Archive

Archive for September, 2003

Pre-PPV Hype!

September 18th, 2003
Comments Off on Pre-PPV Hype!

[FADE UP on a crumbling, cheesy amusement park. An ultra-cheery, though unseen choir sings:]

SUPERWACKYFUNLAND!
SUPERWACKYFUNLAND!
We’ll satisfy your every whim!
So please don’t sue if you lose a limb,
At SUP-ER-WACK-Y-FUN-LANDDDDD!

Dennis: Gosh, hello! Under-utilised roving reporter Dennis, here! I’m here at SUPERWACKYFUNLAND to interview Coma, the chap who’ll be booking our next big Pay-Per-View! Let’s go have a chinwag with him, what?

Unseen Crowd: WHAT?

Dennis: Pardon?

Unseen Crowd: WHAT?

[Cut to Dennis and Coma riding a boat shaped like a swan.]

Dennis: Coma, many people think the idea of you booking a major wrestling event is on a par with Saddam Hussain running for Governor in the State of California. How would you respond?

Coma: With slight sarcasm and a silly noise. Well, Duhhhhhh. Narf!

[The swan drifts into a tunnel. The camera pans upwards, revealling a sign above it.]

Sign: TUNNEL OF LOVE (Sponsered by Enron)

Dennis’s Voice: I say, that’s my wallet! Give that back! Somebody call a bobby!

Caption: 23 MINUTES LATER

[Coma and Dennis are standing outside the “SUPERWACKYFUNLAND HOUSE OF CHEESY PANCAKES” resturant. (Try the Double-Cream Camembert Crepes! They’re SUPERCHEESaRIFFIC!(tm))]

Dennis: So, Coma old chap, what can we expect to see on your Pay-Per-View?

Coma: Exploding pineapples! Celebrity produce! Jugglers, fire-eaters and Spam Sculptures! FLAMING DEATH! And lots, lots less! Walumba!

Dennis: Gosh!

[There’s a small, though violent explosion from inside the resturant. A man runs out, the back of his jacket aflame. He’s persued by a chef holding a cast-iron pan.]

Chef: What, you don’t LIKE flambed crepes anymore? And I slaved away in the kitchen for you! Deadbeat!

[Cut to Coma and Dennis standing in a massive line. Behind them is a gaudy (And somewhat faded and peeling) painting advertising “The Decapitator”. The occasional “WHUNK!” and cut-off scream emenates from behind the wall.]

Dennis: So, let’s talk about the Main Event! Who’s going to to get their chance at the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS!

[Mark Shill runs into shot.]

MS: THE GREATEST WORLD TITLE IN THE HISTORY OF WORLD TITLES!

Dennis: Oh, bugger off Mark! Coma?

Coma: I think tat question can best be answered by my Designated Spokesman. Take it away, you high-falutin’ horn-tootin’ party monster, you! Poink!

StreetMime2K3: ” !”

Dennis: Good Lord, really?

StreetMime2K3: ” !”

Dennis: Should be a good show then! I’ll be tuning in… hope you will be too!

Guy in Line: Who, me?

Dennis: No, them! (Points at the camera)

Unseen Crowd: WHO?

Dennis: What?

Unseen Crowd: WHAT?

Coma: Poink!

Unseen Crowd: NARF!

Unseen Crow: CAW!

Dennis: Oh, this is too silly for words. Fade out, Clive…

[He does so.]

========
THE COMA PROMO starred

COMA: Himself
DENNIS: Himself
STREETMIME2K3: StreetMime
MARK SHILL: George Clooney (Mark had the ‘flu)
SUPERWACKYFUNLAND CHEF: Floyd J. Sutterhouse
MAN ON FIRE: Insano Mano
MAN IN LINE: John Leary
UNSEEN CROWD: The Mromon Tabernacle Choir

SCRIPT: Some Schmuck From New Zealand
DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY: Clive
PRODUCED BY: Placing fingers on a computer keyboard and moving them in a random fashion.
DIRECTED BY: Peter Jackson

“Poink” is a registered trademark of Comas Brain.
SUPERWACKYFUNLAND is a subsiduary of SUPERWACKYFUNSTUFFCO. All rights reserved.
(C) YOur moMS A GreAT bIg HAmStER pRoDuctIONs 2003

I like cheese

rant , , , , , , , , ,

DIE.

September 17th, 2003
Comments Off on DIE.

=<>: HELLO, BOB ROSTER. ALL THREE OF YOU.

=C]: TODAY, WE’RE HERE TO GIVE YOU ALL A LIST OF PEOPLE THAT WE… FESTERING DEATH… PLAN TO KILL AND RAPE IN OUR BOB FUTURE.

(If I have to say “in that exact order” for you people, you don’t read enough Festering Death segments.)

=<>: NOW, OF COURSE, IT IS OUR MISSION TO CONTINUE OUR NO-SELLING, OUR KILLING SPREE, OUR RAPING SPREE, AND THE HOGGING OF TAG TITLES ALONG THE WAY. SO, ON THAT NOTE, HERE ARE A LIST OF PEOPLE WE ARE PLANNING TO HORRIBLY SLAUGHTER IN A SPRAY OF BLOOD, AND PREFERABLY IN FRONT OF A LOT OF PEOPLE SO THAT THEY CAN ALL SIMULTANEOUSLY THROW UP.

=C]: AT THE TOP OF OUR LIST IS BILLY POLAR. WE HERE IN FESTERING DEATH DESPISE PEOPLE NAMED BILLY WITH EVERY OUNCE OF OUR BLACKENED SOULS, SO I GUESS IT’S TOUGH LUCK FOR THE HOLDER OF THE ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS. NOW THEN, SPACEDUCK, PLEASE SPIN THE WHEEL OF RAPE AND CHOOSE A DEATH FOR THIS FUCKER.

(Round and round she goes, where it stops… we hope it doesn’t.)

=<>: AND IT LOOKS LIKE THE EVER-POPULAR “DEATH BY HANSON MUGGING” IS TODAY’S WINNER FOR MR. POLAR.

=C]: I WOULDN’T WANT TO DIE FROM THAT.

=<>: NO, I WOULDN’T EITHER.

=C]: NEXT ON OUR LIST IS, OF COURSE, ATOMOS. WE DON’T LIKE THIS GUY BECAUSE HE’S A ROBOT, AND ROBOTS ARE NOTORIOUSLY GAY. AND SINCE WE’RE VERY RACIST AGAINST EVERYBODY THAT ISN’T A SMILEY OR OBSESSED WITH WRONG-DOING LIKE WE ARE, YOU SUCK.

=<>: SO, NOW IS THE TIME TO SPIN THE WHEEL OF RAPE.

(And round it goes, again, and where it stops… OH JESUS CHRIST!)

=<>: OOH. ATOMOS, YOU ARE GOING TO BE GANGRAPED BY A BUNCH OF SEXUALLY DEPRIVED GIANT FIRE ANTS BEFORE YOU ARE SLOWLY DIPPED UPSIDE-DOWN IN A VAT OF NITRIC ACID. HAVE FUN.

=C]: NOW, NEXT UP ARE A BUNCH OF PEOPLE WHO ARE ON OUR LIST ON GENERAL PRINCIPLE. FIRST OF ALL, BIGBOSS.

=<>: BIGBOSS, HERE IS YOUR DESTINY, COURTESY OF THE WHEEL OF RAPE!

(Good lord, someone get rid of this Wheel of Rape already.)

=<>: IT LOOKS LIKE BIGBOSS IS GOING TO BE TURNED INTO A VIETNAMESE HOOKER BY THE DETACHED NARRATOR AND THEN GET BEATEN TO DEATH BY A RUSSIAN PIMP.

=C]: THAT’S NOT SO BAD.

=<>: …IF YOU’RE THE PIMP.

=C]: TOUCHE.

=<>: NEXT ON OUR LIST, ON GENERAL PRINCIPLE, IS SARAH THE JOBBER SLAYER AND HER MISFITS. YOU’RE ALL A BUNCH OF MORONS. ESPECIALLY LITTLE GOOD. I HOPE DEATH COMES BY AND PLAYS TAG WITH YOU MORONS.

=C]: AND, HELL, WE HATE THE ENTIRE BOB ROSTER. WE WANT TO SHOVE A STRAW THROUGH DOVE’S BRAIN AND DRINK IT LIKE A GRAY SLUSHIE. WE WANT TO BEAT THE STREETMIME UNTIL HIS INTESTINES SPILL OUT WITH THE “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FRICKIN’ MIND” HARDCORE TITLE BELT. WE WANT TO SHOVE THE UNDIETAKER’S HANDIS UP THE FAKE UNDIETAKER’S ASS, AND THEN KILL THE REAL UNDIETAKER… AGAIN.

=<>: AND THAT’S BEING NICE!

=C]: SO, ANYWAY, THERE WAS A POINT TO THIS, BUT I SUPPOSE “FUCK YOU, BOB” WILL WORK FOR THE TIME BEING.

(End.)

rant , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

More Stuff.

September 9th, 2003
Comments Off on More Stuff.

AtomoTron online
Run “Omega_Hack.exe”
Working.
Working..
Working…
Comm. system override successful
Load segment “Sunday”

(Sunday. 10:00 AM. Dr. Azathoth and Framer Brown are sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying their after-church tea.)

Dr. Azathoth: That was a good sermon today. Very perceptive and strong, without being dogmatic.

Farmer Brown: Yep, I reckon I agree with you. All those lighning strikes and gail force winds were a little distracting, though. Funny, the almanac said it would be a clear day today. I wonder what happened.

Dr. A: I haven’t the foggiest. Well, I suppose I should get something done today… let’s take a look at the ol’ “to-do” list.

(Dr. A pulls a crumpled piece of notebook paper out of his pocket.)

Dr. A: Let’s see… Challenge Spacedork, did that;

Atomo: I-HATE-YOU.

Dr. A: Send Atomo to carwash for inter-colonic meta-irrigation, did that;

A: I-REALLY-HATE-YOU.

Dr. A: Ah, here’s one, “Dis” Peter Table. Yes, it’s been a while since we did that. I think that I’ll have you do it this time, Atomo. I want to test-out the PHAT module I just installed. I’ll just put up this broken mirror, so people can see you…

FB: Is that the door to my medicine cabinet?

Dr. A: Grr… I grow tired of your constant interuptuions, human. Atomo, commence dissing! Target… Farmer Brown!

A: TARGET-AQUIRED. “DIS” MODE-ACTIVATED *bzzz…Click!*

A: GREETINGS-TO-YOU-UNIT “FB”, AND-AS-WELL-I-EXPRESS-A-VOCABLE-TO-YOUR-MATERNAL-UNIT. I-HAVE-RECENTLY-ENGAGED-IN-SEXUAL-INTERCOURSE-WITH-SAID-WOMAN-AND-FOUND-HER-MOST-SATISFACTORY. HER-EXPERTISE-MOST-LIKELY-INDICATES-THAT-SHE-HAS-IN-THE-PAST-HAD-MUCH-EXPIERIENCE-IN-THIS-AREA.

FB: Uh… pardon?

Dr. A: Consider yourself “dissed” human. Now leave my sight lest you recieve more of the same!

FB: I’ll just go rinse out our tea-cups. Leave you to whatever in Mictlan ya’ll are doing.

Dr. A: Good. Now, Pleat, prepare yourself for a dissing more mind-blowing then any you have ever expierienced!

A: GREETINGS-ENTITY “Trable”. I-HAVE-ALSO-ENGAGED-IN-SEXUAL-INTERCOURSE-WITH-YOUR-MOTHER-WHICH-IS-UNSURPRISING-AS-I-OFTEN-ENGAGE-IN-SUCH-ACTIVITIES.

THIS-OFFERS-A-STARK-CONTRAST-TO-YOUR-VIRILITY-AS-YOU-HAVE-NOT-ENGAGED-IN-A-SUCCESSFUL-COUPLING-IN-SOME-TIME. THIS-SEEMS-TO-SUGGEST-IMPOTENCE-OR-A-POSSIBLE-MONOGOMOUS-RELATIONSHIP-ENTERED-INTO-WITH-YOUR-HAND. THERE-IS-NOT-SUFFICIENT-DATA-CURRENTLY-TO-DECIDE-EITHER-WAY.

IN-ADDITION-YOUR-PHSYIQUE-IS-REMINISCENT-OF-THE-LATE-GAVIN-McCLOUD-WHO-WAS-NOT-NOTED-FOR-HIS-FEATS-OF-STRENGTH.

ALL-OF-THIS-INDICATES-THAT-THE-CHANCES-OF-YOU-DEFEATING-ATOMO-IN-A-MATCH-ARE-IN-THE-LOW-20%-RANGE. HOWEVER-WE-HAVE-LEFT-OUT-ONE-ELEMENT.

SINCE-YOU-HAVE-PRODIGIOUSLY-INSULTED-ENTITY: Long-AND-HIS-BISEXUAL-LIFE-PARTNER-ENTITY: Fist-IT-IS-VIRTUALLY-CERTAIN-THAT-THEY-WILL-INTERCED-ON-MY-BEHALF-IN-ANY-SCHEDULED-CONFLICT.

THEREFORE-I-SUGGEST-THAT-YOU-FLEE-THIS-AREA-IN-ORDER-TO-AVOID-YOUR-FORTHCOMING-BEATING. END DIS.

Dr. A: See, Treble? you don’t have a prayer…


Bee-otch.

End Transmission

rant , , , , , , ,

IN ALL CAPS SUBJECT OF DESPAIR.

September 6th, 2003
Comments Off on IN ALL CAPS SUBJECT OF DESPAIR.

(Let’s cut the BS introductions out of the way. We join Spaceduck and Spacecop in the middle of something horrible.)

=<>: *STAB!*

=C]: *RAPE!*

=<>: *STAB!*

=C]: *RAPE!*

=<>: *STAB!*

=C]: *RAPE!*

=<>: *STAB!*

=C]: *RAPE!*

(So, let’s come back in an hour.)

=<>: *STAB!*

=C]: *RAPE!*

=<>: *STAB!*

=C]: *RAPE!*

(Oh, for the love of God! You’ve been doing that to the same corpse for the last three hours!)

=<>: WE DIDN’T LIKE HIM.

=C}: STUPID LEONARDO DICAPRIO!

=<>: *STAB!*

=C]: *RAPE!*

(So, what about the challenge directed to you by that guy? I don’t remember his name since I’ve somehow forgotten about it in the time I’ve been trying to rid my thoughts of the image of what you’re doing now.)

=<>: CHALLENGE? WHO THE HELL CHALLENGES *US*? I THOUGHT THAT WE WERE SO MORALLY CORRUPT THAT NOBODY LIKED TO BE IN THE SAME BUILDING AS US.

=C]: THAT WOULD EXPLAIN WHY WE WEREN’T EVEN IN DEPRESSION ON THE LAST SUNDAY MORNING CHLOROFORM TO HOLD THE RAPECAR CHALLENGE.

=<>: WELL, THE BLACK CHARIOT DIDN’T EVEN FIT IN THE GOD DAMN BUILDING!

=C]: I BLAME THE BLOOD OF VIRGINS WE PAINTED THAT THING WITH.

=<>: OKAY, SO, ANYWAY, I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME AND I DON’T PARTICULARLY CARE SINCE I DON’T KNOW ANYONE’S NAMES HERE AND I DON’T BOTHER TO DO THIS THING THAT THEY CALLED “RESEARCH”. MAINLY BECAUSE IT RUINS THE TIME I HAVE DEVOTED TO SLITTING THE THROATS OF CATHOLIC PRIESTS OR WHATEVER IT IS I SEEM TO DO THESE DAYS. SO, FROM THIS POINT FORWARD, THE PERSON THAT ISSUED A CHALLENGE TO US SHALL BE HENCEFORTH KNOWN TO US AS VEDIC.

=C]: THAT SEEMS UNNECESSARILLY CRUEL.

=<>: SHUT THE FUCK UP.

(Beat.)

=<>: ANYWAY, VEDIC, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, BECAUSE I FEEL A STRONG NEED TO CARVE MY VERY NAME INTO YOUR SKULL WITH A SIX INCH KNIFE WHILE SPACECOP RAPES HIS VERY NAME INTO WHATEVER ORIFICE OF YOUR BODY SEEMS MOST CONVIENIENT.

=C]: YEAH, NO WONDER PEOPLE DON’T LIKE US.

=<>: NO, PEOPLE DON’T LIKE US BECAUSE IT’S ALL WE TALK ABOUT.

=C]: GOOD POINT.

(End.)

rant , , , , ,

SMC Commentary, + A Challenge.

September 4th, 2003
Comments Off on SMC Commentary, + A Challenge.

AtomoTron online
Run “Omega_Hack.exe”
Working.
Working..
Working…
Comm. system override successful
Load segment “Song_and_Dance”

(Fade up on Farmer Brown, standing in his living room)

Farmer Brown: Okay, roll that clip we talked about.

Atomo: ROLLING…

Styles: This is the bluest show on television. In the bluest town in the world. Aside from Baghdad.

A: END-CLIP.

FB: Ahem… “One night in Baghdad and the world’s your oyster/The bars are temples but the pearls ain’t free/ There’s a god in every golden cloister/ and if you’re lucky then the god’s a she/ I can feel an angel walking up to me…

(Dr. Azathoth walks in)

Dr. Azathoth: What in Od’s bodkins are you doing with my robot, you freak!? It’s “One night in Bangkok”, not “one night in Baghdad’, you brainless twit. If you’re going to use such sophisticated machinery, you should get things right the first time.

FB: Sorry Doc, but I figured you’ve been living here so long without paying any rent that I was entitled to get something back. By the way, how is it that BOB travels all over the country, but you still seem spend all your time in my house, watching TV?

Dr. A: The eternal mysteries of Dr. Azathoth were not meant to be fathomed by your puny mind, human. Now clear out, I must comment on the latest episode of SMC, in which my greatest creation, Atomo, The Living Robot, was prominently featured. Admittedly, I did not pay much attention to the beginning or end, as I had a soufflé to attend to, but I’m pretty sure that there was something about Violet Panacea eating dozens of hot dogs while standing behind a riot shield. I warn you VP, that neither hiding behind your pathetic human technology, nor becoming morbidly obese, will shield you from my wrath. So don’t even try.

I did manage to catch that appalling NASCAR match, and I have to say that it heartens me to see that there are still such horrible abominations residing in the bowels of this pathetic planet. Festering Death, I salute you.

FB: Oh, that reminds me, you got a package in the mail today, Doc. I’ll go gets it.

Dr. A: Do what you will, but remember, it will not spare you when the time comes, pathetic one

FB: Okey-dokey.

Dr. A: On another note, that alien was once one of my closet friends. Blorgthon the Horror, we called him. Poor fool got hit on the head with a mortar shot in the Eternium Wars, hasn’t been the same since. We don’t talk about the puppet or that unidentified thing he wears on his head, but we’re seriously considering putting him in an institute.

(Farmer B returns, carrying a medium sized square package, which is surrounded by flies, and seems to be leaking some kind of fluid from the seams.)

FB: Hooweee! This thing stinks more then skunk stuck in the toilet of a paper mill! How do you find these people, Doc?

Dr. A: Never mind that, where’s it from?

FB: It’s been forwarded a bunch of times… Uh… Albequerque, Miami, Innsmouth, the Zoog Nebula, The Nether-Dimension of Sathrak… Ah, it’s from Japan, originally. It came with a letter, too.

Dr. A: Dictate it to me, Earth-monkey, for I have not the eye juice to waste deciphering those chicken scratchings you jokingly call “Writing”.

(Farmer Brown rips open the envelope and unfolds the letter. The paper is yellowed, brittle, and covered with all manner of stains, some identifiable, some not, and some I don’t even want to think about. Farmer Brown takes out his reading glasses and begins)

FB: “Dearest Father,

It is your “Daughter”, writing you to break the silence of the past few decades. I am glad to hear that you’ve returned from your excursion in Sathrak. It must have been absolutely dreadful for you. I’d have called to console you, but you neglected to give me your number.

Still, though, I’ve watched your exploits on the TV (Since you’ve been interrupting worldwide broadcasts I haven’t had much choice). My “Brother” has been pathetic, much as I’d expect from one of your creations, but watching that show has given me the chance to observe that Hercules of the gridiron, Spaceduck. I could meditate on his physique for days… The way those two dots shine in the sunlight… the perfect alignment between the less-then and greater-then symbols… the sight of fresh blood glistening on his tanned body… the sight of his absurdly long-

Dr. A: GREAT CTHULHU, STOP READING!

FB:Wait, it still goes on… lessee… oh great googly-moogly! How can she… OH DEAR LORD! I’M GOING TO VOMIT FROM EVERY ORIFICE!

(Farmer Brown runs to the bathroom as fast as his legs can carry him, tossing the package to Dr. Azathoth)

Dr. A: Hmm, it says, “Open this and I’ll rip your face off. For Spaceduck only”. Huh. Atomo, scan the interior of this package… And if you make a joke about my genitalia like last time I’ll have you crushed into a cube.

Atomo: SCANNING…

CONTENTS-APPEAR-TO-CONSIST-OF-ONE (1) HUMAN-HEAD. IDENTITY-SEARCH… COMPLETE. IDENTITY: Yu-Gi-Oh.

Dr. A: Figures. She always did hate cartoons.

A:…

Dr. A: Yep…

A: PRETTY-MUCH.

Dr. A: Brainstorm! I’ve figured out a way to solve two problems at once. I can get us a high profile match, AND, get rid of my failed creation once and for all.

So: Festering Death, I challenge you to a “Winner Gets My Not-So-Perfect Robot Woman” Match! That’s right! If you win, you’ll get an endless supply of severed body parts that are undoubtedly winging there way here (via FedEx) even as we speak. If Atomo wins, I get to spend several more decades in my own personal hell!

Seriously, guys, I’m begging you to take the match. One unspeakable abomination to another.

A: ERROR: TWO-OTHERS.

Dr. A: A night spent patching up stab wounds and cleaning dried semen off Atomo’s motherboard is a small price to pay to finally get that harpy off my back.

A: THIS-UNIT-IS-HAVING-RESERVATIONS…

Dr. A: That thing I said about crushing you wasn’t a joke, Atomo. This is very important. Besides, Spaceduck, I bet you could use a girlfriend. Your house is probably a mess. So… Yeah.

A: THIS-UNIT-IS-FRIGHTENED

End Transmission

rant , , , , , , , ,