Tuesday, May 29, 2007

My Go

I sat thinking for hours. What should I do? I’m Jedi so I can fight but I knew Godfrey would be showing his skills and two of us doing that wouldn’t work. Besides, I don’t need to ‘show off’ my skills to amuse anyone.

I had a few ideas. One being that I could don my Slave Girl outfit from when I was Jaba’s slave for a week and do my Slave Girl dance. (Shameless Self Promotion: see up coming blog entries for this story!) But that was a nightmare. I hated that costume. I didn’t fit right and if you bent over to far, people could see to Hoth. So that was out.

“You could do something funny,” a little voice in my head told me.

“Like what? I’m not funny!” I said.

“Do a Yoda puppet act.”

“I don’t have a Yoda puppet.” An idea struck me. “Where’s my comm? I have an idea!”

So when I did walk out on the stage. I did have a Yoda puppet. I bowed to the queen and sat down, carefully arraigning the puppet on my lap.

“This Grand Master Yoda, the wisest of all the Jedi,” I said.

“Wisest and best looking of all the Jedi I am,” the puppet says.

“Now I wouldn’t say that, Yoda.”

His Glimmer stick tapped my knee. “Short and green I am. Make for a sexy man it does!”

“I think the Queen would like to hear some words of wisdom from you,” I said. “Why don’t you impress her with some of the things you teach us at the Jedi Temple.”

Yoda’ moves his head and looks at the queen. “A Cheeto you should never stick up your nose.”

“You would be referring to Master Obi-Wan.”

“Always with a Cheetos up his nose he is! Sneezes cheese dust everywhere bad for good relations with Wookies!”

“What about Wookies?” I asked.

“Shed on your couch they will. Clog up your Hover Vac it does, very messy. Groom your Wookie twice a week!”

“How about advice on teaching a Padawan?”

Yoda lifts his stick. “Beat them with a pickle.”

“Excuse me?”

“A pickle, you must beat them with a pickle!”

I looked shocked. “My Master never beat me with a pickle!”

Yoda looks at me. “You see how you turned out.” He whips out a large dill pickle and starts hitting my head. “Not beat enough you were! Running off with Darth Vader! A bigger pickle I should beat you with!”

“I didn’t run off with Vader- “

Whap! Whap! Whap! “Force Wedgies you should have. Twice a day.”

With one hand I took the pickle from him and smiled embarrassedly at the Queen. “I don’t think our Queen wants to see you hitting me with a pickle, Master Yoda.”

Yoda sighs. “When 900 years old you reach, handle your beer better you can,” he says.

“Why do you say that, Master?”

“Find Skywalker knocked out on the roof I do. Hold his liquor he can, but hold himself he cannot. The Chosen One cannot walk with beer in him! Or ale, wine, or water for that matter.”


“Bloats him it does.”

“I see.”

“And Mace Windu, shaves his head with a mini lightsaber,” he spat.

“I didn’t- “

“And Chancellor Palpatine has a gerbil up his-“

I slapped a hand over his mouth. “Okay, that enough of that.”

“Chimney,” Yoda shoved my hand off and said.


“I was going to say, up his chimney. What you think I meant to say?” His eyes widened. “Pervert you are!” Out comes a larger pickle and the head bashing begins again.

I stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, my Lady, it’s time for Master Yoda’s Jello bath.”

“Better be green Jello or very upset I will!” Yoda snaps off. “With strawberries and whipped cream!”

I bowed and Yoda in my arms bowed. I left the stage, but I looked back and the Queen was laughing as was everyone else. I looked at Godfrey, who looked as if he was about to pee his pants.

Back stage, I sat the Yoda puppet down and looked around. There was no one around us. Suddenly Yoda looks up at me.

“Owe me you do for this!” he said jumping down. “A good puppet I am not!”

I nodded. “I know. Thank you, Master, for your help.”

Yoda leaned on his stick. “Send those pictures of me and Mrs. Dolly Parton to the Temple you will. Negatives, too.”

“Yes, Master, I will.”

He hobbles to the backdoor where outside a ship is waiting for him, turns at the door and stares back at me. I waited to see what he was going to say.

“May the dill pickle be with you,” he muttered and Force tossed a pickle that slapped me between the eyes.

I heard him muttering as he got on the ship, “Stupid Monkeyboys! Nanners! Need a good pickle they do!”

Sigh. I hate to give up those pics but oh well.

I have to shower once again. I smell like Yoda and old pickles.

Cake, Ladies Undergarments, & Bald Guys…It wasn’t my fault!

After receiving the latest challenge, the remaining members of the Pokemybootie team had a brief meeting. We discussed our talents and how we wanted to use them in our variety act. I was so relieved to find out our latest challenge was so easy, I didn’t even object to Professor Hot Wheels when he suggested I deliver a monologue. (It’s about time he acknowledged by excellent oratory skills.)

As everyone filed out of the meeting, I decided to modify my victory speech to Congress and use it as my monologue. I'll start with my victory speech. It’s brief, it’s poignant, and it accentuates my exceptional leadership qualities. In fact, it is too short. I think I will throw in a few lines from Hamlet in order to demonstrate my flexibility as an orator. Beat that, Hot Wheels. By the time I pulled my monologue together, Godfrey was already on stage. I was grateful for the extra time because I had to send a messenger to pick up a proper suit for me to wear. (A side-effect of the necromancer being in close proximity is my new found corporal body, and this happened just as I was getting used to my ghostly body.)

…Anyway, while waiting for my suit, I decided to practice my monologue. (Ummm, Clears Throat. Ummm) "A landslide! That's what they called it! During my campaign I spoke a lot about family. My mother is here tonight, my wife, and the boys. I'm sorry my brother can't be with us. But I know Peter cares about this city more than…" (Breaking off my rehearsal…) I called out, “Hey! You there…Is that my suit?”

Delivery Guy: “Are you Nathan Petrelli?”

(Laying down my speech…)

“Yes. Congressman Nathan Petrelli.”

Delivery Guy: “Well this is for you.”

I took the suit from him and went directly to the dressing room. I knew Godfrey would be a while, so I jumped into the shower. When I came out, my old clothes were gone and so was my bag. On the bed, I found a box and a note which read, “I believe this will be complimentary to your character.” The note was unsigned, but when I opened the box, I knew that bald #@%# had struck again. As those of you who were in the audience may have guessed, in the box, was a negligee. At this point, there was only one thing I could think of doing.

I screamed, “D@#% you, HOT WHEELS!!!”

My outburst didn’t make me feel better; and it didn’t change my predicament. I had no choice but to put on the negligee. My only other option was to go naked and with an underage girl roaming about, that was not going to happen. After putting on the negligee, I attempted to make sure all the major areas were covered. I then slipped on the matching stilettos, and wobbled out into the hall. I must have fallen over twelve times before making it back to the table where I laid my speech.

Clutching the speech in my hand, I went to the edge of the stage and peeked out into the crowd. Godfrey was still knocking it out to the cheap seats, so I hobbled to the hair and make-up chair and told the stylist to give me a quick trim before I had to go on stage. He grumbled something under his breath, and then offered to give me a wash, rinse, and a shave…Well; I thought that was nice of him. I hoped he wasn’t getting the wrong idea because of the negligee…….To make a long story somewhat less long, I dosed off while the stylist was washing my hair.

When I woke up, the stylist was shoving the speech into my hand and telling me the Queen was waiting, so I hobbled/ran to the side entrance and bumped into…Professor Hot Wheels.

Hot Wheels: “Not that way old boy. You have to make your entrance through the trap door under the stage. The affect is quite splendid.”

Me: “Like I would believe you.”

Hot Wheels: “Well you can always try walking across the slippery stage in your lady shoes.”

Me: “Blast you again, Hot Wheels!”

As I made my way under the stage and began climbing the steps that led to center stage, I thought to myself, “Boy, there sure are a lot of steps here, and why do I smell cake?”

When I got to the last step, I pushed up on the stage door; but it wouldn’t budge. (I hoped nothing was on top of it.) I stuck the paper with my speech on it in my mouth, and used both hands to push up on the stage door. This time, the door gave way and I toppled over the edge of the…CAKE?!

OH…MY…GAWD!!! Hot Wheels tricked me into popping out of a cake…while wearing a negligee…in front of Queen Galacta!! I searched the through the crowd of performers at the side of the stage and made eye contact with…HIM. Can you believe he had the nerve to feign surprise?

It was then that I noticed my reflection in a mirror set up on the stage… OH…MY…GAWD!!! What did that stylist do to me?

The room was dead silent. I looked toward the side of the stage again and saw Dark Jedi motioning toward my mouth. Oh yes, my speech! There wasn’t much I could do, so I pulled the paper from my mouth, cleared my throat, and looked down at the piece of paper that turned out to be the last nail in my proverbial coffin.

With a huge sigh, I began to read/sing the monologue Hot Wheels had substituted in place of my real speech…

“It’s astounding…Time is fleeting…Madness takes its toll, but listen closely. (Not for very much longer.) I’ve got to… keep control. I remember doing the time warp. Drinking those moments with the black liquid in me and the voice would be calling…Let’s do the time warp again…Let’s do the time warp again…

It’s just a jump to the left.
(And then a jump to the ri—ght.)
Put your hands on your hips.
(And put your feet insi—de.)”

(SIGH) Unfortunately, since I didn’t have any back up singers, I didn’t sound even this good.

Finally, the most humiliating night of my life came to an end. I looked toward Queen Galacta. The expression on her face was familiar. I had seen it somewhere before… Oh yeah…I know where I saw it.

What a disaster! How can I hope to smooth this over? I can’t even flirt with the judge because she is underage.

“HOT WHEELS!! Vengeance will be mine!!”

Judge O’Ciardha, please don’t send me to Hell. It wasn’t my fault. I swear. (Sniff, Sniff)

Why me???

When I heard that Queen Galacta was visiting and we were to put on a variety show.. I was surprised.. I was half listening to the team meeting, not very Jedi of me.. but my head was already dancing with ideas..

"So who's doing what?" Professor Xavier asked.
You could hear a pin drop the room fell so quiet.
" Anyone got any ideas? " I asked casting a dubious eye from one person to the other.
Kriss looked up from where she seemed to be deep in thought" I could always do something funny.. " she said, still unsure seemingly, talking more to herself than to us..
" Okay look when you've figured out who's doing what, come find me I'll be outside.. I have some planning to do."
" But Godfrey you're part of this team too.. you should be here for this" Xavier protested
" Look with all due respect Professor, I already have my idea in mind.. I just need to fine tune it. And I can't do that in here."
I headed out the door, Nathan I could see was about to protest but Kriss stopped him" just trust him.. whatever he's got going.. it'll be good."
I called my bo staff into my hands with the force as soon as I was out on the lawn. A concentrated look brought the rest of the weapons I had brought with me out into a neat pile under a tree. Spinning the bo in my hands I began running through bits and pieces of different katas, deciding what would work and wouldn't.
Then another idea came to me.
When we were called before the queen to put on our show I could see she wouldn't be and easy woman to entertain.. I just hoped my demonstration would keep her entertained.
I pulled a remote control from my pocket and pressed a button. in walked a sparring droid. A little nifty thing I had found rummaging through the storage closet.. Apparently from what I found out it was one of the scraped droids from last year's competition. I had repaired it and set
it to my powers and strength.
What better opponent than yourself?
We both bowed to the queen" A demonstration of the power and prowess of a Jedi and a DaiShujo warrior. " It might have sounded a little show offy but it was the best I could think of.
The droid and I took our positions , staves in hand and we began to spar. Everything else fell away as I pressed the advantage against the droid who stumbled and I used my staff to snap the one it had in hand.

Sais fired out from it's titanium arms and I rolled my staff behind me, using a force flip to reach the windowsill and snatched up my own sais from the ledge, bringing one up to block while spinning the other in my hand to embed it in the chest plate. The droid ducked away and came up so my arm was pinned between it's two titanium ones. Did I mention it's not a good idea to give a droid weapons? Well I seem to be finding things out the hard way now a days.

Not good.
I spun out on my heel and sent it flying into the wall . I ran after it, tonfa now in my hand where my sai had been. Bashing the droid alongside the head one of the sensors popped out flying to the floor.
Titanium fingers closed on my shoulder and squeezed harshly. My teeth gritted in pain and I brought my fist up into the steel before doing a back handspring away and snatching up my staff.

The droid came running at me, two short swords in hand . Bam one flying out of his hand embedding in the wall . A twist and the other clattered to the floor.
Now for the finisher.
I tripped up the droid with my staff and a slight of hand I learned and a force trick , my staff was resting against the wall and I pulled out my double bladed saber.
Throwing stars shot from the hidden cannons on it's arms and I cut through them swiftly, making sure not to make my strokes too wide otherwise someone might get hurt.
Finally returning to our original positions the droid charged one last time, sort of like old battle holos of Ventress I had seen. I only had to raise my saber straight forward.
The droid stopped, seemingly frozen. Then a loud clatter and the droid fell to the floor, headless.
I straightened and bowed to the Queen once more" Your highness" I shut of my saber and tucked it away before bringing the droid to the box near the door. A force push sent it out of the way and out of sight in the hallway.
Once I had been dismissed I went out into the hall and took a seat. Force be thankful that the droid didn't have a stronger grip otherwise I might have been out of this competition. For now.. I needed an aspirin.. no wait make that 2 of them.
Until Later
(Sidenote.. I'm out of town today and I am busy for the rest of this week.. So the post had to go up tonight. My apologies to my teammates if I jumped ahead too fast)

Sunday, May 27, 2007

A Letter from Summer Dawn O'Ciardha

Dearest Last-Gladiator Standing 2 Contestants,

My name is Summer Dawn O’Ciardha, of “The O'Ciardha Clan” and I have been asked, and have asked to be your judge for the competition. This is a great honor.

First, I need to tell you a little about myself. I am sixteen years old, I go to a small-town school, and I have a boyfriend named Christopher. I am also a necromancer. For those of you who do not know what a Necromancer is, this means I can make lifeless corpses into my minions.

Sometimes, I think it is a shame that I am not evil, I could do some truly terrible things. I don’t really have a job, but I do the upkeep of the town in which I go to school in. This upkeep means I take care of the supernatural threats in the town.

I’ve killed werewolves banished spirits, fought vampires, and exorcized demons. All for the good of humanity… Even though I think humans are selfish, self-seeking, self-righteous idiots.

Sorry… That comes with the attitude, I’m a straight-A-student, and a goth, but, you have to think, would anything else be acceptable for a Necromancer? I want to go to college, now, I think public school is a waste, and when I get there I want to get a Doctorate in Mythology, Cryptozoology, and Parapsychology. A Masters in English, History, and Education wouldn’t hurt, would it?

As your judge, I will be strict and merciless. I will read for error and for every single detail. I have read plenty, and I will know if it is not original. Likewise, if you can make me laugh, you have an amazing chance at winning, because I do not laugh.

Flattery and Bribery will fall on deaf ears, and dead hands. I accept nothing of it.

I wish you the best of luck with the challenge, Ladies and Gentleman. Because I will be a harsh-mistress.

Your Judge,
Summer Dawn O’Ciardha

Ps. The Ghost of Congressman Nathan Petrelli, I can fix your problem.

Challenge #6

The challenge has been cast. The gauntlet thrown down. Many have been called, few have answered. On the planet Hacknor... On Fire Island D, brave contestants will compete. Who will falter? Who will thrive? Who will be

Welcome to the next challenge, Gladiators. I know some of the past challenges have been a little crazy, but this one will be a just a little more conventional.

Galacta, Queen of the Galaxy is visiting Planet Hacknor. It is your job to entertain her.

Work with your teammates to put on a variety show for the Queen. Use whatever talents you have: sing, tap dance, juggle, tell jokes, do a soliloquy, the sky's the limit.

We have a celebrity guest judge for this challenge as well. Summer O'Ciardha has graciously accepted the task of judging this round.

There you go, kids. Time for the show to go on.

Challenge #5, Judgement

The challenge has been cast. The gauntlet thrown down. Many have been called, few have answered. On the planet Hacknor... On Fire Island D, brave contestants will compete. Who will falter? Who will thrive? Who will be

OK Gladiators, everyone did an adequate job of handling the monkeyboy problem on Fire Island M.

I'm talkin' fair to midland here.

Someone's going to have to continue his monkeyshines back home though.

Whose post drove everyone bananas?

It's time for one of you to split -- banana split, that is.

Gyrobo, you are not the Last Gladiator Standing, goodbye.

Stay tuned for the next challenge.

Last Gladiator Standing II was brought to you in part by Resevoir Heroes.

See resevoir Heroes today!

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Judgement #5

As with usual, I will be going over what you have done, but first, I want you to know, this was so far the round with the most high scoring posts.

With that said, Shameless plug – Check out my blog, I’ve been posting.

Erifia Apoc

Now, back to the business at hand.

Dark Jedi Kriss – Amazing. Simply amazing. I laughed, very, very hard.

Godfrey Zebulon – Godfrey, I noticed a striking similarity to the post that was posted right before yours.

Henchman – Great post, this was keeping up with the severe improvement that happened last challenge. Keep it up!

The Ghost of Congressman Petrelli – Very good post, and with the same quality, originality and humor I expect from you… Being dead doesn’t affect you too much, does it?

Synth-Lin – Not your best work. Go back to what you were doing. It was your worst performance of the entire competition… And why would you sing “American Girl” That is a country song, not a pop song… That’s not what American Idol is abo- Sorry Simon, you do such a terrible job of judging…

Gyrobo – Classic, amazing, the best post yet. Keep it up.

Professor X – Finally! I was waiting for it! I knew it was in there, somewhere… Continue along this path, and it will get you far!

“Noah” *giggle* Bennet – Not your best post of the competition, but still very good sir. Countinue the good work.

Now… For the winner…

It’s a little – Weird for me…

Because Hudson stole my judging last week….

But… The winner…

The one winner…

Here’s a little teaser from the post on my blog.

Erifia Apoc

You know… There?

Go there…

Erifia Apoc

Here’s the teaser.

I stared helplessly at the men and the coffin. I fell to my knees. I looked at the men, who stared at me. They hung their heads low, and I felt tears fill my eyes.


Much better.

Now… The winner…

Dark Jedi Kriss. Congrats, you’ve taken a second immunity.

This judging has been brought to you by…

Erifia Apoc

Where you can be sure to meet at least four different Erifia’s.

If you’ll excuse me, I need to go plug some other places…

Hugs and Kisses,
Erifia Apoc

Mission Five

Noah Bennet faces off against a legion of Monkeyboys....

"Okay....one question. What's a monkeyboy?" I asked. Now, I've read Next by Michael Crichton. Being that my previous job had lots to do with evolution and genetics, it was required reading, as are all his books. And in it, there is a monkey with human DNA. The result is basically a normal boy, but with more hair and poo-slinging capabilities.

Jon answered my question, "Basically they're like normal boys, but with more hair and poo-slinging capabilities."

Crap! It was just as I had feared!

There was a machine that had to be stopped. I could spend all day shooting monkeyboys, and while that would bring immense joy, it wouldn't win the challenge. Plus, I'm supposed to be a good guy now (I'm trying hard, I really am!), so murder shouldn't always be the answer.

"Save the Cheerleader!" I yelled at my team. Unforunately, they did not shout back "Save the World!" as we had rehearsed. Rather, they broke out in a sad attempt to stop the monkeyboy replication invasion.

My first plan of action was to call up Hana Gitelman, but it turned out she killed herself trying to take out the tracking system. Not exactly how I would have done things, but oh, well. She got the job done.

But that left me goonless! Ted was recently deskullified and Matt is in the hospital. The worst time to be middle management, when all the laborers are out sick (or dead).

Luckily, I had one last ream of paper left. I had been saving it for a special occasion, as I knew my supply, while comically supple, was limited. This last ream would have to get me through the rest of this competition.

I took out a sheet of paper, and decided to negotiate with the monkeyboy leader. It seemed I could coerce him into pushing the button on the machine.

I wrote on the paper, "Mr. Monkeyboy leader, please stop this mindless marauder of mutated monkeyboys."

Quickly, and dexterously, I folded it into an airplane and sent it to the monkeyboy leader. After a few moments, it returned.

"Me not monkeyboy. Me Monkeyman!"

By golly! I was dealing with a creature not unlike Ted. Negotiating this deal should be so easy, even a Geico customer could do it!

"My appologies. Mr. Monkeyman, what would it take to get you to turn the machine off today?"

I looked over at Gyrobo scribbling on my paper about nose tip-detaching robots. "Hey, get away from there you....thing. That's the last ream of paper I have!"

"Miraculous cheese biscuits!" he replied and buzzed off.

Finally, the paper airplane returned with Monkeyman's reply. "Me have three demands. Me want the following listed items: Bananas, More Bananas and a toilet so that us no longer have to resort to poo-flinging, as it makes us seem rather unsophisticated."

Hmm....bananas were easy. I mean, this is an island. Those things growing on those trees must be space bananas. But more bananas would be a little harder, though still doable....like Cher.

But where would I get a toilet? The ones that I know of are all securely fastened to the floor.

And then I saw it. A chair, floating all by its lonesome. Nothing to fasten it securely to a floor. I quickly tossed out the old guy and cut a hole in the seat.

"There!" I said proudly.

Monkeyman was impressed. He enjoyed his toilet very much. Because of the hovering, he was able to fly over wherever he'd like to deposit his poo. No more studying trajectories or getting out his protractor. No, he could easily get his poo where he needed it to be. And to show his gratitude, he pushed the button on the replication machine and stopped the annoying monkeyboys from being such a nuisance.

"Great job, guys," Jon said afterwards. "Now to announce the....hey, where's Charles?"

Friday, May 25, 2007

Xavier monkies around (get it?)

I barely had time to let the body lotion seep into my chaffed skin (that armor last week was a little rough on my pores) when the announcement came through for our next challenge.

Wipe out a bunch of harmless Monkeyboys. No problem there. Those things are annoying. I mean really, really annoying. Most of the other contestants were in total agreement. Henchman was practically giddy as he oiled up his weapons.

"Save the cheerleader!" someone shouted. We all turned around. It was Noah.

"There is no cheerleader here, Mr. Bennet," I pointed out.

"No, no. That's the new slogan for our team," he explained.

"Very stirring," I lied.

As the others made for their respective strike zones, I considered my options. The actual task was to press a button in the midst of an ever growing hoard of Monkeyboys before they took over the world. The only problem is that my powers are psionic and due to their lack of higher brain function, those little freaks are mostly immune. Clearly I would need to get creative.

I slipped into my combat more hoverchair and hitched a ride on a shuttle to the Gladiator's retirement home. Fortunately I had arrived at 11:15, just as the morning mimosa drinking contest was getting under way. My old friend Bone Crusher was just downing his first glass.

"Excuse me," I said in a loud voice, announcing my presence. All the old geezers grumbled as they turned to look at me. "Are there any warriors here?"

They looked around at one another, their blood shot eyes straining in confusion for a few minutes. And then, all at once, eight wrinkly, flabby old arms that had once been strong and proud shot up into the air.

"And is there anyone here who hates Monkeyboys?" I asked.

Their arms shot up again, this time in a creaky instant, accompanied with shouts of, "You bet we do, sonny!"

"And who here would like to spend this fine morning on the field of honor, laying waste to every Monkeyboy in sight?"

"RAH! RAH! RAH!" they all shouted at the top of their decaying, half-collapsed lungs.

I lead my team of warriors back to my assigned Monkeyboy infested zone. The little buggers were everywhere, chattering away inanely about the weather and presidental politics. Distributing the cache of M41A Pulse Rifles I had Hudson bring over to us (and then wiping his memory, of course), I set the retired gladiators to the task.

With mucho gusto they charged into the swarm of Monekyboys. Fur and bananas were flying in all directions. Through the ensuing confusion, I managed to steer my hoverchair to the heart of the great cloning doohickey (a scientific term Hank McCoy taught me) that was popping out Monkeyboys left and right.

"Hey bubba! What you playin' at?" a newly formed one asked me.

"Oh, nothing you'd be interested in," I answered casually, gliding up to the control panel. I flipped open the plastic cover and started to reach for the button.

"Hey now, I don't think you want to be pressin' that, no sir, no how," the oversize rodent protested.

I nodded politely and pressed the button. A loud hum I hadn't been aware of died down and the machine sputtered to a halt, a lone fez falling out of the exit chamber.

Mission accomplished.

Sweet Puma of Yuma!

“Ever notice how transporter malfunctions always make more mayhem instead of less?”

The Monkeyboy elder didn’t return my goofy smile. Clearly diplomatic relations were breaking down.

“So, what exactly makes you an ‘elder?’ I thought all the Monkeyboys here were basically copies...”

Barry Goldwater tapped my arm, a subtle hint that the conversation was already over for today. Almost on cue, the obstinate elder and his cadre of duplicate guards bounced briskly out the room. I distinctly heard a scoff as the doors shut; nervously I slipped my negotiating pen back into my pocket protector. Sweet Grouse of Laos!

“What went wrong, Goldy?”

The senator wiped his glasses, sprayed them with Windex, then wiped them again. “You called him a Monkeyboy.”


“Elders prefer to be called ‘Monkeymen.’”

“Now how was I supposed to know that?! They don’t exactly make their internal customs public knowledge!” I spat indignantly. Wringing hands, still-stinging hands, I shuffled past the bust of Pallas perched above my chamber door and spread the curtains. “Nevermore. I say we go back to bombarding the surface world with atomics!”

Sputniks of Phoenix! Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know. You’ll have the Monkeyboys eating out of your hands like a hungry cat in a fishery in no time.”

“Your enthusiasm is like candy to me,” I whispered, peering over the windowsill. At this altitude the topography of Hacknor looked just like a bumpy globe, but with no clearly marked lines of latitude or longitude. “Bitter, hard candy. Is the elder comfy in his quarters?”

Pointless Scribble!

It was a stroke of brilliance on Goldwater’s part to have the negotiations take place aboard his personal dirigible; it’s pretty hard to walk out on peace talks at 20,000 leagues in the air (although my engineering corps still hasn’t released a conclusive report on the limits of Monkeyboy pogo-stick technology). The best part was watching the Zeppelin crash and burn after the talks had completed, a tradition started by German President Paul von Hindenburg.

“I’ve spoken to the royal guards and they threw some banana pudding on me, which is their way of saying they’re happy.”

My nose twitched. “Tell me the truth. When do you think we’ll be able to get our hands on that teleporter?”

“Tough to say,” Goldwater said. “It’s like putting a hungry cat in a maze with cheese at the end.”

“Are we the cat, or are they?”

But Goldwater just looked on. The sky is so tranquil this time of night...

“Then we have a deal.”

Darl’s lips curled. He was, by far, the most-recommended freelance mercenary in these here parts. The sheer number of testimonials on his website is itself a testimonial to his overall greatness; I at first thought him overqualified.

“I still think you might be dangerously underqualified,” I lied, hoping to trick him into working for free. “What proof do you have that you and your band of renegade Novans can reach that teleporter machine? How do I know I’m not just wastin’ my precious time on you and yours?”

“While you were asking that I surgically removed your heart,” he perambulated, holding my still-beating heart up to the heavens.
Glossy Gnu of Timbuktu!

“Glossy- I mean, Sweet Vole of Sol! If you can perambulate like that again, we might just win this challenge!” I laughed before collapsing from blood loss.

“...And by the second article of paragraph five, the aforementioned party agrees to cede control of the state legislatures to parliament.”

Pointless Scribble!

I buried my face in my muscular arms. The gentle hum of the rear propeller almost made me drift off to sleep, but the disgusting smell of burnt rubber and the constant, incessant hollering by the Monkeyboys kept me as alert as a hungry cat in a dog kennel.

“I’m glad we were able to spend so much time together,” the Monkeyboy elder wept. “Few people have been able to understand Monkeyboy culture as well as you have-”

“Aw, shucks. I’d say it t’weren’t nothin’, but that phrase is probably copyrighted,” I smiled.

“-Barry Goldwater.”

“Sir, it’s been an honor to see the seeds of fiscal conservatism take root in the soil of an alien world, among a race of comical man-apes,” Goldwater said as he shook the elder’s hand.

“Yes... he’s made some serious inroads... now, can we get our hands on that teleporter?”

Goldwater ran his hands through his wispy hair, then shook his head back and forth like a rock star. “We never agreed to that.”

Dryad of Hyderabad! What game are you playing at, Barlow?!” I bellowed. “Pinochle? Yahtzee?!”

“Calm down...”

“Nuts to that! You sank my battleship!”

“The Monkey Elders and I reached a... compromise.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of compromise?”

“The Monkeyboys will begin accepting aid from the United States government and begin transitioning to a capitalist economy.”

“How does codling those primitive sub-apes help us get our hands on-”

“The treaty is off,” the Monkeyboy elder (who hadn’t left the room) said, grinding his teeth. “And we’re leaving. Ready the pogo-sticks!”

Pointless Scribble!

“Th- my engineering corps will hear of this!” I called half-heartedly as the Monkeyboys stormed out, closing the door unreasonably lightly for someone so offended.

Sweet Goat Calf of Flagstaff! You’ve just handed Hacknor over to the Soviets!” Goldwater said passionately, shaking his bare knuckles for added effect.

“Bah! You’re still running on a pre-Reagan mindset.” I shoved the old man. “What Soviets?”

“Micro-Soviets! They remade the entire Soviet Union to scale after it fell! They’re almost microscopic by now. And you’ve just given them a vibrant young economy of Monkeyboy go-getters!”

“Yes... or have I?” Looking out over the bough of the dirigible we saw a pack of Monkeyboys gliding gently to the ground on some top-secret pogo-sticks. As we watched, blue light shot up from the surface and splashed over them; seconds later there were a few pogo-sticks falling to the ground, but nobody was riding them. Phantom Pogo-sticks!

Vulture of Horror! What did you do to those Monkeyboys?”

“I hired Darl the Bloody and his band of Novans to break into the Monkeyboy capital and reset the teleporter,” I admitted. “All the Monkeyboys are now dissipated, thanks to me!”

Sweet Toucan of Tucson! You just sold your soul for a quick fix. I like that. Come by my office.” He handed me a business card with his 1964 campaign headquarters’ address on it.

“I’ll have to sleep on it,” I lied, tossing the card into the nearest garbage bin. It was on the other side of the room, and I’m sure he must have seen me throw it in because he winced when I spit my gum onto the card prior to disposal.

My story. Sans pictures

Monkeyboys are disgusting, rude and they throw their own poo.
I know this because I have been pelted by it.
I now know why Henchy hates them.
This is the story of how I came to share that hate.

When I got to Island M (which I'm sure Magneto has a trademark suit coming against it.) I find the monkeyboys. They call me Hoochie Momma and scream out Hellooo Nurse!
They offer me a banana cream pie and I thank them kindly. Then the pie explode's in my face. They all laugh and think its a great joke. I accept it as part of the monkeyboy culture and laugh along. I continue on my way past them and one of them sprays a seltzer bottle in my face. Annoying, but it did wash away the remnants of the banana cream pie. I thanked the monkeyboy and continued on my way.
"Lady! lady! lady!" called another behind me. He was holding a present wrapped up with a big pink bow. He looked at me his eyes all wide, smiling and innocent.
"Is that for me?" I asked.
He nodded and I took it from him. Of course I did expect it to blow up when I went to open it. What I didn't expect was that the present contained, plastique explosives.
The blast sent me hurtling through the air. I ended up being stopped by a well placed brick wall. I knew they'd put it there cause the cement was still wet. I struggled out of the bricks to the applause of the monkeyboy horde.
"Bravo! Encore!" They shouted.
"Is this funny to you?" I shouted loosing my temper.
"Yes." they answered in unison.
I had a job to do and I realised that Jons fear of a planet full of monkeyboys was right. Hell an island of them was getting on my nerves.
I decided to get to the Transporter as quickly as I could. I ran to where I knew the faulty device was. Of course the monkeyboys responded to my flight. I thought I'd gotten ahead of the horde but I was wrong. From out of the trees came the onslaught. They began throwing banana peels, pies, anvils, and dumbbells. Somewhere along the line a neo-classical statue landed in front of me.
"What next a grand piano?" I asked.
I saw my goal in front me. Its was still spewing out monkeyboys.
I got the control panel I pressed the button. The transporter stopped.
It was all over. I allowed myself a moment of victory.
I was hit by the monkeyboys most lethal weapon. Poo.

So thats what happened.

Love you all. (except monkeyboys)


I Flung Stuff. They Flung Stuff

My Fellow Gladiators:

Greetings from the Ghost of Congressman Nathan Petrelli. I trust everyone is doing well. I’m slightly dead myself, and I will be dividing my time in between the games and purgatory. I am sure that death will not hinder my ability to complete the latest challenge. Of course, I don’t fully understand what a monkeyboy is, but I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal. I tried to go to Jon’s blog for more into; but my hand kept passing through the mouse. In fact, if it weren’t for my new friend Hana Gitelman, I wouldn’t have been able to post this blog.

Anyway, let's move on to the problem at hand. Since Jon didn’t take my advice to nuke them from orbit, I decided I would take a more direct approach. Since I couldn’t make my ghostly form pilot the dropship I had to hitch a ride with these lame guys.

They should be wearing a sign that says, “Oh Yeah…I’m never getting laid.”

When we arrived on the island, my traveling companions took one look at the situation and promptly abandoned me. Fortunately, my leadership skills didn’t die in the same explosion I did, and I was able to quickly find the Monkeyboy Embassy. Before heading to the transporter room, I decided to stop in and speak with the Ambassador to the Monkeys. As a Congressman, I feel it is only prudent to make contacts when possible.

When I first entered the Ambassador’s office, I thought I saw an actual monkey; but it turned out to be a trick of my eyes because my double take revealed the ambassador standing behind his desk. I could tell he was a real renaissance man from his devotion to the opera. He even gave me a small performance.

Click here for Opera Man

After talking with him for just a few minutes, I realized we were on the same wavelength. We agreed to keep in touch. As he walked me to the door, he pressed a banana into my hand. What a friendly man!! Five minutes later, I grew to appreciate his present even more. (This is what we political writers like to call foreshadowing.) Anyway, I stuck the banana in my pocket and moved on to the transporter room. Outside the door, I noticed two monkeyboys playing. As I approached, one of them stopped and said, “Who you there? You look like my brudder.”

I tried to explain that I have only one brother, but they cut me off by saying, “You have purddy lips.” Well the only thing I could say to that was: WTF? When they started to edge toward me, I did the only thing a savvy Congressman from New York could do. I pulled my banana out of my pants. Of course, it took about five tries before my ghostly hands could grasp it; but it all worked out in the end. The monkeyboys’ had their eyes glued to my banana, so I flung it at the one closest to me. The banana shot out of my hand wacked monkeyboy one on the head and boomeranged back to me. I caught it with no problem, (I’m really athletic.) and I flung it again at monkeyboy two. Just as the banana left my hand; he said, “You even fling bananas like my brudder.” It was the last thing he said before losing consciousness.

After stepping over the bodies, I entered into the transporter area. There were a few barrels blocking the transporter machine, but I thought I saw Dark Jedi making out with one of the monkeyboys?? When I began to step around the barrels for a closer look, I ran directly into another monkeyboy. I don’t know who was more scared him or me… He mumbled something about being home alone. I just screamed.

He was so frightened by my screams he threw some sort of crap at me and then fainted. With him out of my way, I went to finish my mission. Fortunately, Dark Jedi K. and already taken care of it. That certainly explains why she was making out with a monkeyboy. Talk about taking one for the team, but you just gotta' love a girl with initiative.

Thursday, May 24, 2007


Ladies and Gents,

Again Jon starts with it.

Jon: We have another emergency situation, contestants. I know it’s unbelievable, but it’s true. There was a transporter malfunction at the Monkeyboy Embassy on Fire Island M (the M stands for Monkeyboy)!Monkeyboys are being replicated all across the island! More and more are coming through by the second and the whole island will soon be choked by an insane amount of these bizarre anthropomorphic unfunny creatures.

I swear he came up with this show just so we can do his dirty work. The idea to nuke the place was nixed.

Jon: We need you contestants to go in there and press the recall button on the transporter to send them all back.

See more dirty work, While he meets with a Queen and celebrates his 2nd Blogoversary.

Jon: The monkeyboys apparently are being synthesized by the transporter, so they’re not being teleported in from anywhere and whether or not they are actually “alive” is something for the philosophers to debate. What’s most important is that they’re sent back through the machine into the nothingness from which they came before they become a terrible burden on this galaxy.

Henchman (cocking an automatic rifle): Oh yeah, time for me to shine. I think to myself. Payback, this it's for real.

Godfrey Zebulon: You’re not going to shoot them all are you?

Henchman: Only the ones who get in my way. Or the ones trying to get out of my way.I think to myself.* Heck yeah.*

Jon: Another thing that I must warn you about the monkeyboys is their incredible unpredictability. They have some sort of morphic ability, a horrifically juvenile mindset and a terrifying penchant for wacky physical humor. Gladiators, proceed with caution. You have the marine dropships and hovercycles at your disposal; use any powers or abilities that you have if you can.

I grab some gear and get ready.

I am going to kill them all from Chimpan "A" to Chimpanzee. This time they aren't going to make a monkey out of me. I have a mole working for me. It should make this a little easier, but Monkeyboys aren't easy. They never are.

The Dropship flys by Monkeyboy Island, for some reason it's sunny. Monkeyboy Island is never sunny.

This mean the imates are running the Asylum. Not good. The whole island is now full of prat falls and fart jokes. The ground is littered with banana peels, bad sitcom scripts for According to Jim and Two and a Half Men.

I have to be careful now. No run and gun. I don't want to call atention to myself. So, that means no Dark Beast, yet. I pick off a few Monkeyboys from far away.

This one gets the drop on me.

"Hey, its a Banana Man." It shouts.

I think to myself * Maybe, it wasn't a good idea to wear all yellow.*

They charge, I empty clip after clip, nothing seems to stop them. It's like there is an unending supply. I summon as many Dark Beast as I can. They disappear under a sea of monkeyboys asking to pull their fingers.

I punch and kick my way through them. My super strength and speed are not enough. They swarm. I yell "Overdrive", with this setting I can hold my own with Thor. I smash and throw the monkeys as far as the eye can see. I keep fighting as I hear "But, we find you a peeling..."
I blackout.

I wake to see these three guarding me. They take to the Mastermind behind all of this.

Grodd. Gorillia Grodd to be exact.

"Well.Well, Well, if it isn't Local Henchman 432. How are you doing? Not that I care. After all, you blacklisted me. As some one, who can never hire from the Henchman Union. This bothers me, because good labor is so hard to find. Until now." Grodd yaps on.

"Lets get a good look at you." He clutchs my face.

"Get your paws off of me, you damn dirty ape." I yell out.

He backhands me across the chamber.

"You never get the Monkeyboys to think straight, let alone work for you." I inform him.

"Oh, but with this helmet, I will. It grants me the power to filter through the monkey business. Ha ha, get it." He chuckles.

"No, but you will." I retort.

My mole hits Grodd in the back of the head, with a chair. While saying "Have a seat."

I thank Dr. Zaius.

"Oh, No. I want to hear it." He speak softly.

I respond. "Well, Dr. Zaius. You finally made a monkey out of me." Ugh.

I get to the recall button on the transporter and bam. The job is over. I head back to camp. I still am going to Nuke this place as soon as the show is over.

Dental for All.

Dr.Polaris rules.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Demented monkeyboys..

I've seen some strange stuff in my time.. I really have..

This takes the cake.
The whole building was flooded with these monkeyboys. .creepy little things.. looked like something between


Well anyways.. Some were wearing helmets that looked like Vader's.. okay.. that in itself was freaky. there were others that had little princess tiaras on, and more still that acted like this strange baby.. I think his name was Stewie...

They all came flying at me at once.. The ones with the tiaras flung them at me.. God those things hurt like heck! When they were flung they transformed into glowing discs..

" PINK SUGAR HEART ATTACK!" It was the littlest monkeyboy with a pink tiara on it's head.
I ducked and ended up with an armload clinging to me" dada!" they all chimed looking up at me with utterly adoring eyes.
Under any other circumstances this would be cute ,but now it was just creepy. The one decked out in yellow had a gold stone around it's neck.. It looked like a saber crystal so I figured, what did I have to loose?
I grabbed the crystal and jammed it into the saber hilt.. When I hit the ignition switch.. Boy was I in for one doozy of a surprise.. The yellow crystal was a banana shaped saber.. My head hit my palm.. God .. I was so lucky Pho wasn't here. She'd never let me live this down.. DJK wouldn't either when she found out.. Then simultaneously all the monkeyboys hit the floor.. " All hawil da kwing..!"

I blinked.. why did I feel like that one guy in the movie.. oh what did they call it? Oh yeah.. Lord of the Rings.. Pho has an utter fascination with that series.. I myself happen to rather like Aragorn.. Legolas is cool too , but Aragorn just had a more.. eh.. real look about him..

So going with the flow I raise my yellow saber and point toward the machine " Forward to Pelenor!" just then the machine cranked.. DJK had gotten the machine to suck the pathetic little things up, thank the force. The room was crawling with the demented little things.. Finally the room started to clear until there was only one in the room left.. I could hear the others fighting with theirs.. I just wanted to get out of this without having to get yet ANOTHER robe

There was one last one that clung to my leg" don't gwo! I lub you!" Pathetically cute, but she had to go.. The yellow saber faded and in it's place was a rose, a red rose.. I threw it hard.

The last monkeyboy that was in my demented group let me go . I stood up and dusted myself off with one nightmare of a headache.
Like I said
One of the MOST weird experiences of my life.
Now if you'll excuse me I think I need to sort all this crossbreeding with the monkeyboys out
Until Later

Monkeyboy Popper

I watched this machine pop out Monkeyboy after Monkeyboy. The galaxy over run by Monkeyboys? I don’t think so.

Maybe there is away to reverse the machine so it sucks them all back in… but how? I went over avoiding the grabby little things pulling on my robes and trying to jump all over me. As I tried to rip open the cover and look inside a heavey armored Monkeyboy slapped my leg with a plastic banana on the shin.

“Ouch you little-“

“MUUHGGAA! You will not touch the Popper!” he says.

“Step off, Monkey face” I said, shoving him back.

“MUUHGGAAGOOA! Wench! I’ll beat your legs off with the Nanner of Doom!” he said hitting me again, this time in the knee.

The what of what? “I’m going to shove your Nanner of Doom up your…” BAM! He clocked me in the gut with it. Ok, that was it! I whipped out my lightsaber. “You ever seen a Purple People Eater, Monkeyface?”

I ignited the blade.

The Monkeyboy guard wet his pants.

“MUUUGGGGWWAWAWAGHHAAAOOOOOOO! Marry me!” he shouted and grabbed my leg.

“Get off me!”

“MUUHGGAAGOOALOOOOOLLAAAA- LLLAAAA!” He tried to crawl up my side. I tried to swat him off. He held on like Whomp Rat with cheese.

He got up to my chest and looked down. “GOOOOLA-LALA-LAL-MUMAAA!”

Dirty little pervert! I shoved him off me and he ran back, clutching my leg, swinging his plastic nanner with one hand.


Why me I ask? Why me?

I swing back and kicked him and he went flying. He came right back. Right on to the blade of Purple People Eater.


“Sorry fuzz ball,” I muttered. “I anit Queem of no Monkeyboy’s popper!”

I went to transporter and somehow managed to get it to go from pop to suck.

And just sounds bad all around.

Challenge #5

The challenge has been cast. The gauntlet thrown down. Many have been called, few have answered. On the planet Hacknor... On Fire Island D, brave contestants will compete. Who will falter? Who will thrive? Who will be

Jon: We have another emergency situation, contestants. I know it’s unbelievable, but it’s true. There was a transporter malfunction at the Monkeyboy Embassy on Fire Island M (the M stands for Monkeyboy)!

Synth-Lyn: who would give monkeyboys a transporter?

Jon: I have no idea, but what is important is that monkeyboys are being replicated all across the island! More and more are coming through by the second and the whole island will soon be choked by an insane amount of these bizarre anthropomorphic unfunny creatures.

Mr. Bennet: So that’s not a big deal, right? They’ll just fill up that one island.

Henchman (smacking fist): I hope they all drown like stupid lemmings.

Dark Jedi Kriss: Yes, but they don’t deserve to die. They’re kind of cute.

Henchman: What? You think monkeyboys are cute?

Dark Jedi Kriss: Ew no way, I was talking about the lemmings.

Gyrobo: I once had a monkeyboy. No wait, it was a toaster. It caught fire after I tried to toast rice cakes in it. Barry Goldwater was pissed.

Nathan Petrelli: We may have to just cut our losses and nuke the whole site from orbit.

Professor Xavier: While normally I don’t approve the notion of excess violence, I would have to concur that nuking a horde of monkeyboys would indeed be for the greater good.

Mr. Bennet: I’ll pull the trigger. One time at the paper mill, I had to shoot my boss right in the hea—er, once I shot him a memo. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

Jon: No, no, even though nuking them from orbit does sound like a great idea, there’s no guarantee that the explosion would shut down the teleporter. If this calamity continues, the monkeyboys would soon overrun the planet. They’ll eat all the banana and banana-flavored foods, throw mud at everyone, and just generally stink up the whole place until it’s completely uninhabitable. We need you contestants to go in there and press the recall button on the transporter to send them all back.

The monkeyboys apparently are being synthesized by the transporter, so they’re not being teleported in from anywhere and whether or not they are actually “alive” is something for the philosophers to debate. What’s most important is that they’re sent back through the machine into the nothingness from which they came before they become a terrible burden on this galaxy.

Henchman (cocking an automatic rifle): Oh yeah, time for me to shine.

Godfrey Zebulon: You’re not going to shoot them all are you?

Henchman: Only the ones who get in my way. Or the ones trying to get out of my way.

Dark Jedi Kriss: Maybe we could just take control of their minds and get them back in the machine.

Jon: Ah, that probably won’t work too well. Monkeyboys seem to be incredibly resistant to mind control, as the Professor could attest.

Professor X: It’s like trying to scoop a handful of water out of an empty bucket.

Jon: Another thing that I must warn you about the monkeyboys is their incredible unpredictability. They have some sort of morphic ability, a horrifically juvenile mindset and a terrifying penchant for wacky physical humor. Gladiators, proceed with caution. You have the marine dropships and hovercycles at your disposal; use any powers or abilities that you have if you can.

Gyrobo: Non sequitur!

Last Gladiator Standing II was brought to you in part American Aviation.

Learn to fly with American Aviation. Classes are available right now.

Challenge #4, Judgement

The challenge has been cast. The gauntlet thrown down. Many have been called, few have answered. On the planet Hacknor... On Fire Island D, brave contestants will compete. Who will falter? Who will thrive? Who will be

OK Gladiators, your votes have been counted.

One of you will not be going on to the next round.

Who will it be?

Who will be going home in dishonor?

Who, despite being the bastard loveclone of one of the galaxy's mightiest heroes and Earth's greatest scientific mind just could quite negotiate the obstacle course?

Did that give it away?

Superboy, you are not the Last Gladiator Standing, goodbye.

Last Gladiator Standing II was brought to you in part by Elephant Spider-Man 3.

Elephant Spider-Man 3 is in theaters now, see it today!

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Hudson's Judgement

Alright boys and girls, I am going to pass judgment on you because some slack jawed non-Colonial Marine personnel got herself stuck in the Stargate. (Sorry Arfia, don’t be mad at me ‘cuz I told everyone).

Now I am tough but fair. In my eyes, you are all equal. Some more equal than others.

Here is my judgement:

Local Henchman: Congratulations, you came in first. Unfortunately, you came in first on the wrong course so you don’t win. Ha ha. Jughead called, he wants his hat back. What? The hat, get it? Aw nevermind.

Godfrey: Good job, Jedi have super strength, right? Can you open this jar of peanut butter for me?

Dark Jedi Kriss: Good job, I especially liked the shower part. So uh, what are you doing this Saturday?

Kon-El: Your performance on this challenge hinges on this one very, very important question: Can you give Power girl this note with my phone number?

Petrelli: You get negative points for having that long haired hippy freak on your post. I can’t stand them hippies, they’re always like “Oh man,” and “like wow, man.”

Synth-Lin: You’re too hot for words. ‘Nuff said.

Xavier: You also get negative points. I don’t recall telling anyone to use armor on the course. You sir, are not Colonial Marine material. I pity you and all your illegitimate children.

Gyrobo: There’s something awesome about how you work. Can we hook you up to the Sulaco and power the warp drives?

Bennet: Clearly this was your moment to shine, you negotiated this course like a seasoned pro. If you wanted to be a Colonial Marine, you could go far. Man, you could be a corporal maybe a corporal first class.

So, that’s how that rolls. I’d like to make you all winners, but that’s not how it works around here, especially since most of you stunk up the joint like PFC Vasquez’s armpits after PT.

Dark Jedi Kriss, you are the winner of this round. Oh, did I mention that I am free on Saturday night? Mebbe you and I could go out to dinner or something? It's franks and beans night at the chowhall.

OK, Team-O Supremo email Jon with your vote.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Mission Four

Mr. Bennet quickly and heroically makes his way through the obstacle course....

Ah, an obstacle course! All Primatech Paper Salesman are put through a similar course (Of course, Primatech's has a Pit of Rabid Tibetan Felines and poo-flinging Radical Wheat Monkeys). I had an advantage in this challenge. As the only paper salesman, I'm likely the only one here that has actually completed an obstacle course.

I felt sorry for the wheelchair guy, though. But only for a moment. After that, I was thrilled he was on the opposing team.

On the starting line, I yelled over at Baldy, "Break a leg!" I admit, my seemingly sportsman-like wishing of good luck was actually a cleverly disguised insult. The key in competition is to weakn your enemy. Demoralizing the crippled would only make him drag further behind!

The obstacle course was underway. Wheelchair Guy took off with more-than-handicapable speed. "Whaaaa??"

I made my way through the obstacle course. The first obstacle....trenches! Easy! I mean, all they are really are glorified ditches.

The flamethrowers, however, proved difficult. Fifteen years in the paper business has given me an uneasy feeling toward fire, paper's natural enemy. But I ducked, dodged and even weaved my way through the fiery death machines. Not since my bachelor's party had I encountered such hot madness. (Seriously, the stripper had flamethrowers for legs. Looking back, maybe Quentin Tarantino wasn't the best planner for the event.)

What now? Malaysian Tiger Traps! Ha! I laugh at the pain-invoking contraptions. Last time I checked, I wasn't a Malaysian Tiger. I ran across the traps with ease.

Until I triggered one.

After a few minutes of crying, I managed to escape the traps. But I had lost a lot of time, I had to ketchup! So, I took off running. I ran and ran and jogged at a quick pace, then I realized I was in quicksand! I wasn't going anywhere, just running in place. Gah!

I pulled out a few reams of paper and built a path over the quicksand. Finally, I was near the finish. Only one thing remained. Scandinavian Yak Traps!

Now, last time I checked I wasn't a Scandinavian Yak. So, I too-wait a minute! I caught myself just in time. Thinking back to the so-called Malaysian Tiger Traps, I realized that Jon had purposely deceived us with fancy trap names. They're not Scandinavian Yak or Malaysian Tiger traps, they're Anything That Touches Them Traps! And I was certainly a potential anything.

So, I cleverly went around the trap field and crossed the finish line unscathed! Well, maybe a little scathed. Let's go with minutely scathed. That works....

So, I cleverly went around the trap field and crossed the finish line minutely scathed! Yay!

Non Sequitur!

As I stood stalwartly beside the entrance to the Colonial Marine’s spring-themed obstacle course, all I could think about was... Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney.

“Why?” I asked one of the entrance guards, “Why isn’t he here for me now?

But all I got was an indifferent shrug and a gesture that could be interpreted as either “go on” or “I want to hit your face with the back of my hand.”

The doors creaked shut as I passed the Romanesque pillars. Everything within the simulation — at least I’m assuming the obstacle course was a simulation — was so vibrant and supersaturated that I had the strongest urge to just find a degaussing button and hit it.

Sweet Squid of Madrid! Under a field of flagellating cornstalks I could see numerous reptiles with orange scales, dark red eyes, and protruding horns scurrying around in a futile attempt to climb the surreal stalks. Above me the sky was a low cyan fading to black, but the stars were arranged in such perfect geometric patterns that Plato himself would have broken down and wept in their presence. Beside me a spectral being stamped his foot impatiently. After thirty seconds of unresponsiveness on my part, he cleared his throat repeatedly while tapping the back of my neck with a sharpened spork.

“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” I asked uncharacteristically politely as spork fragments worked themselves out of my neck flap. The old ghost was, after all, more familiar with the course than I was. Better to get on his good side than risk falling behind with my pride intact.

Pointless Scribble!

Instead of responding in kind, he shoved a pamphlet into my arms. I cradled it tenderly, looking up as if to say “why? Why have you given me the greatest gift of all, the gift of literature?”

“I been bwiefed already on ya, ya fawl!” He spat. It was as if every tooth had been removed from his head, it was! I bent down, trying to get a good look at the inside of the old man’s mouth, but he pushed me away. Just like the Romney campaign...

“Is... is there anything I can do to make your death a little more bearable?” Brown-nosing is only one of my skills, but it’s one that I find I need to use more and more these days, what with the wireless Internet and all.

“Naw, ya...”

“I can get you into heaven. I know people.”

He seemed to consider it, but flickered out of existence a second later. There was a loud click-popping noise, and from the depths of the sky came the voice of Hudson: “Obstruction courses aren’t about bribes! They’re all about the obstruction! Don’t ever forget that, or it’s game over!”

Pointless Scribble!

I felt shame. Shame that I’d been caught, shame that the easy way out was gone, shame that I’d crashed a funeral last month dressed as a clown. Patch Adams is a misleading movie...

“Okay.” I took a few deep breaths. “I can do this. I’m an American, and I have diplomatic immunity here.”

Opening the pamphlet, I turned to page one. Copyright 2007. Dedicated to...

Great Stork of New York! I’ll never make it through this alive!” I crumpled the pamphlet angrily and tossed it into a Scruff McGruff-brand waste disposal receptacle on the way back out.

A slick slide rule slid down the wall,
Slid slightly south, but didn’t fall.

“Can you see it yet? Does it come in clear?
Can you see broadcasts from yesteryear?”

Deep within the darkened cave
A band of rouge protectors raged,
For years on end to try and save
Unlicensed art of another age.

From radio waves to the televised,
Each stray thought was mass archived.

“The picture’s in! Let’s thank ourselves-
Sweet Space-Age Elves of B-6-12!

Whipping ’cross the viewing port
Electric bolts from outer space
Made half the images contort,
And spliced new footage in their place.

Due to the nature of the time transcoder,
All the changes to the show
Cascaded backwards, out of order,
Breaking swiftly time’s sweet flow.

“Well, we had a good run!” the chief rogue laughed.
“We even broke history! That’s no easy task.
If we must go down, let’s go down without fright!
Obliteration to all, and to all a good night!”

Pointless Scribble!

Sweet-a Moose-a of Tuscaloosa! Gyrobo, that was amazing!”

Using only my mind, I blasted another hole through the gigantic slide. Green slime squirted everywhere as the concrete base collapsed, and as it fell scores of children cheered me on.

“I owe it all to you, Mitt. I doubt I could’ve gotten past the flamethrowers without the meditation techniques you taught me last week.”

The former governor took a bow, unabashedly patting his large gut. “It’s the least I could do after you donated that large kidney balloon to my campaign. Now people will know how I stand on the kidney issue!”

“I’m done having this conversation with you, Mitt. The challenge is over, and I’d like to go back to the hotel and relax now.”

My sudden mood swing left him a little shaken. “But I- I didn’t prepare for the debate, just so I could help you-”

“And that’s why Giuliani and McCain are serious contenders and you’re just a third wheel. Go back to Kansas, hippie!

My shoulder collided with his arm as I brushed past him. It’s not that I like making presidential candidates cry in public, but nothing cuts into my free time. Nothing. Sorry, Mitt.

Xavier does his thing

I looked up at the 20 foot tall cement wall facing me just across the start line of the obstacle course. Then I looked down at my wheelchair. This might be tricky.

The wall had a stenciled sign on the front. "Abandon All Hope," it said. I knew I could take the wall out with my hover chair's mini-Sidewinder heat seeking missiles, but that would be the end of my bag of tricks.

A loud, piercing scream from far behind me caught my attention. I swiveled the chair around and saw in the distance a large load lifter lugging the exo-skeleton armors from last week's challenge to the repair yard. An ideas tarted to peculate in my little bald skull.

You see I have actually had some experience with these kinds of armors. I've taken over Tony Stark's mind once or twice while he was dressed up as Iron Man. Purely for educational purposes, I assure you. I reached out telepathically and made the service technician bring me the least damaged suit. Turns out it was Svetlana's. I could still smell the lingering scent of fresh Twinkies.

After hauling myself inside and adjusting the inner body suit to my shape, I looked over the controls. Svetlana's armor resembled a giant purple Armidillo. It's primary weapon seemed to be a giant flashlight. That should be extremely useful. I did find the secondary weapon controls, however.

Put the armor's head down, I charged forward, smashing the 20 foot cement wall into shards. With a thrill of victory, I spun around a few times and thrust my hips back and forth.

Running at top speed, I blew through the wimpy "Flame Throwers of Doom" and "Man eating Plants of Munchiness." Not a scratch on the armor. After I had jetted over the "Bubbling Lava Pits of Flambeing," 5 man-eating tigers jumped out of the bushes at me. I tried to suppress a laugh as they lunged on top of me and did their best to gnaw on the duro-plate of my exo-skeleton. A few minutes later, with rather puzzled looks, they gave up and skulked back into the bushes.

I ran through the course at top speed. By the time I hit the "Field of Blaster Caps" I was practically skipping. Unfortunately I skipped right onto a land mine.

My armored suit was blasted high into the air and crashed hard right onto another mine. By some truly unfortunate coincidence, I continued bouncing from mine to mine until I was thrown clear of the field.

I slowly lifted my dizzy head and tried to focus my eyes. Was that a pinkie in front of me? I hoped it wasn't mine. What was I saying? Of course not. Hauling myself to my feet, I ran a quick diagnostic and found the suit was still mostly functional. At least it worked well enough for me to limp through the "Flowerbed of Aromatic Pistols." I'm not sure what that one was about.

Regardless, I managed to cross the finish line. Then I had the service technician bring my chair around. As I climbed out of the armor, the strangest craving for a Twinkie came over me.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Chutes and Dragons.

Ladies and Gents,

I was still a little sleepy after the last challenge. So I let Jon yammer on about the next one.

Jon: Welcome contestants, Wa wa ,Wa Wa.I give you Private Hudson.

Huh? I think to myself.

Hudson: Atyennnnn-Hyut! Listen up, it’s time to get frosty. I am your senior drill instructor Private Hudson and you will listen to me good. Your daddies are not here and your mommies are not here for you, for this challenge I will be your daddy and your mommy.

All I hear is he likes to play dress up as the Mommy and Daddy.

Hudson: Ah, OK, here’s the challenge. Through that gate is Blah blah blah obstacle course ever devised by the Colonial Marine Training and Doctrine Command, the CoMTrDoC. There are many paths to take, Meow meow meow meow, I want chicken, I want liver... dangerous than the last! (Well, not really, but that sounds cool when I say it, doesn’t it?). There are trenches, flame throwers, swinging blades, raging rivers, deadly quicksand, Malaysian tiger traps, Scandinavian yak traps, and a giant slide of green slime. Meow mix, please deliver. In fact, very few Colonial Marines who go through that come out in one piece!

Hey look, Cows. I think.

Hudson: Because it’s training! This is how you become a motivated, dedicated, high speed low drag, super frosty, gung ho deadly killer part of the greatest team that this galaxy has ever laid its eyes on.

Professor X: The X-Men?

Henchman: Advanced Idea Mechanics?

Gyrobo: The Traveling Wilburys?

Some other stuff was spewing out Hudson mouth, but by time time I was lost. I start a slow walk to the course.

"O' no you don't. You get back here maggot." Hudson yells.

What, the imbecile did not call me a maggot. I wake up out of my daydream and make a bee line for Hudson's throat. I am going to tear the nitwit a new cornhole.

Jon gives me a look.


*Adds to list*

1. Monkeyboy Island
2. Hudson

I am going to busy after this game.

"You're not so cool now, huh? I got a different course for you." He spits out.

I ask why.

"Because, I am still paying off my credit card bill." He cries and then he shows me his "map".

I just give him a blank look. I am, so going to get that buffoon after this. I swear.

I start off at the Razor wire maze. I send a Dark beast through, It doesn't help. It gets stuck.

Ow, I can't move to fast or I'll get ripped to shreds. I pace slowly and carefully, I come out with a few nicks and cuts. My uniform is trashed. While leaning against a wall, I find a hidden room with a set of clothes. I need to pour on the speed to make up for lost time.

Hurtling past the Hungry, hungry doors of the South beach diet, was a breeze. I stop at the next obstalce. The room is pitch black, I summon another Dark beast. It takes a few steps, then crashes to the floor.

I wall run to safety on the other side. Man, Hudson really made this one a toughie. NOT.

I glide into the next stage. I pause for a moment and hear a huge roar. That is never good.


I catch a deep breath and give it a go. It can't be that bad. It's Hudson, he is a GLB, a tool.

Dragon. How the heck does Hudson get a Dragon?

"That's all I could get from my rewards program. You have fun maggot." Hudson infoms me through a speaker at the end of the hall.

He is so dead.

The Dragon lunges at me. I dodge to the left and see a locked door. That mean a way out. I slam at the door with full force.


Ow. To my surprise, it doesn't budge.

"It's magick Human. Only the key on my horn will let you out." The Dragon speaks.

"Ok, before I die. Can I ask you to do something for me, Mr.Dragon.? I plead.

"Sure, why not frail thing." It reponds.

I hold out my right hand, fingers stretched out. "Pick two."

The Dragon picks my index and middle fingers.

I poke it in it's left eye, snatch the key and make a break for the door. I shut the door fast behind me.

I step forward in the dark and..

I end up in a pool of rubber balls.

Dental for all.

Dr.Polaris rules.

Its a Green and Mean world

I was expecting something like a wall and a rope swing. You know like on Stripes, with Bill Murray and me playing one of the cute soldier chicks. That Bill Murray is a rouge.
But what I got was so not that. I get to the first obstacle and its a pool of Jello. I go to step through it without getting any Jello on me when I'm shot at. I hit the squishy lime flavoured deck. My outfit is ruined and there's Jello in my hair and up my nose. I go to get up but the sadistic gunman fires again. So its back into the Jello. Then I hear the sadist.
"Crawl like the worm you are girl!" shouts the voice.
I'm sticky confused and covered in lime green lumps of Jello. So I crawl to the end of the pool.
You know Jon your paying the dry cleaning bill.
I get to the end and I get a look at the sadist.
"Sam Jackson!" I exclaim.
"Yes I'm Samuel L. Jackson. And girl your cute ass better start running or its gonna get a cap in it." He threatens.
Oh well at least I got to meet Sam Jackson.
Bewildered and slightly scared that Sam just might 'pop a cap in my cute caboose' (try saying that five times fast) I fell into the next obstacle.
It was a pit, a very big dark dank pit. With skulls of various animals and aliens.
"Grrrraaaoowlll!" roared something in the darkness. And then it stepped out of the darkness.
"Oh dear!" I exclaimed. "Its not possible that your allergic to lime jello are you?"
The beast lunged swiping me with its claws. It was quite obvious that it wasn't allergic to lime jello. I dodged the attack. However my outfit didn't fare as well as me.
"Hey! I spent hours putting this together." I shouted back. The beast didn't listen and went to slash me again. I blocked the attack. He leaned down to take a bite out of me and I punched him. He went down like Paris Hilton.
"Thats what happens when you ruin my outfit. Bitch!" I yelled at the unconscious beast.
I make my way quickly around the beast and I can see a door. I open it and walk in.
"Lin your just in time." says a guy in speedos."Your next obstacle is to perform the following Yoga positions."
He shows me the first one.
"Excuse me!" I interrupt. "I've just had to crawl through a pool of Jello while being shot at. Then I had to fight a beast from I don't know where. And now you want me to do yoga?" It was all a bit too hard to take in.
"Its all part of a Colonial Marines training Lin." smiled the instructor genuinely.
"Well ok." I relent. "If its part of the course then I guess I have to."
I get into the position and the guy gooses me. I fall over.
"Did you just pinch me on the bottom?" I ask in disbelief.
"I am sorry I couldn't resist. Forgive me." He says smiling that genuine smile again.
Thats it. I can stand any more of this. No more Miss nice Lin.
"I forgive you but can you forgive me." I say. I grab him and put him into a position more acceptable.
"No no no..." his screams are muffled by his own anus.
Of course the slide and the slime were to come and I loathed the fact that again I was going to have to writhe around in a pile of something green. I was thinking about what I could do to avoid this. In the end I realised I just had to do it.

I'm going to have a bath for a week. By then I should be calm and clean enough to deal with you all.

Love my bath.