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 The Vacuumed Mayonnaise, or whatever it's about

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Posts : 79
Community Worth : 13
Join date : 2010-03-25
Age : 26

PostSubject: The Vacuumed Mayonnaise, or whatever it's about   Fri Mar 26, 2010 1:18 pm

Here's the story so far:

Obb Naught (Scribblehead)

PostPosted: Tue Jan 26, 2010 7:19 pm

This is an RP thread. I made it.

Here's the rules:

1) NO flaming or trolling (or changing posts if you're a mod.) If you troll, we'll ask you to leave.

2) Everyone has to have one central character. Your character has to be original; no stealing from other TV shows or other people. (spinoffs are okay though)

3) NO killing other people's characters or putting them through anything they don't want to do. If you need to, ask the player's permission via PM before doing anything drastic.

4) This RP world takes place on the mystical land of Droo, near a tiny city that borders a lake, a forest, a pub, and a spooky cemetery. Magic is allowed, high-tech stuff is permitted, but mostly it's a traditional swords and shields kinda place. Like Final Fantasy or better, like Kingdom Hearts!

5) Have fun! After all, that's what we're here for.

...okay, that said, the actual purpose of this RP thread is to completely ignore the above rules. Just post something (preferably shortish) that does or does not have to do with whatever's going on. And feel free to use and abuse any character, environment, or (dare I say) plot that anyone else has already come up with. I'll start the thread in the next post.

Mystical land of Droo? God no.

PostPosted: Tue Jan 26, 2010 7:41 pm

Once upon a #@$*&! time...

James York, former big leaguer, soon-to-be multi-millionaire philanthropist, was diagnosed with a peculiar case of Tourette syndrome sufferance at the age of six. His case is peculiar for three reasons. First, because nobody's ever heard of Tourette syndrome. Second, because in this particular case every time he flinches, which happens most commonly if he's under stress or if he's using the toilet, he abruptly hiccups, usually very loudly. The third peculiarity, most peculiar of all three peculiarities, is the fact that every time he hiccups it sounds almost exactly like he's purposely saying *SHIT*

James York doesn't really exist, but we'll run with it.

At the age of seventy two James York dies, but he's not there yet. In fact, right now he's only fifty eight. Also right now he's about to become extremely rich by smuggling an incredibly rare disease-curing formula into Berlin. He'll get away with it and become a philanthropist, but not before going through two years of incredibly amazing stunts and meetings with famous people.

Too bad we won't hear about any of that, because our story starts back when he was still only twenty three and incredibly unpopular for always saying *SHIT* at the most inappropriate times, like when he's meeting a girl for the first time, or during more appropriate (though disturbing) times, like, as mentioned earlier, when he's on the toilet. Or both at once.

Tofshnogin (John Ratzenberger)

PostPosted: Tue Jan 26, 2010 8:00 pm

Lazani was also a man of twenty-three, at one time, but our story starts off with him being nineteen. He was one day at work mopping the floor of whatever the building James York was visiting, as usual, when James York himself came in, and deliberately neglected the 'Caution, Wet Floor' sign Lazani had forgotten to put up.

"Oh," Lazani said, not knowing who James was, but recognizing his face as a person who visited his place of work often. It might have been a bank or something. "Good morning. Nice to see you agai- WHOOPS!!!" James did not slip, Lazani did, and as he did, his mop flew up into the air, crashing into the ceiling fans, and getting their electric motors wet. ...yeah, how 'bout it's a bank. The fans fizzled, and sparked, but showed no signs of further weakness, and continued to attempt cooling the hot, sun-dried day. "Heheh," Lazani stood awkwardly, and leaned against his mop-soaking contraption with big wheels and no locking system. "Guess I sorta slipped ther- WHOOPS!" He accidentally leaned too far, causing the soaking contraption to fly down the bank, sloshing gray, used soapy water everywhere, especially one guy, until finally it passed through the doors, and escaped into the heated suburban landscape.

Lazani stood, rubbing his chin from its second collision with the not-very-clean floor. "Well, there goes my... whatever it's called."


PostPosted: Tue Jan 26, 2010 8:31 pm

Izzy Headless was working late at the bank; it was almost three o-clock now. Stupid manager, forcing him to work a full six hour shift. He wasn't always called Headless. His name was forcibly and legally changed as one of the terms for his divorce four years ago. Never divorce a psychotic lawyer.

He never changed it back because of his inherent laziness. This same laziness is the reason for his grumpy attitude at three in the afternoon after working only six easy hours at Jadd Savings and Loan, the bank world renowned for paying its employees extravagantly. It serves him right to be absolutely drenched in dirty water just now.

Oddly enough, Izzy Headless is powerfully muscular and dashingly handsome. He always cuts himself shaving, though. Even though he rarely remembers to shower, he always shaves twice a day, and he's never gotten the hang of it.

Meanwhile, Mr. York, recently startled by a killer floor washer (as we'll call it,) was twitching and *SHIT*ing up a storm, looking very much like he was being abducted by inept lightning aliens, minus the flashing, booming, and smell of burnt flesh.

Lazani picked his nose three times today; a new world record. The inhabitants of the ceiling fan are not impressed by this fact. It's hard to be when you're dead.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Tue Jan 26, 2010 9:01 pm

"Gee Mister, ah, mister ah..." Lazani stuttered, nervous in the presence of a man who spoke like a person who cusses when they're mad. With anxiety growing in the back of his neck, Lazani gave a forced laugh, and shrugged exaggeratedly with his arms. As he did, the mop he held in his right hand slipped from his grip, and sailed through the air, landing on Izzy Headless's head. "No need to get mad," Lazani told James, before noticing he lost his mop. "Oh! Whoops!" Lazani said, once he noticed he lost his map. "Heh heh, sorry Mr. Headless, sir!" Lazani said, once he realized it had landed on a co-worker of his.

"What's going on!?" The bank manager popped in from a revolving floor tile. He was two feet tall, with a black mustache, glasses, a striped business suit, and a cigar that was so short, it went half a foot in the other direction. "Lazani!" he said, pointing a stubby finger up at Lazani. "What have you done this time?"

"I... I uh... just... dropped my mop, heh heh!" Lazani stumbled backwards towards Izzy Headless to retrieve his equipment. James continued 'hiccuping', catching the manager's attention. "Hey hey you," he scolded, "we have a swearing booth for that sort of shit, I suggest you use it before I have you thrown out!" He then pointed out a distinct phone booth minus a phone, labeled 'private stress releasing stall' almost accordingly.

Roddy Piper

PostPosted: Wed Jan 27, 2010 3:22 am

Dr. Millionare, Esq. was busy voting for George Bush in his gigantic mansion one day when all of a sudden he tripped comically on a banana peel and fell into the biggest, smelliest pile of shit in the whole world. He stood up only to realize all his friends were there, and seeing this very important, rich, stupid person covered in shit was so funny that they all laughed as hard as they could. He couldn't take a practical joke, and so promptly decided to use his influence as a big, stupid, rich asshole to have all his friends tortured and executed. Then he voted for George Bush 1000 more times and died from being too shitty, seeing as he never cleaned the shit off himself because he liked it too much (one of his friends was Lazani, so he's dead. He died from being forced to listen to jazz music).

John Ratzenberger

PostPosted: Wed Jan 27, 2010 7:05 am

The short manager could have cared more about the death of Lazani, had he noticed his absence. The moment he discovered that his bank was one custodian short, he ordered a new man be employed, without even bothering to interview, or check past record. Within a decade, they got their wish. In fact, it happened so quickly, they still had a decade to spare before my statement fell inaccurate. In other wor- no, never mind. You just figure it out.

Meanwhile, peering out of the top floor of an apartment building, Dr. Charles Wrinklechin observed the bank from a bird's eye view. "There it is," he told himself, who nodded in acknowledgment. "Little do the bankers know, they'll soon have to deal with a master thief. Master, I say, do you get it? Because I have a PhD in thievery!" At that, he gave himself an odd look, thought over what he had said, and at last broke out in laughter. "OH! I get it, ahahaha! And a master's degree in humor, if I say so myself! Why, yes I do. Yes... glad you liked it, I felt I needed to brighten things up a bit. Yeah? Yeah..." Charles Wrinklechin turned back to the bank. "Here's my plan... I'll go in as if to make a deposit, and then, I'll whip out this little invention of mine! Oh? What, where is it? I keep it in my pocket. Observe." He pulled out a gun. Just some gun. "I call it, the 'Bang-you're-dead-o-matic! What do you think? ...fine, but what'll you do then? I'll order the teller to give me all the money, or I'll shoot him. That's a stupid idea. I beg your pardon? Who's the one with the PhD? Hmm? HMM!?"

A very tiny spider crawled down right in front of his face, and did a little dance. Shocked, Dr. Wrinklechin cried "EGADS!" and fell out the window. Luckily, he had a parachute. But unfortunetely, he also had rocket boots, and decided to use them both. Chuckling deviously, the spider returned to the ceiling.


PostPosted: Thu Jan 28, 2010 11:39 am

A thin, gray man with two missing teeth, poorly cut hair, and a craved grin hid in the large storage room of the small, mysteriously damp basement of the Jadd Savings and Loan bank. He wore a tattered sports jacket, second hand shoes, and about six banana stickers. Around him lay clippings from newspapers and science magazines, odd jars of facial creams, and lots of stolen secondhand clothes from Goodwill.

The man's name is Rake, and he's currently bandaging his bleeding left hand. "Close, but no cigar..." he says to himself, "...close, but no cigar..."

After bandaging his mangled fingers he reaches into his right pocket, slowly to savor the moment, then grins as he pulls out a silver vial and holds it under a 60 watt bulb. Within this vial is held the worlds most dangerous drop of black liquid. "Close... but no cigar."

Suddenly, Izzy Headless bumbles into the room looking for a towel. Quickly hiding the vial in his mouth, Rake spins and barks "Wuhhth-oo n'dunn'g 'eeirr?" Izzy stood stunned, gleaming handsomeness and radiating stupidity for about an hour before wordlessly leaving. Thus, Rake returned to his now slimy vial of the world's most dangerous drop of black liquid. "Close," he says, "but no cigar."

Rake thinks drinking it will cause immortality. Fortunately for the rest of the world the vial is made out of a glass/unobtanium alloy, is super intelligent, and won't open to anyone who smells frumpy.

Unfortunately for James York, Solid Snake created a time paradox while trying to shoot someone really crappy, accidentally killing York in the crossfire. I guess now he'll never become a big leaguer, multi-millionaire philanthropist, or savior for the thousands of diseased inhabitants of Berlin. And who do you suspect is to blame?

Meanwhile, the Killer Floor Washer (KFW) boarded the #44 downtown bus, paid its fare, and had fun with the other passengers.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Thu Jan 28, 2010 12:59 pm

Jeremy was about to cross the street, when a flaming parachuted figure came from the sky at thirty miles an hour, and crashed into a dead... car. A gun flew out of the reckless wreckage, landing neatly against a wall, and falling over. Unable to resist, Jeremy picked up the gun, and his mind conjured an image of a very wrinkly chin. His eyebrow broadened, and he turned his mariners hat around like a switch.

Izzy Headless was back at his teller station, allowing the hot day's humidity to dry him off for him, when the doors opened, and in came a man in leather, with his hat turned to the side. He boldly walked up to Izzy, and whipped out a gun, aiming it straight at Izzy's gut. "This is a stick up!" BANG! The gun went off. "Oh, whoops!" Jeremy turned and ran clumsily for the door, until he slipped on a mysterious revolving floor tile, and landed with his gun underneath him.

BANG! The bullet punctured his skull from below, entering his medulla, and cutting the cerebellum off at the pons. The short, nameless manager retrieved the gun, and pocketed it before turning back to his favorite tile, and vanishing beneath it. Izzy fell to the floor, clutching his gut in pain; the bullet missed, but the sound of the gun brought back episodic memories of his divorced wife Wendy, who had come too close to shooting him in the head thrice during their last month together. If you're going to marry a lawyer, avoid the psychotic ones with uncles that talk to themselves, and invent rocket boots.


PostPosted: Thu Jan 28, 2010 2:43 pm

It took only about five minutes for Izzy to realize he hadn't been shot, but it took him the rest of his shift to get off the floor, due to his inherent laziness. "I should be paid extra for what I went through today," he thought to himself, while continuing to lay on the floor way past the time he was required to clock out.

Within the dark confines of the misty storage room in the basement of Jadd Savings and Loan, the two foot manager looked over the unusual gun Dr. Charles Wrinklechin had made. Frowning slightly through his mustache, he began to skillfully disassemble the gun using his stubby but nimble fingers.

Towering above him was the shabby, slightly broken Rake, who hadn't yet figured out how to open the gleaming vial. Nor had he made any such attempt; too busy he was, merely fondling it.

Both men quietly, attentively tended to their own mysterious businesses. Strangely, both men would very often use this room for their own doings, but apparently never saw each other due to an incredible difference of height.

"Hey," the manager said towards the ceiling "you're dripping blood on me."
"Oh, sorry," said Rake, "I'll move over here instead."

High up in the mountains on Money Hill six thousand people had been paid to attend the funeral of Dr. Millionaire, Esq. Unfortunately for them, they hadn't been forewarned to bring assisting breathing apparatuses and were now suffering from the rancid, fly-killing smell.

Just before a particularly oblong woman had keeled over dead from a lack of oxygen, a red downtown bus came crashing through the parking lot, throwing limousines everywhere before coming to a stop only a few feet from the choking crowd.

Steam billowed from the wheels, smoke from the smokestack, and the doors slowly slid open. The interior was incredibly clean.

Soon afterwards, so was the funeral.

John Ratzenberger

PostPosted: Thu Jan 28, 2010 3:46 pm

On the outskirts of the city, there sat a small pub besides a recently declared wilderness reservation of forest. Within it sat several recently declared unemployed lumberjacks, drinking their sorrows away. One had a chainsaw for a neck, considering suicide, as he doubted any other job would ever suit him as much as chopping trees down. Another man however, remained sober, and leaned against the wall with one foot brought up against it. His black beard said nothing, nor his comb-over. A worn wood ax sat propped up beside him, sharpened halfway to the handle from years of excessive use.

The pub was dim in the darkening hours, and the bar tender thought to himself 'the Jadd Savings and Loan bank must be closed now. I wonder how my brother Jadd's holding out.' He thoughtfully twiddled his mustache, until a man at the bar gave him a call. Quick as silver, he pushed a four-foot step ladder to the bar so he could view the man who had called him over. "What can I do for you?"

"i wud lik a tank of wisky" sed... err, said the man, who had spiky red hair, and was armed with two too many swords on his back. That made two.

"Sorry sir, no whiskey here, only tea, walrus chili, lemonade, RB, dry ice, and honey on raisin toast." Bartender Drag said to the 'man.' "And if we did have alcohol, you'd be too young for it."

The delinquent with crimson hair banged stubbornly on the table, and said, "i will tak a rb."

"Coming right up," said Drag, deliberately deciding to neglect adding a straw, or ice to the glass.


PostPosted: Fri Jan 29, 2010 10:51 pm

Izzy thought to himself "Hey, if they put televisions on the ceiling facing downward, you wouldn't have to sit up to watch them." Two minutes later, he forgot this idea completely. Seven hundred miles and four days away, someone else came up with the same idea but made six million dollars out of it instead of lying down on the job.

Rake nervously spun around again to face the open door leading into the dark room adjacent to the closet. He thought he heard a noise, but could only see a pitch black room. Seeing nothing added to his paranoia. "Maybe it was a rat? No... this basement may not be spider proof, but it's definitely rat proof."

He stood there for twelve minutes peering into the dark room where the mischievous water heater had turned on. Below, the manager had put aside his work due to a soon to be announced distraction upstairs.

Ocelot entered the pub. "Rrreeowww!" >:3 (someone kill him)

Mighty Mule

PostPosted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 4:42 pm

Ocelot died. No one mourned him.

John Ratzenberger

PostPosted: Sun Jan 31, 2010 5:24 pm

A mysterious sound entered the dark savings bank hall, echoing down its empty floor, and awaking Izzy. The sound was constant, whiny, and almost resembled a dying go-kart. "ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-Ee-Ee-Ee-Ee-EE-EE-EE-EE!"

Quick as a flash, the manager popped up to investigate, while Izzy silently wished the sound would go away for him.

Dave put back his now bloodied ax, regarding what he had just done as much as anyone else would their own respiration. Leaning back up against the wall, he scratched his beard a bit, and flicked a tick off his arm that had worn itself silly trying to burrow into his lumberjack muscles.

"hey" said the delinquent at the table. Apparently his name was Xavier, and his spelling was a squat in the jack. "y did u do that" he asked Dave.

Dave ignored him; the kid was probably drunk on pure, caffeinated ignorance.

"hey u u wana fit?" He meant 'fight'... I think. "i dont thnik u no hoo ur deeling wiht bsaterd" Xavier stood from his seat, while Bartender Drag went in back to get a gun, in case things got ugly. Drawing his two swords, both being ridiculously huge, the red-headed young man advanced towards Dave the lumberjack. "im a arcane ninja master dark samurai wolf-elf asasin god from the lnad ov droo, equipde with invinsability nee joints and 2 divine celestial magic defender basterd swords with spikes to make them more expessive" he said, showing off his equipment which, for the story's sake, actually worked as he said it did. Dave continued to ignore him. "dam it i sed u wana fit didnt i" he asked, raising a sword. "fit me" With all his might, he drove the sword at Dave's chest, and-

John Ratzenberger

PostPosted: Sat Feb 13, 2010 7:35 pm


High in the sky, an intergalactic mail car entered the earth's atmosphere at a nice easy pace. It was orange. The captain was a dashing young fogy in his fifties, with a thick blond mustache, and a bald spot bragged to be twice the size of Jupiter's red one. To most people though, he was just an ugly red alien with eyes on the side of his head, and leather gloves glued to his elbows. "How's our altitude, Shorty?" he asked his co-pilot, a very short man with a mustache and two twin brothers who lived on the Earth's surface.

"We're now approaching two feet; I suggest we *SCREECH!!!* pull up." The now scratched orange mail ship began to pull away from the mountain top it grazed, moments before barreling into a sparkling clean funeral. Once safe in the clouds that weren't covering a sneaky mountain, 'Shorty' frowned, and adjusted his glasses. "Captain, I wish you'd call me by my name. 'Shorty' is a bit typical of a co-pilot's name, and I'm no-"

"Check the cargo, Shorty," said Captain Birganishnabs. Shorty hurried back through the cockpit door, checking their special cargo. It was still there, waiting patiently by the jettison door lock.

"It's still there, Captain Birganishnabs," Shorty returned, "Just as it was five minutes ago."

"Yes," said Captain Birganishnabs, keeping his teeth gritted to be kind of cool. "But that was before we scraped against that... uh oh."

"Uh oh what?"

"That mountain is following us." Captain Birganishnabs pointed at a radar, and the altitude of the ground behind them seemed to be increasing at an alarming speed. "We gotta get the hell out of here. Let's drop the cargo and get to back to Triton before the Dorginarians notice it's missing."

"I'm pretty sure they've noticed by now-"

"DROP THE CARGO!" the captain banged his leather gloved elbow on the dashboard, opening the jettison door's interior shutter. Shorty hurried off to unstrap the cargo, and push it heavily into the air lock.

"Okay," he called back, "The cargo is in the-" SMASH! "What the hell was that!?"

The mountain was gaining on them, and had begin to throw trees. "Soggy Crumpets!" Captain Birganishnabs swore. "Those are full grown spruce trees it's throwing! Our shields can't reflect firepower at that magnitude!"

"Captain! Open the second lock!" Shorty cried, as the ship spun this way and that. The captain hit the switch and thrusters at the same time, causing the orange ship to fly out of orbit and into the next solar system. Just before the locks closed safely again, Shorty caught a glimpse of the cargo falling successfully to earth where it would be out of their hair at last.

They finally got rid of that goddamn washing machine.

Last edited by John Ratzenberger on Sat Apr 17, 2010 1:47 am; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : Now it's easier to tell who said what.)
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PostSubject: The story so far Pt 2   Fri Mar 26, 2010 1:24 pm

John Ratzenberger:

Cormac raised an eyebrow smugly at the ceiling, and returned his gaze back to Dalton. "Your turn," he said, stiflingly a snicker. Dalton looked at his hand of cards, and sighed.

'What a stupid game,' he thought to himself. 'If the rules themselves aren't bad enough, its either the poorly translated instructions, or the fact that it's meant for children, and I am not, for god's sake, a child.'

"I... I dunno Cormac," he said. "Guess I play this thing." He put down a card with a hypnotic illustration that was crudely unidentifiable, and almost abstract art. "Guess it's your turn."

Cormac sat with his mouth wide open, and he gazed silently at the card Dalton just threw down. The only sound came from the bumps and creaks of the old box car as the train pulled it, and its unwelcome stowaways from one city to the next. The sun was somewhere out in space, and currently in relation with Dalton and Cormac, the earth was keeping it hidden from view for the time being. In other words, the sky outside the boxcar's busted door was dotted with stars, and the air that blew in was cool and chilly.

"Dalton..." Cormac uttered.

"What now?"

"You did it again, you son of a transfatty potato chip. You beat me in four turns." Cormac slumped back against the wall, and shook his head in disbelief.

"Says you. I don't wanna play anymore." Dalton rubbed his wool-gloved hands together. "It's just a kid's game after all."

"Yeah, but it's the greatest." Cormac began putting the two 'decks' away in his knapsack. "Some day I'm gonna be a Flu-Jee-Roh Champion, just like the guy with spiky hair on the show." He then gazed dreamily at the stars, and grinned. "What are you gonna be someday Dalton?"

"Me?" Dalton asked, as if his life no longer had a future, and never did. "Nothin' much left for me. I'll never be a lumberjack again now that they declared the forest a national wilderness site... and that's all I was ever good at."

"Aww, cheer up Dalty-"

"Don't call me that."

"You'll find work in the big city, trust me. Why, with Flu-Jee-Roh skills like that, I'm sure you'll be my rival!"

"In your dreams." Dalton said without sarcasm. "Could you just shut up for now? I'd love to have some dreams of my own now."

Cormac sighed, and made himself comfortable against the bumping train ride. Laying his head on the bundle of clothes he and Dalton brought from the lumber-camp, he fixed his eyes on the Big Dipper... and watched a vivid orange shooting star zip across the horizon, into the abyss from which it came.


PostPosted: Sun Feb 14, 2010 5:01 pm

On planet D'dgroitd, explosions can be forged into metal. That's why you couldn't really call it an ordinary sword fight.

Fifty six stories up, on the flat and windy roof of Jadd Savings and Loan raged a battle like none any Earthing can brag being witness of. The mysterious manager, with the speed of arrogant lightning, verses an ear-achingly noisy, four-legged mechanical pack mule, that just would not fall down. The explosions were enough to knock any normal fifty six story building to the ground. Any normal building.

Izzy Headless finally decided to stand up, pushing six hundred pounds of office debris off his back as if it weren't even there. Dusting off his ruddy sports coat, he looked around at the wreckage of burning papers and obliterated equipment. One lady in the corner was miming a cry of agony and distress. "What a mess," Izzy tried to say, but the words didn't seem to come out. Assuming his voice had been affected by the dust of disintegrated bank notes and interns, Izzy thought optimistically, "At least the terrible noise went away."

He had no idea how deaf he'd become. The irony police will pick him up later. The evil irony police.

Rake lost the vial. Lead poisoning to the brain made him think it could be opened by exposing it to toilet water. "Close, but no cigar."

The mischievous water heater was having fun watching Rake shriek like a banshee being slowly relieved of its toenails. Presently, the heater received a text message from his best friend, who he thought was busy cleaning the floors upstairs. But the text said: "GUESS WHOS COMING 2 WRK ON A MOUNTAIN?"

Meanwhile, Dave sniffed his right nostril. Thus done, all of Droo and its inhabitants became less than the figments of insecure imaginations they had been, dwelled on their nonexistence momentarily, then vanished before Dave's eyes by having never been. As they never were, even to he the land of Droo was witnessed merely as the whimsical afterthought of a sleep depraved subconscious.

Drag brought the RB up to the counter and gave it to Tom instead, and Tom likes his root beer without ice or a straw. Peace out, baby.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Sun Feb 14, 2010 7:18 pm

Mrs. Shaft the pesky Quail was leading her chicks over the rails of a train track, when...

With a sigh of tremors that shook its spruce forests, and funeral attendees, Money Hill settled back down into the earth to rest, five kilometers east of its original location. 'Next time, Birganishnabs...' it though to itself, "I'll take vindication if it brings me to the ends of the universe.'

There came a knock at the door, and an elderly lady came to answer it. Before her sat a killer floor washer, deprived of its water supply due to a most irregular series of earth-movement. "Oh, hello there," said the old lady, who was pretty fat, and had no hair. At all. I'm talking eyebrows, lashes, everything she was as bald as a basket ball. She was also Hispanic, against your previous expectations.

The killer floor washer quivered shyly on the door step, showing its emptiness. With a look of understanding, the woman ushered it into the living room. "Of course, I'll fix you some new soap and water in a jiffy, but only if you'll do a bit of work for me first." She began to waddle towards the sink, but the KFW beat her to it, and immediately filled itself with liquid cleaner, and warm H2O. Then, within a minute, the kitchen floor was shiny. "Oh my, what a cute contraption you are," said the old lady, "But I fear those wheels of yours are not going to cut it in your profession."

The floor washer gave her an odd look; however this was achieved, it was at least properly acknowledged. "Well," the woman explained, "with a good locking system, you wouldn't have lost your water in the first place. Tell you what," she pulled out a business card, tied it to the washer's handle that smelled a tiny bit like Lazani. "You look up my husband Charles. He's good at fixing things, and inventing them too. Last I heard of him, he was somewhere in the city."

The killer floor washer gave a salute, and darted away down Money Hill, texting his friend Bernie to see if such a man crossed his path.

Chuckling as she made her way back to the kitchen, Mrs. Wrinklechin thought of something clever and wise, but never got it to words, as she slipped fatally on the extremely clean kitchen floor.

Bernie the Mischievous Water Heater felt his cellphone vibrate, indicating a new text message. As he felt this, he couldn't have sworn he felt something very very small land craftily on his top. He couldn't have, because he didn't... but who could?

Mrs. Shaft would have been relieved to know that the train hadn't run any of her chicks over... but alas, she never found out, because the engine derailed, and hit her instead. Famous last words; "BERGAWK!!"


PostPosted: Sun Feb 14, 2010 8:28 pm

Simon walked back to his Ferrari with the groceries he had spent the last seven hours buying. The first thing he noticed was that someone had stolen his hubcaps again, which didn't even begin to surprise him. He would have been surprised if he had known the thief had also made off with his iPod, radio, engine, transmission, gear shifter, fuzzy dice, and lipstick collection to be used as parts for a makeshift gun five hours ago.

Simon was surprised to find the thief, crashed chin-first into the now incomplete (not to mention severely dented) red Ferrari. Two paper sacks full of produce and canned goods fell to the sidewalk.

"Watch where yo going, ya fool!"

The mountain, exactly five kilometers East of its origin, happened to now be exactly next to the Jadd Savings and Loan, which itself had (along with the city) rolled twelve kilometers West. With a perfect box seat view, the mountain munched a snack while watching the terrific battle on the roof below.

Rake was busy trying to remember where he had lost the vial (his memory damaged by the lead poisoning) when Izzy came stumbling down the stairs once again, this time in search of something to cure his "sore throat," as he supposed it was. When they saw each other, for the second time, they were both astounded beyond belief. Rake stared eye to eye with another Rake, and Izzy was looking at a twin Izzy! Very slowly, they walked towards each other, not believing their own eyes. Izzy raised his right hand at exactly the same time as Rake raised his left. They responded to one another as if the other were a mirror image of himself.

Of course, Rake and Izzy actually look nothing alike, so obviously their confusion was caused by the nearly identical sports jackets each was wearing.

The three burly gangsters who had until recently been disguisedly posing as quail chicks wept over the crushed remains of their dear mother.

Cormac climbed from the rubble of the derailed and accordionated train, unscathed. Of course, the jerk took it as some kind of divine message. "I must be the one! The chosen hero! I will become the greatest Flu-Jee-Roh champion the world has ever known!"

An invincible, black washing machine with six pairs of pants and a shirt trapped behind its hopelessly jammed door came from the sky. Cormac became Cormuck.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Mon Feb 15, 2010 10:27 am

"AUGH, SHIT!!" Money Hill cried, as it spat out what it thought was a munchy snack. The Esquire's remains sailed across the air, knocking one of the two battlers off the building.

Karkov happily mopped up the remains of James York, placing it into a hungry garbage can. He then observed his work done on the floor of Jadd Savings and Loan Jadd Savings and Loan. The tiles, after an hours work, were looking shiny as they could in the darkness of that Tuesday's early early morning. The sun hadn't even risen yet, but this being his first successful job since coming to the city, Karkov was determined to keep it, and that meant coming in early on the first day. 'Had I a floor washa' he thought to himself, "I'd a been done soona. Bu' wha' the hell, s'long as I'm done, ay?" He chuckled to himself, causing his neck to rumble its chain-teethed saw up and down.

Then he heard a loud crash from outside. It sounded like something falling fifty-six stories down from an epic sword battle. Following this was an explosion as a sword stuck into the pavement. Karkov looked the other way; he couldn't bear the suspense of who had won the battle... his new manager... or the stable pack-mule.

Blinking in the starlight, Dalton stumbled out of the boxcar with a hand on his bleeding forehead. The train's sudden stop had lurched him against the metal wall, and he was lucky to have avoided a concussion. He then stepped on something squishy, and thus found Cormuck. He found it difficult to understand what had happened to his lumberjack companion, as the evidence of such a frag was no where in sight.

Fifty feet away, Dalton built a fire with the flint he kept in the knapsack, and some of the train's broken boards of wood. Here he began to cook his beans. While waiting, he built another fire ten meters to one side, and burned the Flu-Jee-Roh cards without bothering to watch them. They didn't burn all the way; brown matter came sailing in from a nearby city beside a disgusted mountain, and smothered the fire.

Dave got up and left the pub.

Drag turned off the lights behind him. The only business he had ever gotten this close to the forest was from lumberjacks and gorillas. Now, since both were out of a job for their own reasons, there wasn't any hope left for the old pub. After setting up a sign that read 'For Lease' in front of the pub, he glanced up thoughtfully at the slowly vanishing stars... "Wonder how Rabb's doing with his intergalactic space traveling... or Capp," he looked down at the ground, "keeping those demons in line... or Bladd," his eyes went unfocused, "...I'm sure his time police squad's treating him well... better'n my old job." He sighed, and walked up to his light blue not-smashed buggy. Being the oldest brother put him on highest expectations, and here he was, the only one without work.

Charles Wrinklechin thought about climbing out of the Ferrari, but a sense of apathy was leaking out of the Jadd Savings and Loan basement, particularly from Izzy Headless. This caused him to remain where he was, despite Simon's sandal kicking into his broken arm. "I should get you arrested, and they'll give me money!" Simon kicked harder, but made no motion towards calling the police. Once again, Izzy Headless.

Beneath Bernie the Water Heater of Mischievousness, a super-intelligent vial sat waiting against the basement wall of Jadd Savings and Loan. Then, a very tiny black being landed daintily on the vial, and began to wrap it in web with a sense of duty in every strand. Arachnids are immune to apathy.


PostPosted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 10:53 am

For a moment the gleaming vial wondered how to get back safe at the "farm" where it belonged. It wasn't distracted by the tiny spider at first. That is, until it recognized the spider.

Meanwhile across the hall, Izzy and Rake were still acting out one of the oldest cliché comedy routines imaginable, but not without end. Eventually paranoia set in, and Rake suddenly feared his recent brilliant theft might not have gone unnoticed. With an intense look on his face, he shouted "Impostor! After me gold!" then grabbed the murderous fire extinguisher from the wall and beat Izzy to death with it.

Izzy reluctantly fell dead to the floor. He could have easily fought back or saved himself by running away, but his wretched laziness decided it would be easier to die instead. He went to hell for never saying "Thank you" to the bus driver.


The well of laziness that had been pouring out of the basement of Jadd Savings and Loan had ceased its onslaught, and the purple, brick-shaped device in Charles Wrinklechin's bottom-left coat pocket immediately decided to do its job.

"Yes, mmm? Who said that?" stated Wrinklechin, "I will, but not until tomorrow. What's this? What do you think it is? It's a noise. No it's not, it's a signal! I knew that. Prove it! I will! But, not until tomorrow. You always say that!"

Charles Wrinklechin pulled the box out of his pocket and recognized the red and blue dots blinking on its screen as indicators of the whereabouts of the vial that had been stolen from him. "It's my vial after all. I stole it, fair and square. You did no such thing. Well, I was going to! You had no way past the security! Well, I would have stolen it if I could so it's rightfully mine, neaah! ...oh, fine you're right. Go fly! Go! Fly! FLY!"

In an instant a hidden door at the end of the purple brick opened and a trained locator fly shot out. It buzzed in a circle, dodged the angry sunglassed man (who had removed Wrinklechin's arm and held it against the sidewalk punching it,) flew right through the doors of Jadd Savings and Loan, whizzed quickly down the stairs to the basement, turned left into the room with the water heater, and flew straight into the tiny spider's web.

"Don't eat me," the fly pleaded, "I'll tell you anything you want to know!" And it told the spider everything it knew; its origin, its purpose, a recipe for bacon brownies, and the capital of Arkansas. The spider wrote down the brownie recipe, then ate the fly.

Outside, the Big Dog robotic pack mule landed on its feet in the street after falling fifty six stories. The impact dramatically rippled the concrete like a disturbed pool of water. The robot was unmatched, and it knew it. As discreetly as it could, it stole away down the road:
"EE-EE-EE-Ee-Ee-Ee-ee-ee-ee-ee... ... ...? ...! !!! ... ...-ee-eE-EE-EE!"

It was being chased downhill by a very deadly floor washer, who had just been given a new and heart lifting text by his friend Bernie, regarding the whereabouts of the inventor he sought. Everything in his path was becoming dangerously clean.

John Ratzenberger

PostPosted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 11:13 pm

Mrs. Wrinklechin's cabinet had a tray of home-baked bacon brownies in it. She cooked them for her husband every Friday, and he always saved some as treats to the tiny bugs he experimented on in his basement. Sometimes he would train them to do things for him. Other times he simply made them bigger.

Once, he exposed a spider egg sack to radioactive smart-waves. The results showed that of the majority that hatched, each spider died within two seconds of exposure to the air, and without even bothering to wait for the rest, he disposed the sack in the trash, and forgot it...

That was a while ago though. We're talking pre-electricfanotopia-mop-apocalypse here.

The air beside the highway that led to the city (or at least used to, before the buildings moved) was completely empty... until all at once it occupied the presence of a thumb, followed by the glare of a blue buggy's headlights. Drag, the buggy's driver, braked the car, and rolled down his window to meet the thumb's owner eye to shin. "I'm sorry pal," he said to the would-be hitchhiker, "but you would never fit in my car; ya might bust it." With that, the short man drove his blue buggy off, leaving the air with nothing but the thumb.

Dave lowered his hand, and continued on foot as he sought another ride.

Ginny the earwig was happily wiggDave stepped on an earwig.

"All right, the gig is up!" A voice called from the dark, downed train engine. The burly gangsters looked up from their quail-on-a-spit, and reached for their guns, only to find they had been missing since that morning, yet not one had dared mentioning it to the others for fear of being blamed.

Nohedoesnthaveaname raised his muscular hands in surrender. "You've got the wrong gang, copper!" He meant it; they weren't out for criminal purposes... only practicing for them.

This statement did not hinder the voice's determination. "You're the crooks that forced the only man capable of opening the vial of the world's most dangerous black liquid into opening the vial of the world's most dangerous black liquid!" A figure stepped forward, holding a handcuff launcher that was twice his height. "You're under arrest for ending the universe."

"What?" Nohedoesntha... the burgler said, as a pair of laser-cuffs linked his arms tightly behind him. The same went for his two companions. "This is without justice! I demand a trial!"

The dark figure pressed a switch, making the cuffs surpass the weight-capacity of a Boston Technology Big Dog. "You'll already get a trial," the mysterious policeman said. "Wanna know your sentence?"

"We were never sentenced!"

"Oh, not yet, but you will be." The figure's eye-glasses flashed in the oncoming dawn, and the ground beneath them began to shift apart, creating a deep yawning chasm. Far below, the darkness beckoned, and the handcuffs grew heavier. "The judge sentences you..." the figure said, stepping into the light. He wore a pinstriped suit, and a train engineer's hat, which he discarded. A less notable detail was that he stood about a foot and ten inches tall. "I was there... and will be." With a stubby hand, he flashed his badge, revealing his name to be Bladd, member of the Time Police Squad #4.

The ground continued to rumble, until two of the gangsters toppled in with a scream. Only the leader remained, his cuffs hooked on a protruding root. "Where are you sending us!?" he bellowed in agony, as his legs dangled, and the chasm began to close around him. The short man stood looking down at him with a cold glare.

"Your sentence," Bladd said, reaching for the handcuffs that held the gangster to the root, "was two months in hell." He deactivated the laser, and the man fell screaming into a bright flame. The ground slammed closed, and all went quiet, save the crackling of a fire, the popping of cooking quail meat, and a munching noise from Dalton's hungry lips.

"Mmm," he said, "Quail meat."


PostPosted: Fri Feb 19, 2010 3:43 pm

Binky the Poopy Pixie was on her way to Tinkles the Turtle's house with a basket full of tummy drops when she came across a large, dark, shiny something obstructing her way.

"'scuse me," said poopy, "you're inna way!" She prodded the towering object with her wiggle wand, but it didn't seem to notice. "Maybe it'll move if I sing a song!" So Binky got out her best singing voice, and this is what she sang:

"Oh please, Mr. Marble wall,
please, please let me through.
I can't just go around you,
I don't know what to do!

Oh please, Mr. Marble wall,
please, please let me by.
I got to get to Tinkles' house,
I got to or I'll cry!

He isn't feeling very good,
he hasn't for a while,
so I'm bringing him some tummy drops
to help and make him smile!

Oh please, Mr. Marble wall,
can't you move away?
How can you just sit there on this
suuuperrr suuunnyyyy daaaaaay!"

Then the invincible black washing machine fell over backwards and crushed the #&*% out of her.


PostPosted: Fri Feb 19, 2010 4:37 pm

45... 46... 47... 48- Ding! The doors opened.
Rake had taken Izzy's body upstairs to the 48th floor, since that's where bodies are supposed to go. To his surprise, two blue suited men with gleaming LOLbadges were there to meet him. At first he thought he was in trouble for stealing the top secret vial, but all the officers did was grab Izzy's body out of the elevator, push the descend button, and nod their heads to Rake as the doors closed on him.

Everything they did was in synchrony. Turning to the body, they said to it "Have fun in Hell while you still can, Headless, because we'll be waiting for you when you come back. And when you do, we'll make hell look like a vacation in Palm Springs."

It was the irony police. The evil irony police.


"Oi, last ah found it! Huh, grimy old junker ain't it?" Reaching low under the table, careful not to bump his head on anything (like the ceiling,) Karkov pulled the world's second oldest vacuum cleaner out from its storage place.

He was in that same junk-ridden room in the basement of Jadd Savings and Loan. Rake hadn't returned yet from his business upstairs, nor had Jadd who was busy negotiating with Money Hill. So nobody knowledgeable of the matter was present to warn him of the copyright modifications that stubby but nimble fingers had made to this particular vacuum cleaner. After plugging it in, he began to contentedly clean the dusty floors and furniture that cluttered the basement.


Meanwhile, Charles Wrinklechin had coined a new phrase: "A car for a gun and a head for an arm." Obviously, he had just replaced his missing arm with Simon's head, which found this very funny and laughed periodically at it.

Charles, on the other hand, was busy lamenting the death of his dearest insect. "My fly! My spy! The signal is dry, such is no lie, the loss of my friend makes me want to cry! Shut up, don't you know what you're saying?!"

Too late. Wrinklechin had spoken the magic words, consequentially summoning the Lorax.


Bounding down the street, the KFW suddenly spotted and somehow recognized Wrinklechin as the man it had been looking for! After jumping over the Big Dog and sliding towards the totaled Ferrari, it would have skidded to a halt but, as we all know, it didn't have locking wheels yet. So instead it plummeted downhill without even slowing down, the poor thing.

The Big Dog was standing in a pool of muddy (but mostly soapy) water and slip-slip-slip-slip-(not falling over)-slip-slip-slip-slip-slip... Who could possibly give it more slip than this? Who? Who?!

...a long cigar and the tip of a tawny top hat peeked around the corner.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Fri Feb 19, 2010 6:19 pm

A poster of Carface was stripped off the wall as Karkov ran the ancient yet proving to be efficient vacuum over it. Though it was a loud machine, none could hear it over the lumberjack's neck. It spun its teeth around and around, making a deafening sound that was normally supposed to be kept outside. Combined with the vacuum's whir, the new custodian was being so loud, Rake felt it as it vibrated the elevator's suspension cable.

Then Karkov took the machine into the room with the water heater, who was somewhat sulking because he couldn't be mischievous under all that noise. Passing right by a huge clump of cobwebs, running his face right into a blob of lint, and stumbling somewhat on a whole bunch of tiny bits of garbage, Karkov ran the vacuum directly under the water heater without hesitation.

The spider clung to his strand of web, and the web strand clung to the wall. Both held tight against the sudden wind tunnel that sneaked its way up from behind, but the vial of the world's most dangerous black liquid, seemingly with a sense of intention, broke free of the spider's web, and disappeared into the vacuum cleaner. Immediately following this, Karkov decided it was time to empty the bag in the trash compactor down the street. However, after turning the vacuum off, his neck caught a live electric wire hanging down from the ceiling, and received an immense shock. "GAH-AH-AH-AH!!!" He exclaimed, as his thin strand of hair stood upright, and his chainsaw slowed to a halt. Then he collapsed to the ground, and fell asleep, his throat snoring.


Jadd was about to give Money Hill his middle finger, when the roof light atop Jadd Savings and loan went dark, enshrouding his gesture.


"Did you get the washing machine?" The galactic post-office manager asked his red, ugly, mustached worker.

"Yes sir," responded Captain Birganishnabs, in his rough voice.

"And you took it to Earth?"

"Yes sir."

"...and it was the right washing machine, right?"

Captain Birganishnabs's eyes blinked solemnly. "The order said black, heavy, full of pants, and made of megralite. I see no way we could have made a mistake."

"Oh?" The manager said, who by the way was green, had two billion eyes, and didn't like Captain Birganishnabs. "Explain this, fish-head." He pointed to the scratch left on the bottom of the captain's ship's orange paint job.

Birganishnabs frowned his mustache. "It was a trap! The hill was waiting for me again!"

"That's no excuse for dropping the cargo where you did. It could have landed on someone, or damaged property." By the way, he was also a very lame character, and every now and then he lost an eye because people threw stuff at him. Particularly onions. "It was meant to be delivered, not dropped off. The address did not stop at Earth, it specified 'To the laundromat across the street from Jadd Savings and Loan Jadd Savings and Loan with a secret entrance connecting the two buildings' basements Jadd Savings and Loan." An onion hit him from the top of the orange ship, and the octopus who didn't need a spacesuit continued waxing the ship as if it wasn't he who threw one of the many onions he had stored in plain view. With the manager still looking (and the octopus not), one of its tentacles reached into the box of onions, and chucked another one into the manager's mass of eyes, without bothering to see if it hit.

"Stop that!" The manager shouted, and he shot the octopus with a crappy gun. The octopus got mad, and squirmed off the ship. "Now, where was-? Hey! Birganishnabs!" In his distraction, captain Birganishnabs snuck onto the ship and took off. He didn't need to hear the rest of his manager's lecture; all he had to do was return the washing machine to its rightful owner.

"This will not be easy," he said to his crew, which included Shorty, and an octopus that didn't need a spacesuit. "Ever since dance-kicking that hill in the face, its had an unforgivable grudge on me."

The octopus nodded, and threw an onion out the window. The manager lost another eye.

Mighty Mule

PostPosted: Sat Feb 20, 2010 8:47 pm

It's now space.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Tue Feb 23, 2010 5:15 pm

"Cool," said Tom, as he watched his glasses float in zero-G.


PostPosted: Wed Feb 24, 2010 9:43 pm

Izzy stood shivering in the middle of a barren field of blueish brown dirt. The air was frozen, biting his skin to the bone, and yet oddly did not chill his lungs as he breathed it. The landscape shrank into the distance no matter how he looked at it; even looking at the ground beneath his feet felt like staring at a place a thousand miles away. This peculiarity chilled him worse than the air, so he instead turned to the sky. The sky was mostly black, save for a big, twinkling star in the distance and an unusually large moon. Izzy had just begun to ponder these when he was frightened witless by a tap on the shoulder.

"Zxs," said the man in the green collared suit, "just Zxs. And you are Mr. Headless, I presume?"

"Whuuh, I-" was all Izzy could manage for the moment. The odd man held his hand out as if to be shaken, but pointed it at the ground instead of at Izzy. He held it there very calmly and quietly in a manner extremely patient. After nearly seven minutes Izzy managed to gather some of his fragmented wits and ask "Who aah... ..."

"My name," said the man, raising his eyebrows like Spock and grinning like an arsonist, "is Zxs. I'm here to give you the runaround, Mr. Headless."

Izzy made a face like cookie dough and wouldn't do anything else, so Zxs continued very matter-of-factly; "You're in Hell. You've been sent here for being lazy, and I've been sent here to show you around. I'll start by explaining a few things. First off, I'd like you to understand that Hell isn't-"

"Hell?" Izzy finally blurted, blinking and shivering, "But I thought Hell was fire and brimstone. And screams and eternal torture, 'n..."

"Well it is," continued Zxs, "or rather it was, in the old department back on Earth."

"Earth? But, then, where am...?"

"Neptune," the slightly yellow Zxs said while slowly walking away, "it got too crowded in Earth so we branched out. Oh, but rest assured you're still in Hell, though I'd forget about all that torture and stuff if I were you. We don't do much of that anymore; it isn't cost efficient."

"Neptune?" Izzy had another look around, though he didn't see anything new. He was starting to get confused, which always made him thick headed and lazy. In a moment Zxs beckoned for Izzy to follow him. This triggered a kind of full-body yawn in Izzy's blood and he slowly sat down in the cold blue dirt. With a tilt of the head, Zxs warned "I'd stand up if I were you."

Instead Izzy closed his eyes, raised a nostril, and decided to wake up from the bad dream he was having. In result, for the next two seconds he felt so much pain that if it were all somehow forged into a diamond it would gleam so bright as to make a blind man squint his eyes. Two hours later he had recovered somewhat (he wasn't screaming as loud as before) and the peculiar man gave him a friendly nudge of the foot.

"It won't do you any good to be lazy in Hell, Mr. Headless. After all, that's what you were sent here for." Even so, he allowed Izzy to remain on the ground while he talked. "Every human soul must be washed of their Earthly flaws before they can be reincarnated. You see, before you can once again earn life, you must first relinquish your bad habits."

Breathing heavily, Izzy mustered a bit more courage and whispered "Are you Satan?"

"Hah!" Zxs laughed with an ever more devilish smile. "Don't flatter me. I'm only a rank three devil, condition D." Izzy didn't say more, so the stranger continued with a slightly bored air, "Ah, after curing six patients, eight thousand class three, condition D devils are melted into one class three, condition C devil, and it goes on from there. Class two devils deal with small stuff like mushrooms and bugs and snakes, then birds and sloths and stuff. Class one devils just go around having fun," and he sighed nostalgically, "the little rascals."

Izzy got up, brushing frozen dust from his ruddy sports jacket. Then he asked "Um... did you say reincarnated? Like, having a new life?"

In a moment Zxs recovered and answered, "Yes, see, we recycle the souls." Then he turned away again.

This time Izzy was impressed. The afterlife! Human souls! Neptune! Slowly the laziness seeped out of him, replaced by wonder and excitement. "Wow, a new life," he wondered out loud, "but what I'll be? Maybe a cop or a fireman or, or like an astronaut. Huh! But I'm already in space... or a president, or... or a king! I wonder... uh, hey Zeexs," he trotted clumsily after the devil, "do you know what I'll be in my new life?"

Zxs shrugged without turning around. "I dunno. Probably a bush or a stump. Usually what happens to lazy people."

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Thu Feb 25, 2010 9:26 pm

The fuel gauge's needle passed the illuminated E, and the engine died, leaving Drag's buggy to drift thrust-less through the void of space. "Oh great," he said to himself, cursing his forgetting to refuel before leaving the space-bar orbiting Mars. It was an hour's drifting to the next refuel station, and he had only three days' worth of water and air. So it wasn't much of a hassle, really. Just one of those easily avoided inconveniences. "Damn it," he said, "if only I could go back in time like Bladd." He chuckled at this, for he knew perfectly well that abusing the right to time travel meant at least three days in hell.

Unbeknownst to him, his ship was being stealthily followed a mere hundred kilometers away, by the planet Jupiter.

. . .

"I speak for the trees!" The Lorax shouted, waving his hands around in the Jadd Savings and Loan Spaceport's conditioned air. A mess of space-Cormuck pressed up against the windows, catching the attention of the orange being's whiskers. "Just look at what your space-junk does, to the astro-worms! They've lost their fuzz! You shouldn't leave it floating there, instead you must take better care!"

Charles Wrinklechin may have summoned the Lorax, but that did not mean he noticed. "Eh? What was that?" he asked himself, as he tried to recognize the yellow stream of motion that had just passed by. "I think it smelled like soap." He placed a hand on his chin thoughtfully, and scratched his protruding lab coat-tails.

"A little lower," the protrusion said, "Ooh yeah, yer a natural, ol' sour puss." Smoke puffed out of Wrinklechin's coat collar, but he didn't seem to notice this, nor his extra pair of legs.

Suddenly, the KFW came flying in from the same direction again. As the commercial space station was shaped in a large circle, the washer had nothing to run into, and went full circle.

The Big Dog's leg landed on a used banana peel that smelled exactly like Esquire shoes, and fell on its– OH! With its underbelly facing up, it maintains balance on its legs spun 180 degrees! Now that's a stunt! Unfortunately, one of Wrinklechin's newest legs gave it a kick, which didn't knock it over, but positioned it right in the KFW's path around the Jadd Savings and Loan Spaceport. . . .


PostPosted: Sat Feb 27, 2010 10:44 am

(Birganishnabs) "What's this? We've been draaawn into a trap! Full thrusters backwards! And forwards! But not, not sideways!"

Shorty panicked at the helm, readjusting thrusters, hitting the emergency 'definitely not sideways' button, and trying not to let his shoes become untied. "What it it? What's the trap? Birganishnabs, Captain Sir, what's going on?!"

"Are you blind man? Or haven't you noticed? Look out the view screen, out it I say!"

Shorty looked out the view screen expecting to see a massive army of wrathful Klorgz, but all he saw was stars and blackness.

"...there's nothing outside. Just space."

"Exactly! The universe as we know it has changed drastically and unexpectedly before our very eyes! Every event up until now will be remembered as nothing more than a dream! A ploy dream, discarded by the whim of a superior being!"

"Superior being? What event are you talking about? What's happened?"

Birganishnabs gave the cadet a serious look. "Out the view screen, see for yourself! Look, look!"

When Shorty shook his head in confusion once more, Birganishnabs sternly elaborated, "Since when were we in space?!"


Karkov slowly stood up, or he would have if there were gravity. In any case, he woke up. The room was dark and dusty. Many objects were adrift in the zero G. The only light source came from one particularly old object floating nearby. Weaving towards it, Karkov found it to be the old vacuum he had been using before his neck had caught the short. An LCD screen he hadn't noticed before was glowing on the side of it, dimly green and mysterious.

Holding the vacuum all the way up, up to his face (which was as far as his arms could stretch) Karkov read the unusual message on the screen. But he couldn't understand what it meant. All it said was:



The KFW was spinning wildly out of control. It had already gone around the space station sixteen times now and had spilled its murderous water over the same ground each time, creating a long puddle of instant death to anyone even slightly clumsy who might step in it. The Washer itself was coated with the soapy water from the constant spills, making it even slipperier than the floor.

This is what could be heard when the KFW ran into the Big Dog:


Sadly, the collision of pure slip didn't even slow down the floor washer, and it continued its path around the space station. Even sadder still, though not surprisingly, the KFW was running out of water.

Last edited by John Ratzenberger on Sat Apr 17, 2010 1:53 am; edited 3 times in total (Reason for editing : The lorax was in the wrong place, and the Slip Picture was stretching the windows out of proportion.)
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PostSubject: The story so far Pt 3   Fri Mar 26, 2010 1:30 pm

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Sat Feb 27, 2010 10:59 am

In a café somewhere on Ganymede, Wendy Scalps sipped her expensive coffee, and closed the book on Planet Revolutions. "No use Frank," she said to her client, sitting across the table. "There's just no evidence that a planet could do something like that."

Frank was upset, and he fiddled with his leather vest's buttons. "But what else could it have been? There's no doubt something big is going on around here, and I won't stand for it destroying my art!" As an asteroid sculptor, he was half-stubborn, half insane. Wendy had hoped the hard science behind the planets would satisfy him, but it was no use.

"I'm sorry Frank," she said, while wearing a blue suit. Hey, I couldn't think of any other way to say it. It was one of those suits lawyers who are girls wear all the time. "Planets never exhort energy to accelerate. Never."

"Why not?" Frank asked, clinging to the table in frustration. "Is it because they're big, muscle heads who are too lazy to do anything?"

"No no no, I . . ." she trailed off, spilling her coffee a little on the book, and pulled a locket out of her suit. In it was a picture of Ian Retina, her current boyfriend who managed the intergalactic delivery service in the next system. The shot only covered about an eighth of his eyes, but he somehow looked handsome in it. Seriously. Wendy slipped it out of the locket, and found another picture behind it. This one was of Izzy Headless, who was smiling in such a way that was lazy, but extremely seductive. " . . . I knew a guy like that before." Her eyes hardened. "They never change."

Her pager beeped. She read it, and was surprised to find it was a universalized distress call, coming from a 'Mr. Drag" who reported he was being swallowed by a great big red spot.

"I gotta go," she said, "My uncle's in serious trouble." She finished her coffee, got down from her booster seat's booster seat, and ran out of the café in great haste.

. . .

Lazani didn't dare move; one clumsy slip, one sliver of klutz, one mention of the word 'dropped', was sure to bring the jazz music back. As much as he liked Neptune, Lazani found it difficult to enjoy Hell. "I–" A goat came out of the ground, wearing shades, and wielding a saxophone. "Oh God no!"

Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet's interior, a man stood awaiting his reincarnation sentence. A rank five devil condition B peered at the man from behind an enormous desk. His horns were pretty big, but not all that impressive. "Looks to me, sir," the devil said, "Your time of reincarnation has arrived. According to these papers, you are going to become . . ." The man began to sweat. " . . . a fifty-eight-year-old soon to be millionaire philanthropist on the outskirts of Berlin. Congratulations."

The man hiccuped, but it was in such a way that it sounded like he said "Ketchup" abruptly. The devil handed him a curious looking vial of medicine, and sent him on his way up the stairs. "Good luck Mr. York," he told him. "And don't worry about avenging yourself; your killer's down here until he can stop being crappy, which we all know won't happen."

. . .

"I don't care how 'worth it' you say it was," Shorty said, "ever since you dance-kicked that meteor, our job's been that much harder."

"That's not important right now!" Captain Birganishnabs shouted through his red flap. "If you hadn't noticed, we're under attack!" The alien spacecraft that pursued them was shaped like a slug, and moved like one too, but because of the tractor beam that held onto the Orange Mailboat, it had no trouble keeping up. "Darn its slime-traction! Were there always this many rogues in space?"

Shorty rolled his eyes, and checked the weapons control. Their every weapon was online. "Captain, if we get hit, the first thing that'll go is the weapons. That's how all science fictions are. You should use them while you still can!"

"A little busy!" Birganishnabs steered the mailboat away from a sandy rocket. "They want to sabotage our cargo, darn them!" They had a lot of mayonnaise in the cargo bay, and if it got sandy . . . We can't deflect firepower at that magnitude; it's too small, and too weak!"

"If you won't shoot back, I will!"

"No!" With a wild turn, Birganishnabs shot Shorty a look of urgency. "We're in a no-firing unless fired upon zone. The sand does not technically count, but our lasers do! What would the papers say about a mailboat shooting down a slug?"

" . . . praise?"

"You're right." Captain Birganishnabs pressed a button, bringing out the weaponry controls for the Co-pilot. Shorty grabbed the turret, swerved it around, and took careful aim.

The mailboat shook a bit in silence as the laser was fired. The beam had hit the slugs' tractor beam, utterly demolishing it. "Slime is down, Captain!"

The captain gave a grunt, and turned the ship sharply, leaving the slugs to speed away on a tangent. "Haha! Their tractor beams can't deflect–"

"I get it." Shorty pushed the weaponry away, and made a gesture towards the cargo bay. A tentacle came out, and gave a suction-up, indicating that the mayonnaise was all right.

"Well, Erwin says the mayonnaise is good," Shorty said as he sat back down to rest. Erwin remained where he was; he liked mayonnaise. Not to eat of course, just, y'know. Liked it.

"If they file a complaint," Birganishnabs said as he pushed down his agitated forehead, "they'll have to explain their sand rockets to our lawyer."

"You mean my niece?" Shorty asked. "And stop calling me that!"

"Calling you what?" Birganishnabs asked Shorty. "I haven't said your name since our last post."

"Not you, the Narrator." Hey, it's what the readers know you by. "What readers?" Me, 'n Obb, and maybe Mighty Mule . . . okay fine, your name is Rabb. I'll try to remember. "You'd better," said Shorty.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Fri Mar 05, 2010 4:47 pm

A blue message appeared on Ian Retina's screen, informing him of grave news that had just come in. "Oh no," he moaned, blinking half his eyes that made a loud disgusting noise. "The President of Luxurious Insurances Funding Executives incorporated won't like this one bit." Knowing there wasn't anyone else in his office to over hear (he could see every corner), Ian forwarded the message to the President of Luxurious Insurances Funding Executives, or L.I.F.E.

The reply came quick and harsh. On Ian's computer screen, a fat white man with balding hair screamed incomprehensibly into the video phone. "For my sake," he ended it with, "what is the meaning of all this, Retina? I thought I told you to keep a hundred thousand eyes on them! Where are they?"

Ian stuttered, his green lip quivering nervously. "I believe they were sentenced to Hell."

"What!? How's this?"

"The time police, sir–"

"DANM IT!" The president swore, as Ian cautiously lowered the volume of his computer. The post station's newest custodian, who looked more like a lumberjack than anything else, was walking by the office door. Continuing his rabble, the president's face grew red. "First we lose our largest stock holder to a banana peel, then our best scientist goes nuts and leaves all the liquids' secrets packed under his goddamn chin . . ." he leaned forward, and whispered menacingly into the microphone. "Get one of your post guys to find it."

Ian blinked all his eyes at this, causing the president to lower his own consul's volume. "I can't just do that, what if they ask what the vial is for?"

"Just tell 'em it's an urgent delivery put somewhere in the Jadd port, and that it must be brought to the L.I.F.E. headquarters immediately!" The president tightened his neck tie, gagged in regret, and undid it all together. "Don't mention that it was stolen by a ragged mad man and his octopus, just get them to get it, hear?"

Ian shifted his eyes uncertainly. "B-but sir, the vial only opens to–"

"Don't tell me what the vial does and get the hell back to work!" The president pulled out a magnum, and the video screen went black.

With a roll of his too-many eyes, Ian opened his scheduling plan, going over his employee's current status. Most of the orange mailboats were on long distance to alternate arms of the Milkyway, except one, carrying a load of mayonnaise to a restaurant orbiting Jupiter, so that along the way they could pick up a lost washing machine and take it to a laundromat-station orbiting Earth, with a secret under-space passage connecting its sub-level engine room with that of the Jadd Savings and Loan Spaceport.

The report also mentioned their accompanying friend with eight legs, but upon reading this, one of Ian's eyes began to hurt, and he stopped reading before it mentioned anything about the accompanying friend's previous background.

"Well," he said, not knowing anything about Erwin the Corporation Pirate Octopus, "Guess I have no one else to count on to get that vial." His eye hurt again, and he winced in irritation. "Jeez, what was in those darn onions?" He investigated his red eye with a few others, making sure it didn't look too swollen, or . . . "say," Ian said, noticing a curious looking object latched on the eye. "What's that!?" In panic, he guessed the object's identity, and tore his eye out, throwing it hastily into the incinerator wastebasket, hoping the strange small object wasn't what he thought it was.

. . .

Erwin slapped a mayonnaise jar in mild nuisance, but it wasn't a total loss. At least now he knew his prediction was correct.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 5:14 pm

It may have been implied that Wendy Scalps was as tall as her uncles, in her previous appearance. This has been taken to account, and because of this, it must be noted that the only race crazy enough to take up asteroid sculpting is the Ganymedians, who are tall for a very interesting – and other wise mysterious – reason unknown to Simon, who's not in the story anymore.

Tom is.

Anyways, it should also be pointed out that Ganymedians are so tall… SO TALL… you know that basket ball hoop in the Tillamook Air Museum? Ganymedians lazy jam it all the time. Yes, the one in Tillamook. Who put it there? Who do you think?

It was a hot day back in nineteen whenever, and young Charles Wrinklechin was balancing on a catwalk almost seventy feet in the air. Far below, a new shipment of antique airplanes were being positioned on the empty hanger floor. He wasn't the least afraid of heights, but the newest addition to the recently declared air museum, a blimp with an alien on its side, gave him the heeber jeebers. "Don't think about looking at it," he told himself. "Don't tell me what to do," he responded in his head, gaining self-confidence. Then he stuck a basketball hoop on the wall.

"This is no one in particular," the hailing frequency transfered, "unless being your niece counts for something."

Drag, in desperate relief, grabbed the transceiver controls with both of his stubby hands, and shook them. "Save me, God damn it please!" Behind him, the red spot of Jupiter was engulfing his peripheral vision at an alarming rate. A wink of sunlight reflected off an oncoming vessel, armed with a low power tractor beam, and a legal anti-gravity wave pulsater. Using neither, the ship's pilot (who was just over five feet tall, and had stubby fingers regardless) locked the transport system onto the ship's eject pod, and instructed her uncle to jettison himself into space.

"Otherwise," she warned, "I won't be able to help you without risking my own life."

"You're not willing to sacrifice yourself for me?" Drag asked, as he hastily pressed the 'open eject button flap' button.

"Not when there's an easier way," Wendy said. "Hurry up now; Jupiter's…" she couldn't believe what her sensors were telling her. The planet was moving towards Drag against its orbit around the sun. The last time it did that… 'Uh oh,' she thought, just as Drag pressed a second button, opening the emergency flap to the eject button.

"In a real emergency," he said to himself, "That damn emergency flap would kill me!" He pressed a third button, making the eject button light up red, meaning it was functional, but not operational. Then a fourth, turning the light green. A fifth, ejecting himself from the ship, and a sixth, but it didn't do anything. Before the vacuum of space killed him (the pod had a huge hole in it that looked like its designers forgot something. No surprise; they had) Wendy teleported him into the safe environment of her own ship's transport room. Being a lawyer, and thus much richer than her bartender uncle who ran out of business, she had a rather fancy ship, highly practical for long voyages. It came with its own cocktail dispenser, entertainment room, and the likes, but she had these removed in place of file cabinets, book shelves, and the teleporter room. After all, a lawyer's gotta have some material with her.

She also added a jukebox, which wasn't playing anything until Drag found it. "Wendy," he said, after spending five minutes in the teleporter room dancing, "I wanna thank you for saving my behind. But we really gotta get out of here before that mad planet–"

"We're now approaching Earth." Wendy switched on the ship's internal lights as they entered the planet's shadow. "I've got to get to my main division and report Jupiter's stampede.

"Oh. Well, could you drop me off at Jadd's."

"Sure Uncle Drag," she drove the ship to the Jadd Savings and Loan Spaceport docking lot, and waved good bye. "While you're there, be sure to ask uncle Jadd what he knows about Jupiter."

Drag didn't hear her over the sli-slip-slipslip-lip-slip slip SLLLLLLLPPPP slip slip sli-slip-sl-sl-slip, and went to find his brother regardless. The docking doors closed, moments before a bearded figure slipped between the airlock and Wendy's ship, entering the station via vacuum suction tubes that led to the basement– err, I mean, the station's utility room at the center.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Fri Mar 19, 2010 1:31 pm

There came an explosion to his left, and the wall to his right became full of bullets. It was a good thing the mirror James York was hiding behind was no ordinary mirror. The Nazi party had taken over Germany's boarders, and weren't making it easy to smuggle a life-saving vaccine against the Gestapo's main weapon of tyranny: apathititis, which had spread so far across Germany, it was almost too easy to take over.

"We'll see how they cope once their occupants put up a fight," James said between gritted teeth as he bit off the pin of an implosion grenade. Tossing it towards the Nazis hiding behind sandbags, he loaded a pistol, and chanced a peak around his mirror. There came a deep popping noise, and the sandbags vanished, leaving the enemy exposed, and unarmed. BANG BANG! Dead Nazis.

Grabbing his mirror's back-mounted handle, James advanced in the lines. A whistling noise came from above, and he saw a motor falling towards him. Aiming carefully, he positioned himself directly beneath it. The motor head collided with its mirrored partner, and both exploded with the exact velocity that rebounded off each other. James, beneath all this in both universes, was unharmed, and with a middle-aged arm, he aimed his gun at the motorman. BANG! Dead.

A sneaky ninja jumped down headfirst from a building beside James, wearing a spike on his hood. The mirror had no ninja in it; like everyone, ninjas are in two places at once at all times. However, their other self is usually in the same universe, and not where they should be. So this particular ninja fell right through the mirror, launching out the other side, where his head-spike stuck to the wall on his way back down. James aimed at the empty wall, and fired. His mirror did the same, but killed a lame ninja in the process. Yes, the ninja was wearing purple. Sparkly purple.

Advancing after a bit of a misadventure explaining how the mirror worked, James found himself at a tall barbed wire fence, behind which the country of Germany was sitting around not doing anything. Even nothing was too much work to manage for the illness's hosts. James had no wire clippings, but he did have one implosion grenade left, and he knew just what to do with it. One grenade wouldn't be enough to implode the wall passable. But James, being middle aged, knew just what to do. With an abrupt "Ket-Chup!" he pulled the pin, placed the grenade right up against the fence, and pressed his mirror right up against the grenade, where it came into contact with it's alternate self.

Now, normally an explosion against its identical twin would be rebounded. However, these grenades did not explode, they imploded, and when this happened, they came together as one at the dead center where the two universes became one. Because of this, it became twice as strong, and pulled a huge section of the wire into its compact remains. Once the implosion was over, James slipped inside the interior of Germany, keeping his mirror on his back to reflect any oncoming Nazi firing.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Sat Mar 20, 2010 11:50 am

The door knocked thrice, and Bladd came into the time-police chief's office. "Chief McCloud, you called for me?"

"Yes sir son," the chief said in a southern drawl. He had a gray mustache, and eye glasses. "You did well in catching those bandits, but I'm afraid we've only gained seventeen hours before the end of the universe, and lost eighteen."

"Christ," Bladd exclaimed. "Who's the convict now?"

"Well, we just interrogated a man this coming Saturday, and he says he knows the location of the vial." Chief McCloud fiddled with his glasses, which were not in zero G. The Time Police Headquarters was kept on the dark side of the moon. Not the far side, the dark side: it was constantly moving on treads to maintain this status. "However," he continued, "this man isn't willing to tell us right out, because his 'boss' might kill him."

"What's the man's name?" Bladd asked, as he fiddled his stubby fingers about before stuffing them in his indigo uniform jacket.

"Ian Retina, manager of the inter-galactic postal service," Chief McCloud said, pulling out a card. "Here's his address. If you think you can get anything out of it, go Friday, and I'll call off the Saturday."

"You got it." Bladd turned around to leave. On his way out the door, an abstract thought came to mind. The man he met at the space train crash on the Money Hill Asteroid's largest (and newest) crater had witnessed the bandits preparing their obtaining of the vial of the universe's most dangerous black liquid. "I wonder if…" he thought out loud, but shook his head in doubt. "No, he's probably just an innocent bystander."

On the tallest point of the Money Hill Asteroid, a lone figure fell to the ground gripping its neck. Dalton's face turned blue, and saw in horror that his oxygen tank was not only empty, he owed it four breaths at fifty-percent secondly interest. As his brain began to fail due to lack of oxygen, two thoughts came to mind. The first was 'now I'll never be a Flu-jee-roh champion after all!' and the second was 'wait a minute, wasn't I on a train?' However, he didn't get a minute to wait.

Karkov found the electric cable to the utility room's gravity, and with a charge powered by his neck, returned it somehow to working order. The lights came on, and most of the objects in the room that had been floating about, came back down again. The utility room was shaped like a sphere, and its artificial gravity ran all the way up and down its walls in such a way that one could jump from one end to the other. Because of this spherical gravity, the vacuum cleaner remained at dead center, where it was pulled on all sides at equal rates. However insanely perfect this would have to be, it was managed. And that's that.

With a very loud laugh, Karkov jumped up to grab the vacuum cleaner, so as to get back to work. However, at the very moment he took hold of the cleaner, a bearded figure popped in from the airlock tubes returning excess air to the station's conditioners. The figure turned out to be a man as he stepped out of the air system, and the man turned out to be an acquaintance of Karkov's.

"Dave!" Karkov exclaimed, leaping over to meet his old fellow lumberjack. "What brings you here, eh? Not looking for–" Dave shook his head, and left through a hatch leading to the station's main hall. "–a job are you, because I already… oh." The hatch closed behind Dave, leaving Karkov to do his work. "Well, just as he always was. Haha! Wonder if I've changed much?" His neck got too close to another cable, cutting off the station's sewage and spilling it all over him.


PostPosted: Sat Mar 20, 2010 11:40 pm

It's now not space.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Sun Mar 21, 2010 6:52 pm

"Cool," said Tom, as we watched his glasses falling in front of his face at 9.8 m/s/s. "Super cool," he added as he passed through a cumulonimbus cloud.

John Ratzenberger:

PostPosted: Wed Mar 24, 2010 9:43 pm

"Say Captain Birganishnabs," Shorty said from the leather passenger seat, "if you don't mind me asking, I'd like to know where the heck you're taking us."

Captain Birganishnabs gave him an odd look without needing to turn his head. Remember, his eyes were on the sides of his head to begin with. "You're not making sense Shorty. My brain can't deflect confusion at that magnitude!" He combed back the nothing atop his ugly head, and pointed out their destination with an ugly finger. "We're headed for Jupiter to pick up that washing machine orbiting around it."

"You mean the one we dropped in the wrong place because of that hill?" asked Shorty. "How in the heck did it get out in space!? And before you answer, how in the heck did you know!?"

"I know because our mission objection says so!" Captain Birganishnabs slammed a red fist down on the dashboard, opening the glove compartment that spewed a documentation of their mission objectives out into Shorty's lap. It read as follows:

"Retrieve stolen Megralite Washing Machine. Location shouldn't be far from train wreck on the outskirts of a city containing Jadd Savings and Loan. Last seen on its back in a puddle of red sparkly liquid. Must be taken to the laundromat across the street of Jadd Savings and Loan."

"Say," Birganishnabs asked, "didn't the Money Hill Asteroid once live on Earth?"

Shorty didn't answer, and took the wheel of the orange mail truck to steer them back down the highway. The cityscape was in view in the distance, in the light of the oncoming sun.


PostPosted: Thu Mar 25, 2010 11:42 am

At an old laundry sink somewhere in the depths of the basement, Karkov was still cleaning sewage from his chain. For a second he stopped grumbling to listen to the darkness, for he thought he heard something. "Prob'ly jus' that old water heater down the hall, huh!"

But then he did hear something; a distinct beeping noise echoing down the mysterious tunnel he had walked down to find the sinks. The beeping came from THAT room!

Bumping his head on ducts and doorways, Karkov rushed back to defuse the bomb he assumed was making the noise. Without even noticing, he passed a short green guy and a huge bearded man on the way. He also passed Dave, the spider, the water heater, and maybe another character. When he got back to the room, he found to his horror that it wasn't a bomb making the noise but the second oldest vacuum cleaner in the world. It also displayed the following message:


"THE CLEANER!" Karkov panicked. "I'm gonna lose my job for breaking it!" And he searched for some new batteries to put in the multiverse bending machine, but not before opening it and comically switching around a blue wire and a red wire. An amateur fiddling a complex machine is one of Karkov's favorite clichés.

A Chinese man walked down the stairs to the storage basement and was just about to dump a load of T-shirts into one of the enormous sinks when he noticed, just in time, that it was coated with sewage. "Aaiiaah! Who has been down here?" he yelled with the voice of a perfectly American news reporter.


The Big Dog finally regained its balance and was considering a rematch with Jadd when from out of the pavement came Bluto's fist, COMPLETELY destroying the Big Dog once and for all. Down below, Flip payed Bluto for his advanced chin-up and they both left the story. Maybe.

The Killer Floor Washer, rolling back and forth, up and down between two hills, suddenly remembered it had the power to steer. The enormous and attractive window in the front of Jadd Savings and Loan thought it was made of a strong enough material to withstand any collision, but... well, according to Newton, Force equals Mass times Acceleration... to the power of SLIP.


Rake finally made it to ground floor from the elevator. All those old people, pushing every single floor button, going up and down and sideways, graah! Seriously! He was just wondering how his day could get any worse when the elevator doors opened up to admit the KFW, newly coated in enormous shards of transparent megralite alloy and still traveling at a speed that would shame a light particle.

Rake went to hell for his poor fashion sense.


ZOOM... ... ...ZOOM... ... ...ZOOM...

The invincible black washing machine orbited Jupiter about as fast as you can swing a bucket around your head. Birganishnabs and his crew were only a few lightyears away, and at first glance the washer would have appeared to be trapped in orbit. To anyone, that is, ignorant to the ways of Jupiter.

"Fiiiive...." ... ...ZOOM... ... ...ZOOM... ... "...foooooour...." ...ZOOM... ... ...ZOOM... "...threeeeeeee...."

Jupiter was preparing to launch.


Marlow, the rank 5 condition B devil, rubbed his glasses thoughtfully on the ten minute break between two hearings. It was Friday. He wanted to get home and teach his little girl how to ride a bike. "Slow day anyways, maybe I'll go home early? Naw, too much paperwork to do; guess I'll just wait it out."

The break was over and he called in the next cured patient. A muscular man half-jogged to the podium, excited and energized by his short visit in hell.

"Let me see now," Marlow started "Izzy Headless. That your real name?" Izzy shrugged, no longer worried by his unusual title, and Marlow continued, "You've been sentenced for and cured from laziness. But your case is a special one; you've only been here for an hour and you're already done. What's special is, instead of reincarnation as is typical, you have a chance to resume life in your original body. Got the paperwork all ready, all we need is your consent."

Izzy was more than happy to return to his former self, sans laziness, and quickly filled out the red and yellow forms given to him (in blood, of course.) Marlow waved him off and resumed pondering his family life, holding up the line of patients because it wasn't break time anymore.

Opening his eyes to the real world, Izzy Headless' body was brought back to life, full of energy inspiration. "I can't wait to do some skydiving!" Izzy grinned, and was surprise to see two identical faces grinning right back at him.

"Welcome back Headless," they said simultaneously. "Or should we say, soon to be?" and they moved to reveal a guillotine in the corner of the 48th floor of Jadd Savings and Loan. Izzy blinked.

"Don't worry," continued the evil irony police, gleaming their LOLbadges at every opportunity, "it won't hurt. Unless you don't expect it to hurt; then it will. You see?"

Izzy blinked again. "What did you say?" He was still deaf.


As for the spider, how about this happens:
Oh, and Tom landed safely. Luck and atmospheric conditions were on his side.

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PostSubject: Fredordge builds a snow man atop Money Hill   Sun Mar 28, 2010 7:36 pm

"What was that!?" cried M'glue. She spun about in search of the source of the strange noise, but saw only tomb stones, creaky grates, the illuminated tip of her accompanying hobbit's blade, and the moon. It was full tonight, and shown somewhat orange over the dark hills, surrounded in black clouds that rumbled softly in the distance. "This gruesome valley gets spookier every minute," she said to her short, fat, red-headed friend. "And the air is cool with frost despite the climate."

The hobbit said nothing.

They continued forward along the worn path, climbing upwards, as it was on the far side of Money Hill. M'glue kept her eyes peeled for any sign of ghouls, in case they attacked. A geeky friend of hers had warned her, after doing some really cheesy 'hacking' on the computer, that they might come in range on this particular hill, but that was before he slipped on a trail of soapy water, and that was the end of him.

Suddenly a flock of ravens burst out from behind an esquire's tomb obelisk, startling M'glue, but not the hobbit. She pointed her gun at whatever lay behind the rock, and stood waiting. "Hello?" she asked, as a black pool of water began to bubble.

The hobbit said nothing.

A passing skeleton asked M'glue what she was pointing a gun at. She sprang back in alarm, and cried "Oh my god, what the hell are you!?"

Raising his hands in surprise, the skeleton said "Now calm down, lady, I'm no ghoul. But if you keep yelling like that you'll have a few to worry about."

Realizing that the skeleton was no foe (though still not quite believing it was a skeleton [she was a boring sort of straight character]), M'glue lowered her pistol. "How do you know?"

The pool quivered violantly, and a blue figure leaped out of it giving a gurgly war cry. The hobbit threw a grenade, in the wrong direction, while M'glue shot the thing between the eyes. It fell at the skeleton, who gave a "Heh," of exclamation. "What'd I tell you?" The skeleton bent down, and recognized the figure right away. The hobbit made a strange shape with his lips. "Well," the skeleton said, "by the shape of it's skin color and where it came from, this is no doubt a new blue cool pool ghoul."

The hobbit said nothing.

M'glue (yes that's actually her name) straightened up, and pushed back her hair. "Well–"

"WHAT ARE, GLUE STEW?" The hobbit earned a bullet, but it missed his head, and he survived with one less ear.

It was dark. Noise came from the outside, but nothing more. He sat wondering how long it had been. Two days? Three? Perhaps a week? Time seemed to pass without recognition, and this was no surprise, for there was no sun, no clock, no form of knowing just what time it was in his immediate vicinity. What there was, was a stench. The small, slimy walls were coated in stagnant filth, the floor was up to his ankles in liquid waste, and up to his waist in disposed containers. Luckily for him, he had no nose, and although it was disgusting, he had come to get used to it. 'Still,' he thought, 'it'd be nice to get some air one of these days.'

Just then, Karkov opened the basement's only garbage can to empty the vacuum cleaner's collection into it. As he did, Krillin called up "Hey, could you lemme– Ack! P'tooie, yuck, not in the eye!" The lid was placed back on the garbage can, muffling his further comments on the vacuum dust.

'Well,' thought Krillin, in a now very very dusty can that was even harder to breathe in now than it was, 'at least it wasn't a total loss." He found a cheetoh picked up by the vacuum, and picked it up in his paling fingers.

*Crunch* "Eww!"

A light snow came in from the north, coating the hill tops with an inch of snow, and the hill bottoms with a bunch of rain. As the flakes fell, one landed upon an Eskimo kid's nose, who lived with his father atop Money Hill. He was watching the flakes through his flashlight beam, which lay upon the corpse of a poor traveler. His father had gone to get a med kit and be sure of the poor person's death. When he finally returned, he gave his son a rub on the head. "I am sorry to have left you alone at night," he told him.

"It is all right father," the Eskimo kid assured him jokingly. "I had the company of this body."

His father shook his head. "Dead bodies do not raise again, but souls can be reincarnated." With a glance at the body, he frowned. "This body was a nobody, with no character, and thus no flaw. He won't be seen again, especially not in a Flu-Gee-Roh competition."

"But what of the skeletons that roam the hill side, father?" asked his son. "Do they not raise from the dead?"

"They are only skeletons, and have always been skeletons," his father explained. "Do not make assumptions of a person's past, until you understand their present form." He returned his attention to the dead body, inspecting its face, and raising an eyebrow. "This is very strange, Mangos," he said, referring to his now named son. "It would appear that this body died from suffocation... but what is more is that his body looks to have frozen to death, and broken apart by pressure from all sides."

"What does this mean Father?" asked Mangos.

"It means…" the father said, looking towards the sky. The moon was out, somewhat orange against the neighboring hills. "It means," he repeated after a while of thought, "Someone or something is f**king around with the setting!" A gunshot came out from the graveyard below, followed by a second. With a sigh, the father took his son by the arm as he returned to their igloo.

"What was that shot?" Mangos asked.

"Oh, just the death of another ghoul, and…" he closed his eyes, using ancient Eskimo spirit magic. After a pause, he gave a sigh. "She missed, god damn it, why did she have to go and miss?"

Tom got really mad as he passed through a Frumpy Cloud. There were way too many new characters, and someone ha to set things right.
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PostSubject: And in steps…   Fri Apr 02, 2010 12:10 am

The sewer grate outside of Jadd Savings and Loan Jadd Savings and loan began to move, but then it stopped.

"Dear me," exclaimed Professor Wrinklechin at the bottom of the Jadd Savings and Loan elevator shaft. "I can't tell the floor washer's parts from the elevator's." He shook his head, and scratched his no-longer-protruding butt. Something burned him there, but he was too old to bother investigating (someone craftily left their lit cigar in his pant pocket). A strange noise came from one of the rooms in the basement; although the elevator never came down here, the shaft had been built off its foundation, and so when the power of slip entered the elevator, it brought the entire thing crashing down at thrice the speed of sound.

The noise came again, this time not doubtfully from a water heater, as Wrinklechin estimated. "Is there someone there?" he called. "Well of course there is, Professor, it's a water heater." He temporarily left the pile of disassembled parts to meet the water heater. It was in that one room with loose cables hanging down, a very old vacuum cleaner, and "Good god, a Mongolian Cyborg! You're joking– Oh my heavens it IS a Mongolian Cyborg!"

Wrinklechin reached for his gun, but found it wasn't there. The Mongolian Cyborg looked up from the vacuum cleaner, and cocked his eyebrow. "Eh?" he said, the blades of his throat rumbling menacingly. "This is a restricted area, what you two doin' here?" There was only one Wrinklechin, but as far as Karkov could tell in the dark basement, he was two different people.

Then a Chinese man came bumbling into the room from a secret passage guarded by the water heater. "What in the name of Sam's Hill is going on!? First sewage, then flying spider ships, and now I find a passage leading to– Oh God, a Mongolian Cyborg!"

Ian Retina slammed his fist down on his desk in frustration. One of his eyes was once again caught in the crowded mail room's low ceiling lights, and although it didn't hurt to lose it, the eye would heat up on the hot lamp, and smell REALLY BAD. Deep down inside his ugly green structure, Ian felt that this hadn't always been a problem, but then, he couldn't say for sure.

One of the mailmen returned from his shift, only to find his new manager took up the whole room. "What the hell's goin' on here!?" he cried.

Ian got mad; he didn't like it when people swore.

Last edited by John Ratzenberger on Sat Apr 03, 2010 2:08 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Wrinklechin needed a spot)
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PostSubject: Followed by…   Fri Apr 02, 2010 7:25 pm

The carousel music was tinkling along pleasantly in the bright moonlight. Lights were flashing, kids on Money Hill Amusement Park's many other rides were screaming in delight, and a man shouted 'Popcorn! Candy! Come and get it free with an entrance bracelet!" Everyone had a smile on. Even the skeleton, who held the hobbit's hand because being on such a high up horse was rather treacherous for someone so happy.

However, there was one person who wasn't very happy. "WHAT ARE," cried the hobbit "NEW BLUE COOL POOL G–"

"Shut up!" M'glue yelled. "I hate this ride! What are we doing here!? We can't waste our time like this, the vial is sure to fall into the wrong hands any minute!"

The skeleton rolled his sockets very obviously, and dropped his last ear bone onto her lap. As he did, a voice on the ride intercom said 'Congratulations everyone, you've been so nice we're going to give you another free five minute session of riding."

The children cheered in monotone, as M'glue leveled her eyebrows with the bridge of her nose. The carousel continued, and the hobbit was still staring at her with protruding teeth, and a dumb expression. "WHAT ARE, SHROOM GROOMS?" This somehow made M'glue bite her tongue, and three canker-sores that weren't there before. The kids were all ugly, and had cotton candy, and were smug, and made stupid jokes about her name because the hobbit told them about it. Also, the horse she rode on had its head turned around looking at her with a frumpy face that said 'get off me, but don't get off the carousel,' the seat was made of Styrofoam, her head hurt because a kid threw a Heman action figure, she lost her wallet to a pick pocket somewhere in the park, and found it later covered in yogurt in a garbage can, it still hurt where the skeleton pinched her for not wearing green on St. Patrick's day four years ago, video screens were showing a marathon of Kaput and Zosky all over the place, ugly rust truck teeth I hate him happened to be the park's mascot, and he bit her on the leg, which was still itchy, she lost her shoe to an enormous lizzard, which died before eating it, she was 'oh I shot you'ed thrice, a gibbon licked her, someone left four pounds of gum on the horse's seat disguised as the seat itself, Donkey Kong's voice was all wrong, all she had for lunch was Chicken in a Biscuit because her hamburger had sour dough (her least favorite) and onions (which she hated) and no meat, and the music playing was some pop singer lady, doing 'amazing grace' at the speed of new tennis shoes on a stairway railing, only she hit every single note she could for each and every syllable…

"Whoa, what the hell!?" Chief McCloud exclaimed as a very disturbing message popped up on his screen. It appeared that the end of the universe was potentially a lot closer than previously calculated.
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PostSubject: It's HIM...   Sun Apr 04, 2010 7:30 pm

"Hey, can you hear me? I said outta the way!!," Sam Salmonson shouted.

The old man stumbled on Sam's foot, falling down on the sandpaper textured concrete.

Sam S shuffled away, leaving the man in disgust. He was tired of all these bozos who kept getting in the way. 'They're blind, stupid, and plainly should all be thrown out of their own windows,' was what he continuously muttered to himself.

Back in the apartment, Mr. Salmonson took off his shoes, after a long day of working with the traffic and hard job. As he walked to his curtained window, 13 stories high, something moved swiftly below his feet and he slid all the way forward, lost his balance, and clinging desperately to the curtains, flew out of his apartment window.

Someone from behind him closed the door and took his sweet time in getting his roller skate off from the floor, back into his backpack. Then, the old man peered out the wide open window of the apartment, [across the street of an amusement park] to see the irony police picking up the last of Sam's corpse.

"Serves him right, the big jerk," stated Dwain, as he lingered off to do other things.
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PostSubject: Emoticons are fun.   Tue Apr 06, 2010 8:48 pm

The Chinese man's perfect voice of an American news reporter made Karkov laugh 'til his chains loosened.


afro afro afro afro afro afro afro afro
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PostSubject: Re: The Vacuumed Mayonnaise, or whatever it's about   Sat Apr 10, 2010 1:53 am

And then, quite abruptly, Money Hill sneezed. "REA-CHEOO!"

…no one laughed.

…except him. Laughing
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PostSubject: In comes the rest of everyone   Tue Apr 13, 2010 6:42 pm

Drag looked around the interior of the Jadd Savings and Loan ground floor, carefully avoiding the KFW's slippery spills, as his eyes were much closer to the ground than most people's. His brother Jadd was no where in sight for the time being, and by the looks of it, the elevator was out of order. In fact, it was so out of order, it didn't look to be there at all. However, closer inspection was made impossible by the amount of slip, unless he could get a hold of special Wrinklechin-brand anti-slipping wrinkle-shoes. More commonly known as Rocket Boots.

"Jadd?" He called out loud, scratching his butt with stubby fingers. He was only answered by a distant decapitation noise that seemed to come from a great many floors above. He then spotted a set of stairs underneath an electric fan that wasn't broken but smelled of dead inhabitants. 'Well,' Drag thought with a mental sigh, 'guess I'll have to start looking somewhere for work. If it's my luck, he's probably on the roof.' He reached the steps, and hoisted himself up the first one with his arms.

The spider ship flew out of the laundromat, passing over a puddle in the street at six meters a second. Then a hob-nail boot splashed into the puddle's black water in pursuit of the ship. A car screeched to a halt moments before coliding with a tall bearded man, and a very familiar face (who's owner was previously believed to have left the story) poked out and said "Watch where you're going, ya fool!"

Dave slid across the car's hood, and gave the familiar face absolute neglect. The spider ship soared up the side of Jadd Savings and Loan, the vial clamped in its lower tractor claw. Using his utility belt and ax, Dave followed across the wall, keeping pace and remaining within sight. Then the ship did a quick turn around, and disappeared towards Money Hill.

Dave stared after it, remaining half up the wall with his ax in a window, and his belt around the gutter. Then his eyebrow twitched, and Simon returned to his former 'no more' state.

Wendy parked her spaceship at her lawyer office parking lot, and got out to report the happenings of Jupiter. Her car wasn't really space-worthy (that was ridiculus) but every thing about its design seemed to suggest it besides the four wheels on the bottom that looked to have been added cheaply by an engineer who only knew how to design vacuum cleaners. There were enormous boosters in the back (presumably for show alone), the interior was entirely air proof, and it took up about twelve parking squares due to its teleporter room, filing offices, and the likes.

As Wendy entered the office building designated for lawyers as herself, she began to question herself of the reason Jupiter would attempt to consume her uncle on his way to Jadd Savings and Loan. "Let me see," she said once seated behind a computer. "Drag was heading to the bank, but he was out of gas, so he couldn't escape the pull of Jupiter's gravity. But wait, if he was out of gas, how was he going to Jadd Savings and Loan?" She left that one for her attorney. "He was rescued, but only just because of a faulty eject… no, that can't be right. Was it the door on his car that got jammed?" She shook her head; another thing for her attorney to deal with. "Damage… Jupiter destroyed Drag's car, or at least stole it, and seems to be moving out of its regular… wait a damn minute, what the hell am I talking about!? Jupiter!!?"

A black washing machine came crashing through one side of the office building, demolished everything it its path, and came out the other side with what was left of Wendy stuck to its ebony side. Jupiter launch.

"Hey Shorty, wake up!" Captain Birganishnabs shouted. "I believe I have spotted our washing machine!" He nudged

"What's that Birganishnabs?"

"Captain Birganishnabs," Captain Birganishnabs corrected him.

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PostSubject: A bus   Thu Apr 15, 2010 7:53 pm

"Hey hey now bud," the bus driver held out his hand. "We have a strict weight capacity on this bus; how much do you weigh?"

Jupiter, shifting embarrassed on its south pole, took a breath and said nothing.

"No." The bus driver said. "We can't have any more than twenty tons of passengers, and you're easily thrice the mass of the planet."

'Three hundred,' Jupiter corrected him in its mind. The bus drove off, leaving a cloud of pollution that made Jupiter wheeze. It came to wonder how Earth put up with such toxins.

Meanwhile, "The nerve of that whale," the bus driver said to his nearest passenger. "I mean, he didn't even say thank you! I tell you, he's goin' to hell for that!"

"And you," said Bladd, "are too, for expecting it." He then thanked the bus driver, and got off at his stop just outside the Money Hill Amusement Park. Time was of the essence; Chief McCloud said the universe was due in the next seven minutes.

At the park gate, Bladd was stopped by the ticket booth, and had to show his badge to get in. "I'm a member of the Time Police Squad #4, the universe is in jeopardy," he said up to the stork manning the booth. Yes, it was a stork. A really big one who wished he could chew bubble gum.

"Time Police, huh?" The stork gave a shrill laugh, and shook his head. "That's the best one I've heard yet, son. Where're you're parents, eh?"

"Sir if you continue to interfere I shall have you convicted for attempting to provoke the universe's doom. Are you willing to risk such a violation, or must I make myself clear?"

"Kid," the stork bent down to look Bladd straight down in the eye. "Scram. You're not getting in without pay or adult supervision. If I let you in, I'll get fired."

"This is your final warning, let me through!"

"What was it you said you were, a Time Police man? Why don't you go back in time, I might let you in the park the day I was born."

Bladd received a page from Chief McCloud, ordering him to arrest a feathered man named "Storkie J'Storkstork" for interfering with the time police. "Mr. J'Storkstork," he said, at which the stork's beak opened in surprise, "You have been sentenced to a week in Hell for this. May Satin fix you up in that time." The booth's floor widened into a deep chasm, and Storkie was consumed before he found his breath.

The carousel was easy enough to find, and on it, M'Glue stood out like a flame in the dark. There was no doubt about it; she was damn angry.
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PostSubject: Eskimo Escape   Sat Apr 17, 2010 1:40 am

I guess the time period is currently set to night time… so…

The stars twinkled brightly against their black bed of sky, forming various constellations. Mangos could name most every one his father had taught him, but did not do so now. He didn't look back towards the igloo as he set out by himself, with a lunch and clothing packed in his shoulder mounted sack. After all, he was twelve now, and old enough to take on his life's journey, to seek wisdom of his own. Down the mountain side he strode, pondering his future with awe and anxiety. Never had the ancient Eskimo spirits favored him in psychic power like his father, and seeing the truth was never his interest either.

Yet they had left Mangos with something….

"My son," a voice said from the stars. Mangos looked up, as if expecting this hail. "You must seek a man of bone. It is he who has been destined to end the world, yet he knows it not."

Mangos blinked and asked, "Do you wish me to defeat him, father?"

"He has done no wrong. You must keep him from it. This is your purpose." The star dust flitted around Mangos, enhancing his knowledge with his father's leaving words. "Never allow your ambitions to stray, my son."

Opening his eyes, Mangos found himself in the graveyard of Money Hill, finally certain of his future. "I was born and raised in the arts of ancient Eskimo spirit magic to keep some skeleton from opening a super-intelligent vial. If that is not anti-climatic, I'm a hippie viking."

A New Blue Cool Pool Ghoul loomed out from the tomb's gloom, armed with a moon tune spoon of doom. Mangos's brow frowned, his eyes widened, and he spun around to face the ghoul. Placing it within the hexagon formed by his hands, he bellowed "Kudoken!"

The Ghoul was abruptly washing machined by a black and bloody projectile.

"Oh thank you so much!" said the old lady who really shouldn't be put in the story as a main character. Shorty assured her that he was just doing his dutiful job, then hopped back into his orange mail truck with Captain Birganishnabs.

"Well Birganishnabs," he said, "That's that for the mayonnaise. Now all we gotta find is where that washing machine landed."

"How many times have I told you, I'm Captain Birganishnabs, Shorty. Captain. If you can't get it right, I'll have to remind you who's driving this ship!"

Shorty gave him a look of disturbance. "Why do you insist on calling the truck a ship? And yourself a captain?"

"Shorty," Captain Birganishnabs said, "if the narrators says I'm captain, I by golly am Captain! And that's another thing," he stated, pounding his gloved elbow on the dashboard, "The narrators also said we had an intergalactic space ship, and we were in space! We were! Can you explain the scrape on the underside of our… 'truck'?"

"Easily," Shorty said, who had gotten used to being called Shorty. "You drove over a poorly paved road, with the middle pavement sticking up."

Captain Birganishnabs opened his ugly mustached mouth to protest again, but Erwin laid a tentacle on his shoulder, and pointed another towards the dark outline of Money Hill.

"No…" said Captain Birganishnabs. "You can't mean the washer landed… *gulp* there!?"
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PostSubject: Re: The Vacuumed Mayonnaise, or whatever it's about   Tue Apr 20, 2010 11:41 pm

Shorty threw his body weight into the turn, spinning the orange mail truck's steering wheel into the curve. It was the home stretch now. This was it. With a block tied to the accelerator, Shorty slammed down on the gas, causing the truck's engine to roar. Then, with a flip of a switch, and the press of a button, the intergalactic turbo boosters in back that weren't supposed to be there popped out of the sides of the mail truck, and blasted it down the moonlit straight-away.

Captain Birganishnabs watched from the side of the race track, waving a checkered flag. His gloved elbow clicked the timer off as soon as the mail truck passed the finish line, and examined it in swelling pride. "It's a new lap record!"

Erwin played a blow horn, and threw confetti, while Shorty got wearily out of the truck, and examined the skid marks he had created whilst trying to stop the turbo boosters, which were still extended, and spewing white smoke into the cool night air. As Captain Birganishnabs grabbed him in an arm-lock, Shorty laughed in joy. The whole race in under two minutes. They had finally made it on the records list, and that was something to cheer about.

"Hey hey, Shorty," Captain Birganishnabs was telling him. "Hey!" He shook him harder.

"Wha–?" Shorty woke up from gazing out the window, towards the distant sunrise.

"You falling asleep on me Shorty?" Captain Birganishnabs asked, looking concerned. "Maybe we should stop someplace and sleep."

"No no, Birga… Captain," Shorty assured him. "I was just reliving that moment I broke the race record."

Captain Birganishnabs smiled broadly. "Yes. That will always be a fond memory. Are you sure you don't want to…?"

"Yes Captain." Shorty looked out the window again, noticing how much Captain Birganishnabs had slowed down. "Y'know, if we hadn't stopped at that race track, we'd be at the mountain already. Heck, we'd have been there! What're you slowing down for?"

"I'm…" Captain Birganishnabs stammered, "I'm just sleepy. How about we find a place to rest?"

"That's all right, you can sleep, I'll take the wheel–"

"NO!" Captain Birganishnabs gripped the wheel tighter with his elbows.

Erwin made a bubbly noise, and Shorty caught on. "You're stalling so you won't have to face Money Hill! That's what all that was about! That's why, isn't it!?"

Defeated, Captain Birganishnabs hung his head, and nodded.

"Pull over, I'm taking the wheel."

He did so, stopping ever so gradually, and getting out to enter the passenger seat. However, when Shorty approached the driver's seat, Erwin beat him to it, and handed him a pillow. "You sure?" asked Shorty, before thankfully taking the pillow, and falling asleep.

His sleep didn'd last; Erwin popped his suction cups, flipped a switch, and pressed a button.
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