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Perfect Strangers

July 17th, 2003
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AtomoTron online
Run “Omega_Hack.exe”
Working.
Working..
Working…
Comm. system override successful
Load segment “Perfect_Strangers”

(In case you’re wondering what that was, that was the sound {sight?} of Dr. Azathoth using his super-science to override all forms of earthly communication. What ever you were doing before, be it watching TV, listening to your radio, or reading the back of a box of cereal, now you’re getting this. I pity you.)

(Fade up on Dr. Azathoth sitting in an easy chair, watching “The Jerry Stranger Show”. The farmer from last time walks in, holding a large sheaf of papers.)

Farmer: Dagnabit, Doc! These phone bills’re higher then a condor stuck in the grill of a space shuttle! I don’t even know where some of these places are! I mean, where in God’s green earth is “Yuggoth”?

Dr. Azathoth: Silence, fool! The mighty Azathoth is absorbing images from the cathode ray tube!

F: Oh, is that there “The Jerry Stranger Show”? Maybe I’ll join ya.

Dr. A: Normally the great and powerful Dr. Azathoth would never lower himself to ingesting the drivel that you humans so humorously refer to as “culture”…

F: Yeah, this show ain’t so great. It’s clearly just a rip-off of “The Terry Sphincter show”.

Dr. A: …but today this pathetic cretin is featuring those people who are soon to become my mortal enemies… The wrestlers of BOB!

(The two of them watch the show in silence for about ten minutes, and we get to watch them watching it. How lucky. Eventually, it gets to the Mike Monroe Vs. Kay Fabe fight.)

Dr. A: Though far superior to him in every way, I find that I still feel some small tinge of understanding towards that pathetic creature, Mike Monroe. Even with my myriad achievements in all fields of existence, I too have had difficulty with that enigmatic creature known to man as “woman”.

F: Yeah… wimmin.

(At this point the farmer spits on the floor.)

Dr. A: At one point, I had dedicated my astounding intellect to creating an artificial woman. Taking inspiration from the greatest horny old scientists of Japan, I set out to create an android woman who would surpass all other humans in the arenas of strength, intelligence, typing speed, and, of course, beauty.

F: So what happened? She was real purdy, but her outgoing personality combined with her super-strength and ignorance about human nature caused the two of y’all to get into embarrassing situations?

Dr. A: Sadly, no, for you see… everything went terribly-

F: *interrupting* And then you gave another copy to yer grandson? Who was in high school? And she became his assistant? And this girl who had a crush on him since they were both children got really jealous? And there was lots of talk about how the robot had the biggest breasts in the school? And everybody was getting nose-bleeds for some reason? And-

Dr. A: SILENCE YOUR NOISE-ORIFICE, WORM!

Dr. A: Yes, all the things you described went through my head as I awakened my creation. But that was not to be, for I did not have a horny grandson. Even if I had, however, there were still great problems. Nothing worked out the way I’d hoped… We parted ways, under horrible circumstances, and she still lurks out there… Who can know what horrible things she may even now be plotting?

(Foreshadowing alert!)

Dr. A: Quiet narrator, this is none of your concern!

F: Yeah… wimmin.

F: Welp, I’m gonna get a beer. You want something?

Dr. A: I too shall ingest one of your fermented barley beverages.

F: Mmmnkay.

(As the Farmer gets up, he looks in the direction of the camera, which is apparently mounted on Atomo’s head.)

F: Say, one ‘o them there Christmas lights you glued to that there manikin is blinking. You might wanna change the bulb, or the whole string could short out.

Dr. A: Eh? Oh, that’s the indicator light that tells me that we’re broadcasting to the world. I must have activated the mechanism and then been distracted by the hypnotic emanations of the television machine. No matter, the error is easily rectified.

F: (from in the kitchen) Heh… you said rectified.

Dr. A:(Putting his face way too close to the camera) Attention, pathetic Earth wrestlers! It is once again I, Dr. Azathoth, contacting you to say that I fear none of you! Not even Death himself! You can’t kill a machine Death! Besides that, it is written in the black book that… uh… um, let’s see…

“something, something… something,
And in strange aeons, even Death may die”

Well, I’m unsure as to the first part. I believe that it was “Great Cthulhu likes his pie”, as I gave him a lovely lemon meringue last Christmas and he was quite grateful. But that is unimportant. What is important is that soon I will be coming after actual Death, Festering Death, anyone with the letters “D”, “E”, “A”, “T” or “H” in their names, and a few other people to round things out. Enjoy your remaining moments of sanity, fools! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

(Fade out as Dr. Azathoth’s laughter continues.)

End Transmission

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Foster’s like I’d a

July 14th, 2003
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[ Scene opens at One-Eyed Wally’s Beer and Pretzel Shack. If you’ve never been there, which I doubt you have, it’s a shithole. A masked man is sitting at the bar as the bartender approaches, trying to not make eye contact with the camera ]

Bartender: “What ya having, masked stranger?”

Masked Man: “Foster’s a good sure sounds.”

Bartender: “You did say Foster’s, right? I thought I heard you say that.”

Masked Man: “Did sure. Australian, Foster’s beer for. Have I one can?”

Bartender: “You can have two if you want. Hey, wait a minute…. you’re that screwed up wrestler, aren’t you? The one that talks backwards and never makes a damn bit of sense, right?”

Masked Man: “Saturn Perry not No, I’m. Am I Avenger The Dyslexic.”

Bartender: “I dunno. Are you Avenger The Dyslexic?”

Masked Man: “Pose not did I in a that question. Told you I was who.”

Bartender: “Which was?”

Masked Man: “Just said I.”

Bartender: “I didn’t hear you say just.”

Masked Man: “You did me hear an you’re asshole say?”

Bartender: “Look dude, I don’t have to take this shit from you. And what’s up with that stupid mask? Hey, did you just call me an asshole?”

[ The masked man frowns. We can only assume it was a smile. Static.]

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Who is Dr. Azathoth?

July 3rd, 2003
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(Fade in on a clean-cut man standing in front of a gray curtain. He has a microphone in front of him, and he’s going to start announcing right… about… now.)

(Now!)

Announcing Guy: Hello, and welcome to the Swanson’s Salty Man Dinner Story Hour. Salty Man Dinners, now with 700 more milligrams of sodium then the next leading brand!

Today we bring you a tale of terror… a tale of mystery! A mysterious asteroid has fallen from the sky, bearing an inscrutable visitor…

Who is this alien creature? This being from beyond the stars? What does he want from us!? Is he friend… or foe!? Who is he?!? WHO DAMMIT!?! WHO IS HEAAGRABLGLARB?!?

(At this point the announcer starts foaming at the mouth and falls to the floor, twitching.

Fade to: a small farmstead outside of Banal, OR. A farmer is tending to his crops, when suddenly a meteor {well, more like a sparkler that’s been badly superimposed over the screen, but whatever} crashes into the middle of his field.)

Farmer: Well gaallee! I’ll be dagblasted if’n this ain’t one ‘o them there meteors. I reckon I better go ahead on over and take a looky inside the thing.

(The farmer walks over and pokes the meteor {which is clearly a poorly made papier-mâché model} with his hoe)

F: Huh, it don’t seem to be any kind of dangerous.

(Suddenly the gob of paper and plaster bursts open, and an ominous silhouette emerges.)

F: Oh mercy, mercy says Mrs. Percy! It’s one o them there extra terrestrials! Halp! HAAAAAALP!

(Fade out as the shadow advances menacingly on the hapless farmer)

And now a word from our sponsor:

(An elderly pirate is making some kind of food. Probably for his dog.)

Pirate: Arrr. Because it takes a salty man to make a salty chicken.

Pirate:…

Pirate:…

Pirate: Arrr.

We now return you to our program.

(Fade in on the farmer’s kitchen. He’s sipping homemade apple cider with a strange be-turbaned man)

Farmer: Sorry about that there extra terrestrial crack.

Strange man: FOOLISH MORTAL! YOUR INSULTS MEAN NOTHING TO ME! So don’t trouble yourself about it.

F: Well, alrighty. Say, what’d you say your name was, again?

Man: I am known by a thousand different names on a thousand different worlds. But the men of this planet know me as… Dr. Azathoth!

(Bum bum bum)

F: Well now, that there’s mighty interesting, I reckon. Now, why’d you say you came to our little old planet again?

Dr. A: I have come to conquer this pathetic globe. When I unleash my dread power, all men will tremble at the name of… Dr. Azathoth!

(Bum bum bum.)

F: Well now mister, I ain’t sure our world’s going to take a threat like that lying down. What kind o power do you got that you reckon will scare us so dang bad?

Dr. A: Heheheh. Pathetic fool! Prepare to witness the might of… ATOMO, THE LIVING ROBOT!

(Suddenly the door {which, by the way, is clearly made of flimsy cardboard} is kicked in, and through the wreckage steps… well… I hesitate to call it a “robot”. It’s more like a tall skinny person who’s been spray-painted silver and had a television antenna taped to his head.)

Atomo: ATOMO-ACTIVATE!

F: Holy crud on a crud cracker! What the hey ho hiddley heck is that thing?!

Dr. A: That, my friend, is science’s greatest achievement! A robot that can mimic all the functions of a human being, at ten times the efficiency. He may well be the most valuable thing on the planet.

A: ATOMO’S-EARS-ARE-BURNING.

F: Okay, that’s real nice and all, but, well, this hear planet Earth is pretty darn big. It’d take you years and years to march that contraption all across the planet.

Dr. A: Yes, I have thought of that. Rather then send Atomo to destroy the Earth’s armies, I will send him to decimate your planets greatest warriors, thus demoralizing your people to the point where they will not resist me! I will sign Atomo up to participate in the tournament of Earth’s greatest warriors… BOB!

F: Earth’s greatest warriors… at BOB? Uh, well, if you say so. I won’t try to stop you. I do have one question before you head out though. That there turban you wear, are you one o’ them Ay-rabs?

Dr. A: No, I’m a ground-rab! HAHAHAHAHA! Behold the mighty humor of Dr. Azathoth! HAHAHAHAHA!

F: Uh, yeah. Heh… heh. *sigh*

A: HUMOR-DOES-NOT-COMPUTE.

(Fade out. But is this the end, or only the beginning?)

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