I imagine most people, when faced with a stranger in their house, is likely to panic. I ain't never really had that happen to me, but there've been a couple times Douggy was in the dog house with his ol' lady and was sleepin on my couch where I heard him snorin in the middle of the night and darn near shot him. I ain't proud of it, but you get used to livin by yourself after awhile and, when you get to my age, you're likely to wake up confused every once in awhile, maybe thinkin you're back in that hotel in San Fran on that wonderful night in '69, with Becky Clodderingly still curled up next to you and a motorcycle rally goin on outside. But then, you get mighty disappointed to find out that you've really just got Albert next to ya and Douggy snorin loud enough that Helen Keller would complain in the next room. So I could understand a little panic upon discoverin there's a man in a giant spider silk suit that has suddenly appeared in the middle of your room.
But not that Tom Cruise, boy. That man is a class act all the way. He acted like he seen that sorta thing happen every day. Just sat back on his giant white couch in the shape of a snake eating a polar bear, greeted me and then asked if I preferred coffee or tea, just as casual as you like. It wasn't until after we'd had some refreshment that he asked me who I was and what I was doing in his livin room. It was downright Homeric, if you ask me.
I explained the situation to him, as best as I could without understanding the real nature of the dragon. I guess it didn't matter too much to him where the dragon came from or what kind of crazy dark magic it was a product of. The only thing he really seemed to focus on was the fact that there was angry alien ghosts attackin a bunch of people and makin em all crazy and whatnot. In fact, he got so excited about that part that he got to jumpin up and down on his couch and whoopin it up like he had ants in his pants and was pretty durned delighted about it.
He agreed to go with me back to the meth world but said he needed to get ready first. He ran around the living room grabbing things and shovin em into a satchel. I ain't sure I saw everything he was plannin on bringin with him, but I saw him grab a machine of some sort with paddles connected to it, a wad of cash and a book by some old sci-fi author. I didn't get a good look at the book, but I know it wasn't Asimov and, when it comes to sci-fi, if it ain't Asimov, I just ain't interested.
Once he had that bag packed, I thought he was right ready to go, and started to get up, but he waved me back down sayin he had "just one more small thing to do." Then he walked over to this control panel in the wall, hit a couple buttons and went out the back yard to this runnin track he had there. As I watched, it started rainin back there. At first, I was thinkin Tom Cruise was magic and had control over the elements, which wouldn't surprise me none. Ain't no one can look like him and divorce a woman as hot as Nichole Kidmann unless there's some sorta black magic involved. But, upon further inspection, it turned out that he just had some sprinklers installed on his roof that would spray water over the track while he ran around it.
I musta been standin there, just watchin him run in the rain, for about five minutes when his wife walked in.
"Is he running in the rain again?" she asked, exasperated.
"It would appear so, ma'am," I confirmed. "But I can't make hide nor hair of it. What's he doin that for."
She shrugged. "Damned if I know. But he always runs in the rain before doing something important."
She turned to go. "Ma'am," I said. "I sure did like them movies and shows you did."
"Thanks," she said.
I went on, "You ain't done that many since you been with this guy..."
"That's true," she said. "Sometimes, I wish I still did. But something's stopping me."
"Oh yeah? And what might that be?"
She shrugged again. "Dunno. Maybe it's black magic." And then she wandered into another room.
Right after that, Tom came in and toweled off. "All right," he said, vigorously drying his hair, "let's do something about this ghost dragon of yours."
Monday, December 7, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
Ghost Dragons Are No Fun
I know I spend a good deal of time tellin y'all about what I don't know. And it ain't just false modesty or nothin like that. What can I say? I'm just plum ignint. At least when I report the sciency stuff that's goin on, I get to use the words of the Squimonk, who seem a lot less ignint than me. Either that, or their masters of BS. I vote it's a little of both.
I'm just tellin y'all this so that it don't come as a shock to you when I tell you, in all honesty, if I were to put together a list of all the things I didn't know nothin about, I'm pretty sure magic would be right near the top. It wouldn't be at the top; women always have and always will have that space atop every man's list. I ain't even sure what would be in the top ten, but I'm pretty certain magic wouldn't be in there. I think it'd be somewhere in the teens, in that gray area of things where I know they seem to exist and some people think they're real, but they could be completely made up and fake; like consciousness or pro wrasslin.
I seen magicians on the teevee and stuff like that. I one time saw a guy make the entire Statue of Liberty disappear. That's back when magicians was concerned with doin big, showy illusions. It ain't like the magic special of today. Really, if bein cold for two weeks was magic, everyone in Iowa shoulda gotten their memberships to the magician's club a few decades ago.
But that ain't really here or there. Point is, I ain't know nothin about no magic. So, when I see a dragon made of angry ghosts burst out of the sky of an alien planet, I don't form me a plan right away. All I can say, and this is universal for all Pats, mind, is, "This ain't gonna be good." I know it's universal for all Pats because I heard us all say it at once.
And you know, as much as it feels good to be right about somethin, no matter how small, every once in awhile, it feels a lot less good when what you're right about turns out to be a ghost dragon swoopin out of the sky, scoopin you up in its maw, which is full of the screams of the torture souls which comprise this unearthly creature, and poop you out into a free fall where you ain't got nothin but your super hardened exosuit and your ability to teleport to save you. The most important question, when you find yourself in a situation like that, isn't "Oh dear lord, what's happening?" Nor is it, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! What do I do?" Nah, the most important question, when you get over your panic, is where to teleport to.
It wasn't the right time for a vacation, and the unicorns was still a little sore at the damage I'd done to their hotel, so Maui was out. I wasn't quite ready to go home yet, and I didn't want to risk materializing in the middle of the shop and risking destroying all my precious, precious donuts, not to mention the possibility of squishing Jared when I landed.
As I fell, I tried going over my options. Here I was, falling towards a foreign world, being attacked by angry ghosts. Hmmm, angry alien ghosts. Who knows how to get rid of angry alien ghosts?
And that's how I found myself in Tom Cruise' house.
I'm just tellin y'all this so that it don't come as a shock to you when I tell you, in all honesty, if I were to put together a list of all the things I didn't know nothin about, I'm pretty sure magic would be right near the top. It wouldn't be at the top; women always have and always will have that space atop every man's list. I ain't even sure what would be in the top ten, but I'm pretty certain magic wouldn't be in there. I think it'd be somewhere in the teens, in that gray area of things where I know they seem to exist and some people think they're real, but they could be completely made up and fake; like consciousness or pro wrasslin.
I seen magicians on the teevee and stuff like that. I one time saw a guy make the entire Statue of Liberty disappear. That's back when magicians was concerned with doin big, showy illusions. It ain't like the magic special of today. Really, if bein cold for two weeks was magic, everyone in Iowa shoulda gotten their memberships to the magician's club a few decades ago.
But that ain't really here or there. Point is, I ain't know nothin about no magic. So, when I see a dragon made of angry ghosts burst out of the sky of an alien planet, I don't form me a plan right away. All I can say, and this is universal for all Pats, mind, is, "This ain't gonna be good." I know it's universal for all Pats because I heard us all say it at once.
And you know, as much as it feels good to be right about somethin, no matter how small, every once in awhile, it feels a lot less good when what you're right about turns out to be a ghost dragon swoopin out of the sky, scoopin you up in its maw, which is full of the screams of the torture souls which comprise this unearthly creature, and poop you out into a free fall where you ain't got nothin but your super hardened exosuit and your ability to teleport to save you. The most important question, when you find yourself in a situation like that, isn't "Oh dear lord, what's happening?" Nor is it, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! What do I do?" Nah, the most important question, when you get over your panic, is where to teleport to.
It wasn't the right time for a vacation, and the unicorns was still a little sore at the damage I'd done to their hotel, so Maui was out. I wasn't quite ready to go home yet, and I didn't want to risk materializing in the middle of the shop and risking destroying all my precious, precious donuts, not to mention the possibility of squishing Jared when I landed.
As I fell, I tried going over my options. Here I was, falling towards a foreign world, being attacked by angry ghosts. Hmmm, angry alien ghosts. Who knows how to get rid of angry alien ghosts?
And that's how I found myself in Tom Cruise' house.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Explosive
Boy howdy, but fightin these ninjas ain't no stroll in the park. Like most red-blooded American boys, I used to gather around the teevee of a Sunday night and watch the MATV (that's Martial Arts TeeVee) Ninja Movie of the Week. I even had me an official Ninja Fighter Code Ring which, even though it seems kinda laughable now, I got after savin up 50 boxtops from eatin my Anti-Ninja Ohs. I didn't even like them things, but my ma whipped me with a switch when she caught me feedin them to the dog. My thinkin went along the lines of "if it looks like dog food and it smells like dog food, then it must be allright to feed to the dog", but my mother disagreed with that, thinkin more along the lines of "if it looks like dog food and it smells like dog food, but costs a dollar a box, it must be for my son to eat if he knows what's good for him." I tell ya, I learned right quick what was good for me.
Course, my cereal preferences ain't neither here nor there when it comes to fightin these here ninjas. The point is that, despite my growin up surrounded by a buncha ninja related stuff, I had this whole big romantic notion that, when you fought ninjas, they'd just stand in a line and take slow, easily dodgable punches at you. The reality ain't nothin like that, though. First, they will all attack you at once. They got no sportsmanship whatsoever. Second, their punches are wicked fast, and usually aimed directly at areas that you need to see or breathe or reproduce. I tell ya, if it weren't for my exo-suit, I woulda ended the fight lookin like a burlap sack full of puppies and strawberry jelly that's been thrown from the Empire State Building.
Instead, I ended the first part of the operation in relatively good shape. I was sorer than a pig taken outta the mud, but I figured I could slap some Hotty Ice on myself later on and then relax for the weekend. For the time being, however, I just had to push on through the pain and take out the upper echelons which was hidin under the biggest volcano on the planet.
The whole thing was supposed to be a bit like a rabbit hunt. The Magma giants was to sink into the volcano, raisin the temperature to the point that the Ikea base inside would melt, flushin out all the remainin ninjas. We Pats would just wait outside and pepper the ninjas with our donut rail guns as they came out. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy, right?
You know how these things go, though. The Magma giants sank into the center of the volcano and a couple of ninjas came runnin out, so there I was thinkin that, just this once, everything's gonna go accordin to plan. But then, there was a howl like it's the mornin after the Fenris wolf swallows the sun and now he realizes he's gonna have to do the other half that comes with eatin, and the entire volcano shattered in a sea of sparks like the Death Star goin up (in the original endin, not that washed out "let's add a ring of blue fire for no reason" endin).
The next thing I knew, I was layin on my back, watchin a sky full of tormented spirits churn to life, the mouths of the spirits distendin in a wail of infinite torment as they zoomed in and out of the black soot covering the sky. They began to turn in a circle; slowly at first, but faster and faster as the spiral of sufferin spirits began to collapse on itself. That circle got smaller and smaller, suckin up all them spirits into a point no bigger than the tip of a freshly sharpened pencil. For a fraction of a second, it hung in the sky like the North Star leadin the three wise men through the desert.
Then it exploded.
I may be a gentleman of a certain age, but I wasn't present at the big bang, so it ain't like I'm speakin from experience, but I imagine it was somethin a lot like when this little point of light blew out. Us Pats were scattered willy nilly like confetti at a windy Times Square New Years. And it was loud enough that it drove me past deaf and into the negative hearing range, where you can hear everything, but it's all backwards and you start to forget stuff you've heard in the past.
I think that's prolly why I didn't recognize the call of the ghost dragon when I heard it.
Course, my cereal preferences ain't neither here nor there when it comes to fightin these here ninjas. The point is that, despite my growin up surrounded by a buncha ninja related stuff, I had this whole big romantic notion that, when you fought ninjas, they'd just stand in a line and take slow, easily dodgable punches at you. The reality ain't nothin like that, though. First, they will all attack you at once. They got no sportsmanship whatsoever. Second, their punches are wicked fast, and usually aimed directly at areas that you need to see or breathe or reproduce. I tell ya, if it weren't for my exo-suit, I woulda ended the fight lookin like a burlap sack full of puppies and strawberry jelly that's been thrown from the Empire State Building.
Instead, I ended the first part of the operation in relatively good shape. I was sorer than a pig taken outta the mud, but I figured I could slap some Hotty Ice on myself later on and then relax for the weekend. For the time being, however, I just had to push on through the pain and take out the upper echelons which was hidin under the biggest volcano on the planet.
The whole thing was supposed to be a bit like a rabbit hunt. The Magma giants was to sink into the volcano, raisin the temperature to the point that the Ikea base inside would melt, flushin out all the remainin ninjas. We Pats would just wait outside and pepper the ninjas with our donut rail guns as they came out. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy, right?
You know how these things go, though. The Magma giants sank into the center of the volcano and a couple of ninjas came runnin out, so there I was thinkin that, just this once, everything's gonna go accordin to plan. But then, there was a howl like it's the mornin after the Fenris wolf swallows the sun and now he realizes he's gonna have to do the other half that comes with eatin, and the entire volcano shattered in a sea of sparks like the Death Star goin up (in the original endin, not that washed out "let's add a ring of blue fire for no reason" endin).
The next thing I knew, I was layin on my back, watchin a sky full of tormented spirits churn to life, the mouths of the spirits distendin in a wail of infinite torment as they zoomed in and out of the black soot covering the sky. They began to turn in a circle; slowly at first, but faster and faster as the spiral of sufferin spirits began to collapse on itself. That circle got smaller and smaller, suckin up all them spirits into a point no bigger than the tip of a freshly sharpened pencil. For a fraction of a second, it hung in the sky like the North Star leadin the three wise men through the desert.
Then it exploded.
I may be a gentleman of a certain age, but I wasn't present at the big bang, so it ain't like I'm speakin from experience, but I imagine it was somethin a lot like when this little point of light blew out. Us Pats were scattered willy nilly like confetti at a windy Times Square New Years. And it was loud enough that it drove me past deaf and into the negative hearing range, where you can hear everything, but it's all backwards and you start to forget stuff you've heard in the past.
I think that's prolly why I didn't recognize the call of the ghost dragon when I heard it.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
How to Fight Ninjas
Here's the thing about big plans, especially big plans created by a bunch of copies of yourself and some uppity mutants, they don't always go as you'd expect. I ain't tryin to say you shouldn't be makin big plans or nothin, only that you need to have all the information for jumpin willy nilly around the universe and tryin to punch giant ninja-bots in their faces while tryin not to get killed. I guess I got through it allright. I didn't lose an eye or nothin, so accordin to my ma, it was still fun n' games. It didn't seem like fun at the time, but I been told that we'll all look back fondly on this day. I ain't sure I buy it, but I nodded and smiled anyway.
Let me tell ya, fightin a whole planet full of ninjas while tryin not to harm their meth zombie army just ain't an easy job. While I was out there, punchin ninja robots, tearin out robot innards, zappin here and there, takin the occasional vacation and tryin not to get my own head torn off in the process, I was thinkin that I coulda used some ninja fightin advice before I got all wrapped up in this. That got me wonderin why I had to take all them classes in school about math and biology and whatever, but I never got a useful class like "How to Fight Ninjas" or "How to Pilot an Exoskeleton" or "Astrophysics". It just don't seem right.
So here's the thing. I know my name's in the title of this here blog and my ugly mug's all over the front page and I am the main character of this story and it all seems to be about me, but for today, I'm gonna give somethin back. I know when celebrities say that sorta thing, it usually means they're gonna donate a fiver to the local soup shelter or adopt a kid from some far away place. We all know that ain't really givin most of us anything useful. But Pat wouldn't play games like that. No way. Your ol' pal Pat O'Neil is gonna give you some advice for fightin ninjas that you can use if you're ever in this situation. You can thank me when this saves your butt from the robot ninjas.
First, don't aim for the head. I know, I know. I said I was gonna punch some ninjas right in their stupid ninja faces, but it turns out I was wrong. You see, the ninjas, despite bein evil, ain't dumb. They know that an enemy's first thought is gonna be to punch for the face, so they don't put nothin important in the head area. In fact, they don't make the head themselves at all. They outsource the whole head producin industry to China. It saves them money and it has the added benefit that the heads are filled with and entirely made out of deadly, deadly poison.
Second, if you do happen to punch for the face and it caves in, covering you with deadly, deadly poison, don't panic. Most importantly, don't start flailin your exosuit's hand, which is still connected to the ninja head, all over the place yellin "Get it off me!" This is because, in your flailin, you may just shoot that head straight off your arm, right through the ninja robot (which ain't so bad), and into a whole crowd of meth zombies watchin robot bears fightin real bears. Let me tell ya, strictly as a side note, them meth zombies love their "robobear vs. real bear" matches. They love them so much that, if they are interrupted, they will become real angry, jump into all manner of '70s muscle cars, crank up the Skynard, and come chasin after you like there's no tomorrow.
Third, if you're ever bein chased by a group of meth zombies in muscle cars, watch out for collapsed ninja bodies. They are likely to be right behind you and you can trip on them when you turn to run.
Fourth, if you're fallin after trippin on a collapsed robo-ninja, whatever you do, don't think about unicorns. I cannot stress this enough. Unicorns become angry when you pop into the lobby of their Maui hotel in an exosuit and you put cracks in the foyer. They will make you fix the whole building before you are allowed to return to the fight.
When you are allowed back to the fight, after fixin the hotel and doin some other odd jobs around the hotel grounds because you feel bad, make sure you start aimin for the ninja torsos. If you swing right and you're angry enough, you can punch clean through a robo ninja, disabling it in one shot.
Finally, try to disable the roboninjas in a line, instead of in a circle. Sure, it looks pretty tough to be surrounded by a wall of your defeated enemies, but it's kind of a pain climbing up out of that ring when it's piled over your head. And don't even think about pushing it over. Them robots is heavier than a hippo eating bricks. I swear, they must make them things out of pure iron or somethin.
So, now you know some of the do's and do not's of fightin robot ninjas. You just keep this all in mind if you're ever in this situation. And, when you're done, sit back, relax and have yourself a cup of coffee and a donut. Oh, and brace yourself to join up with the other exo-skeletal-Pats to fight the final holdouts.
Let me tell ya, fightin a whole planet full of ninjas while tryin not to harm their meth zombie army just ain't an easy job. While I was out there, punchin ninja robots, tearin out robot innards, zappin here and there, takin the occasional vacation and tryin not to get my own head torn off in the process, I was thinkin that I coulda used some ninja fightin advice before I got all wrapped up in this. That got me wonderin why I had to take all them classes in school about math and biology and whatever, but I never got a useful class like "How to Fight Ninjas" or "How to Pilot an Exoskeleton" or "Astrophysics". It just don't seem right.
So here's the thing. I know my name's in the title of this here blog and my ugly mug's all over the front page and I am the main character of this story and it all seems to be about me, but for today, I'm gonna give somethin back. I know when celebrities say that sorta thing, it usually means they're gonna donate a fiver to the local soup shelter or adopt a kid from some far away place. We all know that ain't really givin most of us anything useful. But Pat wouldn't play games like that. No way. Your ol' pal Pat O'Neil is gonna give you some advice for fightin ninjas that you can use if you're ever in this situation. You can thank me when this saves your butt from the robot ninjas.
First, don't aim for the head. I know, I know. I said I was gonna punch some ninjas right in their stupid ninja faces, but it turns out I was wrong. You see, the ninjas, despite bein evil, ain't dumb. They know that an enemy's first thought is gonna be to punch for the face, so they don't put nothin important in the head area. In fact, they don't make the head themselves at all. They outsource the whole head producin industry to China. It saves them money and it has the added benefit that the heads are filled with and entirely made out of deadly, deadly poison.
Second, if you do happen to punch for the face and it caves in, covering you with deadly, deadly poison, don't panic. Most importantly, don't start flailin your exosuit's hand, which is still connected to the ninja head, all over the place yellin "Get it off me!" This is because, in your flailin, you may just shoot that head straight off your arm, right through the ninja robot (which ain't so bad), and into a whole crowd of meth zombies watchin robot bears fightin real bears. Let me tell ya, strictly as a side note, them meth zombies love their "robobear vs. real bear" matches. They love them so much that, if they are interrupted, they will become real angry, jump into all manner of '70s muscle cars, crank up the Skynard, and come chasin after you like there's no tomorrow.
Third, if you're ever bein chased by a group of meth zombies in muscle cars, watch out for collapsed ninja bodies. They are likely to be right behind you and you can trip on them when you turn to run.
Fourth, if you're fallin after trippin on a collapsed robo-ninja, whatever you do, don't think about unicorns. I cannot stress this enough. Unicorns become angry when you pop into the lobby of their Maui hotel in an exosuit and you put cracks in the foyer. They will make you fix the whole building before you are allowed to return to the fight.
When you are allowed back to the fight, after fixin the hotel and doin some other odd jobs around the hotel grounds because you feel bad, make sure you start aimin for the ninja torsos. If you swing right and you're angry enough, you can punch clean through a robo ninja, disabling it in one shot.
Finally, try to disable the roboninjas in a line, instead of in a circle. Sure, it looks pretty tough to be surrounded by a wall of your defeated enemies, but it's kind of a pain climbing up out of that ring when it's piled over your head. And don't even think about pushing it over. Them robots is heavier than a hippo eating bricks. I swear, they must make them things out of pure iron or somethin.
So, now you know some of the do's and do not's of fightin robot ninjas. You just keep this all in mind if you're ever in this situation. And, when you're done, sit back, relax and have yourself a cup of coffee and a donut. Oh, and brace yourself to join up with the other exo-skeletal-Pats to fight the final holdouts.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
The plan
I ain't sayin y'all are ever gonna do this, but if you was ever plannin on invadin a planet where everyone's hopped up on free meth that's bein handed out like it was whacky candy from giant robot ninjas piloted by, I assume, smaller, non-robotic ninjas inside, then you could do worse than have a bajilllion copies of yourself and your friends.
"But wait," you may be sayin, "even if I did have all them copies, how would I be able to defeat giant robot ninjas? I am, after all, just one, small, fragile being in this giant universe and I think my whole role in fighting a giant ninja robot would be to end up as goo between the toe slit in the robot's ninja shoe."
At least, you'd be sayin that if you was me. Of course, if you was me, then you would know all about what I'm fixin to say here, and it would ruin all the fun of readin this in the first place. Also, you would be have really bad heartburn most of the time and you would think that you should go see the doctor about it and, well, you would if this whole ninja fightin job came with insurance, but it don't and you really ain't got the time to head down to the free clinic because, again, the whole fightin ninjas thing. So, let's just go ahead and say you ain't me for the sake of argument and I'll go ahead and explain you a thing or two about the invasion of planet meth.
First of all, you was right before. If a human was to fight a giant robot ninja, it prolly wouldn't go too well for that human. To remedy this situation, you might need you an exoskeleton or three. Or maybe you need one for each Pat in the army.
"But, hold on a minute," you're sayin now, "if you was to be trapped in a robot exoskeleton, how would you be able to use your teleportation thing you been harpin on all this time. And, while we're on the subject, can you teleport anymore after drinkin that green skull drink those ninjas fed you in Maui. Also, why the heck didn't they just poison you? I mean, they are ninjas, after all, it ain't like they're known for bein nice."
And my response is, first, don't get your panties all wadded into a bunch. That ain't got a lot to do with ninjas, but I find it's usually good advice for the prevention of discomfort, both now, when you gotta be sittin there and readin, and later, when you're doin your laundry. Second, calm down. We'll take these questions in order. The exoskeletons have been carefully and painstakingly crafted by the Squimonk out of moon spider webbing that is kept rigid by running a little bit of current through it. That current also has the benefit of giving us a super charged punch. Next, the Squimonk were nice enough to give me an anti-anti-teleporting-serum serum. And last, I don't have a clue why they didn't just poison me and I don't much appreciate you bringing up my potential imminent demise and reminding me that death is a shadowy figure constantly looming over our shoulders and driving us near to madness in the deep of the night when we got nothin but our regrets to keep us company until the birds start singin again in the dawn, Mister or Missus Macabre.
Now, at this point, you may be thinkin that your ol' pal Pat's got himself enough to just blip on down to the planet, plant his exoskeletal fist in a couple ninja faces, dust off his hands and call it a day. But you would be wrong. We ain't just tryin to defeat the ninjas, we're tryin to wipe them off the planet so our fleet of drug counselors can swoop down and start the rehabilitation process. And them ninjas have had themselves a goodly number of years to dig into their positions and so we gotta plan for the unexpected. So we also need us a whole mess of them Magma Giants to hit the planet with us and sling fire wherever they're needed. We especially need them to hit up all the volcanoes on the planet to take out any bases that might have been place there. We want, according to the Magma Giants, all their base to are belong to us, whatever the heck that's supposed to mean.
Finally, we gotta remember the most important thing about fightin Clan Platypus. They're friggin ninjas! They've had themselves all sortsa trainin in jumpin around and punchin and throwin things and whackin people and things with sticks. Me, I got into a fight once in eighth grade and fought some robot ninjas that Lindbergh sent after me earlier this year. I ain't sayin I can't handle it or nothin, I'm just sayin it's gotta be accounted for. And the best way to make up for a lack of martial arts training, in my opinion, is overwhelming firepower. In this case, it is provided by a donut rail gun mounted over each shoulder of the exoskeleton.
This fine piece of equipment had been adapted by the Squimonk from the ten different worlds on which we Pats had to recover the slugs from the 99 cent store. They took the original donut gun model and modernized it, addin all sortsa doohickies and geegaws and sciency stuff to it. Then, they made themselves a whole mess of donuts that they made superhard by keepin them out in the cold, lonely darkness of space for a couple months. When fired from the donut rail gin, which uses some sorta magnet technology, they can be fired at three times the speed of sound and can tear right through a robot ninja like a stick of butter bein hit by a speeding sun.
All of this was bein explained to me in a bit of a hurry, so forgive me if I've forgotten anything here. The long and short is, I found myself strapped into a suit of body armor and sweatin like a fat man at the summer cake giveaway as I was showed a map of where exactly I was supposed to land and punch a ninja right in his roboty face before he knew what was happenin. It was right amazing how coordinated it all was, but I didn't have much time to consider it because, right as I was thinkin about it, the countdown hit the bottom.
3...2...1...I jumped.
"But wait," you may be sayin, "even if I did have all them copies, how would I be able to defeat giant robot ninjas? I am, after all, just one, small, fragile being in this giant universe and I think my whole role in fighting a giant ninja robot would be to end up as goo between the toe slit in the robot's ninja shoe."
At least, you'd be sayin that if you was me. Of course, if you was me, then you would know all about what I'm fixin to say here, and it would ruin all the fun of readin this in the first place. Also, you would be have really bad heartburn most of the time and you would think that you should go see the doctor about it and, well, you would if this whole ninja fightin job came with insurance, but it don't and you really ain't got the time to head down to the free clinic because, again, the whole fightin ninjas thing. So, let's just go ahead and say you ain't me for the sake of argument and I'll go ahead and explain you a thing or two about the invasion of planet meth.
First of all, you was right before. If a human was to fight a giant robot ninja, it prolly wouldn't go too well for that human. To remedy this situation, you might need you an exoskeleton or three. Or maybe you need one for each Pat in the army.
"But, hold on a minute," you're sayin now, "if you was to be trapped in a robot exoskeleton, how would you be able to use your teleportation thing you been harpin on all this time. And, while we're on the subject, can you teleport anymore after drinkin that green skull drink those ninjas fed you in Maui. Also, why the heck didn't they just poison you? I mean, they are ninjas, after all, it ain't like they're known for bein nice."
And my response is, first, don't get your panties all wadded into a bunch. That ain't got a lot to do with ninjas, but I find it's usually good advice for the prevention of discomfort, both now, when you gotta be sittin there and readin, and later, when you're doin your laundry. Second, calm down. We'll take these questions in order. The exoskeletons have been carefully and painstakingly crafted by the Squimonk out of moon spider webbing that is kept rigid by running a little bit of current through it. That current also has the benefit of giving us a super charged punch. Next, the Squimonk were nice enough to give me an anti-anti-teleporting-serum serum. And last, I don't have a clue why they didn't just poison me and I don't much appreciate you bringing up my potential imminent demise and reminding me that death is a shadowy figure constantly looming over our shoulders and driving us near to madness in the deep of the night when we got nothin but our regrets to keep us company until the birds start singin again in the dawn, Mister or Missus Macabre.
Now, at this point, you may be thinkin that your ol' pal Pat's got himself enough to just blip on down to the planet, plant his exoskeletal fist in a couple ninja faces, dust off his hands and call it a day. But you would be wrong. We ain't just tryin to defeat the ninjas, we're tryin to wipe them off the planet so our fleet of drug counselors can swoop down and start the rehabilitation process. And them ninjas have had themselves a goodly number of years to dig into their positions and so we gotta plan for the unexpected. So we also need us a whole mess of them Magma Giants to hit the planet with us and sling fire wherever they're needed. We especially need them to hit up all the volcanoes on the planet to take out any bases that might have been place there. We want, according to the Magma Giants, all their base to are belong to us, whatever the heck that's supposed to mean.
Finally, we gotta remember the most important thing about fightin Clan Platypus. They're friggin ninjas! They've had themselves all sortsa trainin in jumpin around and punchin and throwin things and whackin people and things with sticks. Me, I got into a fight once in eighth grade and fought some robot ninjas that Lindbergh sent after me earlier this year. I ain't sayin I can't handle it or nothin, I'm just sayin it's gotta be accounted for. And the best way to make up for a lack of martial arts training, in my opinion, is overwhelming firepower. In this case, it is provided by a donut rail gun mounted over each shoulder of the exoskeleton.
This fine piece of equipment had been adapted by the Squimonk from the ten different worlds on which we Pats had to recover the slugs from the 99 cent store. They took the original donut gun model and modernized it, addin all sortsa doohickies and geegaws and sciency stuff to it. Then, they made themselves a whole mess of donuts that they made superhard by keepin them out in the cold, lonely darkness of space for a couple months. When fired from the donut rail gin, which uses some sorta magnet technology, they can be fired at three times the speed of sound and can tear right through a robot ninja like a stick of butter bein hit by a speeding sun.
All of this was bein explained to me in a bit of a hurry, so forgive me if I've forgotten anything here. The long and short is, I found myself strapped into a suit of body armor and sweatin like a fat man at the summer cake giveaway as I was showed a map of where exactly I was supposed to land and punch a ninja right in his roboty face before he knew what was happenin. It was right amazing how coordinated it all was, but I didn't have much time to consider it because, right as I was thinkin about it, the countdown hit the bottom.
3...2...1...I jumped.
Friday, November 20, 2009
What's with the fireballs?
We honed that zeppelin in on the space base, but we did so gently and slowly, lest we get hurt, like a dentist giving a root canal to an alligator. Course, we didn't have any anesthetic with us to put the fire asleep before operatin, so the metaphor don't hold completely, but it works about half way, which is all you can ask out of most metaphors. We got closer and closer, spiralin inwards towards the fireballs, our hearts in our throats, just waitin to be demolished by one of em. It never did happen, though. I can't say I was disappointed at not bein killed in a fiery hell of death and destruction with the zeppelin crashin to the ground with all of us screamin inside, oh the humanity!
After the long crawl towards the base, what I saw was fairly dissapointin. Dontchya just hate when it seems like somethin excitin's gonna happen, and you're anticipatin it and you're thinkin to yourself "What's with the fireballs?" And then there's this long, drawn out wait that seems like it's a week and as you get closer and closer to finding out what the fireballs are, it seems like you're intentionally being blocked from knowing and it's frustrating you more and more until your ready to punch someone right in their furry little face.
I'm sorry, I been ramblin again. I know you wouldn't know nothin about all that. So I'll just get on with it then, shall I?
As we swooped in towards the moon base, we saw all the activity going on down below as normal, just like there wasn't fireballs shootin into the air and comin down again. We figured if them others wasn't scared, it couldn't hurt to have ourselves a little look-see. So we maneuvered the Deus Ex Machina to the back of the compound to see a whole mess of Magma Giants back there and they was playin volleyball with one another, usin a ball of fire as a volleyball.
"Well," said Alistair as he shrugged, "that explains that."
I nodded. "Cept for the part about why there's magma giants here. They wasn't here when I left. Maybe we should ask someone what that was about."
And we did just that right after we landed, got some lunch, visited the bathroom, changed clothes, had a cup of coffee, did a sudoku puzzle, read the paper, got into a fight over who was the man with the longest fingernails in the known universe, did some maintenance work on the Deus Ex Machina and found someone who wasn't too busy to talk to us, which was mighty difficult as they were plannin to assault the planet in two days time and we showed up right before the Pat-and-Douggy-and-Squimonk army was ready to write us outta their plans. But almost as soon as we was done with that, we asked someone.
Turns out that Magma Giants really have it in for the ninjas. They don't care much about the ninjas selling meth or trying to take over the universe. No, their grudge is much more personal. According to the Alistair with which we talked about it, when ninjas land on a new planet and they try to be secret, yet still pretty awesome, they often make themselves an unassailable volcano base. But these ninjas, being practical and knowing how to plan for invasion, have all of their volcano bases prefabricated and transported in by, in his words, "The Ikea of Ninja Bases". Well, all that pre-fab stuff's got it's own specifications about how much it can hold and what temperatures it can be at and whatnot. So them ninjas gotta drain all the magma outta each volcano, strain it, test it and then run it through some filters and chemical doohickeys to make it the right temperature and viscosity for their stuff.
I guess if you're a ninja, this way of doin things makes sense. Me, I'd just go on down to the local Home Despot, load up on 2x4s and steel tubin and do it all myself. Course, if you're tryin to take over the universe by turnin everyone into a junkie zombie, I spose you ain't none to pleased about havin to do physical labor. Buncha babies, these ninjas.
The long and short of this process, vis a vis the Magma Giants, is that, if you happen to be a Magma Giant and a bunch of ninjas come in, drain your volcano and run all your magma through their whatzahoozits just to make it a couple degrees colder, you're gonna come out a little worse for the wear. Most likely, you'll just end up dead. The physically stronger ones that aren't killed by all this end up as thoughtless pillars of fire that the ninjas sometimes use to guard the volcano bases. Either way, it's a pretty sad change of life for these noble creatures that don't want to do nothin but read and wrassle. In fact, until they're 15 years old, the only things they study is geometry and wrasslin, thinkin it gives them all the skills they need to learn other stuff. I don't know whether all that's true, but I do know that I wouldn't like it none too much if them ninjas screwed up my home and my family in order to put a tacky Ikea base in.
The Squimonk army got whiff of this hatred the Magma Giants had for the ninjas and recruited them into the cause. I was wonderin why they wasn't there when I was on the moon base the day before, and they explained to me that space travel has some complications in it that sometimes makes time slip a little bit. They ain't exactly sure why, something about travelling at the speed of light and passing through black holes, which can make time slow down. He then told me that we don't get sucked into them black holes because we don't have no mass. I ain't sure any of this is relevant, but it makes me sound a little smarter to tell you this stuff even though, if I was bein honest with you here, most of it went right over my head.
After we got our answer, it was time for us to learn our place in the assault on planet meth. And let me tell you, they had a doozy of a plan.
After the long crawl towards the base, what I saw was fairly dissapointin. Dontchya just hate when it seems like somethin excitin's gonna happen, and you're anticipatin it and you're thinkin to yourself "What's with the fireballs?" And then there's this long, drawn out wait that seems like it's a week and as you get closer and closer to finding out what the fireballs are, it seems like you're intentionally being blocked from knowing and it's frustrating you more and more until your ready to punch someone right in their furry little face.
I'm sorry, I been ramblin again. I know you wouldn't know nothin about all that. So I'll just get on with it then, shall I?
As we swooped in towards the moon base, we saw all the activity going on down below as normal, just like there wasn't fireballs shootin into the air and comin down again. We figured if them others wasn't scared, it couldn't hurt to have ourselves a little look-see. So we maneuvered the Deus Ex Machina to the back of the compound to see a whole mess of Magma Giants back there and they was playin volleyball with one another, usin a ball of fire as a volleyball.
"Well," said Alistair as he shrugged, "that explains that."
I nodded. "Cept for the part about why there's magma giants here. They wasn't here when I left. Maybe we should ask someone what that was about."
And we did just that right after we landed, got some lunch, visited the bathroom, changed clothes, had a cup of coffee, did a sudoku puzzle, read the paper, got into a fight over who was the man with the longest fingernails in the known universe, did some maintenance work on the Deus Ex Machina and found someone who wasn't too busy to talk to us, which was mighty difficult as they were plannin to assault the planet in two days time and we showed up right before the Pat-and-Douggy-and-Squimonk army was ready to write us outta their plans. But almost as soon as we was done with that, we asked someone.
Turns out that Magma Giants really have it in for the ninjas. They don't care much about the ninjas selling meth or trying to take over the universe. No, their grudge is much more personal. According to the Alistair with which we talked about it, when ninjas land on a new planet and they try to be secret, yet still pretty awesome, they often make themselves an unassailable volcano base. But these ninjas, being practical and knowing how to plan for invasion, have all of their volcano bases prefabricated and transported in by, in his words, "The Ikea of Ninja Bases". Well, all that pre-fab stuff's got it's own specifications about how much it can hold and what temperatures it can be at and whatnot. So them ninjas gotta drain all the magma outta each volcano, strain it, test it and then run it through some filters and chemical doohickeys to make it the right temperature and viscosity for their stuff.
I guess if you're a ninja, this way of doin things makes sense. Me, I'd just go on down to the local Home Despot, load up on 2x4s and steel tubin and do it all myself. Course, if you're tryin to take over the universe by turnin everyone into a junkie zombie, I spose you ain't none to pleased about havin to do physical labor. Buncha babies, these ninjas.
The long and short of this process, vis a vis the Magma Giants, is that, if you happen to be a Magma Giant and a bunch of ninjas come in, drain your volcano and run all your magma through their whatzahoozits just to make it a couple degrees colder, you're gonna come out a little worse for the wear. Most likely, you'll just end up dead. The physically stronger ones that aren't killed by all this end up as thoughtless pillars of fire that the ninjas sometimes use to guard the volcano bases. Either way, it's a pretty sad change of life for these noble creatures that don't want to do nothin but read and wrassle. In fact, until they're 15 years old, the only things they study is geometry and wrasslin, thinkin it gives them all the skills they need to learn other stuff. I don't know whether all that's true, but I do know that I wouldn't like it none too much if them ninjas screwed up my home and my family in order to put a tacky Ikea base in.
The Squimonk army got whiff of this hatred the Magma Giants had for the ninjas and recruited them into the cause. I was wonderin why they wasn't there when I was on the moon base the day before, and they explained to me that space travel has some complications in it that sometimes makes time slip a little bit. They ain't exactly sure why, something about travelling at the speed of light and passing through black holes, which can make time slow down. He then told me that we don't get sucked into them black holes because we don't have no mass. I ain't sure any of this is relevant, but it makes me sound a little smarter to tell you this stuff even though, if I was bein honest with you here, most of it went right over my head.
After we got our answer, it was time for us to learn our place in the assault on planet meth. And let me tell you, they had a doozy of a plan.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Quick Note
I am sorry to say that, for my job, I must be put into isolation for the next two days. I am to be allowed no contact with the outside world, even including writing ridiculous things that sound like they may be drug induced but are, in fact, simply a product of a deranged mine. The long and short of it is, I will try to get something posted Friday, but there will certainly be nothing until then. Sorry bout that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)