Archive

Posts Tagged ‘dr. azathoth’

Back From The Nether Realms!

April 8th, 2005
Comments Off on Back From The Nether Realms!

Atomo the Living Robot

[Orbopticon online… yo. I’m in the hizzy. Busy in the hizzy. With the snizzy. I don’t know, I can only thing of so many start-up messages to display.

Anyway, Dr. Azathoth is standing inside Farmer Brown’s Barn. He’s set up all kinds of futuristic equipment, like a tesla coil and an osciliscope and crap like that. Atomo is laying on a big metal slab. Farmer Brown is milking a cow in the background]

Dr. Azathoth: Greetings, plebians! I have recently returned from my incredibly productive visits to anti-space, where I was busy unraveling the mysteries of existence!

Farmer Brown: You weren’t in no anti-space! You spent the last year sitting on mah couch and watching powerpuff girls, and now there’s a big ol person shaped splotch of mold where you sat. Do you ever shower?

Dr. A: Silence, cretin, or I will have Paul Prudhome cook your apendix!

FB: Damn mold stinks to high heaven too…

Dr. A: In any event, I have returned from my hiatus, and Atomo and I are ready to wreak untold havoc in BOB! Yes, Atomo has already won the Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer title, but that’s just the first step on road to the top.

Dr. A: And the road to the top shall be strewn with corpses!

FB: I expect you to pay for the steam cleaning.

Dr. A: My stable shall rampage through BOB! You think that the Drudleys, or the iAd, or the Shaggy gang are scary, wait until you see us in action.

Atomo: QUERY: WHAT-HAPPENED-TO-SHAGGY-GANG-UNIT: XANDER? DIDN’T-HE-HAVE-A-SUPERNATURAL-BEING-AT-HIS-DISPOSAL?

Dr. A: Um… I killed him. Yes, that’s it, I subjected him to horrors beyond imagining, as my monstrous medical experiments reduced him to a quivering blob of protoplasm. And I did something bad to the Jinn, too. She… works at IHOP now and forevermore. I guess. I mean I KNOW!

Yes, and soon the whole world will tremble at the terrors unleashed by-

[Farmer Brown has stopped milking to listen, and at this point he comes up and puts his hand on Azathoth’s shoulder]

FB: Awww, I get what’s going on here. You feel eclipsed by your old college room-mate Mr. Zeno.

Dr. A: No, fool-

FB: You’re jealous that he has a hardcore posse, and is getting all the title matches, while Atomo only appears in bathroom break sketches, is that it?

Dr. A: Um…

FB: I know just how you feel. Back when I was a few years outa college, I was living with mah parents tosave money, and I found out mah old roommate Zedadiah had invented a new kind of fertilizer spreading machine.

Yes sir, it sunk me into a funk when I saw him being interviewed on “Farm Report” and all, but I made the best of it.

See, I used that as a springboard to motivate me to achieve mah own goals. And I learned something, Dr. A.

Dr. A: LISTEN CRETIN!

FB: See, I learned that I was happier staying true to my own personality then tryin ta copy Zed. I learned that you can’t measure yourself against others, you can only measure yourself against who you want to be. Ya see what I’m sayin?

Dr. A: If you do not remove your simian paw from my shoulder, we shall turn your skin inside out and feed you to a thousand bees.

FB: Say, another thing I wanted ta ask ya: Who the heck is gonna be in your stable? I mean are you gonna include the smelly chick in the sailor suit? The mexican nerd? The washing machine? The hick farmer? You don’t really seem to actually like most of the people you know.

Dr. A: ENOUGH! You have cemented your place as our first victim!

[At this, Dr. A kicks Atmom off the slab, and shoves Farmer Brown onto it, strapping him down. We fade out as the Doc picks up a large scalpel…]

rant , , , , ,

Watch this, Frankie.

May 20th, 2004
Comments Off on Watch this, Frankie.

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

rant , , , , ,

Mixed Feelings…

April 22nd, 2004
Comments Off on Mixed Feelings…

Go, Orbatron, go Orbatron, go Orbatron GO!

It’s dusk, as Azathoth and company arrive back at the rural farmstead of Farmer Brown, having just returned from March Mayham… Or possibly Mayhem. My spell-checker’s on the fritz. In any case the lot of us have decided to treat ourselves to some of Farmer Brown’s famous Apple Cider, and watch the sunset.

Farmer Brown: Well, that sure was an experience, yes sir.

Dr. Azathoth: Hmmm. I must say I have mixed feelings about the event. On the one hand, I’ll finally have a chance to get back at Violent Pacafist for what he did to me… I mean, US, what he did to us back at Basebrawl. Even beter, we’ll have another title belt to add to our collection.

ATOMO: ARE-WE-100%-CERTAIN-THAT-UNIT: Pop-Up Ads Crashed My Computer title IS-IN-FACT-AN-OFFICIAL-TITLE? NO-ONE-HAS-MENTIONED-IT-SINCE-I-WON. ALSO-I-DON’T-REMEMBER-WHEN-I-WON-IT. PERHAPS-IF-WE-CHALLENGE-SOMEONE-TO-A-TITLE-MATCH-

Dr. A: I don’t think so, Atomo, as I’m none to confident about your abilities right now. Mayhem was the most important event we’ve been in yet, and you were defeated by a slow-moving clown.

ATOMO: UNIT-5-STILL-PULLED-THROUGH-FOR-US, MASTER.

Dr. A: Yes… But I’m not sure how to feel about that. I spent nearly a decade of my life working on you, Atomo, and you were shown up by a used washing machine.

Siiiiiiiigh…

I mean, what’s the point in even being a manager when Wrestlers who don’t even move seem to win the most matches?

Holy cow! Even in the midst of his greatest victory, Dr. Azathoth is in lower spirits then ever! What will happen next? Will Azathoth pull through his depression and get back to managing? Or will he leave BOB? Will his handler get past his writers block and edit this promo, so it has a less abrupt ending? Who knows? Anyway, this is Orbmobot saying

End Transmission.

rant , , , , , , ,

Jumping under the band-wagon

March 9th, 2004
Comments Off on Jumping under the band-wagon

Atomo the Living Robot

I am Orbnauticus. Silence is my wisdom

Atomo: GREETINGS-ORGANIC-UNITS. IT-HAS-COME-TO-THIS-UNIT’S-ATTENTION-THAT-CREATING-A-“STABLE”-IS-THE-ONLY-WAY-TO-TRIUMPH-IN-THE-WRESTLING-WORL D.

A: THEREFORE, ATOMO-HAS-ASSEMBLED-A-CRACK-TEAM-OF-WRESTLERS-TO-AID-IN-DEFEATING-ENEMY-UNITS.

A: UNIT-1!

Cut to a cloaked figure, who stands at about 5’11”, and is completely rectangular. Since he’s the strong silent type, he says nothing and does not move

A: UNIT-2!

Another cloaked figure, standing about 1’5″. It makes a whirring noise and its cloak billows out in a menacing fashion

A: UNIT-3!

Yet another tiny cloaked figure, about the same height as the previous one, but much wider.

Unit 3: BEEP!

A: UNIT-4!

Okay, this one is pretty clearly a chair that has had a cloak drapped over it.

Unit 4: Watcha gonna do *click* Watcha gonna do *click* Watcha gonna do *click* (This continues for the rest of the segment)

A: UNIT-5!

Unit 5 is a 4′ cube. With a cloak, ‘natch.

Unit 5: *rumble rumble rumble*

A: TOGETHER-WE-ARE-[Echoplex]ROBOFORCE![/Echoplex]

A: WE-SHALL-ANNIHILATE-BOB-NEXT-SMC.

Meanwhile, somewhere in limbo…

Dr. Azathoth: Damnation, his “Naming Things Module” is on the fritz again!

rant , , , , , ,

Paradox on Tour

February 18th, 2004
Comments Off on Paradox on Tour

*On a stage before a sold-out crowd, Mr. Paradox (in a ripped, “punk” version of his usual trenchcoat/singlet/boots outfit) is jamming a metal remix of “Vampire Killer” on an electric keytar. Meat-Puppet is thrashing in the mosh pits, out in the crowd. Meanwhile, the hooded figure from before is working the stand-up bass. The song comes to a crashing end as Meat-Puppet is rising-axehandled back onto the stage. Applause fills the arena as Paradox raises his hand in salute to the crowd. As he signals for silence, the applause dies.*

Mr. Paradox: Thank you! It’s great to be here in Cloudydale! You know, this is probably the best place in the world, short of Hot Springs…

*Another round of applause fills the arena before he cues silence.*

Mr. Paradox: I’ve got a few messages to deliver, so if any of you people are listening, now’s the time to pay attention. First, here’s one for Atomo…

*Paradox taps out the first few notes of “Mr. Roboto”, to the crowd’s delight.*

Mr. Paradox: To Atomo: if you’re out there, I can feel your pain, man. It must be most dreadful to constantly be tortured like that, all in the name of defeating Festering Death. Tell you what, man – if Azathoth permits, I’d like to help you with those bastards. What about it? You and me against Festering Death in a “Winner Rapes Loser” match. Hell, it would just wind up a screwjob – no pun intended – anyway, so why not? Now, as for the sWo…

*Now Paradox plays the opening of “I’m Going Slightly Mad”.*

Mr. Paradox: Do you have any idea how stupid you people look, with your silly “I-Wish-We-Were-in-WCW” promos and pointless gimmick? BOB is so large and utterly directionless that attempts to crush it just slide off the surface. We are our own villains, after all. And didn’t I see Hackmaster’s face on a milk carton once? And finally, to Nurse Heidi…

*Taking a deep breath, Paradox proceeds to speed-sing and speed-play “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” in about 12 seconds. The World Records people snort, unimpressed.*

Paradox: Now that I’ve got that out of the way… ladies and gentlemen, this one’s for you!

*The audience goes wild again, as Paradox swings the keytar to his side again and revvs up “Feel So Numb”. Meat-Puppet leaps into the mosh pit again, and we fade out.*

rant , , , , , , , ,

I was in Playgirl.

February 12th, 2004

Dr. A: Greetings, gentle viewers, and hello to you all. There’s been a lot of talk lately about how virile all of you wrestlers are. Apparently those of you with large sexual organs are better able to succeed in combat. I don’t see the connection myself (Unless you plan to illegally garrote your opponent while the ref is not looking), but I’ve just imbibed enough ethanol to kill a bull elephant, so it may be that I’m missing something.

Dr. A: Since my brain is not working entirely correctly at this time, I’ve decided to share with you all a little of my own sexual exploits. I, like apparently all the rest of you, know the pain of having primary sexual characteristics that are too large to fit comfortably within modern garments. Also, sometimes they lash out and kill people, which is always embarrassing. Back in the day, I used to keep them in a lead-lined codpiece, which was better for everybody involved. Sadly today’s modern fashions do not allow such precautions to be taken, which has led to several deaths and an extensive career in pornography. Today, we shall examine that career:

(Dr. Azathoth takes a swig out of a bottle of medicinal alcohol)

Dr. A: Now, you know how these days there are all these animated programs coming out of Japan that feature young women becoming involved romantically with ropy horrors from beyond space? Well, back in the sixties, animation studios had much smaller budgets, making porn production all but impossible. Have you ever seen an episode of Gigantor? They’ve been known to cause cataracts because a person’s eyes will do anything to stop looking at them. Nobody can possibly masturbate to images of such quality, which left the fledgling porn with no choice but to use real actors.

Dr. A: Now, I was in need of quick cash back then, and I had the equipment necessary to star in these films, so I acted in the “Cadmium White” series of films under the nom de plume “Space Beast Gulex”. I was nearly as well known as that time I starred in a series of mid-nineteenth century engravings as “The Dastardly Gentleman”. “Tales of The Dastardly Gentleman and his Adventures in the Swarthy Maidens of the Dark Continent “ was an excellent seller, as I recall, but I digress. My point is that I was famous enough in the late sixties to get my own spread in Playgirl, which I’ve decided to show you here. The censors assure me that since no one could possibly find it erotic, I’m not violating any Standards and Practices. Now I shall have my droid describe it to you since I am not actually on TV, but merely pretending. Also, I’m going to pass out now.

Thank you, Dr. Azathoth. For the coming presentation I will be wearing a mortarboard, because this is a scholarly discussion and I look so darn cute in it.

Before we get started in earnest, I must first comment that Azathoth’s reproductive system is not an organ so much as a separate life-form that bonded with him at some point in the distant past, possibly at a toga party. After years of evolution, it is now part of him, yet it still has it’s own DNA. It has a relationship with him now quite closely resembles that which mitochondria has with human cells.

Moving on: Dr. Azathoth’s genitalia exist in two distinct stages, as is illustrated by the following Playgirl spread. On the left, we see Azathoth’s genitals in their first stage, also known as the “camo” stage. You will note that it superficially resembles the phallus and testicles of a human male, but differs in two important respects. First, size: Azathoth’s phallus appears to be large in both girth and length then the average human beings (This is emphatically NOT an advantage, as we shall se later). Second, it seems to have the texture of a human brain. The reason for this will become apparent momentarily.

Now, we turn our attention to the right side of the spread, where we see Azathoth’s genitals in their more natural state. As you can see, what appeared to be a phallus earlier was in fact a group of four tentacles, tightly coiled together to conserve space and protect the more fragile inner organs. When unwrapped, the four tentacles form a semi-circle below the true sexual organs. Each tentacle is approximately 2.5 centimeters in diameter, and has a reach of over a meter. Each tentacle is tipped with two toothed suckers, the purpose of which has yet to be determined.

Above the tentacles are two sharp bony protrusions. These are barbed, and can be launched a fair distance. In this they closely resemble the modified teeth of an animal known as a “sea-cone”. Don’t worry ladies, upon injection these “bone-hooks” release a local anesthetic, making them relatively painless.

On an unrelated note, we’re almost done with this abomination of a promo, thank god.

Now, Azathoth’s primary sexual organ is a purple tipped mushroom… literally. It releases a cloud of spores and everything. It’s also surrounded by a number of hollow fungoid tubes.

Here’s the part where I would discuss Azathoth’s abominably hairy legs (First lesson: it’s not hair) but this thing is taking forever to do and I’m starting to hate it and myself for doing it. So it’s over now.

Leave.

End Transmission

rant , , , ,

Extensive Therapy

January 31st, 2004
Comments Off on Extensive Therapy

Orbamajig online, broadcasting from somewhere in Hell… Dr. Azathoth lies on a couch. Sigmund Freud takes notes.

Dr. Azathoth: …So then he throws her actions back in my face! I can’t believe that he would go for such a low blow.

Freud: Perhaps he is more perceptive then you believe. Your desire to punish this Parabola fellow for leaving his employer could be the result of your anger at your own creation rebelling, no?

Dr. A: *sigh* Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should work out my own issues before I start wrestling with random people who knew my old college roommate…

Say, Freud, what are you doing down here, anyway?

SF: I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.

Dr A: That’s what everybody says down here.

SF: Well, it’s an obvious joke.

Dr. A: Well, much as I appreciate the gallows humor down here, I really should be getting back to the material plane. I’m worried about how Atomo is doing without me. I sent some of my friends up there to help him out against Festering Death, but it would still make me feel better to know how he’s doing.

SF (Looking directly at the camera): Why don’t we check in on him right now?

Cut To: The irradiated ruins of the Kent State University’s School of Mad And Weird Science. Atomo appears to be standing in the collapsed ruins of the underground particle accelerator, which is cut off completely from the outside world. The only source of light is from Atomo’s Multi-Purpose Utility Belt-Buckle. It’s worth noting that he seems to have developed some kind of tick, as his right lens is fluttering open and shut uncontrollably. It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but he also seems to be caked with a variety of unpleasant substances.

Atomo: ATOMO-ONLINE. INTERNAL-LOG-ENTRY: (Error: Date Software Malfunction)

A: I-HAVE-LOST-ALL-SENSE-OF-TIME. THE-CREATOR-APPARENTLY-FELT-THAT-THIS-UNIT-WAS-INCAPABLE-OF-TRIUMPHING-IN-A-MATCH-AGAINST-UNIT: Festering Death AND-THEREFORE-RESURRECTED-THREE-LOST-SOULS-TO-IMPROVE-THIS-UNIT’S-PERFORMANCE-IN-THE-AREA-OF-WITHSTANDING-POINTLESS-VIOL ENCE. SOUL-UNITS-SENT-TO-IMPROVE-THIS-UNIT’S-PERFORMANCE-ARE-DESIGNATED-UNIT: Marquis DeSade, UNIT: Maldaror AND-UNIT: Elizabeth Bathory.

A:*click* IT-IS-FORTUNATE-THAT-I-*click*-DO-NOT-POSSES-EMOTIONS-*click*-AS-OTHERWISE-I-WOULD-BE-IN-SEVERE-DIS-*click*-DIS-*click*D ISCOMFORT.

THE-TRAINING-IMPOSED-BY-THESE-UNITS-IS-MOST-UNPLEASANT. ONE-REGIMEN, REPEATED-MULTIPLE-TIMES, INVOLVES-BEING-RAPED-IN-EVERY-ORIFICE-BY-UNIT: Maldaror’s BULLDOG. SUBSEQUENTLY, HE-REMOVES-ALL-INTERNAL-COMPONENTS-VIA-THE-LOWER-ANAL-CAVITY. I-AM-THEN-FORCED-TO-EAT-MY-OWN-INTESTINES (NOTE: I am once again forced to question the utility of incorporating a digestive system into a robot that does not eat). AFTERWORDS, OTHER-TRAINING-SEGMENTS-INCLUDE-

(WARNING! Trauma Circuit overload imminent! Initiating Memory Repression Module! *grind grind grind*).

THE-PURPOSE-OF-THESE-REGIMENS-IS-OSTENSIBLY-TO-IMPROVE-THIS-UNIT’S-FUNCTIONING, THOUGH-I-MUST-QUESTION-WHETHER-THEY-ARE-ADEQUATELY-SERVING-THEIR-PURPOSE. SINCE-BEGINNING-THESE-EXERCISES, THIS-UNIT-HAS-DEVELOPED-A-NUMBER-OF-PECULIAR-OPERATING-DEFICIENCIES, OFTEN-TRIGGERED-BY-CERTAIN-REGULAR-STIMULI.

Elizabeth Bathory From off-camera: Atomo! Bath Time!

Atomo’s lens flickers more rapidly

A: CASE-IN-POINT. ON-THE-POSITIVE-SIDE, ENCOUNTERS-WITH-FESTERING-DEATH-HAVE-LOST-SOME-FO-THEIR-DREAD. ON-THE-OTHER-HAND, THIS-UNIT-MUST-QUESTION-WHETHER-OPERATING-DEFICIENCIES-INTRODUCED-BY-THIS-TRAINING-WILL-OFFSET-ITS-BENEFITS.

Marquis DeSade: Atomo! You know the penalty for disobediance!

A: END-LOG-ENTRY.

This seems like a good time to sign off.

rant , , , ,

Hell’s Bells

January 19th, 2004

Orbamajig Online…
Yeah, I’m in kind of a searching phase of my life right now, so I’m still trying to decide on an appropriate name, one that really reflects my true inner light… Oh, yeah, we’re in The Discombobulator, the swingingist nightclub in hell’s swingingest city. This is like the eighth time they’ve played that stupid “I’m on fire feeling hot hot hot! song. I swear, if that DJ doesn’t put some techno on soon I’m gonna-

Dr Azathoth: AHEM.

Oh, sorry, the doc is here too. He’s chatting up some chick who looks a bit like Beyonce Knowles… With a gapping stab wound in her back.

Beyonce Chick: …So, I’m in there dancin’, and the next thing I know, there’s this shoting pain in my back, and Boom! I’m on this ferry with some old geezer going across a river of blood… I don’t even know what I did to end up here.

Voice from above: FORNICATOR! THOUS HAST OFFENDED THINE-

Dr. A: Be silent YHWH, unless you want me to get all Pnakoptic on your ass. You know I’ll do it. Man, what a story. Me, I was banished here by the holy power of the cross, which really bit, let me tell you.

Dr. A: I was watching that promo where you died.

BC: Pardon? Watching where, exactly?

Dr. A: TV, it was on one of those BOB promos they show on cable access.

BC: So… you’re saying that the ending moments of my life, the most tragic event my parents have ever gone through, was used to promote a low-tier wrestling match?

A Girl Scout, missing an eye, walks up

Girls Scout: Yeah, you and half the people in here, sister. Some freakish monster attacked my troupe and stabbed me through the eye. I was lucky though, since I died quick I wasn’t around to see what that bignosed motherfucker did to me after. You know what the worst part is? Instead of informing my family, those BOB assholes just aired the whole massacre, uncut. The first my parents heard about it was when they turned on the TV to see a smiley violating my headless corpse.

Another woman, butchered in a way I won’t even describe, walks up.

Woman: What, are me talking about Maldoror?

Dr. A: Fear not, ladies, for as soon as I leave this wretched yet entertaining place, you shalt be avenged. My robot is about to show that smiley the what-for, and I, Personally, have a challenge to Mr. Parallax: You’ve been trying to rise above your station in life, and I simply can’t abide by that. You should murder only those whom your master tells you to. Since Sir Zeno seems reluctant to punish you adequetly, the task falls to me. Well, me and Steve Spudnuts… and douJa… and that Afro Zimbofro guy… But really, thse crushing defeats won’t put you in your place quite the same way a beating from me will. Therefore, I challenge you to a Yog-Sothoth match.

Yog-Sothoth knows the rules…
Yog-Sothoth is the ring…
Yog-Sothoth is the referee and the announcer of the match…
Wins, losses, and draws, all are one in Yog-Sothoth.

So, Once the rest of the BOB roster has finished pummeling you into submission, I hope you have the guts to extra-dimensionally rotate your pathetic carcass over to my neck of the cosmos. Now, shut the camera off, as I hear my favorite song coming on and I can’t think of a witty way to end this.

End Transmission

rant , , , , , , ,

New Year’s In Dimension Z

December 31st, 2003
Comments Off on New Year’s In Dimension Z

*We cut to Sir Zeno’s throne room, where an Ouroboros is hanging from the ceiling with a disco ball shoved in the center. The ruler of Dimension Z himself is sipping a martini while seated on a longer, leather-covered version of his couch-throne. Next to him is a blue-skinned, purple-eyed, and otherwise alien-but-still-human-looking woman in a long black dress. Various other bizarre entities mill around the room, occasionally making trips to a table of food and punch in the corner. Smiling, Sir Zeno finally looks into the camera.*

Sir Zeno: Good evening, creatures of Dimension E. I see that 2003 has finally pulled to a stop, and 2004 is just about to kick off. Amazing, isn’t it, that we’ve made it to this point? I am, of course, Sir Zeno, and this lovely lady is my friend and fellow monarch, Queen Mylisiv of Dimension G-4.

Queen Mylisiv: Thanks for inviting me, Zeno.

Sir Zeno: Anytime. The clock’s still ticking on 2003, but the party’s already started here in Dimension Z. And we have quite a show ahead of us! You see, at the stroke of midnight tonight, the Ouroboros that our dimension is balanced on will uncoil for exactly ten seconds!

Queen Mylisiv: But Zeno, won’t that destroy the dimension?

Sir Zeno: There will be a slight sense of inertia as we plummet, but it coils back up before any damage is dealt. In the end, the furniture may be slightly shaken, but otherwise nothing bad should happen. Besides, I daresay we’ll all be too drunk to care, don’t you?

*The laughter from the various creatures sounds slightly like Jason Voorhees being slammed by a truck while dismembering a live goose-pig.*

Sir Zeno: Gods, how I love your laugh, Mylisiv.

Queen Mylisiv: *She laughs again – she provided the goose-pig part earlier.*

Sir Zeno: Keep it up, dear. Now, not everybody could make it this year – Mr. Paradox is somewhere in Dimension E, Dr. Azathoth never RSVPed (and is missing, presumed stuck), Festering Death refused, and I never did receive a reply from Xamfir. Ah, well… Speaking of Mr. Paradox, I received a video card from him. Let’s watch.

*The screen cuts to Mr. Paradox riding in the back of an old pickup, his feet carefully rested atop his combat boots.*

Mr. Paradox: This is what I get for having a grudge, I guess. Either way, here I am, somewhere in Lousiana, getting a ride to New Orleans. Once I get there, who knows where I’ll go next? All I know is that somewhere in this country, I’ll find Studnuts… and then I can kill him for dishonoring me. Until that day comes, happy new year, Sir Zeno.

*The scene cuts back to the throne room, as the other guests mingle behind the throne. Daft Punk can be heard playing quietly in the background. Queen Mylisiv has rested her head on Sir Zeno’s shoulder, as he now sips a glass of vodka.*

Sir Zeno: Thank you, Mr. Paradox. I’m certain you’ll get revenge yet. Say, Mylisiv…

Queen Mylisiv: What, Zeno?

Sir Zeno: What’s your resolution for this year?

Queen Mylisiv: To finally take complete control of my family’s finances and to kill Ultimo Dragon. Yours?

Sir Zeno: To continue successfully ruling Dimension Z.

*Cut to Mr. Paradox, in a New Orleans bar.*

Mr. Paradox: To get my revenge and to score with that brunette with the low-cut dress and see-through bra.

*Cut to Nucleo, the Not-Quite-Living Robot, cleaning up after Slimelord Ugga.*

Nucleo: TO-ESCAPE-THIS-HELLHOLE.

*Cut to a live feed from the Senate.*

Reporter: Senator Mudmick, what’s your New Year’s resolution?

Drunken Wisconsin Senator: Ummmm… Pershonally, I intend to shqueeze da poor!

*Cut back to the throne room, as the partygoers begin to don their pointy hats, and Mylisiv is now sucking on Sir Zeno’s neck.*

Sir Zeno: That was interesting, wasn’t it? Well, I’m afraid our timeslot has finally run out, so until next time, this is Sir Zeno, wishing you all the best of luck for 2004.

*The music turns up, Sir Zeno kisses Queen Mylisiv on the lips, and we fade to black. The preceding has been a Dimension Z Television production. All rights reserved.*

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

Paradox in Mexico

December 29th, 2003
Comments Off on Paradox in Mexico

*In a bar, located in a town called Los Ventana de la Nariz de los Diablo (The Devil’s Nostril), somewhere in Mexico, the place is full of men on siesta. In a corner, three men sit around drinking. One, under the table, is carrying an oboe case. The other two men look a little like Johnny Depp, and both of them are carrying violin cases. All dialogue is translated into really badly-accented English from the Spanish.*

First Violin Guy: So, when’s Jack No-Hands getting here?

Second Violin Guy: Not sure, man. He said something about a delivery to some guy and his robot pal.

Guy Under Table: Azathoth and Atomo?

Second Violin Guy: Think that’s it, yeah.

Guy Under Table: Don’t hold your breath. They vanished after Explosion of Injuries.

First Violin Guy: …shit. There goes dinner tonight.

Second Violin Guy: Damn it, amigo! I told you not to trust our chicken to some guy named Jack No-Hands!

*There’s a bit of a disturbance, as the door is kicked down by a guy with a Snidely Whiplash mustache. He points a gun at the bartender.*

Bartender: Can I help you, man?

Guy With SW Mustache: Is there a gringo here named Mr. Paradox?

Bartender: I don’t know who you’re…

*Fifty American dollars are slapped on the table.*

Bartender: He’s under the table there, drinking with the violin guys.

*The guy with the mustache heads over and kicks the table over, causing all three guys to curse as their beer goes flying.*

Guy with SW Mustache: Rico Anybody sent me, Paradox. He wants me to kill you for what you did to his horse and sister.

Guy No Longer Under Table (Mr. Paradox): Is that so? …what did I do again?

Guy with SW Mustache: You killed his horse and did not-nice things to his sister!

Mr. Paradox: Ah, now I remember. Your pardon, senor…

*The guys with the violin cases open them as Mr. Paradox opens his oboe case and assembles something. After a couple of minutes, the violin guys are playing “Bittersweet Symphony” on their violins.*

Guy with SW Mustache: So. Looks like you get to hear some music for your death, Paradox.

*Standing up, Mr. Paradox lifts a Uzi and opens fire, killing everything that moves in the room (except the bartender, who ducks). A short while later, he disassembles the Uzi and puts its parts back in the oboe case.*

Mr. Paradox: (To the dead violinists) That’s for playing KC and the Sunshine Band! (To the bartender) Get up, it’s over.

Bartender: So, where do you go from here, gringo?

Mr. Paradox: I just remembered what I’m supposed to be doing. I must kill Steve Studnuts, and I don’t think he’s in town.

Bartender: Will you pay your tab before you leave?

Mr. Paradox: …I should have killed you while I was at it. Oh, and by the way…

Bartender: Yes?

Mr. Paradox: (As he studies the dead corpse of a guy at table four) Call a doctor, I think I just killed Bobo Q. Fiendish.

*He walks out, as the scene freeze-frames and fades to gray.*

rant , , , , ,