries in this galaxy. You see, LTV had received an anonymous tip that his empire would be crushed if he didn't go public with his information in regards to the Thimble of Doom, which he was known to know about. So he does what? Nothing. He shrugs it of like a scarf on a hot day. Clearly, he had not counted on this. Unfortunately, Dolt and Dolomite now had to fight their way through a crowd of fat, hairy, flatulent men and an army of novelty cooking utensils.
[Hey, Sonic-Queen, I think its about time for a new chapter.]
But anyway, speaking of novelty cooking utensils, our trio: Donny (the Republican Congressman Formerly Known as GOD), Beeble (the Artist Formerly Known as Twinkie), and Alice (Mr. Rogers' Sex Toy) are out sailing across the galaxy in a Star Destroyer. Their objective: to find the Rebel Base on Degobah and destroy it.
STOP IT, STOP IT!!! ENOUGH WITH THE STUPID STAR WARS REFERENCES!!!
Sorry about that, critics have been givin' me bullshit all day. But apparently we have some objections to my VERY subtle references to popular culture, such as Star Whores. So anyway, to recap: Donny, Beeble, and Alice are sailing through space in a Star Destroyer. Their objective: to find the Reble Base on Begodah and destroy it.
After a few megahertz of travelling through the void of space, our heroes finally come across Begodah. The problem with Begodah is that it is surrounded by an almost impregnable defensive shield of cheap Star Wars memorabilia. It is this field which protected Yoda from the Empire, led by Ralph Nader.
So how do our heroes combat this problem? Easy, they file a law suit against the Empire. Ralph Nader, of course, is unable to defend himself because he refuses to remove his headgear in an Intergalactic Court of Law, and the Emperor keeps getting mistaken for a Supreme Court Justice.
And so the trio implements this plan, and they get 10 billion dollars and all rights to the memorabilia defensive shield (they also get light sabers and cool Proton Torpedo Blasters). Donny, Beeble, and Alice, henceforth proceed to land on Begodah. But it's not quite what they expected. They find Begobah to be a deserted Utopia, not some sort of funky swamp-world as depicted in Star Whores. The entire planet is literally a Utopia for every possible desire. It is a world which manages to be everybody's individual Utopia at the same time. That is to say, each inhabitant sees a different world, adjusted to each inhabitant's individual wants and needs. The only thing is, there are no inhanitants. Donny, Beeble, and Alice are now to be the first.
They set out to put into action their original plan, which was to conquer the Universe. But to do this, they need a home base. And, as can be predicted, they select Begodah. But no capital can function without citizens. Citizens give depth to a society, they give it markets, an economy, goods and services, infrastructure, defense, and crime. What's that last one?...Crime? No no no, that won't do at all. Instead, they need...slavery. And how does one get slaves? Easy! By advertising on the internet. And that is just what they do. They advertise job openings for slaves. And, sure enough, people come from all over the galaxy for these jobs. Why, there's free room!, and board!!, and floggings!!!. Well, this is just to good a deal to turn down. And, so within just a few hours, Begodah, a perfect world, becomes...
Begodah, a perfect world. And what to do with all these slaves? Give them one Luke Skywalker doll each and send them on their way. And that is how Begodah became as perfect as it was before. Now, to conquer the universe...
There was just one thing which stood in their way of conquering the universe. And that was, the already pre-existing governments. Now, as the old saying goes, money can by happiness. And happiness comes in the form of planets,as does an Intergalactic Empire. So, remember the law suit filed against the Empire? They got ten billion dollars, a gigantic stockpiling of weapons, and they drove the Empire bankrupt. Well, now they have money, don't they? So they can now afford to buy a small star system such as, the one revolving around a medium-sized star called, the sun.
Revolving around the sun are nine planets: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Youranus, Neptune, and Goofy...sorry, Pluto. Eight of these planets are inhabitable, but one has an atmosphere of pure...um...pollution.
All of this pollution, it is suspected, came fron a primitive race of sheep. These sheep, as opposed to the ones we have now, were not solar-powered. Instead, they were powered by internal combustion engines. Internal combustion engines, as opposed to solar engines, are not very energy efficient, so the sheep were constantly emmitting noxious fumes through their exhaust pipes. These noxious fumes gradually destroyed the atmosphere and caused the planet to be made of pure methane. So it stinks like shit, rendering prolonged life on that planet impossible.
Our heroes, on their quest for conquest and exploration, came across this planet. At a distance of 300 billion light-years, their shields began to dissolve, and by the time they crashed into the planet, their entire star destroyer had dissolved.
So now they had no Star Destroyer! (I apologize to you, the reader, for leaving our heroes again withut a Star Destroyer. You're probably saying right now: "Why did you have to take away their Star Destroyer? Wa Wa Wa!!!" No wait, you're probably saying, "Yes, now I can sign off..." But you'll come back, you always do. Oh well, they'll get a Star Destroyer soon enough). And they get one right now...
Our heroes have only two days to live on this planet, so they had better get this story rollin' real soon. They start off by walking around their surroundings. Eventually they come upon a dark underground chamber. In this chamber they find thousands of scientists, all dead. In their last days, they had frantically built a Star Cruiser, even better and bigger than your typical Star Destroyer. Apparently the scientists had predicted our heroes arrival, and had hence saved their lives. In addition to being much shorter to write than "Star Destroyer", the Star Cruiser came equipped with methane defense shields, which are the most effective shields in the universe (as our heroes will soon find out). And so they escape from this world.
*groan* thought Ben. "Now what dumb-ass is messing with my story? Ah well, they still won't be able to change my story debut: Ben, the Los Testiculos Verdes! The biggest, baddest evil guy in the Universe and/or this chapter. Not to mention that I'm the only guy that knows that the Thimble of Doom is actually in Wyoming (which doesn't exist) guarded by Barney the purple dinosaur and his crack troops, the Mighty Ducks. I'm almost sorry for whoever tangles with them" With that, Ben got back to writing.
Suddenly, Ben's Verdes Testiculos turned into Azul Testiculos, as Cordy came back for his revenge, azul meaning blue, and testiculos meaning balls. Blueballs. Heeheeheeheehee. "It was the Warriors! They did it! They kicked Ben in the balls!!!" said a guy with an annoying, grating, high voice. Then, he threatened some guys with a gun, one of the guys threw a knife through his arm, the Riffs beat him to death, and the gun-threatened guys ran off down the beach. His dying scream reached across the galaxy to Beeble, who realized that he had always wanted to give birth. So he did, right in front of everyone else. He didn't like the baby, though, so he threw it out the airlock.
STOP IT, STOP IT!!! ENOUGH WITH THE STUPID WARRIORS REFERENCES!
so screamed Alice. Okay...okay, so the Warriors may have been a decent movie! So was Star Whores, and nobody would disagree when I say THAT has gone too far.
[Hey, Sonic-Queen, I pray to your incompetence...ummm...omnipotence, PLEASE grant a new chapter, PLEAASE!]
Mmmm...ummmmmmmm, the Star Cruiser's energy-efficient engine (90 miles to the gallon; on country roads, of course, not in the city) went as it cruised along through the vacuum of space. All of a sudden they ran into Spudnik, the Russo-Cyberian's famous potato ship. Our heroes' Cruiser, as being piloted by Beeble, recieved a message from the leader of the Russo-Cyberian Empire, KIng Potato-Head.
The King was (as most Kings these days are) hostile. He said in his Potatoesque voice, "Whadup, peckawood? What you doin' messin' aroun' wid our kick-ass vehicle?" Donny, who was a Potatophobe, ran off and hid in the laundry basket. Quoth Beeble: "What you sayin', Bama? You a White Potato, you ain't got no SOUL, man, you ain't even got no eyes, bitch. You back off, o'else I be forced to get Medieval on yo' ass."
This, of course, caused a declaration of war against the trio, leading the nation now known as the Empire Incognito. And then Schechechezehar descended from the mountain and smote Dochesch, who had earlier slayed Bluchab, son of Holam, son of Dehar, son of Gage, son of Zarathamezocham, daughter of Zarathustra. And God said, "It is good."
All this lead up to...
The Pope-a-tron 2000. 300 feet of hard-core John-Paul III, shooting flames fifty feet, and sustaining multiple groin injuries. This was the Spudnik's dastardly weapon. PJP3(2K) leapt from Spudnik to the Star Cruiser with ease, despite Beeble's valiant atempts to dodge it. Stradling the Star Cruiser, the Pope-a-tron lifted high his mighty crook, and pummeled our hero's good ship. "Look!" cried Alice "Thar be an asteroid field!" "I Dig." said Beeble in that laid-back voice of his. "No, hold on, they ain't no asteroids! They's humpbacks!" The Pope clung to the ship as it hurtled through the whales, which were whizzing by within inches to the left and right. Drawing back his head, he began incinerating them with his firey breath. Charred whale meat bounced across the hull with loud "Thud!"s that reverberated throughout. "It's no good!" said Alice "There's just too many of him! I'm gonna go to the gun tower!" Alice strapped herself in very sexually to a chair in a pod which extruded very phallically from the ship. She Began firing flaming sperm at him. No, thats gross. She fired Boiling vaginal juices. Oh, good god! She fired cute little puppy dogs at him. (finally, something family-oriented). The cute little puppy dogs bounced of the pope like tenis balls (only they barked), and had no effect except swimming up the popes fallopian tubes and impregnating him. Popes only gestate for a few minutes, and knowing this, Alice was rather upset. At this point, Alice may or may not have been knocked off into space for the convinence of other writers. If she was, there is a passionate telepathic cry waking up Donny, who procedes to strap on the Napalm-o-matic exo-skeleton and climb to battle. If not, he was hit by a lost piece of whale carcass and the same thing happened. Donny, wearing the exo-skeleton, climbed to the surface. He was feeling very vengeful (either due to the death of Alice, or to some horrible childhood trauma involving the Pope and an army of lawn flamingos). "POPE!" he cried "YOU SLIMEY APEX OF THE PATRIACHAL CATHOLIC MONARCHY!! THIS IS FOR 1973!!!" with that he ignited the papal robes, causing the oddly amusing image of a great flaming robo-pope straddling a star cruiser and dodging whales to float through Gage's head. As the last vestages of his gown drifted off in cinders, the Pope was revealed to be wearing a very sheer black silk lacey getup, with very fancy garters, and tassles on his nipples. More amusing thoughts drifted through Gage's mind, and the pope raised his crook high above his head. It looked like doom for Donny (Doom for Donny? Bunnies for Beeble?) until someone papal got a spermwhale upside the head, rending him limb from limb. Donny, Beeble, and possibly alice celebrated their victory using grapes. Donny noted "Our planet, the planet Behgodah..." "Yes?" inquired Alice, or perhaps Beeble in her absence. "Well I've been doing some calculations." "Yes?" "It occurs to me that we now have twenty-thousand hard-core members. And a thousand more, unorganized, but redy to fight. And here we are fighting over turf. Our little piece of turf. and I was just thinking..." "Oui?" "Well... we most definitely rule the streets, suckers."
The astute reader will now take note of three things:
1) Pope John Paul III was not the Pope in 1973, so Donny's got issues.
2) "Zeppelin," can be rearranged to spell "Nippleze," the name of our other hero's space craft.
And 3) There was another "Warriors" reference in that last installment. There will be blood tonight.
"Didn't the director of "the Warriors" also produce the Alien series?" inquired Dolt, who was back to back with Dolomite. "Yes, I believe so." A veg-o-matic pounced at Dolomite, who sent it flying with the old vinyl-to-the-face routine.
Dolt concentrated very hard, while dolomite clove through cuisinearts and hairy people. If he concentrated very hard, he would have control over the inner lining of every pocket in the intergalactic space toaster (except those few of the fat flatulant hairy men who were naked and dripping). This would put him in a position of controll indeed.
The extra 'l' is for value!
"VALUE DOESN'T START WITH 'L' YOU JERK!!!" screamed Dolomite as he went into a berzerker rampage and clove through half-a-dozen home-shopping-network turnip deveiners. "EAT SCRATCH-AND-MIX DEATH YOU SOY-SUCKER 2000!!!" he screamed at his next major batch of useless culinary paraphenielia. Graduated Cheese Graters (grate cheese at over 60 different widths) fell hard that day, as did Avocado Coddlers, Grain Caddies, Marshmellow Strechers, and Duck Floggers. Lots of fun.
But his frenzy would run out, and it did. Sweaty hairy ape-people leapt ouf of floor panels, kitchen cabinets, vomit kegs, and fleez-morkers. They tried to mangle Dolomite. Seeing his impending doom, Dolomite got on his knees and shaved faster than he had ever shaved before. Having carved the hair on his body into decorative patterns, including one not-so-flattering approach to Ned Beatty, signified absolutely nothing, and so proved to be a futile venture. But he had forgotten the lint.
Dolt had not been sitting there like a pile of pig feces. No, amorphous as he was, he remained vigilant throughout. With a burst of mental energy, he took control of every pocketful of lint in that room. If theres one thing fat, flatulant, hairy, sweaty, ugly, stinking, vomit-covered, membraneous, dirty old pedophiles don't like, it's having there groin tickled by lint. Especially lint that could form complete sentances.
"Well aren't you flatulant today?" one pocketful said with a June Cleaver tinge to an otherwise demonic voice. "One your knees and squeal!!" said another catching sight of Dolomite's portraial of Ned Beatty. Seeing that now was there chance, they made a beeline for the door. Out the door, up the cliff, admire the view, slip on rat vomit, back to the Zeppelin, up the ladder, into the cockpit, turn on, cut the anchor, the engine, and they were solid gone. The flatulant men tried to follow, but it was to late. They started vomit-wrestling instead.
"Well aren't you flatulant today?" one pocketful said with a June Cleaver tinge to an otherwise demonic voice. "One your knees and squeal!!" said another catching sight of Dolomite's portraial of Ned Beatty. Seeing that now was there chance, they made a beeline for the door. Out the door, up the cliff, admire the view, slip on rat vomit, back to the Zeppelin, up the ladder, into the cockpit, turn on, cut the anchor, the engine, and they were solid gone. The flatulant men tried to follow, but it was too late. They started vomit-wrestling instead.
AAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHH! I did it this time! God Damnit! Sonofabitch! AAAAAARRRRRGGGGH!
Dolt and Dolomite kicked the narrator's ass as he criticized himself for the horrendous offense of repeated paragraphs. He knew how easy it was now, and felt sorry for stringing up the gimpy kid by his own intestines.
Somewhere, over the rainbow, my vacant anus won't need duct tape.
All of the sudden, the giant chicken nuggets came up to Dolt and Dolomite and said, "Hey, give me the sauce or the dog gets it." Dolt looked at Dolomite and and then to the head chicken nugget and said, "But we don't have a dog." The nugget just sneered and then threw the canine out to window. He then looked at the pair and said, "Well in that case, let just fill the bathtub with sweet and sour and have an orgy!" Dolt and Dolomite pondered this for awhile and then conceded. They all hoped into the bathtub full of sweet and sour sauce. All of the sudden, a huge bubble came from the sauce. Dolt and Dolomite were appaulded. The flatulant man had found them!
^ above paragraph by Beer Wench Mary http://www.geocities.com/CollegePark/5547/index.html karma_21@hotmail.com
Apaulded? I wouldn't mind Beer wench mary if she didn't plug herself so clearly. For that matter, it bothers me that she uses such obvious capitalist references to fast food chains and there insidious global domination devices. Further, we've worked hard to remove all sources of egregrious sexuallity such as blind orgies in sweet and sour sauce. I vote we find this Beer Wench Mary and kill her.
That's the way it works, now what?
Now our good buddies are through with sexuality, as Dolomite now declares himself the Poop...sorry, Pope...no, I like Poop better, so Dolomite declares himself the Poop and judges this Beer Wench Mary as a threat to all that is good and chaste in the galaxy (that is to say: nothing).
"This insubordination cannot be tolerated!!! We need help from the Empire Incognito, with their aid, we must track this Beer Wench Mary down and sodomise her!!!" And that is how our Intergalactic Star Chase begins.
So, our daring burly characters have set out to hunt down this propaganda and erase it like the pig vermin that it is. They start to scour the universe like comet on dish pan hands, and they realize they really need the bleach of doom to wipe up the beer that is a wench thus named mary. So they are off, or mabye the are on, they havent quite figured that out yet. So they search high, and they search low, and they search inside, and out of everything. They then stopped suddenly because they realize that they just let themselves wide open to crude references supplied by preverted future writers. Blocking themselves with the phrase "Castrate any who build upon these accidental perversions" they are off once again in search for the bleach of doom.
"Yes, the bleach of DOOM!" said Ben, leader of the now Azul Testiculos. "What?" said one of his cronies, Dave. "Oh, did I just mention the beach of DOOM?" "Yes." "Oh, pretty weird, huh? That just sort of popped into my head. Boy, do I need my medication, I'm going nuts."
But little did Ben know that on his medication was Harold the Parasite. As Ben lifted his medication so as to injest it, Harold the Parasite jumped down his throat.
This was the first time that Harold the Parasite had ever successfully infected someone, all the other times he had somehow failed, so you can understand how elated Harold the Parasite was. He floated through Ben's bloodstream, obeying the traffic signals and such, but secretly looking for a hapless cell to infect. Finally he spotted one, he sped down the bloodstream as fast as he could and pulled up into the cell's driveway. "Hmmm, this will be tough, this cell has only a semipermeable membrane." What the semipermeable membrane meant was that Harold the Parasite would have to fake the identity of a friendly substance (this may not seem difficult to do, but that's only to the untrained eye, because it's true that most cells do look alike from a distance, but in reality they have fingerprint testers). So Harold the Parasite put on his costume and recited his access phrase ("Yes, I am a friendly substance"). As he approached the cell's front gates, he was asked by two cells in white membranes if he was a friendly substance. "Yes, I am a friendly substance." He said very politely. And so he was admitted inside. Now was Harold the Parasite's big chance. Carefully maneuvering through back alleys and such, he successfully reached the nucleus. He took out his AK47 and pointed it at the mayor of the cell. He pulled the trigger. The gun shot, and the mayor fell out of the balcony, dead. The cell fell into violent anarchy, and Harold the Parasite declared himself mayor of the cell. He recruited every good protein between the ages of 18 and 65, creating a huge army. Harold the Parasite went on to infect more and more cells.
"And that's how Ben got his first case of the Common Cold. Now don't forget to do pages 666 through 999 in your Science textbook. Class dismissed." Said Mr. Shingles, the High School biology teacher in his nasally voice. He was a short man, with greasy-looking hair and a solar-powered house. At least, that's who he was by day. By night, however, he was...PETRI-MAN!!!, Defender of Justice, Liberty, and Biology the world over. He's strong, he's psyched, and he's ready to kick some teenage ass. Cruisin' along the highway in his Petrimobile, his telepathic mind picks up a message from the bad part of town, "Dang it, homey, dat shit's viral!!!" He sped up, knowing full well that if he doesn't correct that kind of language now, then that individual might be in danger of getting a C in an honors course.
Crouching in an alley, he observes that it's Grammatically Incorrect-Boy, the baddest motha fucka this side of the river. He prepares for action by taking out his mouth tape, and he's ready to kick som ass...
So the battle of Grammatically Incorrect-Boy and Mr Shingles began. Mr. Shingles graped his mighty role of Gafers Tape and lunged at him.(Wait, what kind of fool would attack anyone with gafers tape. Masking tape it is.) But GIB made quick sneak attack about Mr. Shingles mom and army boots. Mr. Shingles started flashing failed test and interiums. But to no avail. GIB was prepared with a vairety of white trash and gehto remarks. Mr. Shingles was caught off gaurd and went reeling backwards. But to his rescue came: Mr McGary another bio teacher with a alter-ego, a postal worker. But
There was Beeble ready to kick all their asses since they had ruined his galactic chase. With him was Alice, Donny Jones, Dolt, and Dolomite. But suddenly the school team sprung the trap. All the flatulent and hairy men under Ben, the Blue Testicle swarmed around our heroes. But they weren't killed, after all they're heroes. They immediately sprung into action, by springing into action right away! Dolt and Dolomite used 2 toasters and a oven cleanser between them (literally) to take out all the flatulent, hairy, vomit-drooling men, while Alice seduced Mr Shingles and then kneed him in the crotch. Beeble meanwhile, attacked Grammatically Incorrect-Boy with so much bad-ass talk that he ran crying for his bad-ass mommy (Beeble had a few things to say about her too). Donny used a nail clippers to clip Mr McGary's nose hairs, thus taking him out of the picture. Since the fight was so much fun, they decided to change from Star Bores to something more original.
an amendment to the above: Of course all of us know that gaffers tape is the superior weapon, but it's forty bucks a roll. Thats all. And it's "Ghetto," not "Gehto."
But aside from that, this fight was very over, and it occured that there was one more vital space situation before Chicago. So Our heroes returned once more to there respective ships (Dolt & Dolomite to The Nippleze, and Beeble, Donny, and Alice to the Star Cruiser).
Now the Universe is monsterously large. The chances of two things converging at the same point is nearly impossible. The chances of there being a major plot point there is even more unlikely; but lo, here are both our main clusters (The Zeppelin Nippleze and the Star Cruiser um... Valdez) at one place, at one time... Existance Checkpoint #5.
NO!!!! Yes. IS THIS YOUR PERVERSE WAY OF BRINGING BACK MORGLEWORT HAFNIFF?!? Yes. WHY?? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE WILL BE PISSED OFF??? THEY'LL KILL YOU!!! Ha ha ha. I chuckled at my own fearsom sadistic nature. They don't even know half of my feindish ploy.
Fiendish.
Upon docking, and passing numerous tests and detectors, all proving they're existance, they group converged in a large dining hall. They weren't sure it existed, but several people sat around it amongst them (brace yourself) were: Moe, Jill, Rudy, Bill Gates, and a pulpy form of Dr. Vaslov Dodovitch. At the head of the table sat none other than Morglewort The Dominator himself. [This whole last paragraph means someone's going to die. It'll be fun.]
Morglewort was garbed in guilded steel armor, adorned with skulls, dead animals, body parts of enemies, and old "Witchie Witch" comics. It reeked of death, and the stench of bile drifted unpleasantly through the room. Upon closer inspection, Dr. Dodovitch was shackled around what could barely be called his hands, feet, and other extremities. It looked very unpleasant. In the background, clearly visible, was all the obnoxious sexual stuff, and the slightly less obnoxious (in fact, very amusing) breasts like oranges in socks. That damn inappropriatley pierced guy. The nameless bitch from chapter one. Directors, writers, programers, all of it, all either tortured, or torturing. But there was some important element missing. Something not here.
The Morglewort the crusher spoke: "I was wondering when you'd arive. They all do- of course they do, because I prove them to exist. And thus: you. Remember Moe, a pitiful extension of ME, ceasing to exist at the begining of this chapter?" as he said this, he gently lifted Moe's limp head, turning now to a female. "And Jill... oh, of course you remember Jill, why the first thing you did was make her reach critical mass." This last comment was directed at me. "This was all untill I cast my forgiving eye upon them. writers kill them, they end up here. They killed me, and here I am. Why, Now I'm a circus ringleader, and my clowns do what ever I say, or end up in the freak show. And you, you pitiful inadequate man, you committed the greatest offense of them all. You wrote yourself into the story. Don't look at me like that, you haven't even appended it yet, just look up a few lines. Or right here, I'm talking to you aren't I? Well thats good enough!" I refrained from comment. "Writing in first person. Naughty, Naughty. The last person to try that is being beaten by a bunch of Win95 junkies over there, just look." Chained to the wall was a man in a white gown being mauled by a bunch of, in his own words, nerds. Depressingly, it's all true. See for yourself, go read chapter 7.
Donny searched through his transcript. What wasn't here? Who wasn't here? Chapter one? no... Chapter two? no chapter two was being castrated over there. Chapter three? No, that was incoherant.
Beeble, in a valiant atempt to save me from Mr. Chapter 7's fate, leapt into action. Moe and Jill went down like bowling pins. Rudy and the lizard men went wild like tiger, but Dolt and Dolomite broke it down like a Mac Daddy. What ever the hell that meant. Alice, using stormtrooper mentality, whipped out an arm cannon the likes of which we are not likely to see again, and perferated some honkie oppressors (I don't know where they came from). Donny read like crazy. Who was it?? Chapter four?? No... Chapter five? Let's see... the erotic adventures of Jesus Christ? No, but more amusing than the earlier attempt in chapter one... Director, no, Strategic Air Command? No...
It was kill or be killed, and Beeble was too cool for the latter. The chaos erupted like and angry penis. Ew. Dolt, Dolomite, and Beeble felt good to be fighting together again. Alice Just felt good. Morglewort saw the tide turnign against him, refrained from saying anything about the bleach of doom, and plunged into battle. Beeble was too cool to let that bother him. "PACO!" yelled Donny. It was this sudden epiphany that made Morglewort upset. He split like a bannana. Jill shed her last tear. "wasn't there ever anything between us Beeble?" "If the shoe fits, it must be leather. But the bop sheebops over baby, and I'm solid gone..." With that he ran after Morglewort. Out on top of the Checkpoint (which suddenly looked alot like a San Diego parking lot), Beeble Tackled Morglewort. They were both wearing suits now, except Beeble had cool dark glasses to go with. Niether wondered when they had time to change. Beeble Whipped out his Berretta and his Badge "San Diego Police Department." he said. Niether wondered when Beeble had time to join the San Diego Police Department either. Donny ran out with his "The Story So Far," and pointed to page 4 of chapter 5. "Paco! Where's Paco?! And this burrito! The talking burrito, where are they?!" Morglewort shivered like the bitch he was.
"Talk Damnit!" shouted Beeble, raising his hand menacingly, "talk befo' I slap the white of you!" Donny suggested things: "He's the one who got away! He's the one who you couldn't subjegate! The power of Mexican stereotypes was too much for you wasn't it?! WASN"T IT??" Morglewort cried like a pansyboy. "Yes... GOD... Yes, IT's true!" "WHERE IS HE?!?" Yelled Beeble. "He's... He's... in Chicago... he's he's.." WHAT?!?! WHAT IS HE DOING, YOU PANSEY-ASS, CASPER, WHITEBREAD SON OF A BITCH?! I interjected. "He's Los Testiculos Verdes... He's [god] He's hiding the Thimble of doom again. Some smart ass gave it away up there, and [dear god] he needs to make sure you don't find it...[sniff]" What about that blue guy we took care of, Ben? Los Testiculos Azul? What about him?" "A ploy... a manuver to distract you while he conducted his opereation out of Wyoming..." "Shit. You say the word Donny and I'll cap his ass." "No. That's not nessecary. Let's go. This place is a tomb."
With that they collected Dolt, Dolomite, and Alice, who were just finishing mopping up the remains of the spent charichters, and boarded the Nippleze. As they left, they looked with a somber eye at the checkpoint. "I don't wanna end up there, Donny." said Alice, with a pouty little face that made Donny's heart weep. Donny Punched her teeth in. "Niether do I," said Dolt. "Word," said Dolomite. Beeble and Donny Knew They were right. They fired some missles at the checkpoint and watched as all the sets of charichters before this point vanished. Now they had somewhere to go. Now they had something to do. Chicago.
Ah, yes Chicago. Land of secret motel room encounters and amish drive-bys, seedy bars and lock-and-key night clubs. A wonderful place... for a crime ring.
Sleaze and filth mucked around the streets in a distinct form of vagrency. Polar bears roamed as freely as an armoir in a record store. that makes little sense, if any, but so be it.
yes indeed stuff happend here alright , yea stuff that needed to be tied to dead animal carcuses and kicked by on going tourists , but if you were alive and young stuff was your middle name { over 21 of course }
or your maiden name for all you sissys
dolt , alice , dolomite relizing they all had knifes in their backs from the begining died , yes it was time to bring in a new ring of characters , the shoe although ragy smelly and lets face it pretty much usless was lethal in many ways then there was topo an escape native american whos offical native name was { fast like the sloth and have no brain } yea he was alright on those cold nights , then there was frank , hafe time bartender full time bad ass he knew how to get around
They hadn't collected Dolt & Dolomite at all. They had grabbed Dolenz, a dumb Monkey from the southside. His guitar strings were rusty and he played out of tune. "Ughh, think I'll head over to that rave I heard 'bout an play 'em some funkin' rock music. eh eh eh... let's see if theycun play indian stylee."
What the hell was that? Can we punctuate a sentence? Please? PLEASE??
Dolt, Dolomite, and Alice, realizing they all had knives in their backs, died. My fat fanny. They do not know how to spell "died." They do not know how to spell "half," either, apparently. However, They did pick up these new friends (The Shoe, Topo (who was inheirently racist in concept, by the way), Frank and Dolenz. Now having three amongst them who's names began "dol," they felt ready to take on the world and hump it like a mule.
Ah , yes. Chicago. The Windy City. Where the Fists are hard and the women are easy. Alice knew Chicago. She remembered her days as a dancer in Vinnie's Place. Oh that was the good life. Until Los Testiculos Verdes. The Green Testicle. He spread like the plague. His icy hand frosted over the city like Santa Claus. And it was a cold winter this year.
She took out her Colt .45. It felt good in her hand. Cold steel, the grit of the criss-cross etching in the handle. It was so solid, yet so delicate. And all it took was to pull the triger... A small chunk of lead would fly and and someone would be found dead the next morning. Just to pull the trigger. But the others could not know. Not Beeble, not Topo, not even Donny, whom she had know carnally. No... Los Testiculos Verdes was her vendetta. Her capture, her kill, she was the owl, and the testicle was the mouse. Well, the testicle was more like a man and a talking burrito, but none the less, he was hers.
Alice wasn't alone, though. Frank. Yes, Frank had no great love of Los Testiculos Verdes. Frank remembered the day his bar up north had been shut down. Three men came from the front, four from the back. Tony, a regular, was the first to go. One to the head, one to the shoulder, and he was gone. Sam and Johnny were next, followed by Maxine. His customers dropped like flies before him. He wasn't fast enough! Not fast enough to getto his baseball bat! But when he did, it became very quickly a bad time to be shooting his customers. Bam! That's one... Crack, Snap! two more... Pow! another... Zot! Zowee!Biff! Last three. But who else was there in the bar? What was the point? And then came the molotov cocktail. That left a mark, but it wasn't the damage done to the bar, or even to his face that bothered him. No. It was the damage done to his heart.
Topo had his problems too. He was primarily upset that he was the stereotypical indian villianous charachter. He was upset that his reservation had been burned down, and by who but another horrendous stereotype! He was upset that mommy weaned him improperly and that he had an oral fixation. He was upset that a cream-filled donut was $7.99. "How, White man. We smokeum peace pipe, you giveum donut?" "I'm sorry, sir, but our outrageous pricing is for your convinience, so that we can serve you better." With that, Topo drew his tomohawk and scalped the cashier. He had as many crem-filled donuts as he could carry. "Sometimes it helpum, being stupid stereotypeum."
Oh, Sorry, I got side tracked. The other horrendous stereotype is, of course, Los Testiculos Verdes. The Shoe was upset because, damnit, he was a shoe and had something to say!
Beeble was too cool to get upset. The others just wanted a piece of the Thimble. Ce la vie.
And then, the Man in Red. Yes, the Man in Red. He had no name, and He had no face to be associated with, but He nonetheless ruled this town. This town [Chicago] was His town, His pawn, His naked, writhing bitch. He ran the streets, the alleys, the Merry-Go-Rounds...Merry-Go- Rounds?...what the...oh, well...
Now where were we? Ah, yes, naked, writhing bitches. Well, the Man in Red ruled all. No one knew how He came, no one knew where from, but He ruled well. People were happy under Him, and if one were to disobey, then there'd be trouble. And do we want trouble? Sure we do, trouble makes for a good story, and a good clef. [Shut up, it's TREBLE, you suck]. But anyway, its not quite time for trouble yet. The plots not thick enough, and their aren't enough wild analogies.
SUCH AS "BREASTS LIKE ORANGES IN SOCKS"?
Yes, such as BREASTS LIKE ORANG...Hey, wait...that's disgusting! Shut up!!! I'm tired, I'm going to bed!
Anyway, back to the plot...The Man in Red...the man to be feared, the man to be obeyed. The man...to ask for a grant.
"Sir, Mr. Red, Sir?" "YES?" "Well, my plan, you see is to start a business called Psychromoft, which would be a softwear company." "WHAT'S 'SOFTWEAR'?" "Well, Sir, softwear is a product which is made of the finest material." "WHAT MATERIAL?" "Well, we haven't quite figured that out yet, but believe me, it'll be cool. Softwear's function would be to break down every week, costing the owner to pay outrageous prices to have it fixed. And through hype on TV and hired proponents, people would be convinced that they'd have to buy it, and we'd keep making money so as to make products which would break down even faster." "BUT HOW WOULD THIS BENEFIT ME?" "Well, softwear would have internet access, and through this, not only could we brainwash the customers, but we could also order drugs with more efficiency than ever before." "SOUNDS GOOD, HERE'S 10 MILLION DOLLARS TO START WITH, NOW OFF WITH YOU."
And that's how a humble man named Gil Bates started the biggest company in the world, Psychromoft. It is a story of triumph, happiness, love, betrayal, and hardcore nudity.
Whoa! Hold on! It's time to take stock of our situation here. Beeble looked around, noticing that the story-scape had become a drug filled haze. Yes, a drug filled haze, and you're the one inhaling the fumes, Mr. Writer. (and no, those breasts like oranges in socks aren't real). Beeble first took stock of himself.
WHAT THE HELL? WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD ANYBODY STRIP NAKED FOR A NERD LIKE GIL BATES?!?!?!
Because he's rich that's why. He's so damn rich that even you'd strip for him!
"No," thought Beeble, "I'm still confused" Ah well...
What!!! How'd you hear about that?...I mean, no I didn't...okay, fine, you caught me...want to hear about it?
No, no thank you. Nobody really wants to hear about how big Gil Bates' hard drive is.
Ah, well...on with the story...STORY?...sorry, incoherent mass of words. Goodnight. Merry Pissmas.
Gil meandered across the streets; steam rose out of gutters as fast as bums fell into them. Vomit stained the sides of buildings. Thjis was a bad part of town. Gil, with his newly aquired 10 million, checked into a sleazy motel. The walls were spattered with the blood of earlier guests; those who couldn't pay, perhaps? The tapwater was burnt sienna. The neon sign outside his window flickered on and off, and so did the TV reception. He called for room service. In a motel like this, room service meant a cheap slut or maybe a fat guy named Bruno. Whichever you like, it was none of the motel's business.
So Bruno walked in, wearing half a cow's worth of leather and still only bearly managing to cover himself. Gill drooled. "So, eh, where's the custama'?" asked Bruno in a burly, lethargic voice. "I'm right here," said Gil. "You?! Ha! Why would anyoune strip naked for a nerd like you!?" "Because I'm rich, that's why! I'm so rich even Beeble would strip for me!" "So you want me to take off the clothes?" "Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeah!" "You're sure?" "You're sure?" "Bring on the sweet lovin'!" "Okay," With that Bruno untied the thongs that kept his outfit in place. It also, apparently, kept his body in place, because as he untied the last knot, he split in half, revealing Beeble, Donny, and Topo.
Beeble Leapt on the pale and trembleing Gil. "Here's the deal you slimey facist twinkie, we read that bit about the man in red. It's painfully obvious that he's a commie trying to create a horrid new disease in our beloved capitalist society. But even more, we've read the earlier chapters. We've read the rest of this chapter. If you guys had been keeping up, you'd know that "Breasts like oranges in socks comes from chapter 2, last sentance... not like I expect you to force your way through that crap... but anyway, it's already been made very clear that Los Testiculos Verdes rules this town. So who pays you're bills? Punk, Who??" "There is a man in red. He's Been trying to push out Los Testiculos Verdes for years. The city is divided between red and green. It's um... sorta cheery actually, but he's the one you want to talk to."
Killing was good thought bebble as he wiped the last bit of blood off his leather jacket , Bruno and Donny stood in the background in awe, as for Topo he was gone scared maybe who cares . " Don't just stand there get ride of the body you jerks " , But Donny and Bruno weren't afraid anymore , they had formed a new respect for the monkey .they picked up Gills body and disposed of it . something had snapped in that monkeys head , maybe it was past trauma maybe it was the smell of Gills fairy like perfume , or maybe it was the fact that he had hermy the worm in his butt who knows , all he did know is that he would never be the same again , and he knew things were going to different , he had to change things , for gods sake he was a monkey no chump . AS bebble stood looking at his reflection almost to see what he changed into , he heard a voice from the background " what do ya wanna do now boss" , a small smile came to Beeble's face as he picked up his gun and blew away the mirror away into small pieces .
Whoever wrote the above sucks like a vacuum cleaner. Don't you know anything? Its Gil, not "Gill," you shithead! Also, there's an ancient trick to writing, practiced throughout the ages. I'll tell you what it is, but make sure you use it wisely...it's called...GRAMMAR and PUNCTUATION. In thanks you may send me two thousand dollars.
Um, okay, now on with the story: Now that Gil has been temporarily distracted, there's only one thing to do: rob a bank. So Donny, Alice, and Beeble mounted their respective stallions, donned their facemasks and pistols, and headed off into the distance, towards destiny and Hollywood.
Everybody knows that bank robberies are never successful unless Clint Eastwood is not present. So our heroes decide to do something wild and crazy, something never before attempted in the annals of history: get rid of Eastwood before the robbery.
But how to get rid of Eastwood? I know how...I, the narrator shall turn Eastwood into a Buffalo, that should simplify our heroes' challenge somewhat.
"Shhhh! We're tryin' to git that there Clintalo, the most deadliest varmint this side of the Susquehanna." So said Alice in her skimpy leather bikini. She and Donny were crouching in a ditch, both pointing their pistols at their soon to be deceased pray, the fearsome Clintalo. Beeble was off to the side, acting as a rearguard to fend off any other of the species "Westernus Actrus," such as the predatorial Waynealope.
WHAT? ANTELOPES DON'T LIVE OUT WEST!!!
But Waynealopes do, so shut up. Anyway, on with the story, Donny and Alice were crouching in a ditch dressed in leather bikinis, and a giant Waynealope was about to devour Beeble, when all of a sudden...
Someone slapped the hell out of them.
It was Topo. "You wakum upum. Chicago, remember?" he queried as he stood over a very unconcious Beeble. A dazed little monkey responded. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. But something hit me and I dropped like a sandbag. After that it's as black as a freshly paved asphalt road. What happened?" "It was Gil's blood. It's as toxic as arsenic, and it was all over you like cashmier," came the answer from Donny. "Yeah we all fell like bowling pins. 'Cept Topo, who dragged us out of there. If it wasn't for him we'd be deader than dirt. Dang this leather bikini..." he squirmed in his seat. Beeble shook his head; bewildered, he asked, "Why's Topo fine, but the rest of us feel like we've swallowed every first in the city?" "Me Topo gotum indian blood. White man's posions no work on me," That does it. Topo, doing some research, overcame his outmoded ideal, and became an average functioning human being. He was sick of being offensive.
So they mounted their horses, and continued to be seedy chicago detectives.
But who was it they were looking for now? Gil Bates? No. The Man in Red? No. Los Testiculos Verdes? No. Then who? I'll tell you who, or what, rather. They were looking for: Alexandrev Markovich.
And who is Alexandrev Markovich? He's a janitor. Why is he so important? Because inside of him is a very small nuclear reactor. This reactor is capable of destroying the entire planet at the drop of a hat. But of course the leather-clad Donny, Alice, and Beeble aren't the only ones looking for him. He's wanted by every other cowboy and cowgirl in all of Chicago. All of these cowboys and girls wear cowboy and girl hats. And, as stated above, the nuclear reactor would destroy the enire planet at the drop of a hat. So let's all hope that all them cowboys and girls can keep their hats on.
i don't like this anymore im out of here suckers
sleep tight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Speaking of cowboys and girls, this week was the convention of cows in Chicago. Every cow-poke who's ever poked, rubbed, fondled, or indulged a cow would be there. Here, Beeble, Donny, and Alice might be able to find something different to wear then leather bikinis. Perhaps they could get a cow suit...
"Howdy pard'ner" said the dumb-butt cowboy at the door. Donny and Beeble looked at each other, and then nodded. "Hey! what're ya doin'!?" exclaimed the doorman as Beeble and Donny curbed him. With that they proceeded into the convention with the delightful screams (with a western accent) in the background
**Author's Note** curbing is an ancient process of getting revenge or just hurting someone realllllly bad. You place the top part of his jaw (with him attached) on the curb, and step on the back of his head. The results may differ.
**I'm not done** The extra "l"s are for value!
Beeble fingered the thong around his anus. It bothered him that there was no place else to put his tail. Left or right, but he could never be symetrical. At any rate, the rodeo was not the place to find the deeply entrenched seeds of evil they had been searching for. It was no place for the Man in Red (commies & cows don't mix), and only sort of the place for Los Testiculos Verdes (he's a mexican stereo type, but this fruitless capitalization of a time- honored tradition was to much to stomach). So Alexandrev? He would be here? Why? To escape communisim? Assuredly he wouldn't wan't them to get their hands on his omnipyrotechnic innards if he was a refugee. An outlaw. The one that got away.
He wasn't hard to find. He was the one with his belly split open and possesign the notable absence of nuclear death. He pulled Donny close. He sputtered incoherentley for a few breaths before forcing out "The Mamboski... ten thousand little greenski envelopeskis... ten thousand blueski horskis... Track record: zeroski. Americanski? No... " He was obviously delerious. Dead? No... We never kill stereotypes here.
So now the dellema: two Chicagos. One green, the other red. One or the other may have a nuclear detonator, but it is unclear which one. The Green side, it had been established, allready has the Thimble of Doom, the object that has brought five of our nine heros to the Windy City. Our heros are all wearing leather bikinis. One is a monkey. He is fairly irritated that people keep ignoring the main goal of getting the thimble. He names his mob. The Warriors. No, that would be wrong. The Fuzzywumples? No. The Punk-Muffins? No. The Mono? Hmmm... Thinking is for the Gloopy ones, and the real omni ones use inspiration. The Hairy Prostates! So it is this, this rag tag group of rebels and crusaders that must thwart... a really big Weevil.
Our band, it seems, must once again be divided. Not because It helps the plot, but because I'm sick of having to remember who's where and when. And I HAVE been keeping track. The device I will use to seperate the Hairy Prostate is the aforementioned Weevil, who burst from the street and directed the groups to branch of as they may, Giving us 1) Alice, Donny and Frank, 2)Beeble, 2.5)Dolomite and Dolt, 3) Topo, the man hunter, and 4) the Shoe and Dolenz. Sorry to have to be so brutal about plot realignment, but times are tough.
Beeble stood smoking a cheap cuban cigar underneath a lamp post. It was raining, and the shadows from the light above spread across his face downward, as if reaching into the very depths of his blackened soal. He wondered about cheese grating devices, and reached into his trench coat to make sure his piece was still there Everything had gone high-contrast black and white on him, and the Greens and Reds had become shades of grey. 'logic... logic,' he thought, 'loogic... looojick... log-jack... Ick Lodge.' He was a wierd monkey. A poor eldery woman wandered aimlessly down the street singing to herself and selling flowers. In the same cold that send goosebumps up and down Beeble's hairy spine soaked into this woman, making her bundle up tighter, trying in vain to escape it... to warmth... to a home that did not exist for her. Beeble violated her, just for the hell of it.
As she ran off screaming Italian obscenities, and he stood, refreshed, reborn, flacsid in the rain, Beeble thought more and more about his prey. If Los Testiculos Verdes had the incendiary kidneys, than would the Empire in Red still stand? A simple deductive leap could tell you that. 'Simple' he thought...'smiple... Smip-nit... Nittle... Zoom!' What a sad little primate. He brought out and brandished his Colt .44. This was the gun of a detective... a perfect film noire hand-cannon. Black semi-gloss steel and the initials J.L.T. II engraved in the side. Beeble had no idea where that came from, but he polished it up so it looked real nice.
Meanwhile, Topo the Man-Hunter knelt atop a two-story parking complex, quietly stalking his prey; a three foot tall chipmonk named Sparky. Stealth and shadow were his allies that night. He pounced like a cougar; he became momentarily an animal. He called upon the strengths of all the animal spirits, and bounced from the garage to a tree, onto the great beast whom he had sought after. Kill, shred, disembowel! The squirming rodent's pulsating blue viscera now clearly visible, he let out a timid squeek that would have made a lesser man weep. He stood tall; releasing the cougar, the owl, the miscellaneous, he was once more a man. His sihlouette raised aloft the head of the three-foot monster. "Ha-ha" laughed a bystander "Maybe we should call you Topo the Chipmunk-Hunter! Ha ha ha!" Topo dropped his head and ran off crying.
As Beeble pulled himself off of the fifth old bag lady tonight, he took note: 'Topo runs like a girl.'
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