Saturday, January 20, 2007

Finding the Ropes with My New Pair of Shoes

Okay, truth be told I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with this blog when I started it. And I still don't know. But my incredible deductive powers are at work:

*Fic will be here, eventually, but not as commonplace as you were lead to believe. The reason for this is that fic takes a long time. Unless you're lucky enough to be Ewen Campion-Clarke who freaks me out with his speed of writing. (And quality - a certain fellow named Sparacus also has an impressive output rate but impresses me a lot less)
*Rambling probably was not listed as as relevently as it should have been in my original spiel
*These are not my boxer shorts.
*Sorry, but if things carry on like last night I'll be forced to bring cricket into this blog. And you WILL HAVE TO READ IT!!!
*I need a haircut.
*Updates will be erratic on weekends. My body seems to have gotten confused at one point and believed that weekends are meant to be a time to initiate complete bodily and mental shut-down.

I have a sense of diligence, however, in my mission to poison the minds of my generation with gibberish as frequently as possible. So allow me to introduce what should be a new weekly feature (along with my music video reviews) that will seriously confuse you - or should at any rate. I'll give my friend the... hindrance of trust? Well, the opposite of the benefit of doubt at any rate, as I assume he won't mind me posting these because he's been asking me to post these stories on random sites for a couple of years. (Including on Outpost Gallifrey's fan-fic section as "my vision of Doctor Who") With a little bit of further ado after the next bit, allow me to introduce

a work of most malevolent insanity courtesy of
Messr. DJ Renegade D

No doubt the first thing you'll notice is the lack of formatting. This is how I received the stories and I'm too faithful to the source material to dare disrupt them by introducing any semblence of readability. My obstinance is entirely responsible for any damage may be undergone with your eyes upon reading these works, but don't tell anyone that if this ends up in court. Please, I have a family. Somewhere.

Anyway, here is Episode 2. Episode one was never written. You will note references to weird stuff.

PART 2: Young Money Mike Conquers Amerika

And so the over-rated Amerikan communism in the world fell to an all
time low with the drive-by soon to be known as
Western Europe. The lavetary however was laser scanned for ass-prints,
with the resulting analysis proving the suspicions of Dr Cube -
brought about by his M-I 17 (thrice removed from position M-I 38)
issued cube vision(TM) glasses - that this shit had to stop. He
decided to pay a visit to the snitch known as YMMCA, to set things
straight. Driving in his NX-421 Plasma Coolant based stealth stretch
limosuine the Dr soon makes it to the establishment in question
without excess resistance on the highways of Afghanistan. However, as
soon as he opens the illegal solid whale-bone door, conflict of
interest ensues. Someone from the other side, knocks down, ducks
behind, and proceds to back against a pool table, the freshly removed
MP5 cooling the sweat in one hand, the already stolen deringer
insinuating sweat in the other. Dr Cube throws aside the folds of his
red dragon skin liquid nitrogren based asbestos resistant trenchcoat
inner gun pockets and produces a M-20 high explosive solid-nitrogen
based smoke grenade and pulls the carbon/marble composed pin from it's
uranium based alloy coating inside the 64 hour old fuse mechanism,
indicating it pays to stay up to date. The seconds pass, and slowly
the pin-stripe honkey behind the table beginds to feel the pressure
and lifts his head up over the top of the table, up to his chin. It
takes him a few precious moments to realise that the reason he
couldn't focus his eyes was because of the elusive bloom of the smoke
grenade blocking his optical centres from performing ruidmentary
processing of random images being taken in through the iris therefore
acheiveing visual acutity. These precious few moments were all that
the Dr needed. From his perch upon the wall high above the diamond
ravished pink saphire floor tiling he hurled the pin with such
strength at one of the pool cues lying around the room it shattered in
to three. Leaping down to the pin-stipe honkey with a drop-kick to the
heart, Dr Cube was far past the realisation that this was no ordinary
opponent. As the honkey began firing into the smoke the Dr focused his
mind, feeling time slowing down around him, under him, above him,
beside him, and in the honkey and his bullets. With relative ease Dr
Cube performed a series of backflips, summersaults and cartwheels
allowing him to not only dodge the bullets but to also grab the three
broken sharp-edged pine pool cue shards lying in relative close
proximity to one another. The Dr drove two into the eyes of his
opponent and finally one into his heart, the one weakness such a
creature of the night or dark damp dusty interior within the daylight
hours of 9 till 5 possesed short of removing it's head or exposure to
direct sunlight. The vampire disintergrated in a cascade of un-natural
dust particles bouncing against off the floor. With that, the Dr cut a
hole in the carpet with a retractable thumb knife composed of unknown
alloy known as Mars 35 coated in another unknown alloy known only to
the Amerikan's as Core Sample 51 from Planet Venus which outlined a
trap door hidden under the gold with a nikel content of 2 parts out of
every 15 weaved indian goddess breeded wooley dog fur. With only sixth
eighteenths of a milisecond to spare, Dr Cube threw open the trap
door, burnt to death the result of Irani turqoise dog happy meal
experiments gone terribly wrong, leapt down into the compartment and
threw the trap door shut behind him. The smoke grenade then exploded
in a shower of a compound known only to germans as "NEIN! NEIN! ACH
eine Probe von ihm ist Haut. Erbarmen Sie alle meine Brüder in Armen
nur schießen sich und Babys des turqoise Hunds in der Kinderstube. Ah
gut, hinter zum genetischen Zeichenbrett." and filled the lungs of all
the surrounding hidden creatures of the night with a liquid known only
to the northern South-African's as "BLOOD MEAL ACATHLA!" killing them
all instantly. When the Doktor emerged from the floor, a security
camera with an inbuilt microphone and stereo surround sound speaker
system emerged from the blindingly obvious hidden compartment in the
ceiling. It spoke; "Yes, you're massacre of the billard room has been
succesful, who the fuck is this and how may we help you?" Dr Cube
replied in cool stereo-tone Norse; "It's called knocking. Also, if you
can understand this, then you are worthy of my aquaintance. I am-" The
machine interrupted. "We know who you are Dr Cube- or rather we would
like to know. YMMCA does not wish to speak with you at this time... or
ever again. Still feel free to stay and be masacred. The press will
pay us millions to reveal your identity, or that you even exist for
that matter. We know you won't do it willfully, so... Good Bye, Doctor
Cube." With that the camera retracted and machine gun turrets errupted
from various floor boards, all pointing towards the physical
manifestation known as the Dr. He looked around and spoke, "My name,
is DOKTOR." Doktor Cube then once again focused on time and forced it
to slow down, but instead of acting in aggression he unclipped the
M-29 flamethrower from the upper small of his back and whirled round
in a great circle with his finger squeezed down upon the trigger, the
only item in his extensive inventory he did not know the composition
of. As soon as 85 of the 92 turrets that had emerged were melted slag
however something happened even the Dr could not expect... he had been
betrayed, and the conspiracy ran deeper than he knew. The trigger
mechanism broke off, showing that the deliverer of his hardware would
have to pay. With turrets still blazing the Doktor had not the heart
to remove any more weapons yet- he would need them for when he reached
the possibly posessed YMMCA. He there fore took one of the many other
options available to him; Dr Cube leapt up into a backflip over the
incoming fire and descended back down in through the open trap door,
which by the innertial ripples being created in the wind around him
was closed in the Doktor's wake. Removing his two AK-47's, the Doktor
released his grip on time, kicked down the only other door in the room
and stepped into the unknown... TO BE CONTINUED

Remember, kids, if you don't like mind-rape, you don't have to read it!

EDIT: Oh my god... I didn't expect the formatting to be that awful... eh, I'll see if I can work out some way to fix it... hang tight. Or loose. Whichever way people roll...

EDITEDITEDIT: I have no idea how to fix it. I just wanted to say... how sorry I am...


Youth of Australia said...


I can't even act psycho enough to compete with that...

Youth of Australia said...

I will, however, bitch that your link to me doesn't work.

It's missing a ".com" eld chep.

Jared "No Nickname" Hansen said...

Hmm, I guess I could fix that.

Youth of Australia said...

Nah, leave me all enigmatic and Bad Wolfish... if they're interested they can click on "youth of australia" and brace themselves for what they find...