(no subject)
You'll probbaly get a prom/grad related write up out of me later. As of now, I can't be outdone by Tophe.
The good doctor entered his study in housecoat and slippers,
ready to make his formal address. He pulled the book he was to read from out of
its resting place on the mantel and sat down in his big comfy chair. He looked
out into the audience while gingerly taking a few puffs of his pipe, stroking
his goatee and then making sure his mohawk looked fine.
“Women and gentle-foos.” Professor T began, “It has come to
my attention that some sucka has been spreading rumors that I just care about
treating your mother right. That just ain’t true. Yo’ fatha’ is just as
important as your mother. They be just as important because without them yo’
mamma would never have had you.”
He looked around to make sure he had the audience’s
attention before taking a few more puffs of quality pipe tobacco. No wonder he
had seven types of cancer.
“Yo’ fatha’ is even important when he’s not your father. You
still gots to lay some respect on that foo even if he’s your step dad or
mother’s partner.” T paused, “Perhaps he’s yo’ real dads boyfriend and you gots
to spend twice as much dough on fathers day. Or maybe you can just decide on
which one’s more, ahem, homosexual, and treat him to dinner on mothers day.”
“But that ain’t the case with that crazy sucka Dan Rodgers.”
Professor T opend the book resting on his lap, “No, his guardian’s one crazy
ass redblooded mofo that loves him some titties. When those titties are on his
life partner o’course. And he deserves the ‘spect laid down on his ass up and
down the isles. And that crazy white boy Dan knows it true.”
“Lets see what that foo did this year.” The Professor of
badassology cleared his throat and began to read.
“Holy mother of ever loving crap!” Dan Rodgers swore as he
realized the predicament he had gotten himself into again, “I have no goddamn
time to get Paul a worthwhile fathers day gift. And I actually have the money
to get one this time.”
“Ugh, looks like I’m gonna have to be lazy and somehow
proide him with enough booze that he forgets it’s father’s day.” Dan struck a
serious thinking position, “Maybe if I call Aaron…”
Suddenly, in the predicted turn of events Bo Duke burst
through Dan’s bedroom wall in a bulldozer specially painted like the General
Lee. Bo was of course wearing a reflective jacket, a hard hat as well as carrying
his certification to drive a heavy vehicle. Outside fencing and proper signage
was erected amongst the rubble of Dan and Francis’ house turned construction
site. Luke, was of course dutifully acting as the site manager, filing the
proper reports and getting them in on time. When the Dukes do something, they
do southern style. Which is right, I suppose.
“Now Dan…” Bo began.
“Jesus Christ.” Dan swore as he looked at his new window,
“I’m starting to hate the amount of stress on parent based holidays.
Beneath the cheesy bleached smile and three layers of stage
makeup, Bo was unimpressed.
“Now Dan,” He picked up again in that particular southern
twang, “ While it may be hai-larious to see Paul drunk out of his mind like
that, it’s not the way to show him respect. You can’t just…”
“Yeah, yeah. I can’t give up on him that easily.” Dan’s plan
was beginning to formulate.
“Aren’t you gonna let me be an inspiration? I didn’t bust in
here for nothin’.” Bo said, slightly hurt.
“Frankly,” Dan looked at the crazy hillbilly, “I just don’t
like you as much as Mr. T.”
“Oh.” Luckily the southerner didn’t have the intelligence to
be insulted by Dan’s preferential treatment of a black man. He instead rode off
in the opposite direction jumping his bulldozer over numerous ramps, Luke
chasing him down yelling how unsafe he was being.
But Time was running out. Dan had to strap on his vintage
1960s chrome plated jet pack and fly to his destination: The Ancient Secret
Super Crazy Wicked Temple of Oi.
It was beckoning him, just like, well, someone saying “Oi”
Soon he was there, the ancient temple of… Erm, do I really
have to say it again, it’s kinda long.
Anywho, the temple of Oi, the home of the ancient artifact…
The Sacred Quart of Wallawalla. Some say that it tastes better every second it
sits in its chamber, and considering that no one has returned from the temple
in a bajillion years, well, it would taste like awesome.
With a quick hadoken to the solid stone gate Dan was in,
perhaps he would have to go about it ninja style. Be like James Bond, Sam
Fisher, Solid Snake or any other entertaining reference. Whatever was in there
that prevented people from finding the ancient booze, it wouldn’t stop Dan. He
was going to single handedly find the greatest father’s day gift ever.
At a nearby coffee shop two friends were enjoying hot
beverages.
“That’s one brave kid,” Sam Fisher said to Solid Snake.
“Yep, he’s really damn dedicated.” The eternal badass
replied as he sipped his Tim Hortons Coffee. You hear that, Solid Snake said
the same thing as Morgan Freeman. Solid fucking Snake complimented me.
Back to Dan though, he was penetrating deeper into the bowls
of the temple. Or at least that’s what the sign’s said, this way to penetrate
the bowls of the temple. Dan realized that even thousands of years ago there
was some architect giggling over the fact he put bowels and penetrate in the
same sentence. Some people were really, really immature…
Wummpa wumpa wumpa.
What the crap was that Dan wondered. He turned to look at the
contently placed floor map. Goddamnit! This place was built like a maze. With
these stupid spherical statues in the middle of the hallway. How the crap is
this what prevented so many people from getting the treasure?
Wumpa wumpa wumpa.
And what was that noise? And why was everything rumbling…
This was going to be one of those times Dan regretted turning around wasn’t it?
Wumpa wumpa wumpa
Oh god! As Dan turned around he was confronted with a
gigantic Indiana Jones style boulder… A big yellow boulder with a mouth… Holy
mother of crap! That was a gigantic pacman!
“Lord fucking Jesus shit Christ!” Dan quoted Paul as he
tried desperately to get away from the all-consuming 80’s icon. He would devour
him like the quarters of thousands of thousands of children. He was running as
fast as his legs could carry him, but the pac-man was charging through; eating
the spherical statures that dotted the center of the room. There was no way to
escape, no where to run, Dan Rodgers would die here in the belly of a pac-man
like so many ghosts before him!
But then there was a bright light… A flash! Some awesome
karate moves. Before Dan knew it he was whisked away outside.
The clouds! The trees! The fresh
air! The sun!
Within seconds it became overcast
and poured buckets of rain, because that’s how we roll down in Nova Scotia. But
Dan didn’t care, he was saved… But with no father’s day gift. No that didn’t
matter now, his family would rather him alive than with the most fantastic
tasting alcoholic beverage in the world… Actually maybe he’d forget to mention
he failed to get the most fantastic tasting alcoholic beverage in the world,
just to avoid the “bloody hell”s. And besides who was the mysterious person
that saved him…
Mr. Clean!?!?!
Yes, the bald, pierced eared mascot
for cleaning products was the one who saved Dan and with a wink and a nod he
disappeared in a cloud of germ-killing sparkles.
“What the hell?” Dan contemplated
as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. On the other hand it made
perfect since. Mr. Clean could disappear, become flat against any surface, he
had the perfect muscular build and the fact that he could kick mildews ass. He
was stealthy but powerful, sleek but powerful, comforting but powerful, and
powerful but powerful. Yes, Mr. Clean was indeed a ninja. It was the only thing
that made sence really, and things had to start making sence soon or Dan’s
brain would implode.
“Thank you and goodbye, erm…” Dan
stumbled trying to find what to called the mascot in the tight white T-shirt, “…Clean-sensei?”
But soon afterwards he was
smiling to himself.
“Paul’s gonna love to hear about
this.”
“So” The professor put down his
book, “Yo’ can clearly see that threating yo’ with the ‘spect is highly
important.”
He took a few puffs.
“Almost as important as
rememberin’ to brush your school, stay in milk and always drink yo’ teeth.” T
mused, “That and wearing clothes.”
“So, wish yo fathas a happy,
happy fathers day.” T closed his book and stared deeply into the souls of the
audience, “Caus I pity the foo who don’t wish their father a happy day.”
THE END!
The good doctor entered his study in housecoat and slippers,
ready to make his formal address. He pulled the book he was to read from out of
its resting place on the mantel and sat down in his big comfy chair. He looked
out into the audience while gingerly taking a few puffs of his pipe, stroking
his goatee and then making sure his mohawk looked fine.
“Women and gentle-foos.” Professor T began, “It has come to
my attention that some sucka has been spreading rumors that I just care about
treating your mother right. That just ain’t true. Yo’ fatha’ is just as
important as your mother. They be just as important because without them yo’
mamma would never have had you.”
He looked around to make sure he had the audience’s
attention before taking a few more puffs of quality pipe tobacco. No wonder he
had seven types of cancer.
“Yo’ fatha’ is even important when he’s not your father. You
still gots to lay some respect on that foo even if he’s your step dad or
mother’s partner.” T paused, “Perhaps he’s yo’ real dads boyfriend and you gots
to spend twice as much dough on fathers day. Or maybe you can just decide on
which one’s more, ahem, homosexual, and treat him to dinner on mothers day.”
“But that ain’t the case with that crazy sucka Dan Rodgers.”
Professor T opend the book resting on his lap, “No, his guardian’s one crazy
ass redblooded mofo that loves him some titties. When those titties are on his
life partner o’course. And he deserves the ‘spect laid down on his ass up and
down the isles. And that crazy white boy Dan knows it true.”
“Lets see what that foo did this year.” The Professor of
badassology cleared his throat and began to read.
“Holy mother of ever loving crap!” Dan Rodgers swore as he
realized the predicament he had gotten himself into again, “I have no goddamn
time to get Paul a worthwhile fathers day gift. And I actually have the money
to get one this time.”
“Ugh, looks like I’m gonna have to be lazy and somehow
proide him with enough booze that he forgets it’s father’s day.” Dan struck a
serious thinking position, “Maybe if I call Aaron…”
Suddenly, in the predicted turn of events Bo Duke burst
through Dan’s bedroom wall in a bulldozer specially painted like the General
Lee. Bo was of course wearing a reflective jacket, a hard hat as well as carrying
his certification to drive a heavy vehicle. Outside fencing and proper signage
was erected amongst the rubble of Dan and Francis’ house turned construction
site. Luke, was of course dutifully acting as the site manager, filing the
proper reports and getting them in on time. When the Dukes do something, they
do southern style. Which is right, I suppose.
“Now Dan…” Bo began.
“Jesus Christ.” Dan swore as he looked at his new window,
“I’m starting to hate the amount of stress on parent based holidays.
Beneath the cheesy bleached smile and three layers of stage
makeup, Bo was unimpressed.
“Now Dan,” He picked up again in that particular southern
twang, “ While it may be hai-larious to see Paul drunk out of his mind like
that, it’s not the way to show him respect. You can’t just…”
“Yeah, yeah. I can’t give up on him that easily.” Dan’s plan
was beginning to formulate.
“Aren’t you gonna let me be an inspiration? I didn’t bust in
here for nothin’.” Bo said, slightly hurt.
“Frankly,” Dan looked at the crazy hillbilly, “I just don’t
like you as much as Mr. T.”
“Oh.” Luckily the southerner didn’t have the intelligence to
be insulted by Dan’s preferential treatment of a black man. He instead rode off
in the opposite direction jumping his bulldozer over numerous ramps, Luke
chasing him down yelling how unsafe he was being.
But Time was running out. Dan had to strap on his vintage
1960s chrome plated jet pack and fly to his destination: The Ancient Secret
Super Crazy Wicked Temple of Oi.
It was beckoning him, just like, well, someone saying “Oi”
Soon he was there, the ancient temple of… Erm, do I really
have to say it again, it’s kinda long.
Anywho, the temple of Oi, the home of the ancient artifact…
The Sacred Quart of Wallawalla. Some say that it tastes better every second it
sits in its chamber, and considering that no one has returned from the temple
in a bajillion years, well, it would taste like awesome.
With a quick hadoken to the solid stone gate Dan was in,
perhaps he would have to go about it ninja style. Be like James Bond, Sam
Fisher, Solid Snake or any other entertaining reference. Whatever was in there
that prevented people from finding the ancient booze, it wouldn’t stop Dan. He
was going to single handedly find the greatest father’s day gift ever.
At a nearby coffee shop two friends were enjoying hot
beverages.
“That’s one brave kid,” Sam Fisher said to Solid Snake.
“Yep, he’s really damn dedicated.” The eternal badass
replied as he sipped his Tim Hortons Coffee. You hear that, Solid Snake said
the same thing as Morgan Freeman. Solid fucking Snake complimented me.
Back to Dan though, he was penetrating deeper into the bowls
of the temple. Or at least that’s what the sign’s said, this way to penetrate
the bowls of the temple. Dan realized that even thousands of years ago there
was some architect giggling over the fact he put bowels and penetrate in the
same sentence. Some people were really, really immature…
Wummpa wumpa wumpa.
What the crap was that Dan wondered. He turned to look at the
contently placed floor map. Goddamnit! This place was built like a maze. With
these stupid spherical statues in the middle of the hallway. How the crap is
this what prevented so many people from getting the treasure?
Wumpa wumpa wumpa.
And what was that noise? And why was everything rumbling…
This was going to be one of those times Dan regretted turning around wasn’t it?
Wumpa wumpa wumpa
Oh god! As Dan turned around he was confronted with a
gigantic Indiana Jones style boulder… A big yellow boulder with a mouth… Holy
mother of crap! That was a gigantic pacman!
“Lord fucking Jesus shit Christ!” Dan quoted Paul as he
tried desperately to get away from the all-consuming 80’s icon. He would devour
him like the quarters of thousands of thousands of children. He was running as
fast as his legs could carry him, but the pac-man was charging through; eating
the spherical statures that dotted the center of the room. There was no way to
escape, no where to run, Dan Rodgers would die here in the belly of a pac-man
like so many ghosts before him!
But then there was a bright light… A flash! Some awesome
karate moves. Before Dan knew it he was whisked away outside.
The clouds! The trees! The fresh
air! The sun!
Within seconds it became overcast
and poured buckets of rain, because that’s how we roll down in Nova Scotia. But
Dan didn’t care, he was saved… But with no father’s day gift. No that didn’t
matter now, his family would rather him alive than with the most fantastic
tasting alcoholic beverage in the world… Actually maybe he’d forget to mention
he failed to get the most fantastic tasting alcoholic beverage in the world,
just to avoid the “bloody hell”s. And besides who was the mysterious person
that saved him…
Mr. Clean!?!?!
Yes, the bald, pierced eared mascot
for cleaning products was the one who saved Dan and with a wink and a nod he
disappeared in a cloud of germ-killing sparkles.
“What the hell?” Dan contemplated
as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. On the other hand it made
perfect since. Mr. Clean could disappear, become flat against any surface, he
had the perfect muscular build and the fact that he could kick mildews ass. He
was stealthy but powerful, sleek but powerful, comforting but powerful, and
powerful but powerful. Yes, Mr. Clean was indeed a ninja. It was the only thing
that made sence really, and things had to start making sence soon or Dan’s
brain would implode.
“Thank you and goodbye, erm…” Dan
stumbled trying to find what to called the mascot in the tight white T-shirt, “…Clean-sensei?”
But soon afterwards he was
smiling to himself.
“Paul’s gonna love to hear about
this.”
“So” The professor put down his
book, “Yo’ can clearly see that threating yo’ with the ‘spect is highly
important.”
He took a few puffs.
“Almost as important as
rememberin’ to brush your school, stay in milk and always drink yo’ teeth.” T
mused, “That and wearing clothes.”
“So, wish yo fathas a happy,
happy fathers day.” T closed his book and stared deeply into the souls of the
audience, “Caus I pity the foo who don’t wish their father a happy day.”
THE END!