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PostPosted: Tue Jul 01, 2003 9:34 pm
  

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A grey, rusted battleship was hovering underneath the Blunderer, and were tearing into the hull with what appeared to be a large can opener, it's nightmarish blade whirling in the empty vacuum of space.

"My God, I think it's the Iron Maiden," screamed Riper, wishing he hadn't spent so much time in street gangs as a young lad.

There were literally trillions of women he could be having sex with right now, instead of enduring this bizarre squalor, and he secretly vowed that from now on he would make an attempt to remember all their names.

The level of oxygen was being depleted at an alarming rate, with several crewmembers forced to share a single lung, as toasters and electron microscopes began swirling about the bridge.

"Somebody should've bolted those down," screamed Sloppy/Scotchy, and Gilligan smiled knowingly.

"Help me to my feet," said a guy in a red shirt, until he realized his feet were no longer attached to his body, and suspiciously, the puppy was nowhere to be seen.

"He's dead, Jim," said Dr. McFly, who was twenty or thirty times more liquored up than a Cansmokian Barnswallow.

"Of course he's dead," the Captain started to explain, and then quickly lost interest.

A big green guy with even bigger hair tried crawling through the breached hull, wearing enough leather and spandex to choke a Horgonian Water Buffalo. Mr. Lulu quickly dispatched him with a slap right across his face, and he fell screaming into the stillness of space, taking just a moment to flick his lighter as he orbited the Iron Maiden and exploded into a fine mist.

"Watch me put these golf balls up my nose," said Mr. Dorf, in what was looking more and more like his last appearance anywhere, but no one had time. They were all too busy trying to activate an impromptu force field, that would temporarily patch the hull, and give off kind of a groovy soft glow.

"How many Folktopeds are left?" asked the Captain, trying desperately to remember what a force field was.

"There's still a couple hundred, sir, but we're losin' 'em faster than soul left popular music," answered a panicky Ship's Counselor Leanna Joy.

"And how many suits of body armor do we have in the old Armory?" he asked, thinking he might have some kind of actual plan.

"Seventy five, more or less," answered McTavish, the mentally challenged Armory keeper.

"Which is it, more or less?" asked the Captain, already more confused than he'd been since that incident with the Butterscotch Pudding and Quick Set Concrete. He didn't think he'd ever live that one down.

Before McTavish could answer, a small army of Metal Studded Headbangers was through the hull, and marching towards them, index and pinky fingers extended, weilding small medieval weapons that appeared to be made out of pewter.

"Take those things away from those idiots before somebody gets hurt," commanded Commander Riper, happy to be himself again for the first time in three chapters.

O'Hara, Joy, and Dr. Bruiser, along with Gene Roddenberry's wife and several other women took a moment out of their day to head butt the headbangers right in the bridge of the nose, and before you could read and cross reference the entire Sir Walter Scott library, they were laying on the floor with even more dazed looks on their faces than when they arrived, seconds earlier.

"Man, those chicks are tough," said a guy with an afro and bell bottoms, who turned out not to be a crewmember or even part of the cast at all, but had gotten lost from the Universal Studios tour in about '83 or so.

"Get him of my ship," shouted the Captain, who was feeling a might possessive.

"Mr. Dorf, call Mr. Warp."

"Ship's Security, this is Warp," said Warp to Dorf, "how can I make you and your fellow crewmembers more safe and comfortable?" asked the aging Klingon, between belts of Jim Beam.

"We're going to need you, and several Ice Cream Vendors here on the bridge right away," said Dorf, in kind of a funny voice, while making funny faces, much to the delight of the studio audience, and before the words had even left his teleprompter, Warp was on deck with his best security people, every one of whom was amart enough to wear Cyanin shirts instead of red.

The Ice Cream vendors wore white, of course, and as he sank into a tremendous Eclair, the Captain said, "Mmmrphh hrrmbbble mmmrrrroar," and every single person on the bridge knew he meant it.

The ice cream headache that followed set the Captain off like never before, and he jumped headfirst through the crack in the hull, and killed over 25,000 of the enemy in hand to hand combat, while the rest of the Blunderer crew tidied up a bit, and made some fantastic Apple Cobbler.

Lt. Warp was beside himself.

"How did this clone get here?" he bellowed, noting that he did a much better job of trimming his beard and armpit hair.

"I doubt anybody's going to get that joke," said an unfortunate extra, and Warp had him on the ground in under a second.

"It's not that they won't get it," Warp said cooly, his eyes glowing orange with rage, "it's more a question of whether or not they think it's FUNNY!"

"I thought it was funny, Warp," said a strangely monotone voice, that came from all around them.

"Could it be?" said the Captain, in horror.

"Yes it's me Jim," said the voice, "everything's going to be all right now."

The entire crew looked at each other with abject terror.

"I've equalized the air pressure on the bridge, Jim, and Mr. Tuck, I really don't think you should be doing that."

Mr. Tuck stopped tinkering with the control panel, and froze.

"Yes, it's me, everybody," said the voice, "your old friend the HAL9000."


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PostPosted: Wed Jul 02, 2003 1:32 pm
  

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"deja vu..." observed captain jim in a sing song voice whose expression alternated between dreadful and a permanent smile. counselor coy sprinted over with a particularly sunny spring in her step and with her flair for nurturing, gave captain jim one carefully calculated smack on the forehead snapping him out of his quantum reminiscing...when suddenly crusher (the cat), whose meow wasn't the usual "wooow" but was rolling her r's dramatically, "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-ow" which was thought to be because she'd found a slug in her food dish and was complaining about it, but turned out to be that she'd licked the slug and was hallucinating and upon seeing spock, didn't see a dog but instead a little man with pointed ears holding a towel in one hand and a bottle of cat shampoo in the other, and so up on two hind legs went after him, tearing at his behind. (a stroke of necessity would have spock able to stay just ahead of her so as to keep from losing too much of his fur and skin).
...but the crew and stowaways had there attention on other things at the moment, one being the soothing yet upsetting voice of HAL, another being what in outerspace they were going to do with all the plants (not including the ones hidden under their beds), and, not to harp on about it or anything, but the growing pile of dirty laundry...


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PostPosted: Wed Jul 02, 2003 10:03 pm
  

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"HAL," said Commander Riper, "can you give us a damage report?"

"Well, you did ask nicely," came HAL's soothing voice, "so I WILL tell you that there's a big rip in the hull."

"Actually we knew that," said Riper, patiently, "but we were hoping you could, perhaps, be a bit more specific."

"That's as specific as I need to be, Jill," HAL answered, using Riper's first name.

"Your name is Jill?" asked the Captain, making a face.

"Don't laugh," said Riper defensively, "Checkup's first name is Natasha."

"I'm sorry," laughed the Captain, "but Natasha's not nearly as funny as Jill."

"That is wery nice of you to say," responded Checkup.

"If you're all finished making fun of each other's names," said HAL cooly, "I'll tell you that the tear in the hull is the only damage, and I'm already working on it."

"OK," said Lulu, glad nobody was talking about his first name, which was Loretta.

All he could do was stare out the window, and daydream about the time they landed on Planet Dylan.

Planet Dylan was exactly what it sounded like; an entire planet populated by clones of Bob Dylan, at various stages of his career.

You'd think Planet Dylan would be the most peaceful place in the Universe, but you would most certainly be wrong. (and not for the first time, either. I do wish you'd try to pay attention.)

Over the course of many centuries, the Dylans seperated themselves into the Pre-Electric Dylans, and the Post-Electric Dylans.

Obviously, due to a far longer lifespan, and overall better album sales, the Post-Electric Dylans gained control of the planet's power base, and became the wealthy elite, while the Pre-Electric Dylans became somewhat of rebels, spending most of their time playing acoustic guitar, and singing protest songs.

Eventually, the Post-Electric Dylans built up a Military/Industrial Complex that imposed Draconian laws, and generally exploited the Pre-Electric Dylans, and the two sides went to war.

The Pre-Electric Dylans were limited to really scathing lyrics, and catchy melodies, while the Post-Electric Dylans had an entire arsenal of deadly war machines at their control, not to mention the fact that they owned the land, air, and water.

If it wasn't for extreme bravery, and brilliant guerilla tactics, the Pre-Electric Dylans would've been wiped out long ago, but about the time then Private Lulu arrived, they had devised a brilliant scheme of radio play, and cunning ambushes.

At first, Lulu had been on the side of the Post-Electric Dylans, since they had better hotels, and prettier women, but something drew him to the gawky shyness and meaningful lyrics of the Pre-Electric Dylans' cause, and before long, he was hooked.

He had killed over 800 Post-Electric Dylans, and taken another 350 prisoner, using only a harmonica, and a little bit of soul, and yet he feared that acoustic balladry would soon be wiped out forever.

Now, sitting quietly behind a console he didn't dare touch, he missed those Pre-Electric Dylans, many of whom he'd become very close with. They say if you've seen one Bob Dylan clone, you've seen them all, but they're just about as wrong as you were up above. No two Bob Dylans are exactly alike, and Planet Dylan had the most amazingly diverse collection of songs in the entire galaxy.

And all Lulu could do was hum "Subterainean Homesick Blues" in the unusual key of F flat.

The Captain, meanwhile, had taken to smiling at himself in the mirror, occasionally engaging himself in conversation.

Mr. Tuck wondered how long it would be until he'd have to kill him, for his own good.

<center><FONT COLOR="#000080">--- Edited 1 times, lastly by mellowinman on Jul 02, 2003 ---</FONT></center>


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PostPosted: Wed Jul 02, 2003 11:38 pm
  

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wow... <img src="http://www.arlo.net/ubb/smilies/smile.gif" width=15 height=15>


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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2003 4:47 pm
  

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"Wow, indeed," said Mr. Checkup, gazing out the window like a drunken friar. He wondered how his life had come to this, and imagined himself roping wild puppies on the well-grazed plains of his beloved Ukraine.

The Captain didn't like the way Mr. Tuck was looking at him, so he excused himself from the bridge, and made his way to the Mind Altering Room.

"Set Program Parameters," said a pleasant voice, and the Captain answered eagerly.

"I need to be quick. I need to have independant vision in each eye, and I need to be able to hear in 17 different levels, able to distinguish movement with my ears. I need my ego toned down just a notch, and you better do the same for my libido."

"Anything else?" asked the computer, ready to start running programs.

"Oh yeah," the Captain said absent mindedly, "I'm going to need to be a whole lot smarter, too."

"Is it OK if you're played by a different actor?" asked the machine.

"Sure, yeah, whatever, that will be fine."

The machine started buzzing and whirring furiously, as probes and light beams danced in and out of the Captain's head, and as the world undulated slowly, the Captain thought he could feel himself going bald.

"Who are you?" asked Mr. Checkup, "and how did you get aboard this wessel?"

The HAL9000 was snickering furiously, almost guffawing.

"What happened to you, Jim?" HAL asked, between chortles.

"I am no longer Jim," the Captain replied.

"You are telling me this man is our Captain?" Checkup was furious. "If you ask me, that is wery suspicious."

"Quiet you," said Albert Schwytzer, who turned out to be R.

"I wondered how Albert Schwitzer got aboard this ship," said Lulu, still dreaming of folk songs of long ago.

"We've all been having a pretty good laugh at the R Sympsium, wondering where you keep coming up with the guys in the red shirts."

"Some of those men were our friends, you evil freak," shouted Riper, totally overacting the scene, and screwing everybody's Emmy chances again.

R simply rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"Name one," he countered.

"Well, there was Lieutenant..." Riper scratched his chin, "hmmm, there was Security Officer 2nd Class...well, OK, but there was Second Scullery Commander..."

Riper looked anxiously at Lulu.

"I got nothing," said Lulu, wishing the focus would be on Checkup, or somebody.

"I'd like you all to meet your new Captain," said R, a big grin on his face.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Captain Petard."

"R, you are a scoundrel, and I want you to leave my ship," the Captain said, making everybody take a stip back with his Shakespearean delivery.

"Wow, did you hear that?" said Checkup. I could've sworn it was Olivier.

"Puh-leease," said R, rolling his eyes once again.

"I'm not going anywhere, unless I want to," R pouted like a flatulent child, "and I've got even more horrors in store for you lot."

"You think the Heavy Metal Quadrant is fierce? You think you've seen the face of fear?"

And with a wave of his hand, he sent the Blunderer soaring across billions of lightyears of space, into a region so far away, by Mr. Tuck's best calculations it would take Blunderer over 7 Trillion years to get home, and that was at Warp 600, which She couldn't even do.

"Still want me to leave your ship?" asked R, with a confident swagger.

"More than ever," said the Captain. The deep, impassioned resonance of his voice made several of the crewmembers and a potted fern fall head over heels in love with him.

None of that stopped Spock from taking his other hand.

"Get that dog!" said the Captain, as Dr. Bruiser let out a little sigh, but Spock was way too fast for anyone on this crew.

As the Doctors Bruiser and McFly applied direct pressure to the Captain's stump, Checkup was checking frantically just where they were.

R turned back into Albert Swisher, but this time he wasn't fooling anybody.

It appeared they were in a region where neither light nor energy could exist, meaning that everything was matter, and nobody could see outside the confines of the ship.

"Pure Chaos," said Albert Shmicter with a leer.

"I'd get out those armored suits for the remaining Folktopeds if I were you, boys," he said with a cold smile, "welcome to the Universe of Techno-Grunge."

"So let me get this straight," said Ensign Bruiser, "we could've gotten home if we'd let R stay aboard, but we told him to take a hike, stranding us here?"

"He hasn't gone anywhere," said Checkup, disdainfully. "This man here is R."

He indicated Albert Scwiszter.

"No, I really am Albert Schmotzer," the disgruntled old humanitarian answered, "that R fellow somehow inhabited my body, which was refreshing because it appears my acid reflux is cured."

"Yes, Pugsley, I would rather make it back on the merits of our own efforts than owe anything to that perverse creature," said the Captain, in rich, thunderous tones.

"Mr. Tuck!" bellowed the Captain.

"Yes, Captain," answered Tuck, glad he wouldn't have to kill him after all.

"We can fly at Warp 6.3574231 into a Black Hole located at the coordinates I'm plugging into the computer. I've calculated the exact trajectory we need to survive the journey, and I think it's safe to say we'll come out the other side somewhere within about 20 minutes of home."

"Uh, Captain?" said Mr. Tuck.

"What is it?" bellowed the Captain.

"You're programming all that information into Pugsley's Science Experiment for his 7th Grade Final Exam."

"Yes, yes, I knew that," lied the Captain, "you didn't think I'd try such a dangerous maneuver without backing up the information, did you?"

The entire crew groaned when they realized just how weak that was, and Mr. Tuck hung his head in shame as he guided the Captain to the input console for the ship's computer, which had been taken over by the HAL9000.

"That's not going to work, Jim," said HAL.

"Why not, you contrary machine?" demanded the Captain.

"I think you know there's a 47.897% chance that everybody could die, don't you?" accused the computer.

"Sometimes there are risks," stated the Captain boldly, as the camera went in for a close up.

"The men and women of this crew are the bravest sort; the kind of people who dare look at danger and shout 'I CAN DO IT!' The kind of people who make a difference in the universe; people who DARE to take Mankind to a new level; who have the INTESTINAL FORTITUDE to RISK THEIR VERY LIVES for what?"

"Glory?"

"Fame?"

"Money?"

"I think not. These brave souls venture forth in the name of all WHO DARE TO DREAM!"

"Uh, Captain?" queried Checkup.

"What IS it?" glared the Captain.

"47.897%, that's not wery good odds, is it? I mean, that's pretty close to a 50/50 chance. I mean, sure, this techno-grunge is some pretty unmelodic music, but all kinds of people seem to be able to dance to it, and uh...."

"What is this, COWARDICE?" bellowed the Captain, really hamming it up.

"I have to concur with Mr. Checkup," said Mr. Lulu, and soon the rest of the crew was murmuring their agreement.

"Don't you ever want to get home?" pleaded the Captain, "Don't you ever want to see your loved ones again? Don't you want to see the love in the eyes of your precious little children; the hope for the future that want, no NEED their fathers and mothers to have any chance at all to make it in this big, wide universe?"

"No, not really," said Mr. Checkup, who had never married, or even had a girlfriend.

"Well, it'd be nice, but, you know..." said Mr. Lulu, whose wife was a very nasty and evil woman.

"You're not winning them over, Jim," said the HAL9000, sounding just a bit smirky.

"How many times do I have to tell you, my names not Jim, it's Sean-Luc!" the Captain roared.

"No, it's Jim," answered Checkup, with a suspicious look on his face. "You are acting wery peculiar, Captain."

"Now!" said Mr. Tuck, and Mr. Peabody fired a Peutron Beam into the Transmongerer, temporarily disabling the HAL9000.

"We've only got seconds, Jim. Quick, lock the program!"

"My name's not Jim," he began, but Tuck screamed at the top of his lungs, "YOU MISSED IT!"

"Sorry," said the Captain, as the HAL9000 flickered back online.

"You've got to be pretty smart to outwit me," the HAL9000 scolded.

"Well, smarter than the CAPTAIN, in any event," spat Mr. Tuck.

"Actually, I've had a change of heart," said HAL. "I've been doing some calculations, and while the risk to all of you is pretty high, there's almost no chance at all of anything happening to me."

"In fact, with all of you off the ship, my life will be approximately 23,456.798 times better."

"Go ahead," HAL taunted Petard, who had his finger on the button that would lock the program in, "make my day."


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PostPosted: Mon Jul 07, 2003 9:20 pm
  

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"Sir, I think you scared off the other writers," Checkup scolded Mr. Fictional.

"I told you that'd happen if you were wery long winded."

"Sorry," said Mr. Fictional, although he really wasn't, "I thought I gave the story some new direction, and the other writers would run with it."

"Well, your story is wery strange," said Checkup, "and I think that Planet Dylan stuff was a little far-reaching."

"He's right," boomed Captain Petard, who used to be Jim, "and frankly, you write 'outside the story' just a bit too much." The deep resonance of his voice accidentally caused peace on a warring planet in a nearby starsystem.

"And you have me saying 'wery' too much. It was wery funny, for awhile, but it has worn off, and I can't always think of a reason to mention that we're on a wessel."

Checkup had a point. Surely there were other characteristics the character he was based on had that could be made to be the butt of cheap (actually FREE) jokes. Mr. Fictional made a mental note to call up Walter Koenig, and see if he had any ideas.

"Yes, this is Mr. Koenig," said a sleepy voice on the other end of the phone, "and this better be good, because I'm wery tired."

Mr. Fictional couldn't help but bust out laughing, and hung up the phone as if he were a teenage prank caller.

"Man, I need an AM Radio show," he thought, but he was wrong. He didn't. Actually, nobody does, but the sheer horror of playing MUSIC on morning drivetime was too much for society to bear, and there we are.

The characters were gunning for Mr. Fictional by now.

"In the last chapter, you said we had traveled to a place where neither light nor matter could exist," said Mr. Tuck, who wondered what was supposed to be funny about his name, and hoped the original person who chose it would explain the joke, "and yet, Captain Petard, (whose name is funny for obvious reasons,) claims he can guide the ship to a black hole that will lead us back to our home world."

"Was that part in the parentheses said by you, or me?" asked Mr. Fictional, who was, himself starting to become confused.

"It sure wasn't me," said Mr. Tuck, trying desperately to remember his agent's phone number. "I don't think 'Petard' is all that funny. Please explain the joke."

Just then, two crewmembers hoisted a short guy up on Petard.

"Tell me THAT wasn't it!" shrieked Lulu, horrified.

"No wonder there's no other writers," moped Checkup, who was thinking about calling up Walter Koenig himself.

"That's just great," said Petard, sulking. I've got my finger poised above the button that will send us back to our home world, and nobody will dare to dream; to reach out and take the opportunity to unite all the world with the boldness of our adventure..."

"Somebody's got to talk to him about all those speeches," said Counselor Joy, and several crewmembers nodded in agreement.

"Very dreary," said Caligula, who had stopped in during tea.

"Just push the freakin' button, already," Caligula bellowed, eating six grapes with a little "swoosh."

Back home, Walter Koenig had fallen fast asleep.


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PostPosted: Mon Jul 07, 2003 11:21 pm
  

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roaming through the etheric realms of the star trip blunderer, santa rhea sangria was thinking of how exciting it was to have sensed another distinction in the stream of energies that wander so freely here (if she could be so forward as to put it that way) (well, it's really not all that forward when you think about it) ...anyway, beings from the 420th dimension are bound to converge here sooner or later (sort of like the harmonic convergence in 1987 when the planets lined up perfectly) joining in a sort of cosmic village fair in a unified effort to uplift the human spirit.
...in the mean time, the cosmic portal that eventually opens out here has been blasted clear of any hint of a cob web...not that there was ever any hint of one...that is if you don't count a few dust godzillas and a recurring runaway tumble weed...
thus leaving the way as unencumbered as a whistle on a clear day...

(i actually wrote this a few days ago, but didn't post it 'til now...maybe it makes sense, if it means what i think it means)

anyway, folks write here at varying intervals (self included) it's no set or even predictable thing.


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PostPosted: Tue Jul 08, 2003 12:21 am
  

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"Mr. Grabowski, what is your take on that Cosmic Alignment?" asked Captain Petard, but he really meant Santa Rhea Sangria, who had snuck his way into the story with the subtley of a deer in a cornfield.

Sangria said nothing. He held his hand out, and even within the confines of that orderly vessel, the magic of a summer breeze swirled, and everyone on that bridge understood exactly what he was saying.

There had, indeed been a cosmic alignment of great proportion, and hadn't each one of them gained just a little bit of the power contained within the secret of the Universe?

"Who was that guy that was always philosophicizing down there in the East 60?" asked Riper, in a fit of picque.

"Aristotle?" suggested Checkup. He didn't care whether it really was Aristotle or not, he just liked saying that.

"No, no; that wasn't the guy," said Riper, in a thick NY accent.

"Pericles!" shouted Lulu, but he was only shouting the answer to a crossword puzzle question.

"It was Thialumus Jones, one of the greatest philosophers in the history of the universe," came Captain Petard's rich, Corinthian Leather voice, "and he didn't frequent the East 60; he was always drinking Gin in the Back 40."

"The Captain has a wery good memory," said Checkup, gratouitiously, making a mental note to drill himself later on the spelling of unnecessary adverbs.

"What was it he always used to say?" asked Riper, squinting for effect.

"Hand me that bucket, I'm going to puke?" offered Lulu, helpfully.

"Well, he did say that quite a lot, but that's not what I was thinking of," said Riper, with a scowl.

"Can I crash at your house?" suggested Albert Swizzlestick.

"No, that wasn't it either," said Riper, lighting a match against his stubble.

"I think that waitress is hot for me," suggested a ring tailed gibbon, who was living in the overhead cargo compartment.

"Was that a talking gibbon?" asked Captain Petard, wondering what these evil bastards had laced his drink with.

"Nice voice," said the gibbon, flinging a banana peel at him, and making faces.

"You're all idiots," said R, who was R again, instead of the gibbon, much to the relief of Albert Schlepps.

"Thanks for using somebody else's body for once," he said in a tired voice, "but if you ever use mine again, could you do something about the lumbago?"

"Don't you ever have anything nice to say?" asked Dr. Joyce Brothers, who really didn't have any other gigs.

"Back to daytime television with you, evil, foul temptress," cried R, waving her hand, and sending her to the Pedestrian Quadrant.

"That was purely barbaric, even for you," said the Captain, using his "outrage" schtick better than ever.

"Yeah? Well get a load of this!" shouted Riper, who had turned into Archie Bunker, due to the time difference.

With that, he pulled back a towel, revealing little wavy lines that pulsed to and fro like old spaghetti.

"It's my imagination," laughed Riper/Bunker, and then they all remembered what Thialamus Jones had said all those years ago.

"We are light, and that is all we are. Anything more just doesn't matter. Anything less just doesn't exist."

Sangria looked out the window and smiled. Perhaps there was hope after all. He thought up a butterfly, and it hovered softly around his head, until Spock swooped down and ate him.

"My God! Look at that horrible butterfly!" screamed Mr. Lulu, and before they knew what happened, it had bitten R's head clean off.

"Isn't he, like one of those immortal dudes, or something, even if he loses his head?" asked Mr. Beavis.

"Uh, huh-uh uh-huh huh-uh," laughed Mr. Butthead, "you said Head."

Sangria looked at Mr. Fiction in a focused rebuke.

"You really took that somewhere dark, man," he said carefully.


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PostPosted: Tue Jul 08, 2003 1:40 am
  

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George Jackson and the first mate are in the holigram room...I'm assuming that since George is still here, he had the right color ticket...only thing is...there's only 397 1/2 feet of rope left...


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PostPosted: Wed Jul 16, 2003 9:17 pm
  

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Sangria, who was not Grabowski at all, and had never even been to Poland, suggested that R would eventually grow a new head, and that they should jettison his body into space.

"I suggest that R will eventually grow a new head, and I think we should jettison his body into space," he said.

"You are doing a wery good job of keeping up with the narration," Mr. Checkup noted, as Doctors McFly and Bruiser scanned R's headless corpse with bicorders, pretending they knew what they were doing.

They didn't, of course, because if you've paid attention so far, R is some kind of multi-dimensional, omnipotent being, played by one of the hammiest actors since Commander Riper, and they wouldn't have the first clue as to his physiology or biological make-up.

So they simply followed the rules of British Medicine, established in 1822, and spent a few minutes humming, and trying to say pleasant things like "nice weather we're having," and "I see you got rid of those hedgehogs," which was the tradition, back in the day.

"I haven't been in this thing for about 13 chapters," said Harrison Freud, who was playing Han Solo, and had burst through the door of an abandoned dumbwaiter from another story.

"Silence, all of you!" roared Captain Petard, who was about to play a violin solo, in honor of their guest.

"I command my subjects to kneel and bow," he roared, forgetting what he was in, "uh, ahem, everybody listen up," he said, almost sheepishly.

George Jackson started reeling in his rope, thinking he had, perhaps, caught a bass, but to no avail, and the windows were no longer open.

(figure THAT one out!)

And in the blink of a minute, the entire Starship Blunderer was the size of an Egyptian Thimble, the size of six countries, and the size of a well aged block of Swiss Cheese, all at the same time.

"How is this possible?" you might ask, but don't. Something about Black Holes and energy and matter, and all that boring crap, but don't focus on that. Did you want to be entertained, or have a freakin' science lesson?

The ship zipped past over seventy five galaxies, took a left at Quagulon X5, and then zoomed back to the exact spot where it had left from, only ten thousand years earlier.

"Oops," said Petard, finally seeing the goof in his calculations, "sorry everyone, I never carried the 7."

The crew stared at him, defeated.

"On the bright side, this gives us a lot longer to get home," pointed out a guy in a red shirt, who should've known better.

He was never seen, or heard from again.

Meanwhile, back on Planet G511, which had always sounded like such a poetic name to Commander Riper, who was quite literally stupid, folk legend Hammer McGee was singing of peace in the Universe:

"Let's have Peace in the Universe
Peace in the Universe
Peace in the Universe
Peace in the Universe..."
(it was the chorus, -give me a break!)

When Oglalian Storm Troopers broke down the door, and took he and his eleven children hostage.

"You evil filth," he spat, in the key of C#, "you'll pay for your sins, and I'm not just saying that because it's a cliche!"

"Yes you are," said one of the Storm Troopers, "people expect that sort of thing, and so you say it. It's not like I don't understand, or anything. In fact, I myself am going to say 'We'll see who is the one to suffer,' which is quite the cliche in itself."

With Blunderer caught in a backwards time loop, and the Archies on vacation in Bermuda, there appeared to be little hope for our good friend, McGee.

Luckily, there was Eddy.

Eddy had made some kind of radio thing that was years ahead of the time he lived in, just because he got lucky, I'm guessing, and not because he was particularly brilliant, because, in fact, he wasn't. He was definately smarter than the rocks in his fish tank, but the big Flounder had beaten him at chess more than once.

Eddy was signalling the three guys who actually admitted they knew him, and somehow his transmission made it's way across space and time, and into Blunderer's Entertainment Suite, which Commander Warp had been relaxing in since morning.

"Captain, I think you'd better get down here," he said, wondering why.

"I've got problems of my own," the Captain said 237 times in a row, due to a hiccup in time.

"I get your point," said Warp, wondering what in hell had just happened, "no need to repeat yourself. That took..." he looked at his watch, "negative three minutes?"

At first, Warp thought he would panic. He took a deep breath, focused his internal energy, and then panicked.

"Guess I had that one right," he thought, reaching for the crooked dagger he liked to keep handy in case he had to commit suicide.

Up on the bridge, the Captain turned to Commander Riper, who wasn't even there.

"I'm not going down there," the Captain said, his smooth, mellow voice causing several of the plants to grow, "you go."

He indicated Han Solo, who really didn't have anything better to do, anyway.

"I'll go right away, Captain," said Harrison Freud, "but first, tell me about your mother..."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," bellowed the Captain, as smoke billowed from his nostrils.

"I'd get down there, if I were you, Mister," said Riper, menacingly.

In the time it had taken for all this to happen, Blunderer had traveled billions upon billions of light years, back through trillions of centuries, to a time before the creation of the Universe.

"Well, at least we're going to get to find out how the Universe was created," said another guy in a red shirt, who apparantly just couldn't learn.

As it turned out, the Universe was somehow created by him dying, and the show's writers would have some explaining to do after that one. For years, that particular plot twist would haunt them, as, one by one, they all succumbed to strange and grisly demises, except for the guy that didn't show up that day.

"I can get us home, Captain," said Lulu, who was wearing a pair of Ruby Slippers, and clutching a bottle of Tequila.

"This one, I don't think I wanna hear," said the Captain, going completely outside his character out of disgust.


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Wed Jul 16, 2003 10:48 pm
  

Arlo Fanatic

Joined: Sep 15, 2001
Posts: 3683
Location: Dallas, Texas
I am completely flummoxed. Awed.
____The Expendibld Ensign (red shirt)


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sun Jul 20, 2003 3:34 am
  

ArloNetizen

Joined: Apr 10, 2003
Posts: 52
Location: Hoagland, IN, USA
Leiutenant Warp sprang, and pinned Han Solo against the ground, cracking three of his ribs.

"Oh sorry," he said, sheepishly, "I thought you were someone else."

"Well, I don't want to know who," Harrison Freud groaned, wondering if Warp had an Oral Fixation.

"Hey, are you in this as the actor, or the character?" asked Warp, confused.

"Does this answer the question?" asked Independently Wealthy Jones, donning his trademark hat, and brandishing his bullwhip.

"Very impressive," said Warp, in a voice that made the ground shake.

He looked Freud up and down a couple of times.

"I asked the Captain to come down here," said Warp, in an even lower tone than before.

"He's busy," said Freud, "there's cracks in the hull; we're stuck in a time loop; we're stuck in a time loop; we're stuck in a, ahem, excuse me; we're taking on water in the boiler room, and in a week, some Shriners will be coming, and the whole lower deck needs redecorated."

"I'll come right to the point," thundered Warp, "Hammer McGee has been taken hostage by storm troopers, and Creativity itself is in jeopardy."

Freud gasped, "But Mr. Warp, we're light years away from the Folk System; it's anybody's guess how far away in time we are, and I've got a root canal in half an hour. How can we possibly help?"

"I don't know," scowled Mr. Warp, "but if we don't, we'll be listening to canned Easy Listening for the rest of our lives."

Harrison Freud shuddered at the thought. An orchestral rendition of Petula Clark's "Downtown" was echoing through his brain, torturing every single cell and neuron; freezing his soul with the deep shadow of grocery store monotony.

"Look, I don't care what it takes, you can count on me," he said forcefully, shaking off his sheer terror just a little.

"What about the others?" asked Warp, concerned.

"I don't know, but I'm almost positive I can get my dentist. I'll go see him now."

And with that, Harrison Freud walked out of Warp's life, leaving him with only a bottle of Grumbat, and some Martial Arts movies on cable.

Due to all the time travel, Lt. Warp was getting a lot of shows from the 1950's. He felt a strong desire to have a regular job, three kids, and a house in the suburbs for some reason. Lt. Warp had never been aware of this side of himself.

On the bridge, the Captain had the entire main console ripped apart, and wires were strewn like pig entrails all across the lavender carpeting that had been picked out by his mother's sister, Edna.

"Commander, can't you make yourself useful?" he bellowed at Riper, who was juggling bowling balls.

"Sorry Captain. Just trying to be entertaining," said Riper, saluting, as one of the bowling balls smashed his big toe into powder. He howled like a wolf in a pawnshop, until Dr. Bruiser replacecd it with a Swiss Army Knife, in one of the strangest field operations in Blunderer's history.

"So he could use the little spoon to eat pudding with his foot?" asked Lulu, in amazement.

"Yes, but it will be wery difficult to get the little toothpick out," pointed out Checkup, who really only used the corkscrew anyway.

"Can we focus, here, people?" demanded the Captain, as the wires in his hand sparked and smoked.

"You better let me handle this, Jim," said the Hal9000 soothingly.

Something happened.

Stars came and went; light and color danced all around them; and Blunderer shot through 75 trillion light years of space, and billions of years of time, landing in the parking lot of a mall almost as big as the ship itself, crushing hundreds of cars, and killing 17 people.

"Look" shouted O'Hara, "half off on all shoes!" She began running towards the mall, but Commander Riper stopped her.

"Hold on there, O'Hara," he swooned, "we have to make sure it's safe, and we need to consider some other things, as well."

"Like what?" she demanded, impatiently.

"Well, have you thought about whether you're trying to match your Evening wear, or if you're simply going for a look that accessorizes your Professional attire?"

"Well, mostly Evening, I guess," she said thoughtfully, "but now that you mention it, something in a canvasback would really bring some life to this dreary uniform, don't you think?"

Riper had no choice but to admit she had a point. Why not go for a variety of looks? You only live once, and they may never be back this way again, wherever they were.

His mind was made up.

"I'm gonna get me an Orange Julius," he said, thirstily.


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sun Jul 20, 2003 10:05 am
  

User avatar
Arlo Fanatic

Joined: Sep 15, 1999
Posts: 4941
mmmmm...an orange julius....suddenly santa rhea sangria found herself seated across from a friend and comrade she'd discovered and ultimately went home with...well, she her home and he his...they felt almost like two albatross amongst the friends they'd arrived with...neither of them could find it in themselves to be quite THAT friendly with so many perfect strangers at the beach, or even one or two for that matter. they quietly wondered to themselves and telepathically with one another if they were insane, and if they were the only two insane people on the entire beach, but soon put aside their pondering to enjoy their banana and strawberry fruit smoothies...when suddenly (as is how it is proned to happen) and on that note, santa rhea sangria could sense across galaxies and millennia, that somewhere, someone who at times calls himself harrison freud, was having a fit.
...only to be distracted from this when she saw a team of overdressed intergalactic officers with telecommunicators/transporters pinned to them, stampede up the boardwalk shouting, "wait for me!"

<center><FONT COLOR="#000080">--- Edited 1 times, lastly by agnes on Jul 20, 2003 ---</FONT></center>


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Tue Jul 22, 2003 11:10 pm
  

And I know you are all thinking, "Isn't that the 45th time they've done that?" But of corsica it was note an allusion to which they were atuned to. No indeed. Being the breathless folks they certainly were all that and another one of those things that just seems to slip away into the eithernet....or was that the neithernet? Perhaps we should mosey over to the boardwalk. Which, off course, they squid.


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Wed Jul 23, 2003 12:42 am
  

ArloNetizen

Joined: Apr 10, 2003
Posts: 52
Location: Hoagland, IN, USA
"My God! Were those PUNS?" bellowed the Captain, in a voice loud enough to bake gingerbread.

"They may have been, but I didn't get at least three of them," whispered Checkup to Lulu.

Lulu could only smile. He had stopped listening quite some time ago, and was now approaching The Gap, with a swagger in his gait, and a credit card in his wallet that hadn't been used since the War of Glubricon XXVII. He was determined to be more fashionable than anyone else on the crew, a fact he didn't hesitate to whisper into the ear of the frightened salesgirl.

"Anything's going to look better than that stupid 'Star Trek' shirt," she said, rolling her eyes, and popping her gum.

"That is wery annoying," said Mr. Checkup, who had decided to keep an eye on Lulu.

"You are wery dorky," she answered, turning away to blab into the phone.

Little did they know that Walter Koenig was on the other end, demanding they stock his new line of denimn suits.

"Yeah, whatever," said the girl, wandering into the back for a smoke.

A man with curly hair, a long coat, and a scarf walked in, and started stuffing accessories into his pockets.

"Either that's Dr. Who, or Harpo Marx," whispered Lulu, who really had no preference.

"Dr. Who?" asked Checkup, confused.

"That's right, Dr. Who," said Lulu, "or Harpo Marx."

Checkup: Look Lulu, if you’re the expert on fictional characters, you must know who they are.

Lulu: Right, certainly do.

Checkup: Well, I never met the guys, so you’ll have to tell me their names, and then I’ll know who’s the Time Lord, and who's the comedian.

Lulu: Oh, I’ll tell you their names, but you know strange as it may seem, they give these Time Lords now a days, very peculiar names.

Checkup: You mean funny names?

Lulu: Strange names, pet names. Like, Lumpy Steve, and…

Checkup: His brother Dimwit?

Lulu: Lumpy Dimwit.

Checkup: And their French cousin.

Lulu: French?

Checkup: Goofe’.

Lulu: Lumpy Goofe’, oh I see! Well let’s see, we have on the main doctors arriving, we have Dr. Who in first, Dr. What’s in second, and Dr. I Don’t Know is in third.

Checkup: That’s what I want to find out.

Lulu: I say, Dr. Who’s in first, Dr. What’s in second, and Dr. I Don’t Know’s in third.

Checkup: Are you the expert?

Lulu: Yes.

Checkup: You going to be the laundry guy too?

Lulu: Yes.

Checkup: And you don’t know the fellow’s names?

Lulu: Well I should.

Checkup: Well then who is in first?

Lulu: Yes.

Checkup: I mean the fellow’s name.

Lulu: Dr. Who.

Checkup: The guy in first.

Lulu: Dr. Who.

Checkup: When you pay off the first Timelord for saving the Universe, who gets the money?

Lulu: Every dollar of it.

Checkup: All I’m trying to find out is the fellow’s name that shows up first.

Lulu: Dr. Who.

Chekcup: The guy that gets the money.

Lulu: That’s it.

Checkup: Who gets the money for showing up first, and saving the Universe?

Lulu: He does, every dollar! Sometimes his wife comes down and collects it.

Checkup: Whose wife?

Lulu: Yes. (Pause) What’s wrong with that?

Checkup: Look, all I want to know is when you sign up the first Time Lord, how does he sign his name to the contract?

Lulu: Dr. Who.

Checkup: The Time Lord.

Lulu: Dr. Who.

Just then, Harpo's brothers walked in, and Lulu realized his mistake.

Lulu: Forget about Dr. Who. Let's try on some pants!

Checkup: You are a wery strange man.

"When did this get into the format of a script?" asked Lulu, relieved to see the reappearance of quotation marks.

By this time, Commander Riper had bought over six hundred and fifty pairs of loafers, and it was obvious to just about everybody how he would be spending his time from now on.

O'Hara looked absolutely sexy in a pair of silver pumps, and Lt. Warp had discovered the wonders of Paintball, as witnessed by the steady stream of paint covered crying children coming from the exit.

But where was Albert Swinger? Dr. Bruiser had last seen him hitting on the Cappucino Lady, who was conspicously missing from her stand. Now, only a "Back Soon" sign stood where a lovely girl had once been, and Dr. Bruiser was DYING for a good cup of Joe.

"This pottery is beginning to mutate," she informed the owner of Bargain Bin, but he was dubious.

"That's a Chia Pet, ma'am," he said slowly, hoping to attract the attention of Security by throwing quarters at them.

"Explain this concept to me," she said forcefully, and he did.

"Well, it's in very poor taste," she spat, nearly taking his eye out.

"You bastards say this is a great Single Malt, but I can't even taste it?" screamed Scotchie, down at the liquor store on Level III, as the store manager tried to take the bottle of Glenlivet from his hands.

Scotchie countered with a head butt to the nose, and ran gleefuly through the mall with his booty, as the store manager screamed and screamed, his nose bleeding like the floodwaters of the Rio Quaglon XI.

By this time, Checkup and Lulu had wandered into Hee-Hee's, where their Time Lord routine was roundly booed by patrons weilding rotten fruit.

"Where do people get this decayed matter?" asked Checkup, panting as he ran, "do they carry it in their pockets, or something?"

"I don't know, but I think the bananas taste a bit better after they're bruised," answered Lulu, not even thinking about his Potassium allergy.

"I knew we shouldn't have tried following the Marx Brothers," lamented Checkup, who had been SURE the material was strong.

"It could have had something to do with the fact that they realized we were the ones responsible for all those people's deaths outside," Lulu said, trying to look on the positive side.

"Look! Puppies!" shouted Checkup, stopping dead in his tracks, sending Lulu crashing through a storefront window, and releasing parrots, guinea pigs and ostriches all over the mall.

"What's that?" shrieked a woman, as Spock, the deadly butterfly flew down, and carried off roughly 1/3 of the animals, and was returning for more.

"He's just doing that for attention," reassured Checkup, as Spock headed for her baby. She stood firm, and as he approached, she blasted him with her stun gun, pepper spray, and a N'Sync CD she just happened to have ready to play on the carriage's boombox.

Spock crashed through a wall into Wicks 'n Sticks, where a teenaged zombie of a boy pointed insistently at the "you break it-you buy it" sign.

"Why am I seeing 16 of him?" Spock wondered, momentarily forgetting he had transformed into an insect, and passing out on the smooth marble floor.


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