Saturday, July 6, 2013

Jake English's Mysterious Theater of Scientific Romance from the Year 3000: 1 Year Anniversary Special

Edrobot: Well it's my one-year anniversary, but I'm also writing something for Camp NaNoWriMo... Maybe I should do something special for both of them. Hm...




*A flash of light, and suddenly Jake, Karkat, Dave, Al, Electra, Lant and Opal appear in the middle of Tokyo.*

Dave Strider: okay what just happened??

Alfred Smith: It seems that our plot threads have been interrupted by some kind of... mysterious outside force, pulling us into a crossover of some sort.

Amos Fortune: CORRECT!

Karkat: AND YOU ARE...?

Amos Fortune: I am professor AMOS FORTUNE, master of LUCK! 

Lant Kreck: *flips through some comic books.* Aren't you supposed to be dead?

Amos Fortune: Yes, well. I got better. Anyway, using the power of QUANTUM PARTICLE THINGYS supercharging my LUCK GLANDS, I pulled you from your home timeline into this one, where-

Electra: Not caring. *BANG* *BANG*

Amos: Ha! You missed! And all thanks to my LUCK GLANDS! And now that you're here you shall help me conquer Tokyo!

Dave: okay one. why? two. why tokyo?? i mean arnt you supposed to be american?

Amos Fortune: The answer to that is that I... don't know. I never expected to get this far into my plan to be honest.

Jake: You vile fiend! That means we're at a perpetual stalemate! We can't ever beat you, yet you can't progress any further in your plan!

Opal: Print("And worse yet, his luck field is expanding exponentially!\n Soon, wildly improbable events, will become commonplace, until causality has no meaning!")

*A tuna fish falls from the sky and smacks Lant in the face*


Lant: Ow!

Pinkie Pie: what are the odds of that? @_@

Opal: Print("See what I mean?")

Amos Fortune: Uh... YES! That's EXACTLY how I planned it! And once I figure out how, no one will stop me from taking over the world!

???: I don't think so, lucky.... mc luck guy!

Amos: *GASP* Oh no, it's the JUSTICE SOCIETY OF JAPAN!

Edrobot: Yes, that's right, the JUSTICE SOCIETY OF JAPAN! The perfect combination of anime characters and western superheroes. Led by the ever fearless Simon the Digger...


Edrobot: The ever-calm Lightning Farron...

Lighting Farron: So much for the element of surprise...

Edrobot: Shulk, who since you probably don't know him is from Xenoblade.

Shulk: The Monado's picking up a pan-temporal disturbance... this could be trouble!

Edrobot: And some other guys, like Shinji Ikari, Sayaka Miki, a robot girl and an OC you don't care about.

Shinji Ikari: I'm... not sure we can take them...

Sayaka Miki: Aww come on, don't be such a wimp! We're heroes! Of course we're gonna win!

Amazingly Powerful Girlborg: I dunno... I think we should wait for backup...

Hope (not the one from Final Fantasy XIII): Hi everyone! My name's Hope and I'm looking forward to kicking your butts!

Dave: wow. crossing over with your own fanfiction?? youve got a bit of an ego there, ed.

Edrobot: (Shhhhhh!)

Alfred: (Egad! That kid at the end looks Exactly like the girl we met at the OC Village. STOP)

Lant: (I guess she got her own story after all. 

Electra: (Think she'll recognize us?)

Alfred: (Given how meta-space works, it's almost certain she won't. STOP)

Hope: Hey, Electra! What are you doing working for mister Fortune? He's kind of a creep!

Electra: What? I am not working for him... and how do you know my name, anyway?

Lighting: Are you joking? We've fought you plenty of times!

Shulk: Wait, hold up: her temporal wavelength doesn't match... I don't think that's our version of Electra at all!

Simon: Oh, so it's wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff. Got it!


Lighting: Sadly.

Dave: damn. i feel for you bro. erm. i mean sis.

Alfred: See, Electra? You're not unique at all! Don't you feel happy about your lack of temporal mutability? STOP

Electra: Yaaaaay.

Lighting: So, any idea on how to stop Fortune?

Shulk: Just one. The only way to counter his synthetic good luck is with synthetic bad luck. Specifically, we need something really, really awful that by all accounts should have been a coincidence, but wasn't.

Jake: Oh. Okay. How about we read atlanta nights?

Lighting: What.

Jake: Okay, here's what happened. In 2004, a print-on-demand publishing company called publishamerica wrote a couple article about how fantasy and science fiction novels were nothing more but bucketloads of frivolous nonsense for prepubescent children. Well as you can imagine a right good number of authors were pissed off about that, so they decided to prove that publishamerica was a vanity press (i.e. a company that makes money by publishing anyone's book, no matter how godawful it is) by banding together to write the worst novel in the history of literature.

The idea was simple; after an outline was created, each author would be given a description of the characters and a brief outline of a chapter to write. The thing was, they would not be able to look at any of the other chapter outlines, and they were encouraged to write as terribly as possible. The result was atlanta nights, a scathing deconstruction of romance novels as a genre.


Jake: And it is glorious! But to review a work of this magnitude, we will need your help! Justice Society, can I count you in on this endeavor?

Shulk: That's just crazy enough to work...

Simon: Hell yeah!

Shinji: That doesn't sound so bad.

Lighting: I've heard worse plans.

Sayaka: It's worth a shot!

Girlborg: Well... if it's for the world's sake, count me in!

Hope: I wanna see! I wanna see!

Lant: Hey, before we begin I have a very quick, extremely nerdy question: Don't you see anything wrong with naming your team after a team that that (prior to the reboot) fought against Japan in World War II?

Simon: Not really.

Lant: Okay, that's what I figured.


Chapter 1



Whispering voices.


Pain. Pain. Pain.

Hope: Which is exactly what reading Atlanta Nights feels like! Good job!

Need pee--new pain--what are they sticking in me? . . .

Dave: oh god im having another alien abduction dream arnt i??



Whispering voices.

“As you know, Nurse Eastman, the government spooks controlling this hospital will not permit me to give this patient the care I think he needs.”

Alfred: As you know, person I am referring to by name even though you're the only person I can possibly be talking to, this is a clumsy way of delivering exposition. STOP

“Yes, doctor.” The voice was breathy, sweet, so sweet and sexy.

Girlborg: Breathy? Was she wheezing on a cigarette or something?

“We will therefore just monitor his sign’s. 

Pinkie: ♪I saw the sign's, it opened up my eyes I saw the sign's!♪ ^_^

 Serious trauma like this patient suffered requires extra care, but the rich patsies controlling the hospital will make certain I cannot try any of my new treatments on him.”

Jake: Gosh darn it I sure do hate rich people.

“Yes, doctor.” That voice was soooo sexy!

Lighting: Thank you for reminding us that the female gender still exists.

Bruce didn’t care about treatments. He cared about pain, 

Opal: Load_Meme("TEH_UNVIVERSE.png")

and he cared about that voice, because when he heard the voice, the pain went away, just for a few seconds, like.

Hope: Like, oh my gawd, that  is so totally awesome. Like, totally.

“Report to me if there is any change,” the man’s voice said.

“Yes, Dr. Nance,” said the sexy voice.

A door closed, and Bruce heard breathing, and smelled the enticing smell of shampoo, and perfume. It was Chanel Number 5.


Jake: Kankri?! What are you doing here!?

Kankri: I have c9me t9 this timeline via a Zeta Beam t9 give y9u this imp9rtant message. I kn9w y9u pr96a6ly want t9, but you sh9uld n9t make fun 9f this man f9r rec9gnzing the scent 9f a specific perfume, as gender r9les in s9ciety are sl9wly changing.

Lant: ...that's not how Zeta Beams work. They only let you travel through space, not time.

Kanrki: 9H SHI-


Pinkie: This was another:


Lant: ...never use that image again.

He opened his eyes.

All he saw was the roundest, firmest pair of tittles he’d ever seen in his life, all enclosed in a crisp white nurse’s uniform.


Jake: They make milk for newborn babies to drink.


I’m in heaven, he said. No, he tried to say, but his voice wouldn’t work, his mouth was dry, and there was some terrible tube thing in his nose—and hey, what’s that thing in his dick? It hurts!

The tits bounced like Aunt Alice’s molded jello back at home, and then moved away. Oh. She was just straightening the covers on the bed.


Bruce realized he laid in a bed, his left arm being strapped down, with something sticking an up-a tube--on the top of his hand.

Dave: must... resist... urge... to... make... dick... joke...

Bruce looked up. The tits belonged to a beautiful face carved out of ice and whipped cream, with a pair of glowing emerald eyes.

Lighting: That is the worst metaphor I have ever heard. It paints her more like a space alien than a supermodel.

Dave: trust me. the worst is yet to come.

 Around that perfect face was brown hair like one of those super models, all puffed up.

“Oh, you’re awake, Mr. Lucent,” said the sexy nurse.

Bruce worked his lips, but couldn’t speak.

Lant: Given the quality of the dialogue so far, I think I should be grateful.

“Well, Mr. Lucent,” the sexy voice went on. “You are probably wondering what you are doing here, honey chile.” He realized the voice had the accent of a sexy Southern peach.

Pinkie: Do peaches even grow in the south? I should ask Applejack sometime! ^_^

“You were in an auto accident, Mr. Lucent, but don’t worry. You’ll be jess fine. This here is the finest hospital in Atlanta, and you are in the care of the finest doctor, Dr. Arthur Eastman.”

Lant: I thought the doctor was named "Dr. Nance". Did the author get his characters mixed up already?

Bruce tried to speak, but just moaned.

Simon: That was probably him realizing he was in Atlanta Nights.

“Now, is there anything I can get you?” Nurse Eastman asked, moving around to the other sides of the bed, and fluffing the pillow.

Bruce wanted to feel those titties, that was what he wanted. Not that he could do much else, he realized. Everything hurt, right down to that thing, whatever it was, in his dick.

"Uh,” he said.

Electra: The sad thing is that he's probably the best written character thus far.

Nurse Eastman’s eyes lit up like Christmas tree light’s. “Now you’re talking! Oh,” she gave a girlish giggle. “You are recovering jess fine! I have to go tell Dr. Eastman, right away.”

“Wait . . .” he grated.

She paused, giggling again. A frightened giggle now. A childish giggle. As though a little girl on Halloween, going door to door, instead of seeing a paper Mackay witch or goblin suddenly was grabbed by the real thing.

Shulk: I'm pretty sure most people wouldn't be giggling if that happened.

“I don’t remember . . .” Bruce croaked. “I don’t remember!”

Karkat: LUCKY YOU.

“No,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “You don’t remember a thing. Now, you jess rest!”

She went to the door, her hips swaying like palm trees in a Hawaiian hurricane.

Bruce lied there in the bed, trying to recover his memory. All he could remember was the screeching of tires', like a steam engine gone crazy, and then there was just all that pain. Hell. Hell on wheels, that’s what it was, yeses.


On wheels.

Hope: I'm on the hiiiigh-way to hell! I'm on the hiiiiigh-way to hell!


* * *

While outside the door, Nurse Eastman leaned against the wall, her breasts rising and falling with passion as she tried to control her gasps.

Lant: Yes, we get it already; she's hot. Can we please move along?

Oh no, she thought. How could it be? Out of all the hospitals in Georgia, they would bring him here.

She raised shaking fingers and outlined the shape of her lips, moaning softly as she remembered the one day she’d met Bruce Lucent. The single day, at the high school prom. She’d gone with her cousin to please their parents, since his date got sick and he had rented his tux and everything, even though she was in nursing college.

Jake: Oh golly, i can already smell the wacky hijinks!

Dave: he said with complete sincerity.

 Enchantment Under the Sea, it was called . . . she could remember it as if it was yesterday . . . their eye met across the room, locked, held, molding passionately. It was a gaze of molten heat, a supernova of total lust, even though he was only seventeen and she was twenty-three.

It was only a matter of time before she ditched her cousin and Bruce ditched his date, and they found themselves in the back of Bruce’s Chevy . . .


She moaned, writhing in memory, until a voice splintered, shattered, pierced her memory. “Nurse Eastman!”

It was the Head Nurse! Her warty nose quivered, her eyes blazed with suspicion. The old bag! She wouldn’t know what true love really was.

Lant: Because as we all know, true love is having an affair with a teenage boy you've never met before and never talked to again until years later.

“I'm sorry,” Margaret Eastman smiled. “I just had a cramp.”

“If you are sick, you may be excused from your shift,” the Head Nurse opined.

“I—I will be fine. But I promised Dr. Nance I would let him know when his patient woke up,”

Girlborg: So is it Dr. Eastman or Dr. Nance? I'm having a hard time following this.

Margaret gritted, and ran away before the Head Nurse could stop her, her high heels clattering on the floor like the death knells of doom.

Hope: I'm gonna sing the doom song now!

Karkat: NO.

Hope:'re no fun anymore.

Doctor Arthur Nance looked up when the nurse entered the room.

Arthur had always been the brightest star at school, from a very early age. He was always elected class president in grammar school, middle school, and high school. He was Class Valedictorian at his graduation, and when a lot of his friends went to mechanic school, or junior college to mess around with business, he went straight to the university medical school.

Electra: Mary Sue alert...

But their Arthur ran into something far worse than tough teachers or tough grades: prejudice. Yes, prejudice. Not race, but class. All the snobs from the wealthy families laughed at him for his accent, and when he tried to join the most popular fraternities on campus, they hazed him without letting him know until too late that he would never join.

Alfred: Did I mention I hate rich people? Because I just wanted to say that again. STOP

Arthur got his medical degree, but he became embittered, against rich people, and politicians, and anyone in authority. Whereever he went, he was sure there was some conspiracy against him, by those in authority.

Dave: yeah man. the man is just keeping me down. you know what i'm saying man??

He was sure of it when he didn’t get hired to any private hospitals, or to a lucrative practice among the rich, doing fat removal and face-lifts for twenty-five grand apiece.  No, he could only get a job in this hellhole, where every night the ambulances brought in drunks and suicides and crazily homeless and the battered wrecks the EMTs scraped off the freeways.

Pinkie Pie: How could this happen to meeeeee? I made my mistaaaakes! There's nowhere to ruuuuuun! The night goes on and I'm faiding awaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

Lant: I should point out that plastic surgery and emergency care are entirely different fields. And I don't think hospitals do liposuction in the first place, though I could be wrong.

Like this Lucent jerk.

Arthur was sitting there brooding about all these ills when Nurse Eastman came into the doctor room.

“Is my patient awake?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, and then she wiped her eyes and throatily whispered, “Doctor, I have to request that you excuse me from attending to this patient.”

“Request denied,” Dr. Nance said curtly. “I will not have one of those braided spies who work for the hospital trustees killing my patient! I’ll go sees he now,” he stormed, and stormed out of the room.

Alfred: So in Nance's mind at least, rich people have spies in hospitals that they can command to kill random people on demand for the lulz. This is almost like the Hostel series, except somehow even more stupid and contrived.

Margaret leaned against the wall and wept a sorrowing floodlike of tears.

She knew Bruce would emerge from the fog of the painkillers and he would recognize her. What if he told someone about that night at the prom?

All her life Margaret had worked hard, harder than anyone else. Her sisters, all of them far more beautiful than she, had coasted through life like a toboggan down the snow hill of life. But Margaret had a vision at an early age, and knew she was meant to be a nurse. Her mother had scorned her. Her father had laughed at her.

Electra: May I ask why? Last time I checked, nursing is a perfectly respectable field for commoners, even in (or perhaps especially in) the eyes of rampant misogynists.

Lighting: It's because we need to inject some drama by giving her a tragically contrived backstory, because lord knows she's not compelling enough on her own.

 So she put herself through nursing school by waiting tables at a low dive at night. Five long years she toiled, with never a day off, not even at Christmas, just so she could walk out with her head held high, and her degree in her hand.

Once, just once, she had strayed from the path of hard work. Just once she’d let herself relax. Do her cousin Ted a favor. Go as his date to the prom.


Well, she’d learned her lesson—she thought. She never thought she’d see Bruce Lucent again, but now, here, the cruelty of the fates laughed at her, just like her family. Bruce Lucent was here, helpless, in her hospital, and it was only a matter of time before he remembered who she was, and what would he do then?

She wept even harder.

*Fish falls out of the sky and hits Lant*

Lant: OW! Not again!

Pinkie: What are the odds of that?! ^-^

Shulk: The improbability field is stabilizing! Press on, everyone!


The Atlanta sun slanted low in the west, rain showers predicted for later that afternoon, then clearing. Bruce Lucent looked from the side window of his friend's shiny Maserati sports car as they wheeled their way westward against the afternoon traffic.

Jake: Bruce, you see, is a master of the technique known as the "Instant Offscreen Recovery".

"I'm glad you could give me a ride," Bruce Lucent muttered, his pain-worn face reddened by the yellow sunlight. "What with my new car all smashed and all."

His old friend, Isadore, shook his massive head at him. 

Dave: isadore?? isnt that a girls name?

Jake: Actually, no it isn't. It's a greek name that means "gift of isis". The female version of the name would be "isadora". 

Dave: greek names are stupid.

"We know how it must be to have a lot of money but no working car," he said, 

Simon: That's a first world problem, right there.

the harsh Macon County drawl of his voice softened by his years in Atlanta high society. "It's my pleasure to bring you back to your fancy apartment, and we're all so happy that y'all is still alive. Y'all could have been killed in that dreadful wreck." Isadore paused to put on the turn signal before making a safe turn across rush-hour traffic into the parking lot of Bruce Lucent's luxury apartment building. "Y'all'll gets a new car on Monday."

Opal: Print("It has become apparent that ""Y'all"" is the extent of this man's accent.")

"I don't know how I'll be able to drive it with my arm in a cast," Bruce Lucent shoots back. "It's lucky I wasn't killed outright like so many people are when they have horrid automobile wrecks."

Electra: ...when did this turn into a public service announcement?

Pinkie: ^-^

"Fortunately, fast and efficient Emergency Medical Services, based on a program founded by Lyndon Baines Johnson the 36th President of the United States helped y'all survive an otherwise, deadly crash," Isadore chuckled. 

Alfred: I am not expositing, this is a perfectly natural conversation of the sort that human lifeforms have when they want to engage in social activity... y'all. STOP

He nodded his head toward the towering apartment building, in the very shadow of Peachtree Avenue, where Bruce lived his luxurious life. So young, yet so wealthy, based on his skills as an expert software developer.

"I don't feel very fortunate," 


Bruce complained as his friend helped him from the low-slung red car, "I hurt all over and I don't remember a thing after I left that bar over on Martin Avenue. I wouldn't be surprised if the police didn't want to talk to me about what happened. Not that I could help them because I don't remember anything" he added as an afterthought.

Simon: Including my last sentence. What were we talking about again?

Isadore pulled the collapsible wheelchair that he'd bought at Saint Irene's Hospital from the open trunk of his new Maserati and unfolded it on the curb beside where Bruce painfully stood, his recent ordeal only recently over. He helped his chum sit in the new wheelchair, and then pushed it rapidly toward the gleaming doors of the high-rise tower. The soft Southern breeze blew the sweet scent of magnolias over them as he said, "This is certainly something new for me."

"Never say that," he replied.

Hope: All of your experiences must be old and you must never try anything new, ever!

Isadore shook his head, his red ponytail flipping in the soft breeze, as he wheeled his best friend into the lobby, past the uniformed security guard named Amos who saluted them and then into the elevator to the fourteenth floor of the luxury high-rise apartment building, recently built in downtown Atlanta.

The longtime security guard saluted the pair as they passed. What lucky people, he thought, so young and rich, they can afford to live here. Not like me. I have to live across town and wear a uniform and salute the young rich kids who make more money in a minute than I can make in my whole life.


Bruce thought that the dark elevator walls were closing in on him and despite the chill in the air-conditioned air he could still smell the flower smells from outside. The upward elevator started slowly into motion as if it was reluctance 

Sayaka: How do I uses suffix?

to climb the hundreds of feet. "Hurry up," Bruce cried aloud.

Bruce pounded on the arm of his recently acquired wheelchair as his friend asked "Bruce, what's the matter? Is y'all so impatient to get home that the elevator is too slow for you? Imagine if y'all had to take the emergency stares in your condition" he chuckled.

Dave: well he did warn you about stares bro. he told you dog.

Bruce glared at his friend who stood behind him and the wheelchair as the elevator hissed to a halt on the fourteenth floor, the dark paneled doors sliding open with the sound of well-oiled machinery, and then he was pushed by his friend out into the hall and then down to the door labeled 1414, his apartment door.

Bruce searched his pockets for the key that he knew he did not have. "Dammit," he said, and then, "They kept everything even my wallet at the hospital, how am I going to get it?"

Sayaka: I know! I'll just use the deus ex machina!

Isadore knocked once at the door, and then it at once swung open. The stunning vision inside, an echo of pulchritude in a bright red dress, seemed to take their breath away, it was Penelope Urbain, Bruce Lucent's longtime and very beautiful girlfriends. 

Girlborg: I think, there are, too many, commas, here. Its not easy, to read, purple prose, like that.

Sayaka: And looking ahead, it only, gets worse.

Penelope, who had walked in the door of Lucent Software, asking for a job, and a good thing is being that she did, because he had one for her, a position, so to speak, 

Lant: Is it just me, or is Troll Christopher Walken meant to be narrating this? 

that only a beautiful woman could fulfill, and she filled the role perfectly, as the beautiful girlfriend for those social occasions when he needed to appear on the front page of the newspaper with a beautiful woman on his arm. 

Dave: thats not sexist or demeaning at all.

Everyone looked and thought he was lucky, but it wasn't just luck it was planning that he fell in love with this beautiful woman and her with him. 


He gave her his glance and she gave him hers.

Bruce looked at her and whistled, thanking whatever god was listening that the auto accident that he had apparently been in had spared his family jewels for he wasn't one to put to pasture his rampant desire for his stunning young woman, at least not yet. 

He snapped his fingers and snarled, "Take me inside, Isadore, or you're fired from my software company."

Lighting: Our hero, everybody; a wealthy sex-crazed narcissist with bipolar disorder.

Something like anger stirred in Isadore's breast, yet Isadore laughed at Bruce's favorite joke as he pushed the millionaire software developer indoctrinated by New Agers into the stunning studio apartment that he rented in this exclusive high-rise tower. The walls were white as was the carpet. The walls met the ceiling at right angles, where glistening mirrors in gold frames studded the walls.

Lighting: As I said. A narcissist. 

Penelope Urbain had been a poor girl she knew, though she pretended to have grown up rich and happy in the suburbs of Atlanta it was all a lie. 

Hope: Cool backstory, bro.

Now she looked into one of the many mirrors on that studded the walls of her boyfriend Bruce's apartment and liked what she saw. Two hazel eyes with perky eyebrows, red like the hair of her head and other places,


 met her smoky gaze in the mirror. She smoothed the hair back from her elfin ears, 

Alfred: So her ears were very long and pointy? STOP

Dave: if this turns into a lord of the rings crossover i quit.

making it tumble down her back, past her shoulders, broad but not too broad, broad enough to support the luxurious breasts that filled the front of her scarlet sun dress, glowing in the afternoon sun, the hot Georgia orb of fire, that came through the window, as she admired her trim shape and flat tummy, in the mirror. 

Dave: you know i bet the author was writing this part with one hand. because he was jerking off. its a sex joke.

Hope: What does "jerking off" mean?

Lighting: I'll tell you when you're older.

She looked, she thought, like the bad-girl heroine of a tawdry romance novel.


The expensive shoes she wore, high heels that matched her tight dress, and set off her red hair, were delicately shaped by the stiletto heels and sharp toes, the lift they gave curving her creamy calves and making her rounded bottom move like a semaphore of love 

Electra: Worst. Metaphor. Ever.

as she walked past the framed mirror that she had been looking in. Her hazel eyes sparkled as she took in the sight of her newly-returned boyfriend in the wheeled chair that marked him some disabled person.

"Would you like a drinkie?" Penelope offered her recently returned beau as his friend pushed him in front of the wide-screen TV that dominated the west wall without making it seem overpowering.

"Dammit, yes," Bruce Lucent repeated, looking at this vision of feminine lust on two feet, "I've been in the lousy hospital and they don't let you have a little drink there," he opined.

Lant: I mean it's almost as if they want me to get better or something. But who could POSSIBLY want to see me in good health.

"Then I want to get to my new computer so I can check on my hot stock options and write more on my best-selling software development.

Girlborg: You can do that at the hospital, you know. Laptops do exist, after all.

I've wasted too much time locked in that smelly hospital. It's full of sick, people." 

Shulk: Well, that is kind of what a hospital is for...

Dave: also your punctuation sucks.

Penelope and Isadore looked at each other, as only two redheads can look at one

Shulk: Tautology ho!

as Bruce delivered himself of this comment.

"Then let me fix you something nice with expensive vodka and gin," Penelope giggled, as she went to the kitchen to make ice cubes. When she was young, she had been called Penny, but now she was worth a lot more she mused,

Lighting: Puns. Of course this story has puns.

as she busied herself at the full bar that filled the west wall beside the large television set that Bruce had bought with the first proceeds of his award-winning mutual software.

He often went on the modern Internet, to make his money.

Alfred: As opposed to the old-timey internet, which is basically a billboard full of cats in monocles and petticoats begging for cheeseburgers. STOP

"And when Isadore's gone I can greet you properly," Penelope whispered as she handed the Old Fashioned to Bruce in his chrome wheelchair.

She looked significantly at Bruce's tanned, lean frame as she handed him the crystal glass.

Electra: How does bruce even have a tan if he's been in the hospital for so long?

"Yeah," Bruce responded "What's he still doing hear?"

Simon: Um, I'm here in the same room with you, and I can hear everything you're saying.

He turned to his old friend and pointed out, "Whys don't you go park the car? My old car is crashed. You know."

Alfred: As you know, proper exposition must be repeated repeatedly, because readers are a bunch of brain-dead morons.


"Yes, Bruce," Isadore smirked, as he turned, knowing what kind of scene of wild debauchery was about to be enacted in that very room, because he had known it for himself first hand during the long week Bruce Lucent had been in the hospital.

Electra: Soooo... does that mean that Isadore is cheating with bruce's wife? Or is it his mistress? Oh who cares.

"I'll go park the car."

He went down the sleek elevator that he had so shortly before ascended, wondering if Bruce was going to be the man he had been, before losing consciousness in that horrible accident.

Dave: only if the man he was used to be a colossal dickwad.

Then the gleaming lobby doors were before him. He planned to take the Maserati out onto Peachtree Avenue in search of an empty parking place as upstairs a miracle of love was performed by Penelope and Bruce, young lovers at the very height of their beauty, wealth, power, desire.

"Going down," Isadore Trent chuckled as he pressed the down button, and laughing at his own joke.


Had he but known what was to come he would have been laughing out of the other side of his mouth.


Jake: Well yes. That's because its meant to be. I thought i made that perfectly clear.

Simon: Yeah, this really does seem like a bad book written by experts. The badness is a lot more subtle than something like My Immortal.

Girlborg: It's also a pretty good genre parody; it reads exactly like a bad romance novel. And believe me, I've read a lot of bad romance novels.

Hope: I'm just disappointed that we didn't get to the part with the penguins that live in the savannah and howl at the moon.

Shinji: I didn't get to say anything...

*A green lantern ring falls out of the sky and lands on Lant*


Lant: Ow! Something just hit me... wait is this a Green Lantern ring?!

Lighting: What are the odds of that...

Green Lantern Ring: Lant Kreck, of Terron:

Lant: Alternia.

Green Lantern Ring: Whatever. You are capable of great courage. Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps.

Lant: Yes! Finally! Actual superpowers! ...wait, aren't I supposed to get a power battery-

*A green power battery falls out of the sky*


Lant: OW!

Opal: Print("Now, Lant! Recite the oath, charge your ring, send it's power to the Monado and banish Amos Fortune to another dimension!")

Lant: Right... *ahem*

"In Brightest Day, in Blackest Night
no evil shall escape my sight
let those who worship evil's might
beware my power... GREEN LANTERN'S LIGHT!"

*A portal opens up and starts sucking Amos Fortune in*


Hope: So where did we send him to, anyway?

Shulk: To a place that I know for a fact that he will never survive, no matter how lucky he is.


Tyrion Lannister: Hello, I'm Tyrion Lannister, and welcome back to Tyrion Lannister's Chronicle of Inhumanly Awful Literature. Today we'll be looking at "The Lusty Argonian Maid", though honestly I havent' the slightest idea what an Argonian is. So, let us begin, shall we?


Tyrion: Who the bloody hell are you?

Amos Fortune: I am Dr. Amos Fortune, master of luck! And with my new luck powers and my knowledge of modern technology, I will conquer this backwards, pseudo-medieval world for myself! Mwa ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Ha ha! Ha ha ha ha- *gets shot in the neck by an arrow*.

Jaime Lannister: Sorry! My bad!


John Snow: You want him in the pile with the others?

Tyrion: Yes, please. And make it quick, this one got blood all over my nice carpet.

*john snow gets shot though the neck with an arrow*

Jaime Lannister: Sorry! Missed again!

Tyrion: *sigh* You know, at the rate things are going we won't have any more characters to kill off. Oh well. *picks up a glass clearly labeled "ARSENIC"* Bottoms up! *drinks from the glass, and then dies*.


Jake: Well chaps, it's been nice knowing you but we really need to get back to our timeline.

Opal: Print("As do we.\n The Monitor is expecting us to return any second now.")

Simon: No prob'. But don't forget to stop by if you're ever in the neighborhood.

Lighting: Just give us a heads up next time.

Shinji: See ya!

Sayaka: Better hurry if you're gonna save the world!

Girlborg: Come back soon!

Hope: And don't forget to bring presents!

Lant: Hey wait a second, don't I need to return this ring before I go?

Alfred: Oh come on, I'm sure they lose Green Lantern rings all the time! What's the worst that could possibly happen?

Hope: Well...


Haloweenie: You're too late, Green Lantern! Your team was one Lantern short to seal me for good, which means that I, Haloweenie, have been freed at long last! And now I will DESTROY THE UNIVERSE FOREVER!

Hal Jordan: You're right, we can't beat you on our own... Hey, Lobo! I'll pay you a gajillion dollars if you shoot this guy for me.

Lobo: Sure, why not. Ahem. GARBAGE DAY! *BANG*


Lobo: There. Easiest million I've ever made.

Hal Jordan: Ha ha, I am so awesome.


Jake: Uh... yeah. That's probably not going to happen. So long, everyone!

*Everyone vanishes in a flash of light, leaving only the JSJ behind*

Simon: What a nice bunch of kids.

Lighting: Yeah. Shame they're stuck with Electra, though.

Hope: Hey, Shinji! Do you have anything cool to say to wrap up our adventure?

Shinji: Well I think that-


Shinji: *sigh* ...never mind.

1 comment:

  1. *performs standing ovation* Happy anniversary.