A penguin with survivor's guilt vs. RODAN with a pack of gummy bears
Jeremiah, emperor penguin, a cigarette hanging loosely from his off-color, crooked beak, sighed. The sigh he sighed was a sigh but a few men knew, the few men who'd been consigned to fugitive lives after losing their loved ones to the unmitigated force of destruction that was RODAN. He thought of the millions – no, billions of men who'd lost their lives, took a puff from his cigarette and sighed again. Smoke lost itself in grey haze, and Jeremiah lost himself in melancholia.
He reached into the folds of his coat and pulled out a photograph. It was the photograph of his betrothed, before she lost her life to the first wave of RODAN attacks. A single tear rolled down Jeremiah's cheek. He saw no point in living anymore. It was all over for him, all over the moment he lost his beloved. A giant footstep sounded in the distance, and the vibrations reached the dank cellar that Jeremiah had locked himself in, almost knocking him off his feet.
It was coming.
Jeremiah held on to the wrought iron railings that jutted out from the walls, but he was not afraid. The expression on his face was as serene as ever. He had long ceased to fear death, and, if it was coming for him, he welcomed it. He lifted his brow, stood up straight, hobbled up to the door, and unbolted it. A sudden gust of wind shocked Jeremiah, but he soon regained his composure. The footsteps grew louder and his end drew closer. Soon, the shadow of the massive RODAN loomed over him, and a blissful smile spread across Jeremiah's face.
“Take me, O mighty RODAN” demanded Jeremiah, but the RODAN was oblivious to his existence, instead choosing to sate its unfathomable hunger with a pack of sugary, gelatinous gummy bears.
Jeremiah grew frustrated. “O RODAN!” he bellowed “Is that not you, destroyer of worlds? Why do you choose to spare me, a mere penguin who dares stand in your way? You have taken everything that mattered to me, but leave me alive so that I may suffer. Why do you torture me so? Why do you torture me, RODAN?” Jeremiah's voice rose to a shriek.
RODAN simply blinked, sending shockwaves through the air.
Jeremiah fell to his knees. It had come to this, he thought, he was to be denied the privilege of death. There he was, crying into the snow, consigned to a godless existence, lost forever.
Something stirred within the RODAN, however, compelling him to take a step forward. Perhaps it was a butterfly he saw in a meadow beyond, perhaps it was the last shred of kindness left in his blackened heart – it doesn't matter. Jeremiah stood looking up at his salvation; tears of joy streaming from his eyes as RODAN'S massive foot came crashing down upon him.
And the sound it made was the exact sound of liberation.
an enchanted dick that can be smushed downwards between the nuts to take the form of a coconut tree or an elephant VS A swarm of angry Italians, each making the most vicious hand gestures imaginable while chanting the tune to The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air
"Finally, somewhere she won't find me."
The boy let out a heavy sigh of relief. He had worked hard for this. Not everyone his age has the determination to leave home, swim across the Atlantic Ocean, and sneak past Italian port authorities. He had almost nothing now. No money, no home. All he had about him was his brains, his body, his wet clothes, and the waterproof laptop he stole from his father's room before making his daring escape from home. And his fun-hating, bible-thumping, never-knocking mother wasn't going to be able to stop him now.
"ITSA ME, MARIO" One Italian man in the mob shouted loudly.
"STOP. WE MUST NOT OF CONFIRM TO STEREOTYPE. FIGHT STEREOTYPE." The leader of the mob of angry Italians shouted back. "WE MUST OF USING ENGLISH TO SPEAKS TO AMERICA. THE CAMERA WILL NOT HAVE LIES"
"THE SITUATION IS HERE. MUST STOPS THE SITUATION!"
The crowd of people behind him agreed in unison and marched on.
Our young hero had settled into a narrow alleyway. He opened up the laptop. He frantically searched for the folder, praying that his parents were as technologically inept as he thought they were.
"Come on...come on...yes!"
The young boy opened the folder entitled "Donkeys and Ladders - NO CHUTES ALLOWED" Inside were assorted pictures of ladders (BUT NO CHUTES) and donkeys. He searched frantically for his favorite. But alas, his parents had deleted poor moofmoof.jpeg, the smiling midget donkey. A few tears were shed. But our hero would not be deterred. Moofmoof would not have wanted that.
He opens a random donkey picture, and unzips his pants. And he begins to fap. His fapping becomes more and more vigorous. All there is is right now is him and the donkey in his world. And then the donkey vanishes, his laptop crushed under the feet of a passing mob. His last true possession, crushed.
"No, this situation is terrible!" He thought. The young boy stands up and cries out, "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?"
The crowd stops, noticing his screams. The leader turns around and says, "Boy, you are a American?"
"You are a situation?"
"Yes, I am in a situation right now."
"EVERYONE, WE FOUND IT. THE SITUATION"
Oh no! Our protagonist had been mistaken for the Jersey Shore star Mike "The Situation," who was set to begin filming the 4th season in Italy! This mob grabbed the poor lad and carried him away to their hideout. They didn't even have the decency to put his pants back on.
"GREETINGS AMERICA. WE ARE ITALY. WE WISH TO REMIND YOU GOOD TELEVISION."
"SEE THIS MAN? IS BAD TELEVISION." The camera pans over to the pants-less young boy. "HERE IS REMINDER"
The mob begins to sing the song to the greatest television show of all time, The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, making incredibly angry hand motions, occasionally panning over to the unconscious body of who is most certainly not Mike "The Situation."
However, soon the boy awoke and found he still needed to fap. He didn't sacrifice everything just for nothing. He's about to start again, but then realizes there is a camera on him. Embarrassed, he pushes his dick down to try to hide it. Instead, it was taped for the world to see.
"W-what is this?" the leader exclaims. "It is a coconut trees!"
Another man disagrees, "It is elephant!"
"NO, COCONUT TREE"
A full-on brawl breaks out in the hideout between the elephant faction and the coconut tree faction. Everyone died.
It appears as though our man with the magical dick had won.
"FINALLY, there is no one around."
He begins to fap. And then a familiar face comes into the warehouse without knocking.
And that is the story of how Walrein was caught fapping.
Winner: an enchanted dick that can be smushed downwards between the nuts to take the form of a coconut tree or an elephant
CaptKirby as seen by CaptKirby VS a sweaty monkey locked in a gun safe
The day is bright and sunny. The birds are chirping, a light breeze is blowing, and CaptKirby's internet connection is the best it had been in years. Smiling, he logs onto IRC, ready to win another fifty arguments with shade in #warau
As he once again proves why shade is a bender and he is of a superior intellect, he hears a knock on the door. After getting one last dig in, he opens the door, only to be smacked in the face by a monkey drenched in sweat.
Being the quick-thinking intellectual giant he is, CaptKirby quickly grabs the monkey in a full nelson and drags him into his home, where he locks the monkey up in the only safe spot: his gun safe (this is Texas, after all).
And with that, CaptKirby returns to his computer to disprove the entire internet a few times.
Meanwhile, inside the safe, the monkey begins to sweat even more profusely in reaction to his predicament. Unfortunately, this leads to an even bigger problem: CaptKirby's airtight gunsafe begins to fill with sweat. Though limited in intellectual capacity, the monkey is aware enough to know that drowning=bad. Frantically, he claws at the walls of the safe, but to no avail. Frustrated, the monkey sits down in a puddle of sweat which has now risen to its waist, but quickly stands up upon realizing just how much his sweat is damning him. With that, the monkey redoubles his efforts, clawing harder and harder, attempting to chew the hinges, and generally freaking the fuck out. Alas, it is to no avail, as CaptKirby's admantium gunsafe holds tough.
The monkey knows there is only one way out. Behind him is the fully loaded Smith & Wesson 44 Magnum that CaptKirby keeps incase he somehow loses an argument on the internet, which has obviously never happened. The monkey quickly determines how to use the weapon and fires five shots at one of the hinges of the safe, which has began to rust in the puddle of sweat. The hinge damages, but holds fast, and the monkey blows out its eardrums, adding a steady stream of blood to the ever-increasing sweat.
The fluid is up to the monkey's neck. He looks sadly at the Magnum still clutched in his simian phalanges. One bullet remains in the chamber. He looks to the gun, then to the liquid, then back to the gun. Liquid. Gun. Liquid. Gun. Liquid. Gun. Liquid. Gun...
CaptKirby, fresh off a victory over the entire Reddit army in verbal combat, is opening up a celebratory drink when he hears a loud BANG from the direction of his safe, followed by a muffled splash. Shrugging, he returns to the internet, where he plans to sell a Kuriboh for $500.
“Finally, there will be new episodes of Dragon Ball Z, all because of I, Kim Jong Un, savior of the universe! Now, where’s Dennis Rodman? I need a pick-up game after all of the good work I just did.”
“Supreme leader, you didn’t buy a new season of Dragon Ball Z. You bought SpaceX. They develop the Dragon spacecraft.”
“So I bought the company that makes nimbuses? Nimbi?”
“No, supreme leader, they are a private aerospace company.”
“Why would I need to buy that? Everyone already thinks that I flew to the moon with a jetpack I made from the tears of orphans.”
“World domination, supreme leader. We must put things in space. Other nations will then crumble in fear to our technological superiority.”
“This plan…sounds terrible. Who came up with it?”
“You did three days ago, supreme leader.”
“Brilliant! This plan will definitely succeed. We launch to space immediately.”
“Supreme leader, we are not going to space. The aircraft is going to space. We are staying here.”
“Of course, there is no basketball or Korean BBQ in space! Why would I suggest something so silly. We shoot for the stars immediately!”
I’m stuck using the Ford. Really should not have crushed the keys to the Silverado with my bare hands. But that’s just what happens when you mess with DWAYNE “THE ROCK” JOHNSON. Next time, those keys better not let the sun glare into my eyes. If there could be a next time. Heh. Heheheh.
I’ve already lost so much time. I need to get to the set of Hannah Montana – Space Xterminators before it’s too late. I fear for the worst. Darren may have already finished the last latte on set. DWAYNE “THE ROCK” JOHNSON will not stand idly by and let this travesty simply happen.
Other cars will respect my authority. Yes, PT Cruiser, that’s right, change lanes to avoid the man 2 inches off your tail. Wimp. DWAYNE “THE ROCK” JOHNSON is looking for a true adversary on these roads to put to shame in a race.
Too weak. Too slow. T-
Yes. You are the one.
Yellow Voltswagen, you are mi-WHAM.
“Supreme leader, we have landed among the stars"
“Wow, outer space looks so cool! I didn’t know they had Burger Kings in outer space.”
“Supreme leader, what are you saying? This is not outer space. You wished to shoot for the stars, so we have landed in Hollywood, California.”
“Oh. So we have sent a rocket and landed it in America. The military behemoth.”
“Yes, supreme leader, it is how you wished it.”
“…This was not what I inten-"
“Supreme leader, urgent news. America has declared war.”
“WHAT?! THIS IS TERRIBLE. THERE IS NO WAY WE CAN FIGHT THE AME-“
“Built Ford Tough.” PFFFFFFFFFFFT. Couldn’t even handle a little dent from a space shuttle. Me? I’m fine. But this car isn’t a Chevy. It’s just isn’t like a Rock. Heh. Heheheh.
Wait. Work. Lattes. This is not good. I’ll need to get in state and run to set if I’m going to make it in time.
“I am Dave ‘The Stone’ Jefferson, a tough as nails father attempting to save the daughter he loves, Hannah. He’ll avoid cars *woosh*, missiles *BOOM*, nuclear bombs *BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*, perform musical numbers aaaaaas he ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuns! Despite all the chaos around him, with the national guard aiming him down, he does not lose focus of his goal. Focus Dave. On latte-on Hannah. Hannah. And finally, he sees that he has arrived. But, then, the unthinkable happens…”
"I AM DWAYNE 'THE ROCK' JOHNSON, DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE DE-"
He probably should not have worn his Space Xterminators shirt to work that day. And Obama should not have challenged Kim Jong Un to a game of 1 on 1 to decide who would have possession of California after his successful invasion.
All hail glorious leader.
Winner: kim jong un after buying SpaceX, elon musk's space transport company
a penguin with survivors guilt VS RODAN with a pack of gummy bears
"AD Heimerdinger really isn't that bad, you know. He doesn't need the escape, because he has the crowd control from his ultimate's slow," RODAN said confidently over skype. "And these gummy bears are DELICIOUS!"
"*Sigh* Ok, RODAN, come to bottom lane with me. No one will be able to stop the invincible AD Heimer/Supportekaiser lane," Acklow replied.
"Darn it, I just finished the last one. I'll be right back, I need to get another pack." RODAN left his computer as the game of League of Legends was beginning to load.
"Uh...sure. Just be sure you're back in time," Acklow pleaded.
RODAN rolls over to his kitchen to fetch some more to eat, bumping into a few walls as he goes along. It's hard to navigate at 3 in the morning in pitch darkness. But eventually he arrives with a few bruises on his arm. But he soon will be rewarded by sweet, chewy goodness, so it's all worthwhile in his mind.
His arm clumsily feels along the wall until he finally finds the handle for the cupboard and opens it. His arm frantically flails in the cupboard trying to find the box, but to no avail. RODAN begins to become desperate. Finally, he managed to grab hold of the box of gummy bears and swallows it whole.
"WHY, nunuRODAN, WHY? Why couldn't you have eaten ME." A distraught penguin looks RODAN dead in the eyes. It seems that penguin was going to marry that box of gummy bears, and RODAN took away his only love.
"Um, what did I do?"
"You ATE my BOX, RODAN. You could have had all of the packs you wanted, and then you deprive me of the only thing in this world that mattered to me..."
"I'm sorry, I was just really hungry..." RODAN then proceeds to attempt to give counseling to this penguin with survivor's guilt. Despite RODAN failing miserably at this, the penguin eventually seems to lighten up a little bit and wishes RODAN farewell.
Satisfied, RODAN heads back to his room. He was just in time to see his nexus explode.
A radioactive pack of bacon VS The vengeance filled old forum layout
APRIL 21, 1986 - PRIPYAT, UKRANIAN SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
"We done for today?"
"Yea, that's the last batch."
"Alright, let's pack it up for the night. We've got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow."
As his head chef exited the kitchen, Ivan Acklovich Troussov lingered to survey his handiwork. Tomorrow was the grand opening of Comrade Bacon, and the wondrous meaty strips lay waiting in the freezer for eager communist customers to flock to the shop in droves. Satisfied with his position in life, Ivan Acklovich exited the shop and returned to his home, hoping to make enough profit as to not be relocated to Siberia.
It was, however, not to be. For right next door to Comrade Bacon lay the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.
As news of the nuclear disaster spread, the residents of Pripyat fled in a blind panic. Ivan Acklovich drove by his failed bakery on his way out of the city, giving one last longing glance back before driving off. By sunset on April 22, Pripyat was a ghost town, all but forgotten.
Comrade Bacon received some of the worst of the radiation. As the years passed, alpha particle after alpha particle bombarded the shop, with the freezer in the back offering little protection to the once-promising product within. Ivan Acklovich's bacon slowly became more and more radioactive. And as anyone who has ever read a comic book knows, large amounts of radiation can only lead to horrible things.
The sentience came first. The malevolence later. The higher thinking required to accomplish the goals of the pack, later still.
And yet, the bacon was lacking in a key component of it's plan: mobility. But that would come. For their patience was infinite, cryogenically frozen in time in the center of a 30 kilometer evac zone.
JUNE 26, 2013 - SOMEWHERE IN KENTUCKY, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
The door was open.
chaos stroked his beard thoughtfully. When he had gone upstairs after breakfast to write a bit of code, he had been certain that his back door was closed. Yet here it stood, three hours later, tauntingly ajar.
"I must have forgotten to lock it this morning," he mused. "The wind probably blew it open."
With this optimistic thought, he went upstairs to ask his bum of a roommate Vbulletin if he wanted a sandwich or something.
The eerie silence coming from Vbulletin's room concerned chaos. Normally one could always hear the sounds of trolls, spambots, and yet another Shiruba post. Yet chaos heard... nothing.
"Yo V, did SOMALIA go on a banning spree again?" he called as he opened the door.
What he saw stunned him beyond anything he had ever seen.
Vbulletin lying facedown in a pool of blood.
A window ajar, the curtains flapping in the breeze.
And a note on the nighstand that read "GARY WAS HERE ASH CHAOS IS A LOSER".
Succumbing to shock, the last thing chaos saw before he fainted was a strange glint in the otherwise glassy eye of his old friend.
JUNE 27, 2013 - PRIPYAT, UKRAINE
"Is this the place sir?"
"Yes. This is where my dreams died."
Now an old man, Ivan Acklovich had returned to the gravesight of a long-lost friend - Comrade Bacon. He knew his time was short, and he finally wanted to make his mark on the world.
Donning a hazmat suit, he followed his comrade, who preferred to be known only by his initials, H.D., into the ruins of his bacon shop.
As the pair walked inside, they were immediately greeted by a family of five-legged raccoons, who scurried off into the dark in search of more wooden furniture to knaw on. The once carefully polished mahogany tables and proud, sturdy stools now lay strewn across the floor as if they had been hit by a tornado. Unperturbed, Ivan Acklovich ventured deeper into the shop, ultimately reaching his final desination: the freezer.
Stepping inside, he noticed an anomaly. The bacon he had abandoned so many years ago seemed to have doubled in size, and despite being in cold storage for almost thirty years the bacon showed no signs of freezer burn. In fact, it almost looked fresher than it had when he had taken it off the fryer.
Delighted, Ivan Acklovich and H.D. loaded a large vaccuum bag with as much bacon as they could carry, then returned into the overcast Ukranian outdoors. Boarding a private jet sponsored by Ivan Acklovich's personal friend, Vladimir Putin, the two flew off to Moscow in hopes of making a profit off of Comrade Bacon's last hurrah.
The bacon was pleased. Its plan was coming together. Soon it would be able to spread mayhem.
JULY 6, 2013 - SOMEWHERE IN KENTUCKY, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
The rain was falling in sheets. A stiff breeze howled through the trees, and the night was pitch-black except when an occasional flash of lightning illuminated the landscape. Inside his new home, chaos was enjoying a meal with his new tenant, a pleasant man named XenForo.
Out in the yard, a small wooden signpost depicting a Koffing was the only marker for the grave of Vbulletin. On the gravesite lay a package of imported Ukranian bacon, a final offering from chaos to his departed friend. V had always been fond of bacon.
This night, however, was not like other nights. At precisely midnight, the rainclouds parted just enough to reveal a massive full moon hanging low in the sky. At that precise moment, a flash of lightning arced down from the sky, striking the Koffing embedded in the ground and travelling down to the coffin of Vbulletin.
The combination of the rays of the moon, the lightning, and some residual magic in the area (which can be attributed to the fact that chaos now lived on a former Indian burial ground) jolted life back into the corpse lying below the soil. The heart of the dead forum restarted, the lungs began taking in air, yet the brain was unable to return to full capacity. Vbulletin was back, but had lost many of his higher-thinking capabilities. In fact, as a single hand shot up above the ground, there was only one thing on the revived man's mind:
Though his ultimate target sat inside the home on the hilltop, in the bedroom that should by all rights be his, Vbulletin had no qualms with eliminating anyone else inbetween him and XenForo. In fact, the obstacle in question didn't even have to be living... or so he thought.
As he reached for the package of Acklovich's Genuine Soviet Bacon, the meat inside tensed. Over the years, they had learned to withhold the radiation they had absorbed in the abandoned freezer, releasing not even a single alpha particle. And now, the pack planned to unleash it all in one massive nuclear blast.
As Vbulletin ripped open the pack, he was met by a bombardment of radioactive particles, meeting with more radiation than a lifelong Chernobyl worker, more radiation than the Three Mile Island plant had released during its meltdown. A normal human would have instantly been killed by this level of radiation.
Yet how can one die if one is not truly alive?
The same mystical force that had returned life to Vbulletin's rotting corpse also prevented life from being taken away. So although he staggered away from the powerful weaponized radiation surge, he was largely unharmed.
The bacon grew frustrated. This was not part of the plan. This shell of a man was immune to their spread of chaos and destruction. They would have to devise a new plan, one that would be certain to-
The bacon pack's plotting was cut off when they were suddenly eaten whole by Vbulletin, who had not eaten anything since the day he died.
With that minor nusiance out of the way, the once-dead forum shambled towards the home of Smogon's founder, ready to reclaim his throne.