Here is a story that I wrote last night.

MR. CLAY'S LABORATORY

by biped

One day I was out for a walk, and I got really thirsty. So I went up to a house to ask for a drink. The mailbox said "Andrew 'Dice' Clay" on it, so when a man answered the door I asked, "May I have a drink from your water hose, Mr. Clay?"

He was standing there in a bathrobe and flip-flops, and he had a really big, black, oily hairdo. There was a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and he was holding a floor lamp. "Knock yourself out, meatball," he replied, so I said "Thanks!" and ran over to the water faucet and turned it on.

As I was getting a drink out of the hose, he came outside and stood there looking at me. Between gulps of water I asked him, "Why are you carrying that big lamp around, Mr. Clay?" He said, "It's broke, and I'm tryin' ta fix it, idiot. But maybe I should just shove da whole f***king thing up your a**hole instead." Then he laughed, and it sounded kind of like "TUH, huh-huh."

Well, I didn't know what to say to that. He sounded mean and he looked kind of like a bad guy from "77 Sunset Strip" or something, so I turned off the water faucet and said "Well, thanks, Mr. Clay" and started to leave. But he said, "Wait a minute. I want you should see something." I didn't want to, but I followed him inside anyway. He led me down into the basement and held out his hand like he was really proud of what was in there. I looked around, and there were a bunch of naked guys along the walls in these big glass tubes, who looked like they were asleep. When I took a closer look, I found out that all of the people looked exactly like Mr. Clay.

"Dese are my clones," he said in a really proud voice. "When da time is right, I'm gonna unleash dem all on the world and take ovah. TUH, huh-huh." When he said that, I looked around the room again and realized that it was a laboratory, just like in the Frankenstein movies. And it was at that moment that I also realized that Mr. Clay wasn't just some normal guy, but was really like a mad scientist or something!

"Right now," he said, pacing around me, "you're probably thinking about notifying the FBI, and tellin' dem about my evil scheme for world domination. Well, you better not, because if you do--" Then he aimed the floor lamp at a potted plant that was in the corner and pressed the "on" switch. A crackling beam of light blazed from its tip and incinerated the potted plant instantly. It wasn't really a floor lamp at all--it was a disintegrator ray gun! It only looked like a floor lamp to fool people!

He started to point the ray gun at me, and I got really scared. So I kicked it real hard, and the "on" switch must've gotten jammed because the disintegrator beam went haywire! Mr. Clay tried to hold the ray gun still but things were either incinerating or blowing up all over the room. One really big machine with flashing lights on it blew up, and Mr. Clay screamed, "No! Not da control panel! Da clones haven't been programmed yet--" Suddenly the doors on all the big glass tubes sprang open, and the clones starting lurching out of them with blank looks on their faces.

"Now look what ya done, ya f***ing mook!" he said. One of the clones muttered, "Ya f***ing mook", and then they all starting saying it. They began to lurch toward us with their arms outstretched, saying "Ya f***ing mook", and Mr. Clay shouted, "Let's get outta here! Dey're gonna kill us!" Well, he didn't have to tell me twice! We ran up the stairs as fast as we could and out the front door. I looked around, and the clones were lurching out the front door, too, and out into the street. There must've been about a hundred of them. And somewhere between the basement and the front door they must've found some cigarettes, because they all had lit cigarettes hanging out of their mouths.

Me and Mr. Clay ran and ran, and some of the clones came after us, while the others started lurching after everyone else who was walking by or out mowing their lawns and stuff. Up till then, it had been a mostly normal day in the neighborhood, so the people were pretty horrified to see a bunch of naked Andrew "Dice" Clays coming after them saying "Ya f***king mook, ya f***ing mook." Old lady Wilson was just passing by in a housecoat and fuzzy slippers, walking her dog, when one of them caught up to her. She screamed, but it seemed more interested in the dog. In fact, it took the leash away from her and started walking the dog itself. The dog, a French poodle named Milkshake, went nuts to find that instead of Old Lady Wilson, it was suddenly being walked by a big naked guy who was lurching after it like Frankenstein. But the clone pressed inexorably onward down the street as Milkshake yapped and leapt frantically at the end of his leash.

Another clone came up behind Mr. Shapiro, the retired bank president who lived across the street and enjoyed tinkering in the yard on weekends, and grabbed his lawnmower away from him. It started mowing the lawn as he looked on, aghast. But instead of properly mowing it in a back and forth pattern, it simply went in a straight line onto the next lawn, and the next, until it had mowed a path all the way down the street and around the corner. Mr. Shapiro ran after it to try and get his lawnmower back.

"Hey, Mr. Clay," I said as we were running along. "I don't think they want to kill people at all! I think they just want to do what the people are doing." But when I looked over, Mr. Clay wasn't there. I turned around and saw that he had run out of breath several yards back, and had been overtaken by four of the clones. But instead of killing him, they hoisted him up on their shoulders and started carrying him around. I could see a broad smile cross his face, as though he thought the clones were honoring him as their rightful master, and he basked in their adoration. "TUH, huh-huh," I could hear him say, right before the clones dumped him into the back of a cement mixer that was parked by the curb and turned it on. The big round container began to twirl and churn the thousands of pounds of cement inside it as Mr. Clay's screams echoed from within, and one of the clones climbed into the truck and drove it away.

I realized that I had run all the way out of the neighborhood and into a small business district, and the rest of the clones that had come after us were lurching into laundrymats, bowling alleys, and strip malls. I could hear all sorts of terrified screams coming from inside as the clones started taking things away from people and doing what they were doing. Bowling balls crashed through plate glass windows. A large washing machine motor groaned horribly from the weight of a clone that had set it on "spin" and climbed inside. Three more clones suddenly burst through the front door of a sporting goods store driving golf carts, still chanting "Ya f***ing mook" and chasing people around. The rest of them lurched into various parking lots, got into different vehicles, and drove away. It looked like most of them were headed downtown.

That night, I turned on the evening news to see if there would be a story about the Andrew "Dice" Clay clones that were running around all over town. But instead of the regular anchorman, one of the clones was sitting at the "NewsCenter" anchor desk with some papers in its hand, looking into the camera and saying "Ya f***ing mook, ya f***ing mook." I found out later that Mr. Clay's house had exploded, burned down, and then exploded again, and that he had finally been found in the back of the cement truck when it eventually ran out of gas somewhere outside of Cincinatti. There was a picture of him in the paper, encased in a large chunk of cement with just his head sticking out as a bunch of guys with hammers and chisels were trying to get him out. The headline read, "Once-Famous Comedian Enjoys Spotlight Again", but it didn't look to me like he was enjoying it much, and I never did see any spotlight unless they were talking about that ray-gun lamp. Anyway, next time I go for a walk, I'm going to take one of those plastic squirt bottles of water with me for when I get thirsty, because you never know when some kind of goofy stuff like this might happen again.

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

a world like that is too horrible to even think of.

don't mention his name, it might call him forth from his slumber...

---
Kill Whitey.

Dice is the greatest.

---
It's grime time.

Sound advice for any biped.

---
Chicken Feather Bed Bugs Bunny Hop Sing Out Side Street Walker Texas Ranger Cookie Dough Boy Wonder Years

Here is another one that I hope you will enjoy.

 LUCA BRASI GOES TOY SHOPPING

 by biped

One day, I was browsing around in Wilson's Toy Store, when Luca Brasi walked in.  I eavesdropped on the conversation between him and Mr. Wilson, and it went like this:

LUCA BRASI: "Mr. Wilson.  I wanna thank you...for inviting me to your big clearance sale...on da day...of your big clearance sale.  And I hope dat dis coupon...will be a valuable coupon.  I pledge...my evah...ending...charge account."

MR. WILSON:  "Thank you, Luca, my most valued customer."

LUCA BRASI: "I'm gonna serve myself now, because I know dat you are busy."

MR. WILSON:  "Thank you."

So, Luca went over to the Star Wars section to look at the action figures.  I noticed that he seemed to have a special interest in the Wookies.  After depositing a large number of carefully-chosen Wookies and a few droids into his basket, he then proceeded over to the videogame aisle.

Suddenly, a large figure filled the doorway, followed by two even larger thugs.  It was Virgil Solozzo.  He doffed his hat and rolled it in his hands, looking around with a narrow, suspicious gaze. 

Mr. Wilson approached him.  "Can I help you?"

Solozzo regarded him for a long moment.  "The word on the street is that you have the new...como se dice...'vee-dee-o game'," he intoned in a no-nonsense voice.  "The one that all the children in the world would sell their own mothers for."

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Wilson.  "That would be 'Final Apocalypse II:The Penultimate Armageddon.'  But I'm afraid we're sold out."

Solozzo's countenance darkened.  "Surely," he said slowly, "a man in your position might retain an extra copy or two...for special customers.  Perhaps as insurance, to avoid any unpleasant...circumstances."  He favored Mr. Wilson with an intimidating glare.

"Well, I'm sorry, sir," Mr. Wilson shrugged, "but you should've gotten here earlier, because this morning--"

Luca interrupted him.  "Mister Wilson, I'm gonna take dese Wookies now," he said.  "And dis videogame, 'Final Apockamuss II:Da Pentanimal Ahm...Ahma...Ahmagooch." 

Solozzo stepped forward to examine the front cover picture, and sure enough, there was a fanged, maniacal-looking Elijah Wood jumping out of a large cake, surrounded by dancing circus monkeys.  "So...you're sold out," he growled, his hand creeping slowly into his open jacket.  "It seems that our business together has been on a less than honorable basis."

Mr. Wilson smiled and waved dismissively.  "Mr. Brasi has had that particular item on layaway for weeks," he explained.  "You see, he's a very loyal customer and keeps abreast of such things.  Perhaps if you'd like to give me your mailing address so that I could send you our sales brochures in advance--"

Solozzo brushed him aside roughly and confronted Luca Brasi.  "I want that videogame.  I'm willing to offer you a fair deal...say, twice whatever you paid for it.  And, I can assure you, I have the full support of the entire Tattaglia family backing me up."

Luca sized him up with a dull look.  "Why does da Tattaglia family suddenly have such an interest in dis videogame?" he asked.

"Because tomorrow," Solozzo said gravely, "is Fluffy Tattaglia's ninth birthday.  She has her little heart set on this game.  And I have been given full authority to do everything in my power to get one."

"Dat is touching," said Luca.  "But I, too, have a very important reason for wanting it.  Because dis game is da only thing keeping me from having da greatest collection of Elijah Wood memora...memorabi...stuff in da entire woild.  And I am da woild's biggest Elijah Wood fan."

"With all due respect," countered Solozzo, affecting a more reasonable tone, "I beg to differ.  Fluffy Tattaglia is the world's biggest Elijah Wood fan.  In fact, she has assured Don Tattaglia himself, on numerous occasions, that she plans to marry Elijah Wood as soon as she is old enough.  Can you say the same thing, Luca?  Do you...plan to marry him?"

Luca didn't know what to say to this.  As big a fan as he was of Elijah Wood, he had never actually entertained the notion of marrying him.  True, he had often fantasized about taking him to the county fair, buying him a corn dog, attending the hog-judging contest, and riding all the most fun rides with him, and then going home and watching TV with him while they ate TV dinners, until it was bedtime and Elijah Wood, in his bunny rabbit footy pajamas, would turn at the door before scampering off to bed and say, "Gee, you're the greatest...Dad."

Solozzo spoke again, breaking Luca's reverie.  "Perhaps," he said, reaching into his jacket, "this will help to convince you."  He pulled out something long and black and pointed it at Luca.  Luca's eyes widened. 

It was a giant, super-chewy Tootsie Roll.

Luca tried to restrain himself even as his mouth began to water.  "You don't have to give me your answer right away," Solozzo said in a silky voice.  "Here, take a bite.  Think it over.  When you're done...we'll talk."

Luca leaned forward and held Solozzo's wrist, drawing the Tootsie Roll closer.  He opened his mouth and took a bite.  It was filled with chewy, chocolatey goodness.  But he shrugged, pretending that it wasn't all that great.  At that moment, Solozzo glanced over at one of his companions and gave a slight nod.  With a shock of recognition, Luca realized that it wasn't just any henchman, but Don Tattaglia's son himself--the dreaded Bruno Tattaglia.

With an evil sneer, Bruno Tattaglia suddenly grabbed Luca's hand and rammed it into a vat of Monster Goop that Mr. Wilson kept by the checkout stand as an impulse item.  The other man came up behind Luca and covered his eyes with both hands, blinding him.  Luca began to emit a horrible barking noise as he choked on the Tootsie Roll, his tongue sticking out.  As he struggled vainly to free his hand from the Monster Goop, Solozzo snatched the videogame away from him and slid it into his breast pocket with a cruel, self-satisfied smirk.  "The videogame--and the Monster Goop," he said to Mr. Wilson.  "Put them both...on Don Barzini's account."

Don Barzini! thought Mr. Wilson.  He knew from the start that the Tattaglias would never have had the brains to pull off something like this without someone else behind them.  But it wasn't until this very moment that he knew...it was Barzini all along.

With a last, mighty pull, Luca freed his hand from the Monster Goop, then discovered that Bruno Tattaglia had tied his shoelaces together.  He stumbled backward, banged his head on a Teddy Ruxpin display, and plunged, unconscious, into a bin of Spongebob Squarepants plush toys.  Only his feet could be seen sticking out of it.

Virgil Solozzo turned at the door on his way out.  "When you see Don Corleone," he said ominously to Mr. Wilson, "tell him...Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes tonight."

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

Those goddamn brutes didn't noogie him right then and there because they knew anything above the waist could bring an attempted murder charge!

A COW NAMED JEFF

by biped

Once there was a cow named Jeff.  Old Farmer Brown spent all of his worldly fortune on a giant cannon, and as soon as it was delivered, he shoved Jeff the cow into the front end of the cannon and then pointed it upward at a forty-five degree angle.  It was already packed with an enormous amount of gunpowder and the fuse was all ready to go.  So Farmer Brown struck a match on the bottom of his old work shoe and lit the fuse.  Then he scampered behind a tree, turned on the video camera he had mounted on a tripod, and stuck his fingers in his ears.

BOOM!  Was that cannon loud!  With a flash of blinding light and a cloud of smoke, Jeff the cow rocketed out of the cannon and soared high in the air above the farm, end over end, as his terrified moos reverberated thoughout the countryside.   Old Farmer Brown raised his gnarled fists into the air and croaked, "Whoopee!  Now I can sell this tape on them thar Intranets and make me a million dollars!  YEE-HAA!" 

ENDING #1:  But little did Farmer Brown suspect that "Jeff the cow" was actually an agent for the SPCA, working undercover at the farm after an anonymous tip-off had alerted the organization to Old Farmer Brown's nefarious plans.  The undercover agent, whose real name was Floyd Baxter, jettisoned his cow costume and pulled the ripcord of his parachute.  On his way down he radioed his associates, who promptly swept down on the farm and arrested Farmer Brown, confiscating the tape.  But Old Farmer Brown had one last trick up his sleeve.  Right before they handcuffed him, he unzipped his old man suit and stepped out of it, and, to everyone's surprise, he was really Paris Hilton.

ENDING #2:  As Old Farmer Brown celebrated his good fortune, Jeff the cow continued his gradual descending arc toward the nearby town.  He flew through a flock of birds and startled them terribly.  Then he spied a building below which was growing closer and closer.  It was the Sunnyrest Old Folks' Home.  The old folks were all gathered in the day room watching the only channel they could pick up on TV, which currently featured a black-and-white Mexican soap opera from the early 70s entitled "Simplemente Maria."  One of the old folks turned to another one of the old folks and lamented, "Boy, I sure wish something exciting would happen around here once in a while", and one second later Jeff the cow crashed through the wall, took out the TV, and plowed through the old folks like a bowling ball crashing through tenpins.  Wheelchairs, folding chairs, and old people were scattered all over the room.  The ones who were still conscious looked up at the cow, who was staggering to its feet.  "It's...it's a COW!" one of them cried in disbelief.  "Well, not exactly..." came a human voice.  The front zipper was unzipped, the cow suit fell away, and a human being stepped out of it.  "Surprise!" he said, spreading his hands with a grand flourish.  It was David Hasselhoff.

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

biped

---
the kid's getting old, the kid's getting old

It's like a "Choose Your Own Adventure", only featuring cows. I've been waiting for something like that.

---
I was gonna send a robot back in time, but I got high.

biped

Shouldn't Luca have fallen into a bin of Finding Nemo plushies?

[hr]

And I like the Hasselhoff ending for Jeff the Cow. 

---
Chicken Feather Bed Bugs Bunny Hop Sing Out Side Street Walker Texas Ranger Cookie Dough Boy Wonder Years

CHUCK NORRIS AND THE DRAGON OF NARDERWELF

Steel gray dawn along the moorish fjords finds Chuck Norris asleep in his handmade dung igloo. Yes, his own dung.

Suddenly, moor or less, Chuck Norris awakes. An incredible wave of strength unfurls as Chuck's eyelids open. The wave exits the dungloo, takes a right, sees a Starbucks, purchases a Grande Triple Espresso and then rushes across the towering plains of Narder.

High upon a welf sits...the dragon.

The incredibly strong and now highly caffeinated wave of strength from Chuck Norris' eyelids knocks the unsuspecting dragon off its welfish perch.

Peace and happiness settle upon the land of Narder once again. That, and the stench from Chuck Norris' dungloo.

---
Chicken Feather Bed Bugs Bunny Hop Sing Out Side Street Walker Texas Ranger Cookie Dough Boy Wonder Years

umfumdisi

 That would have been better.  The only fishy toys I could think of at the time were Spongebob Squarepants and his pals.

umfumdisi wrote:

---

And I like the Hasselhoff ending for Jeff the Cow. 

quote:

---

It's hard to go wrong with Hasselhoff.

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

TRUE-LIFE POTHOLES ON THE ROAD TO THE OLYMPIA

by biped

One day, actor Michael Clarke Duncan, whom you may know better as "John Coffy" in THE GREEN MILE and "Bear" in ARMAGEDDON, walked into the offices of the United States Gymnastics Federation and went up to the receptionist's desk.  "I would like to join the Women's Olympic Gymnastics Team," he told the lady.

She looked up from the papers she'd been reading and examined him.  "I'm sorry, sir," she said, "but you are too big and you are a man.  You would not be an appropriate choice."

Michael Clarke Duncan started to cry.  "But I want to be on it," he pouted.  "I want to be like Dominique Moceanu.  Oh, BWAH-HA-HAAA!"  A heart-rending sob escaped from his trembling lips like the barking of a seal, causing several passersby to feel sorry for him.

"Well, I'm just sorry, sir," the lady persisted.  "There has never been a man on the Women's Olympic Gymnastics Team.  It has always consisted of women, and often young girls no more than four feet tall--"

"And big, tall black men like me?" he added hopefully, sniffling back the tears.

"No, sir," she said.  "Now, you could try out for the Men's team.  But it has always consisted of young, lithe, graceful men like Bart Conner."

"My ears are burning, Louise," said Bart, peering around mischievously from behind Michael Clarke Duncan.  "Hey, did somebody build a wall here?"  He laughed, a boyish grin exploding from his face and casting a brilliant, shimmering light throughout the entire room.  "Ha ha, no offense, sir, I was just making a little--"

"I WANNA BE LIKE DOMINIQUE MOCEANU!" Michael Clarke Duncan shrieked, shaking his fists in wide, petulant arcs.  One of the great ham-sized fists came down on Bart Conner's head and knocked him out cold.  He flopped across the receptionist's desk like a dead fish, twitching, his eyes blank white, and the receptionist began to scream.

Michael Clarke Duncan ran down the nearest hallway, bawling like a baby, desperately looking for someone who would make him a member of the Women's Olympic Gymnastics Team no matter what the bad lady had said.  Suddenly, a slender, athletic-looking woman stepped out of a doorway down the hall, and when he laid eyes on her, he froze in his tracks.  It was the Belarusian Swan herself, Svetlana Boginskaya.

"GUH..." he gasped, wide-eyed, pointing at the legendary gymnast.  "YOU!  You'll understand!  WATCH THIS!"

"I'm sorry?" she said, not quite comprehending what she was seeing even as Michael Clarke Duncan wound himself up and started his run.  A dawning apprehension tingled down her spine as the quickly-approaching behemoth went into the first of a series of cartwheels designed to build up the momentum necessary for a succession of four backflips in a row and a triple-twist which would end with a double back layout. 

Screaming in terror as Michael Clarke Duncan hurtled inexorably toward her like a one-man elephant stampede, emitting a cry which sounded like the tortured death throes of a fatally-wounded rhinoceros, Svetlana Boginskaya glanced from side to side and quickly realized that there was no escape, and that her only chance for survival would be for him to stick his landing.  Unfortunately, the odds of that happening were drastically reduced when his first cartwheel went horribly awry and he started tumbling uncontrollably down the hallway with a frightening momentum, knocking gaping holes in the walls along the way.  In one terrifying split second, the Belarusian Swan's vision was filled with Michael Clarke Duncan's airborne body, and she knew conclusively that he wasn't going to stick his landing, and he screamed "I WANNA BE LIKE KERRY STRUH-HUH-HUUUGGGG!" even as he collided with her and they both crashed through the wall, through an adjoining office, through another wall, through a room where legendary gymnastics coach Bela Karolyi was dancing around in women's underwear and a Shirley Temple wig, through another wall, and into the office of USGF president Mike Jacki, where Michael Clarke Duncan finally screeched to a halt in front of his desk amidst a shower of cascading debris as Svetlana Boginskaya flew through a window and into a dumpster in the alleyway behind the building.

Mike Jacki sat motionless at his desk, in a state of deep shock.  When the dust finally cleared, Michael Clarke Duncan blinked his eyes in recognition, and his face broke into a huge smile.  "I...I know who you are, Mr. Jacki," he said with growing delight.  "I...I want you to see this."

He hastily stripped off his clothes, underneath which he was wearing the official uniform of the United States Women's Olympic Gymnastics Team, and went into his carefully-rehearsed, extensively-choreographed floor exercise.  Maintaining his beaming smile for the imaginary crowd of rapt onlookers, he performed a graceful series of hops, skips, twists, dramatic floor moves, and sweeping dance steps, topping them all off with a final, thrilling, leaping aerial pirouette in which he inadvertently crashed into Mike Jacki's desk, smashing it flat, and landed on top of Mike Jacki, killing him instantly. 

When he saw what he had done, he got scared and jumped out the window, crying.  He is still at large.  Be on the lookout for actor Michael Clarke Duncan, a large, heavy-set black male, last seen wearing the official uniform of the United States Women's Olympic Gymnastics Team.  May be heard saying, "I wanna be like Kerri Strug."  Approach with caution, especially if he is performing a series of graceful pirouettes or a tumbling run which ends with a triple-twisting double back layout.

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

biped

That makes me feel warm inside.

---
It was such a waste of everyone’s time and money that even the Tokyo stadium’s rape robots apologized– something they were programmed specifically never to do.