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Nowhere in Particular

May 25th, 2004
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*The Ford Taurus is still driving around in the middle of nowhere (seriously, there’s a sign and everything), Mr. Paradox in the passenger seat and the driving cloak still at the wheel. The back-seat cloak has woken up, and is holding a map.*

Paradox: So, you mean we’re COMPLETELY lost?

Map Cloak: (Something indecipherable and Japanese)

Paradox: I knew I should have dismissed you when you ran out of quotes. Just be glad I speak babble. Drat… No wonder I missed SMC13.

Driving Cloak: Hey, what’s that ahead?

Paradox: *He tilts his hat up, revealing the horns again.* I think it’s a pick-up truck. Mayhap we can get directions?

*The Taurus pulls up alongside the truck, revealing that the truck’s driver is a green-skinned mockery of a man.*

Paradox: Yivvle Mindmelder! Who’dve thought you would be driving around out here?

Yivvle: M. Paradox! What’re you doing out here?

Paradox: My map-guy cannot read maps to save his life. You?

Yivvle: After the Guaxus Galaxy collapsed, I got a courier job. I’m delivering medical waste to the Patriots group.

Paradox: Very good. Now, can you give us directions to SMC14?

Yivvle: Down the road until you hit Roswell and then through the dimensional void.

Paradox: Thanks, Yivvle.

*The Taurus pulls back and Paradox lowers his hat.*

Paradox: Do you think Helga liked that gift I threw her?

Driving Cloak: Like I said, I’m never sure when it comes to robots.

Paradox: Maybe I should’ve added that Shippo thing’s head to the package. And perhaps trying to do poetry was a mistake… Cripes, how do you court an evil, heartless monster?

Map Cloak: (Something indecipherable and Japanese)

Paradox: Good point, CATS. Good point.

*The car drives off into the distance.*

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Watch this, Frankie.

May 20th, 2004
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Hello folks, it’s me, Orbapakopolis, showing you the interior of Farmer Brown’s lovely house. Dr. Azathoth is slumped over in an easy chair. It looks like he hasn’t bathed or shaved in several days. Atomo walks in.

Atomo: WHAT-TROUBLES-YOU-MASTER? MASTER-HAS-NOT-LEFT-THIS-CHAIR-IN-NEARLY- 7 days, 16 hrs, 34 mins. 24 sec… 25 sec… 26 sec…

Dr. Azathoth: Oh be silent, you clattering… guy. It’s just not worth it anymore. It’s clear that my skills as a manager are sub-par at best. I mean, I work on a robot for years, and then he’s outclassed by a decade old washing machine.

A: I-BELIEVE-UNIT-5-IS-ACTUALLY-CLOSER-TO-25-YEARS-OF-AGE.

Dr. A: By Oshtar’s leg hair, this sucks. No, I’m better off just sitting here and watching this primitive earth device they so laughably call a “television”.

A: WHAT-WILL-THIS-UNIT-DO-WITHOUT-ITS-MASTER?

Dr. A: Oh, come on, you obviously were doing fine with that corn-fed earth-hick.

Suddenly, Farmer Brown walks by.

FB: Uh, hey Doc, there’s a buncha packages out there fer ya, if’n ya wannna go get ‘em.

Dr. A: What, did Helga send me more severed heads? Just throw them on the pile.

FB: Actually, I don’t reckon there’re any body part in these here particular packages. They ain’t got the flies or the stench. Oh, and they gots these real purty address labels, not like them ones in crayon you usually get.

Dr. A: Oh, fine, I’ll take a look.

Azathoth walks outside. Suddenly we hear a squeal of delight, and Azathoth comes rushing back in, arms full of large packages.

Dr. A: My laboratory kit has finally arrived! I’ve had enough of living in this backwards dustbowl, so I ordered a variety of the most high-tech equipment available. I’ll forgive you for challenging Franklin without my permission, Atomo, as it will give me a chance to work with some of this equipment. We’ll make your first title defense a night to remember!

About an hour later, in Farmer Brown’s guest room…

Dr. A: Okay final equipment check, Atomo. Beakers filled with colored liquid?

A: CHECK.

Dr. A: Are they filled with dry ice and connected by improperly set up tubes?

A: CHECK.

Dr. A: Oscilloscope?

A: CHECK.

Dr. A: And it seems to be displaying a sine wave, that’s good. Tesla coil?

A: CHECK.

Dr. A: Automatic Billion Bubble Machine?

A: CHECK.

Atomo turns on a piece of equipment, which immediately starts producing dozens of soap bubbles

Dr. A: Severed head?

Jan in the Pan: I told you to let me die…

A: CHECK.

Dr. A: Oscillation Overthruster?

A: CHECK.

Dr. A: Okay then. Let’s get-

Suddenly, Farmer Brown walks in.

FB: Hey doc, what was the deal with alla that stuff you got earlier?

Dr. A: Well, peon, I’ve been feeling like lately I’ve been focusing too much on the ‘Azathoth’ and not enough on the ‘Doctor’. I am, after all, a scientist, so I thought I’d make some improvements to Atomo in preparation for his upcoming sortie with Franklin the clown.

FB: Hey, that’s great. Well, I was just getting the laundry, so I won’t interrupt your little-

Dr. A: STAY MORTAL! Stay and witness scientific history in the making! You, you will be able to say that you were on the scene of the invention of the most incredible weapon since the atomic bomb!

FB: Um… No, thanks.

Dr. A: FINE! But don’t expect me to share any of the Nobel Prize money!

Well, in any case, at least this historic moment is being broadcast across the country. Yes, wrestling fans! While most of your scientific knowledge is limited to the engineering principles involved in the “Foam Dome”, today you will witness the frontiers of modern technology! Watch, and be in awe!

A: UNESSENTIAL-SYSTEMS-DEACTIVATED. READY-TO-BEGIN.

Dr. A: Excellent. First, we shall improve your limber…nis…ity. With these!

Azathoth brandishes what appear to be shock absorbers from a 1952 Ford pickup truck. He proceeds to open up Atomo’s arms and remove the interior bones, replacing them with the shock absorbers. It’s interesting to note that we never see a full shot of Atomo with any open compartments, there’re just close-ups of his arms.

Dr. A: Next, the heart! The human heart, even pumping at its strongest, can never match the power of this…1952 V8 ENGINE FROM OUT OF A FORD!

Dr. A: Now that we’ve installed the basics, it’s time to set up a couple of surprises for old Francois. First off, a shank. For stabbin’. More importantly, this: THE NEGATIVE RAY!

(Azathoth holds up something that appears to have been fashioned from a flashlight, several wires, and an old spark plug. You know, I’m starting to sense a pattern here…)

Dr. A: Yes, with this you will be able to harness the fantastic power of the atom to polarize a thin stream of ions, thus reducing your enemies to ash! BWAHAHAHA!

Now, lastly, you will need a protective covering of living tissue to survive the temporal vortex. So go behind that changing curtain and put on the special suit I made you.

Atomo goes behind the curtain, and when he comes out he is dressed in a Marti Gras style costume designed to look like famed restaurant mascot, Big Boy. His head can be seen peeking out of the mouth of the costume’s gargantuan head.

Dr. A: Excellent. You are now prepared for anything! Nothing can stop us now!

FB (From offscreen): Hey, doc, I don’t got any detergent, so I’m just going to mosey on down to the store… FUCK A DUCK! Azathoth! What the hell did you do to my truck?! When I get my hands on you, I’m gonna string you up like a marionette!

Dr. A: Ah, fortunately I had the foresight to lock the earth-door.

Farmer Brown begins to pound on the door like a banshee working for the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Dr. Azathoth walks up to the sturdy door and pats it.

Dr. A: He’ll never get through there.

Well, something happens, anyway. We were going to rip off the movie “The Brain/Head That Wouldn’t Die”, but we couldn’t find the right quotes. Anyway, Farmer Brown, with Jan’s psychic help, busts through the door and pretty much tears Dr. Azathoth’s arm off. The doc proceeds to stagger around the room for a very lengthy time, getting blood all over every available surface. Meanwhile, Atomo glares into the camera.

A: UNIT: FRANCIS. THE-TIME-IS-COMING-SOONER-THEN-YOU-THINK. MY-INTERNAL-CLOCK-WILL-FAITHFULLY-COUNT-THE-MINUTES-UNTIL-THEN.

End Transmission

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THANKS, DUDE!

May 19th, 2004

Two days after blowin’ up the fucker’s house, The Big Unit hurls a perfecto! Thanks, Paracox! The D-Backs are rollin’, you jerkweed!

GAME DAY RECAP Tuesday, May 18

Johnson K’s 13 in perfect effort

RECAP | BOX SCORE | GAME LOG | PHOTOS

ATLANTA (AP) — Randy Johnson had pretty much done it all — Cy Young Awards, a no-hitter, strikeout records, a World Series championship. Only one thing was missing in his brilliant career, that rarest of pitching feats.

At the ripe ol’ age of 40, the Big Unit took care of that, too.

Johnson became the oldest pitcher in major league history to throw a perfect game, retiring all 27 hitters to lead the Arizona Diamondbacks over the Atlanta Braves 2-0 Tuesday night.

“A game like this was pretty special,” said Johnson, a five-time Cy Young Award winner. “It doesn’t come along very often.”

It was the 17th perfect game in major league history, the 15th since the modern era began in 1900 and the first since the New York Yankees’ David Cone against Montreal on July 18, 1999.

“Everything he’s done up to this point pales in comparison,” Arizona manager Bob Brenly said.
Johnson struck out 13 and went to three balls on just one hitter — Johnny Estrada in the second inning. Estrada fouled off three straight 3-2 pitches before going down swinging.

Hey, man… do this again at the pennant race, I’ll send you the address when he re-builds! Ya dig?

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A kind message back to sWo

May 16th, 2004

~~~Somewhere in Phoenix, Az, in a big fucking house that’s way bigger than any house any of you mucks will ever live in, we fade in to a tanned individual relaxing on his black, leather sectional. He’s muscular, oh yeah… and he’s soon joined by two hot bitches. Bitch #1 is a fiery redhead- she looks like Cindy Crawford with a touch of Sarah Michelle Gellar, a pinch of Angie Everhart, and a smidge of some other chick that I’ve forgotten since it’s been so long since I’ve done one of these. Her name is Connie Lingus. Bitch #2 is a dirty blonde… meaning her hair is black rooted from a overdo dye job, not that her body is dirty. Ok, her body is a little dirty. She looks like the result of Tara Reid and Reese Witherspoon having lesbian sex and having a daughter. Her name is Jizzabelle Cummings. This can only mean one thing. Yes, the man on the couch is none other than Steve Studnuts.

Steve’s wearing black, Addidas jogging pants with the three white stripes running all the way from hip to ankle. He’s shirtless, showing off his Scott Hall looking chest. Connie is wearing just enough to cover her nipples and beaver, use your imagination. Jizz is wearing less than that~~~

Studs: Okay, fuckers. I see that some second rate douche bags have been challenging the iAd. Forgive me for not responding sooner, I’ve been busy fuckin’. Ya dig?

Connie: You have? Where was I?

Studs: I dunno. I said I was busy fuckin’, not busy fuckin’ you.

Connie: Oh…. You’re such a kidder, Steve.

Studs: Yep, that’s me (shifts nervously) Always kiddin’ and fuckin’ around. I mean…. off. Pffft.
ANY-way, who the fuck is this sWo? Jizz? Got any info on these fuckity fucks?

Jizzabelle: Nope. Sorry, Steve… I thought Felecia was handling the scouting stuff.

Studs: Narrator fucker, take it away….

[ Felecia Felatio, Steve’s half Italian/half African American, personal interview gal that looks like a mix of Vanessa Williams and Beyonce Knowles. Runs errands. Does interviews with Steve, duh. Some camera work, but not with Sir Hungalot. ]

Studs: Dudes, narrator just mentioned that fucker, Hungalot. Did you guys see that shitty ass film he just did?

Connie: Nope.

Jizz: Un-ah.

Studs: The Devil Went Down On Georgina? GAT-damn that movie sucked! How dumb is it for a guy to have horns on his wang?

Connie: French ticklers kinda have horns…. a lot of little ones. I like…..

Studs: SHUDDAP! I’m talking about two big, fucking devil horns, stupid. Not some little nibs on a gat-damn rubber….
Uhhh, Where was I?

Jizz: Telling us how dumb the movie was…

Studs: Nah, before THAT.

Connie: Getting the narrator to describe Felecia to the newbies?

Studs: No, no… before THAT?

Jizz: Rubbing my cli…..

Studs: NO! Before THAT!

Jizz: What? What’s wrong with cliché?

Studs: Oh yeah, like I can rub a cliché. Promo dude, run this fucker back so I can figure out what I was talking about…

~~~Somewhere in Phoenix, Az, in a big fucking house that’s way bigger than any house any of you mucks will ever live in, we fade in to a tanned individual relaxing on his black, leather sectional. He’s muscular, oh yeah… and he’s soon joined by two hot bitches. Bitch #1 is a fiery redhead- she looks like Cindy Crawford with a touch of Sarah Michelle Gellar, a pinch of Angie Everhart, and a smidge of some other chick that I’ve forgotten since it’s been so long since I’ve done one of these. Her name is Connie Lingus. Bitch #2 is a dirty blonde… meaning her hair is black rooted from a overdo dye job, not that her body is dirty. Ok, her body is a little dirty. She looks like the result of Tara Reid and Reese Witherspoon having lesbian sex and having a daughter. Her name is Jizzabelle Cummings. This can only mean one thing. Yes, the man on the couch is none other than Steve Studnuts.

Steve’s wearing black, Addidas jogging pants with the three white stripes running all the way from hip to ankle. He’s shirtless, showing off his Scott Hall looking chest. Connie is wearing just enough to cover her nipples and beaver, use your imagination. Jizz is wearing less than that~~~

Studs: Okay, fuckers. I see that some second rate douche bags have been challenging the iAd. Forgive me for not responding sooner, I’ve been busy fuckin’. Ya dig?

Connie: You have? Where was I?

Studs: I dunno. I said I was busy fuckin’, not busy fuckin’ you.

Connie: Oh…. You’re such a kidder, Steve.

Studs: Yep, that’s me (shifts nervously) Always kiddin’ and fuckin’ around. I mean…. off. Pffft.
ANY-way, who the fuck is this sWo? Jizz? Got any info on these fuckity fucks?

Jizzabelle: Nope. Sorry, Steve… I thought Felecia was handling the scouting stuff.

Studs: That’s good a gat-damn ‘nough. sWo fuckers, you guys want to call US out? Trey Vincent? Seth Harker? ME? The iAd?!

You guys are some dumb mother fuckers. No, seriously. You guys just fuckin’ opened a big fuckin’ can of gettin’ fucked up. THAT’S A FACT.

So we’ll see your fuckin’ asses at SMC 13, and then we’ll be fuckin’ your fuckin’ asses up. Ya dig? Fuckers.

Connie: Steve, could you tone down the swearing a little bit. I mean, kids and all, ya know?

Studs: Fuck ‘em. There are titties on the gat-damn home page for cryin’ out fuckin’ loud.
End this shit, I gotta piss.

~~~Cut to static~~~

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Re: A Message to the iAd…

May 8th, 2004
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[And now, a moment with Trey Vincent.]

TV: *Ahem* Fuck you.

[This has been a moment with Trey Vincent.]

TV: Hold on. You forgot to ask me the question.

[Oh, right. What do you think of the sWo?]

TV: Who?

[The sWo?]

TV: Never heard of them. Listen jackfucks, the only thing you need to know is that TV is life and the sWo is just another program that I’m gonna cancel. As for now, I need to go find Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie and have myself a blonde sandwich.

[This has been a pointless moment with Trey Vincent. You’re welcome.]

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