Deus ex machina
FABRICMAN! descends from the gods on wire pulleys and bits of string, swaying from side to side as if possessed by the demon drink. And the drink of demons. High like a sealing wax junkie man. He rotates, he spins, he twirls with uncontrolled acceleration. As was foretold, all voodoo like straight-up, no messing.
"Behold, I am FABRICMAN!" he squeaks as nasally as a squeaky nasal thing. He smashes into barrels and crates, and cannons, and battleships, and the whole Fifth Army Communications Corp (based out of Proxima Centauri) and it's downloadable demo in 1080p HD widescreen Bannanovision, denting his top hat; "FABRICMAN I am!".
"FOR HE IS FABRICMAN!" screams the chorus in mournful Etruscan Greek, his mad uncontrollable careenings of angular momentum knocking over the strategic woodstove located on 87 Canceri B and setting fire to five cubic gigaparsecs of seriously quantum geologic time.
"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" he squeakily declaims, flames shooting from his burning frockcoat and soiled trousers, his iambic pentameter pegged so far into it's red zone that it lights up a solid icosahedron of spacetime no less than six hectares long. Gyring, gimbaling, wabelike. Possessed of un-denormlised state vectors.
"FABRICMAN!" the chorus chorus, "FABRICMAN!"
"FABRICMAN!"
"FABRICMAN!" they gurgle.
His sealing wax and string wired pulleys now burst in a shattering burn through, gone with throttle-up, filled with the blinding heat of a thousand exploding suns.
"OOOOOOOOOHHHH! Pretty!" exclaim the chorus.
"For I am FABRICMAN! The ENB!" intones FABRICMAN! in a rapidly red shifting pitch of sublime roared squeaking such that all dogmen and other werewolves may hear, plunging away from us in a direction that manifests itself only as the quintessence of the Platonic Form of 'down'...
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.
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...: FX: heavy thud :
: curtain :
"Behold, I am FABRICMAN!" he squeaks as nasally as a squeaky nasal thing. He smashes into barrels and crates, and cannons, and battleships, and the whole Fifth Army Communications Corp (based out of Proxima Centauri) and it's downloadable demo in 1080p HD widescreen Bannanovision, denting his top hat; "FABRICMAN I am!".
"FOR HE IS FABRICMAN!" screams the chorus in mournful Etruscan Greek, his mad uncontrollable careenings of angular momentum knocking over the strategic woodstove located on 87 Canceri B and setting fire to five cubic gigaparsecs of seriously quantum geologic time.
"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" he squeakily declaims, flames shooting from his burning frockcoat and soiled trousers, his iambic pentameter pegged so far into it's red zone that it lights up a solid icosahedron of spacetime no less than six hectares long. Gyring, gimbaling, wabelike. Possessed of un-denormlised state vectors.
"FABRICMAN!" the chorus chorus, "FABRICMAN!"
"FABRICMAN!"
"FABRICMAN!" they gurgle.
His sealing wax and string wired pulleys now burst in a shattering burn through, gone with throttle-up, filled with the blinding heat of a thousand exploding suns.
"OOOOOOOOOHHHH! Pretty!" exclaim the chorus.
"For I am FABRICMAN! The ENB!" intones FABRICMAN! in a rapidly red shifting pitch of sublime roared squeaking such that all dogmen and other werewolves may hear, plunging away from us in a direction that manifests itself only as the quintessence of the Platonic Form of 'down'...
.
.
.
...: FX: heavy thud :
: curtain :