AIM: Pancaek Beast | E-mail: shdwdde@gmail.com | Denny's House of Pancaeks
Squall Leonhart vs. Tidus, Riku vs. Yoshi (Points: 17/18 Matches: 17/18)
"Follow me." His voice is decisive, compelling, hilariously bad.
You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced.
"I have a Plan."
The statement commands your absolute implicit trust. Alucard does not even look for visual confirmation from you but rather begins to walk out of the hotel. Seeing your opportunity to follow him, you miraculously... choose to follow him. As you exit the building, you discover that no longer is the cigarette guzzler waiting outside.
"We'll find him eventually," Alucard informs you confidently. You nod; it is all a part of the Plan.
And so you follow him. The long strides don't ever quite seem to touch the ground; his vampiric blood makes him glide rather than walk. A red glow, born of his core, illuminates the evening streets of the city. The hypnotic ripple of the cape distorts your perception of time, and before you know it, your orgastic conception of the future recedes before your mind. It eludes you, but it's no matter, for you follow Alucard farther and farther, and then, as midnight approaches -
And so you beat on, boats against the current, born back ceaselessly into the past.
"Stop."
The voice is curt, ridiculous, but it is the sole anchor for you. Your vision's focus is restored, your gaze drawn back down to his silvery, lifeless eyes.
"Our foe lurks near. We have found the Legendary Beast," he says breathily, in what is no doubt an attempt at a whisper, though it comes out sounding remarkably resonant and fruity. You lather your ears with the contrast of eloquent words and obnoxious tone, wincing a little but betraying nothing. "There she blows..."
He points a bloodless finger forth and you suddenly realize your bearings. You are in the middle of a very familiar field. Torn grass lies aloof all around you, and they look like they've been rotting for around two and a half weeks. Then finally you get a visual on Alucard's gesture target. It is a small pond, black in the night and with dirt that was apparently kicked into it. More curiously, however, it is rippling.
"Our query lies within," Alucard intones. "Your time is now. Prove your worth, Donkey, and capture the Legendary Beast!"
Alucard's words give spring to your step. You plunge shamelessly into the water. Your open eyes are incapable of perceiving the Legendary Beast, but you force yourself through the pond regardless, waving your arms aerodynamically to attempt to feel it.
Bop. Something large and round hits you square between the eyes, knocking you backwards in the water. Bop. Another projectile smashes into your abs of granite, but this time you catch it and hurl it back, reversing its vector entirely. You listen carefully and do not hear its impact. Seconds later, another one clocks you meatily on your rear. Again you return the attack, but already Bop - yet another attack has pounded you on the top of your head, knocking out at least twelve per cent of your processing power. The Legendary Beast clearly has too much balls for its own good.
Bop. Bop. Bop.
You shake your head vigorously to clear out all the stars. Finally there is a lull in the relentless assault... and then you hear a splash.
Leg propulsion kicks in independently of thought. You feel the surface of the water exploding with your awesome mass, feel something taut and muscular on the surface of your face as you lift the Legendary Beast fully out of the water and come to a sloshy landing in the ripped up grass nearby. Vision swims slowly through the water and finally reaches your eyes. The Legendary Beast at your feet is one of the hottest blond chicks you've ever seen, wearing startling clothing.
"Argh, I'm sorry," she whines, and suddenly your heart belongs to her. You lose yourself in her eyes, shaded by sopping long lashes, glinting innocently against the twinkling stars. She certainly has an interesting hair style, and there is a tangible vulnerability that tugs at the vertices of your cardioid. You melt to her.
"Now can you please get off me?"
Instantly, your aggressive instinct kick back in. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong; what's this thing gonna have to say about who gets to be on top?
"Yes, Donkey! Get rid of it! It's the only way!" Alucard's voice drifts mistily across the pond. It is music to your ears. Your kick puts that of any professional American football player to shame. The hot chick crumples and bends over with the force of the kick and clears the stratosphere helplessly.
Vindicated, you turn back to Alucard.
"Nicely pl-"
Something hideous and white-haired leaps out of the water, wraps its hand around Alucard's mouth, and raises a nasty-looking weapon and plunges it at Alucard's neck. The half-vampire, not missing a beat, dematerializes instantly, becoming a sinister haze. The ambusher impales himself very deeply, coughs, and falls into the pond.
Alucard re-materializes, and there is a rather reverent silence for a few minutes.
"Let's not go to this pond again."
(A) Dive into the pond. Be a rebel. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and even Alucard isn't gonna keep you from frolicking like a woman.
(B) Take a nap.
(C) Respectfully follow Alucard to wherever he has next in mind. He does seem pretty efficient at finding these things.
(D) Do a headstand, break dance, and rap.
SD
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Solid Snake vs. Soma Crus (Points: 15/16 Matches: 15/16)
For you, "trekking" can consist of dragging your feet through the mud at less than a foot per second. But it can also mean endless boundless speed. The velocity at which you choose to trek lies somewhere between that of a slug and that of light, though the theory of relativity does seem to apply decently enough. Time is slowing all around you.
It therefore seems to take you six hours to get to the city, cause twelve car accidents, and find a hotel, when in fact in real life, it only takes ten minutes.
You lean over the counter at the hotel. It is a modern place with space age white aesthetics everywhere the eyes can roam. Everything is plastic, inorganic, professional, screaming out that it no longer belongs to the nineties. On the other side of the counter, a grizzled cigarette-toting agent lifts an eyebrow to your drooping lids. "You lookin' for a room?"
You nod drowsily, yawning, searching for enlightenment.
"You're gonna need to p -"
Your hand shoots out instinctively and wraps around the guy's neck.
"- please come on in. You're in room 213. Up the stairs."
Offended that anyone should want to force you, mother****ing Donkey Kong, to climb up a set of stairs, you do a somersault in the air, hover momentarily, and drive your rear end with all the forces of gravity and God into the ground. There is rumbling from behind the guy at the counter. A piece of the wall falls down, and you see with satisfaction that the entirety of the first floor has collapsed. The first door reads "210."
Drowsily, you lumber into your room and fall asleep instantly.
A solid fruity voice intervenes.
"Donkey!"
You do not respond. It sounds oddly familiar.
"Donkey!"
The sensation is interesting. You don't perceive the speaker to be a threat, per se... but you have the strange urge to strangle him.
Then you feel the tip of a sword lightly entering your rectum, and you snap awake, howling in anguish. A mosaic of tears shatters your vision, but the ugly color scheme ascertains the identity of your anal prodder.
"Good to have you with us again," says Alucard, as you soak up the tears with the fur on the back of your hand. He has an exceptionally grim expression on his face. You wonder idly if perhaps he has a genetic disorder that allows him to maintain that sexy "who peed on my couch" look all the time.
"I'm afraid there has been a problem. Another vampire is on the island."
Almost instantly, you begin to zone out, but Alucard actually gets to the point immediately, saving you from the pleasure of another long nap. "We're going to have to take out Soma Cruz."
A pause for dramatic effect. You begin to nod off, but a persistent pain in your rear cautions you against sleep.
"Anyway, we're going now. He's in the next room. I'll need your help."
The confusion on your face is ample invitation for Alucard to point, and you take his lead by clearing the wall with your cranium. Plaster and dust rain down upon you, staining your noble fur white and utterly blinding you. You hear the sound of a struggle but pay it no heed. You struggle to rub your eyes clear of the crud but are unsuccessful. Loud bangings, the sounds of swords being drawn, Alucard's voice yelling out fatalities...
Finally you are able to see again, but the fight has ended. Alucard is gasping slightly. A pile of bloody white robes lies at his feet.
"Thank you for your assistance," he says.
(A) Follow Alucard around. He seems to have a Plan.
(B) Go back to sleeping. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you need your beauty rest.
(C) Flap your arms and try to turn into a bat. You never know where this type of awesomeness leads.
(D) Bid Alucard go on your unhappy way. This just... isn't the life for you.
SD
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Joanna Dark vs. Cortana, Chun-Li vs. Kasumi, Lara Croft vs. Alyx Vance (Points: 14/15 Matches: 14/15)
The metallic click is unmistakable. The tenderness of the moment drifts slowly away, and a bitter numbness slowly spreads over your body. You remain frozen.
"Now turn around and lower your arms, real slow."
Obedience is your first instinct; God knows why, but the slight drawl is surprisingly appealing and bears power. You turn and see her: twelve feet away, just out of immediate strike range, a redheaded, makeup-slathered, tight-shiny-clothed woman. If you saw her on the street, you would probably *****-slap her on general principle. But she happens to be pointing a very business-like gun at you. It is a dominatrix's weapon, stretching from a forced, contrived nozzle back and looping industrially to a precisely formulated grip.
"Lower your arms," she hisses again. Deliberately and contemptuously, you bring your palms to your rear end. "Where I can see them!" she barks.
Fluidly, you bring your left hand before your body, fingers splayed open. Without the smallest deviation in poise, the gunman flicks her eyes for an instant down and relocks them upon yours. "Your other hand?"
Slowly, surely, you pull out the Coconut Gun. As you draw, her eyes lock onto it shamelessly. It takes her several seconds to realize that it is a weapon, and she opens fire with a small cry. But your diversionary tactics have succeeded. Dozens of rounds tear viciously into the impenetrable hard wood of your Coconut Gun in the span of a second. Were you anyone else with any other sort of shield, you may not have survived the attack. But you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and the barrage of bullets barely dents the beautiful outer coating of your preferred weapon.
It takes the broad about a second to reload her gun, which for you is more than enough time. Up snaps your Coconut Gun, and you fire. Miraculously, she actually dodges your first two rounds, resorting to unfair tactics, including ducking and rolling. As you aim for your third shot, she unleashes another spray upon you. You decide not to get hit and, with a delicate combination of dexterity and brute force, twirl your cannon as a staff to deflect her bullets. The rotation frequency soon approaches airline speeds, and your spin begins to generate hurricane-force winds. The air begins to wail, a screeching suicidal symphony of eternal torture. The gusts now turn the bullets back on their own. The blur at your fingertips is no longer visible as a gun, but you can see just high enough through it to witness the deluge of reflected bullets dicing the woman's body to bits.
And then the stream stops at last. Blood leaks from thirty-three bullet wounds and scrapes on body, but your tempest continues. Her broken body falls limp and begins to keel over forward, but you turn you your amplitutde and get seriously hard core with your revolving weapon. A narrow column of wind blasts her into the air and lifts her over your head and into the ocean.
You look back out, stopping the movement. Your vengeful cyclone has caused an unnatural disaster out there. The tranquil, pacific ocean has become an iron-grey raging hellhole. It swallows the gunman's body, and as it does, you realize that the body is not that of a human, but that of a disintegrating hologram... or something. The digitized figure vanishes almost seamlessly as the sea beats itself and collapses upon its insufficency. There is a spark of electricity, and your nemesis is forever forgotten.
Dramatically, you stand facing the sea and lift the Coconut Gun high above your head, a general offering the head of his opponent to a pagan God. Salt water splashes your face, though your gaze seems to stain them a blood red as the droplets fall.
The storm subsides rather rapidly. Offended, you jump and turn fully around in the air. The sun has risen again quite cheerfully to a three o' clock-ish relaxing angle, and a swimsuit-clad woman is there. Her femininity is remarkable, and perhaps on a different day, you would pay more attention to her. But her bikini happens to be red, and she has just interrupted the war dance of mother****ing Donkey Kong, and... well, that just ain't gonna fly.
So you stride up to her, grab her by both of her happy fruits, and pitch her effortlessly into the ocean. She splash she causes is considerably more noticeable than the splash of the girl with the gun, but no angry Poseidon rises to the challenge. You cast your gaze only for a few seconds this time, knowing that any romanticism is inevitably shattered...
... and are proven right. Into your peripheral vision crawls a very average-looking chick with a gun lurking in the shallows. Completely exasperated, you spend no time beating around the baby seal and blow her quite literally out of the water. The first coconut breaks her sniper rifle and crushes her chest; the second most certainly squahses her stomach and shatters the lower portion of her spine. The body flips up into the air and lands back down gracelessly before slowly drifting off to sea.
Exhausted, you begin to trek back to shore, looking for shelter.
(A) Nap right here, right now, on the sand. It's soft and dry. You're big and sexy. Good combination.
(B) Find a tree and sleep in it. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, lord of the jungle. Even if said jungle consists of a palm tree.
(C) Head back to the city and hit up a hotel.
(D) Scan the island for your one true love. For you cannot rest until she is with you. Who is she? You have no idea. But it sounds like a plausible explanation for not going to sleep. Right?
SD
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Yuna vs. Roll (Points: 11/12 Matches: 11/12)
"Well?"
The devil that is fear stalks the corridors of your mind and of your heart. His pointy ears, his hellish laughs, his confident smile send fire into every vessel, every neuron, every muscle. He taunts you, a calming voice of logic that somehow curls your heartstrings. "You cannot defeat her, unless..."
A dramatic pause for effect, dampened only slightly by the fact that you do not speak English.
".. unless," he continues dramatically, "You sell me YOUR SOUL."
You shrug, trying to conceal from the devil your total desperation, but you know the truth of his words.
"Well!?"
You remain quiet, listening to the agitated rise in his voice.
"Damn it!" yells the devil, "I'll help you out just this once, all right!?"
In a hugely unnecessary gesture, you shove your hand upon your rear and withdraw a familiar instrument of destruction - and of music.
"Hello?" calls the little voice behind you, and finally, you turn to meet it. It is a ten-year-old girl dressed in abominable cuteness. She is smiling at you at just the wrong angle. Her eyebrows have that lilting, tilting quality, and in general, she is simply too dangerously adorable. She radiates a sort of venomous huggable feeling about her.
"I'm glad you finally turned around!" she giggles. "I'm Roll!"
It is then, as she flashes that incredibly smile at you, that you thank God for letting the devil steal your soul, for if you have your soul, you will most definitely scoop her up into your arms and cuddle her. With your mind firmly set, you lay hands to bongos.
The din is fantastic. Earth, fire, wind, water, and heart tremble before mother****ing Donkey Kong and the traditional beats that you bust out. You throw your head back to enjoy the music as your hands apply The Awesome (TM) all over your drums. But as you turn back to stare into the face of victory, an icy hand breaks unscathed through the fire of the devil and clutches your heart. The symphonic lacings of your music begin to die down. Roll has not been defeated by your song.
No, she has more than survived the attack... she is swinging her cute little tush back and forth in what is, you realize with growing horror, clearly a dance.
She is enjoying it.
"La la la," she sings, to herself, still dancing, as your music fades away. "Aww, you stopped already? Big bad Donkey Kong doesn't want to play anymore?"
The fire freezes over. The devil lets out a cry of despair, but you shove it to the side. You stretch out the behemoth arms, and Roll runs unabashedly into them. Unadulterated joy is etched across each of the juvenile lines in her eyes. You cannot explain the emotions and sensations within you; you are so unused to this absence of animosity or sexual intent... perhaps it is the same feeling, you muse, as that of a father beholding a daughter, or of a child hugging his dog.
You dance with her, tossing her up in the air, listening to her uplifting cheers as she bounces up and down in your arms. You have a foot race with her when you poke her; you patronize and condescend, allowing her the opportunity to touch you but always shying away at just the last moment. You clear valleys and hills and mountains and lakes in simple love.
When she exhausts herself, you take her meager hand between two of your fingers and begin to walk back toward the beach. The setting sun flies unbroken into your eyes, and the burbling seas shatter its light in thousands of different directions. Gently, with an overwhelmed feeling, you ease Roll's tired form into the tides and allow them to carry her away.
There is a burning sensation in your eyes. You and feel wetness, but you are sure that it is because of the ocean.
Then, from behind you: "Don't move."
(A) Interlock your fingers behind your head. Kneel down. Place your forehead to the ground. And then kick some ass.
(B) Pull out the Coconut Gun that can Fire In Spurts.
(C) Do absolutely nothing. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong. There ain't nothing you can't handle.
(D) Put it in.
SD
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
KOS-MOS vs. Amy Rose, Aeris vs. Marle (Points: 10/11 Matches: 10/11)
Time passes like a rocket. You stand stolid, oozing copious amounts of awesomeness, watching above you as the sun and the moon spin and dance across the sky. Several days pass in the span of a few minutes. People enter and exit the airport in bursts.
Whump. Something in the form of an unsightly pink blob breaks you from your time-speeding reverie. Everything seems to slow down, and you hear a vague whiny sound, playing at around a third of its normal speed. The unsightly pink blob is rubbing its snout in pain; a red bow is in what could possibly considered its hair.
"Whaaaaat waaaaas thaaaaat fooo - heeeeeeey, hoooow aaaare yaaa mooooooviiin' soooo faaaaaaaaast?" she drawls. You proceed to run from the airport, gripping her by the toes and letting her upper body twist and turn below it. "Wheeeeere aaaaaare -"
But you have already reached the edge of the island before her finish. You do not know what ancient magic is empowering you, but it feels pretty damn good. The thing is still complaining. You take a professional shotputter's stance and aim far into oblivion. Or rather, the Pacific Ocean.
For some reason, just as you are about to fire the squealing blob off, you hear a sound, thrice elongated, from behind you. You whip around and find a girl clad in white, wearing one of those damned red ribbons in her hair. She is holding a crossbow, pointed directly at your heart, and before you know it, she has squeezed the trigger.
The projectile moves in distinctive slow motion, and the girl deftly fires another in relatively quick succession. Dropping the pink paperweight in your hands, you toss your upper body and thighs backward, lying flat, and wave your arms unnecessarily. One crossbow bolt passes over your nose, the second just barely through the narrow gap of your right armpit. You twist your had, and a third bolt crosses that area. Several more arrows graze your form, but your ability to bend the rules of physics affords you avoidance of every move.
You straighten up and propel yourself at the girl. Next to you, the pink thing is slithering off. You snatch the crossbow out of the white girl's hands; it takes her around five seconds to change facial expressions, but you do not wait. The crossbow bolt explodes unforgivingly from the weapon and skewers the left foot of the escaping pink creature. A few seconds after the strike, she lets out an unending, estranged cry. You feel something poking you from behind and find the white girl beating at you ineffectually with her hands. For a moment, pity overcomes you. She looks so absolutely helpless and cute, her walnut-sized fists beating upon your boulder behind.
The feeling passes quickly, though. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you do not like people that attempt to cause you harm, pitiful as their efforts may be. You place a calming forefinger on her head and press down gently but powerfully. She sinks around three feet into the soil and waves her hands in protest.
Then you head to the shishkabob rosy rabbit thing. You yank the bolt from the ground and left it into the air, tilting it in different directions and watching the pink creature slide back and forth on it like a keychain as you stroll back to the girl in white. You pinch her ponytail and pluck her petite form out of the ground.
Somehow, inspiration strikes you. Placing the stake and its impalee on the ground for a moment, you delicately undo the ponytail in the girl's hair and fiddle around with it until you manage to knot it around the crossbow bolt as well.
Finally, you pull the projectile from the earth and hurl it like a javelin. The arc it forms is beautiful, and time finally seems to kick into correct gear again as two more competitors leave the Island of Champions.
You gaze for a few minutes into the sunset before hearing a voice behind you.
"That's not very nice, is it?"
(A) Bolt in fear. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, but you have a bad feeling about this one.
(B) Dive into the Pacific Ocean. You're not exactly leaving the island, but you're gonna need a shelter point.
(C) Close your eyes, shut your mental doors, and try to take a nap.
(D) Whip it out.
SD
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Terra vs. Kerrigan (Matches: 8/9 Points: 8/9)
You shake your arms a bit, feeling the burn of hurling the aircraft double-handedly. A potent combination of famine broods in your mammalian mind, and before you know it, you have entered the airport. A host of passengers has gathered for the six o' clock flight, and they regard you with some curiosity. Their pitiful crawling humanoid forms have infested the entirety of the airport. You couldn't throw a barrel without crushing one of their heads.
And then you spot a conspicuously empty area. A ring of people seems to have formed around a portion of the floor next to a wall. It catches your attention, and you step on a few passengers to get there. It does occur to you briefly that some of the contestants may be in the crowd, but there is no way in hell that you're going to waste time mingling.
As expected, the "avoid zone" surrounds the airport cafe. You go in and look around. A very shady, tentacled mass is lurking in the shadows of it. A red band adorns on of the quivering tentacles. At the counter is a pale, underweight, lost-looking girl with green hair, sporting a red bow in it. You avoid eye contact with both, feeling their judging eyes upon your flamboyant necktie.
The unholy trio holds its silence for a few seconds before the girl at the counter breaks it. Timidly, she taps a little, clearly trying to get your attention. You continue to stare resolutely at the space between her and the alien in the corner. She lets out a little cough, a cough founded in the most delicate of vocal chords, but you still pay no heed. You are now examining your toes. They are very finely formed, melding quite smoothly into your feet.
"Excuse me?"
Finally, you look up at her without expression, dark eyes boring blankly into her pale ones.
"Would you... like a coffee?" she stammers.
You furrow your eyes just enough to make her swoon and pass out in terror. She falls rather crunchily to the floor behind the counter. You sidle your girth behind it and find, nestled there, a banana milkshake. The girl is beginning to come to beneath you, but no thread of attention can be spared to observe her varying states of consciousness. Reaching under your marsupial folds of skin, you produce a coin and deposit it down her cleavage. She shrieks, but it reflects off of deaf ears. The liquid is already slithering down your throat...
Ping! The glass shatters in your hand. You stick out your tongue, panicked, trying to catch the remains of the shake, but somehow, unrealistic physics propel it all over the floor instead. You look over and see a smirk on the twisted dark face of the girl in the corner. She sends her tentacle things at you, but it is clearly not enough. You feel some sort of psychic power attempting to grab you, but you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and that **** doesn't fly with you.
Finally she begins to use her Psionic storms and sends her little Zerglings at you. You find them a minor inconvenience as you bat them away, slowly reaching the creature. She lashes out with her claw, and you catch it easily, breaking it and gripping her neck in the process. Zergs begin to gather around you, and the alien mutters incoherently through the pressure on her neck. You feel vague scratchings on your skin, certain irritation but of no real consequence... and then heat. Lots of it.
You turn around and see the pale girl, engulfed in white and purple flames. She is shooting random fire spells that cause fascinating dancing patterns. Unparalleled figurative language floods your mind, previously untapped verbiage potential, and loath are you that you do not have a pen or paper at the moment. In any case, the flames incinerate the Zergs quite effortlessly. You feel your rear end beginning to accumulate some burns and quickly exit the airport, still clutching the alien in your hand.
When you get outside, you remember again that there is no plane awaiting you. Somehow, however, the creature has managed to regain her voice and is now forcing it through your grip.
"I will dice you and liquify you until you are nothing more than coconut juice," it hisses.
Without a second thought, you roll her up into a ball, crushing her spine and various appendages, and shove her into your coconut gun. You fire once, and Sarah Kerrigan flies toward the sun.
(A) Go back to the airport. There have got to be challenges there.
(B) Go to the sports stadium and attention whore a bit. As in, get some positive attention.
(C) Find a movie and watch it in a theatre. You've got a sense of culture, right?
(D) Stand around. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and something will happen.
SD
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
The Boss vs. Celes, Jill vs. Sheena, Peach vs. Daisy, Zelda vs. Carmen Sandiego (Points: 7/8 Matches: 7/8)
You enter the mansion again with a major sense of purpose. The ghost town outside slowly comes to life; the Razor cell phone balances delicately between your sausage fingers.
You hit a swift random combination of keys.
"Hello?" A voice trickles through the speaker in the phone and swirls delicately into your aural canals. "Who is this?" Her silver tongue seems to reach and delve deep into your mouth - er, ear - even though the phone. The sweet juxtaposition of her words caresses even your anaconda-sized tongue to formulate something to say.
"It's the first member of the D. K. Crew!" you say, with great rhythm and rigorous vigor.
You can hear her swoon. Your heart melts. "I'll be right there..."
Click.
Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep... ring, ring, ring
"Yeah?" It is the voice of a sexy woman who has had more than her share of men. You do not respond. "Hello?" There is an expectancy to the voice, an exasperation, a genuine "I'm gonna kick your ass if this is a prank call" quality to it. "Look, I don't know how you got my cell - I don't even know why I have a cell phone, but if you don't tell me who you are -"
"ARGGGGGGH."
"Alright, that's it. No one wakes me at this hour in the morning and gets away with it..."
Click.
Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep... ring, ring, ring
"Princess Daisy!" The soprano's voice is an arrow from the phone, piercing you to your core. Unpleasantly reminded of the brat nemesis who earlier escaped you, you seal your eyes and try to block her out.
"May I ask who is calling?" she squeals. Even holding the phone at arm's distance, you flinch at the abrasive vibrance.
"Helloooooo!" Daisy trills, and finally you give in.
"KONG. KONG. DON. KEY. KONG."
"I'll seeya soon, sweetie!" she giggles.
Click.
Deciding that you have had more than enough fun with your calls now, you carefully replace the cell phone back where it belongs and begin to exit the mansion. You pay no heed as it begins to ring, playing a tune that sounds oddly like that of a TV show.
"Where. In. The World!"
You shut the door behind you.
"You!" It is a tough, angry female voice. You turn around and see... the color purple. The actual tints and shades of the color dance wildly about one another, twisting and turning themselves into a rather feminine figure. You are unable quite to follow the progession of purple scarves, hair, cleavage, especially when they begin to move sporadically.
"What exactly do you want at this hour?" she yells, looking offended, slightly deranged, perhaps even sexy, now that you are beginning to figure out where parts of her anatomy belong in her hideous dress scheme. You do not respond; you remain scratching your head in slight bewilderment, unable to decipher the meaning of this sense of... "fashion."
"Respond!" she yells. No longer is it a command; it is now a declaration of battle as she draws out what appears to be a trading card from her pocket in high style. The deluge of purple twists and turns ridiculously, overwhelming you once again.
"Hold it right there!" The voice cuts across the city streets and slices your chest open. Your hands rise to grip the wound, even as the force of the words knock you sideways. The purple conglomerate turns viciously around to face the criminally cute-looking princess. "Don't you mess around with mother****ing Donkey Kong!" she scolds. Even as you writhe in pain, you cannot help but grunt a little in assent.
Daisy and Sheena begin to have a generic sort of fight. Due to your wound, you are temporarily unable to join in with the fray. Their actions are causing some light in the streets to mingle with that of the rising sun. Most notable, you find, are the sparks that fly from Daisy's frying pan.
"I am here." The spectacular calm of the voice stops the catfighters like a Walther PPK. All motions stop as you gaze upon the angelic form of yet another female. She swirls gracefully between the yellow and purple. "Stop fighting. There are much more important things to do."
Silence. Neither questions her words. Both rather choose to revel in their symphonic beauty. "Come," she says, "I think I may have found Carmen Sandiego."
And with those hypnotic words, all three females drift off vaguely down the city streets. You amble along behind them, slowly recovering from the trauma of Daisy's voice. The white witch continues to lead the paths, twisting and turning down the streets. Normally you would laugh at such adherence to streets; you have no qualms about walking through houses to get to your destination. But aside from unparlleled vocal skill, this woman possesses also a most commanding stride. There is no apparent break in any of her movements, but they are somehow infused with the righteous dignity of a military commander. You cannot help but acknowledge the cliche as it applies to your situation: Time flies.
For it is clearly midday by the time that you arrive at your destination: a runway. One lone airplane resides at one of the edges, perched almost arrogantly, and your party drifts mindlessly toward it. As they are just about to board, the leader stops abruptly.
"Carmen," she barks authoritatively, "You've been discovered! You left a whole trail of boring clues that I don't feel like stating right now, but there's no escape!" Even in her assertion of arrest, she reaches out soothingly with her voice. The hatch opens. "That's right. Don't resist it..."
The three ladies file in as you watch dumbly. You catch a glimpse of something in reddish clothing, but it vanishes quickly along with the rest into the cockpit.
Then you seize your opportunity. You grip the tail of the plane with two hands and, exerting some genuine effort, begin to swing it in circles. Several seconds pass before you manage to overcome the inertia, but you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and there ain't nothing you can't do. Round and round, the plane goes as you spin it... it lifts into the air, an engine revving, but you continue to swing it. Louder and louder, the propellers whirl, but you pay no heed. Pressure builds in your arms, but it feels so damn good... and then you release.
The plane soars upward, spinning, attempting to stay afloat. It quickly exits your range of vision, but you can tell that it will remain out of control. If you stretch your imagination, you can actually envision the plane crashing several hundred yards into the Pacific Ocean, the inevitable explosion, the puffs of white, red, yellow, purple... and four red ribbons, floating to the surface of the wreck.
You're ****ing hungry.
(A) Take a nap. Hunger usually vanishes pretty quickly... right?
(B) Head for the forest. You do not know how to get to the forest, but you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and if you think that you can find mushrooms, then by God, you can find mushrooms.
(C) Look around for those ****ing bananas. You're on a goddamn island; there've got to some somewhere.
(D) Check out the airport and see if they have any food. Airport food pisses anyone off. But you like getting pissed off.
SD
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Tifa Lockhart vs. Ivy Valentine (Points: 3/4 Matches: 3/4)
Feeling more than a little under the weather, you clamber out of the mansion's basement and stumble across stereotypically creaking floorboards until you find a dust-covered phone. It is of the "Razor" brand, clearly state of the art material. You flip it open and deftly dial your local doctor. People don't credit you much for it, but you are actually quite technologically savvy.
"RRRRRRAWR," you yell into the phone. Then you quickly hang up and loiter outside the mansion, bleeding casually from littered bullet wounds in the front of your torso. It takes a few minutes for the "doctor" to arrive. You squint; the city lights are making it very difficult to make out exactly who is going to nurse you to health.
The first feature of your physician that you observe is her chest. She is wearing a tight white shirt, which you assume is part of hospital protocol. There is a large red ribbon cross sewn onto the front of the chest. Whatever is underneath is stretching the fabrics of both the shirt and the cross on it. As she gets closer, your gaze shifts from the wriggling armadillos to her face. Stylish dark hair frames an innocent, almost dopey smile.
Her motion is exquisitely feminine. She presses her elbows close to her sides, causing her hands to jut out impractically and limply as she runs. A criminally short black skirt flaps with her every step, and before even you realize it, she is upon you.
"You're hurt!" is her first comment, and at that moment, any affection that her physical appearance may have lent you evaporates. Of course you're hurt; why do you think you called the hospital in the first place? You are mother****ing Donkey Kong; you don't need to feign pain to get some whore.
But she ignores the shift in your facial expression, eyebrows turned up in genuine worry. "I'm Tifa," she says. "The hospital's a bit short-staffed, what with all the Tournament of Champions injuring everone, so I was sent here. I'll be your nurse, though this looks pretty serious."
You keep your eyes narrow. You still don't trust a ditz, but her voice does sound nice enough.
"Now let's see if I still remember this Materia junk," she mutters, and places her hands in electrifying distance of your chest. In fact, the distance does jolt you a little.
"Oops," she says lightly, "Sorry about that residue. I was ... never mind."
And now a calming, soothing effect spreads over your entire upper body and, just a little, to your lower body as well. You actually close your eyes, enjoying it. Tifa shifts behind you, but you merely growl in satisfaction as her diminuitive soft hands attempt to grip the tense muscles around your neck. Her hands prove incapable of mustering the strength truly to loosen the cemented cords, but you shrug back and forth to loosen yourself.
"Hey," she whispers in your ear, as she slides her hands up and down your back, "Will you do me a favor?"
Instantly suspicion explodes into your veins again. Your eyes snap open, and you turn around. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you don't get ****ed by anyone - not even busty nurses. You raise an interrogative eyebrow and slowly close your fist around her throat.
She looks absolutely helpless in your hand. Terror dancing in her eyes, she points trembling inger. "Can you take out this pesky Ivy character?"
You turn your head skeptically, and your jaw drops. A lady is standing behind you, eyes sinisterly narrow. Sensuous flesh is exploding out of the most minimalistic strings and pieces of cloth. You release Tifa from your grasp and turn toward Ivy, who brandishes some sort of weapon. She lashes out at you, eliciting a scream from Tifa, but you catch and snap her blade with two fingers. There is not even enough time for her to look surprised before you overwhelm her face with your hand.
"Th- thanks," says Tifa timidly from behind you, walking into the mansion. "I'll find a way to get rid of her really quickly! Just hang there, will you?"
Against your better judgment, you "hang there," allowing Ivy to writh, beat your hands, jiggle her hams and jugs and other attributes.
"Okay," says Tifa, walking out of the mansion. "A taxi should be h-"
At that moment, a futuristic-looking racepod thing appears out of nowhere, and an absolutely ridiculous-looking guy jumps out. You are distinctly reminded of the twisted wreckage that you earlier discovered jammed up your ass, but you say nothing.
"Captain," Tifa gestures at the still-fighting Ivy. "Will you dispose of this?"
"OF course!" yells the ridiculous-looking guy militarily. He snatches Ivy out of your hands quickly and hops into his vehicle. Tifa enters as well.
"'Til next time, noble warrior!"
And they zoom off.
(A) Go back inside the mansion and see what prank calling will do for you.
(B) Find a hotel to stay the night. For free, of course, since you are, in fact, mother****ing Donkey Kong.
(C) Look for something to eat in town.
(D) Reflect upon Tifa to yourself and... you guessed it, take a nap.
SD
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Kairi vs. Claire Redfield (Points: 3/3 Matches: 3/3)
You drop down, off of the foot of the mountain, around its toes and heel. Something dark and intense is burning in your eyes. It could be the fires of hell, motivating you toward the city, or it could simply be the dirt that has somehow become personified. In any case, you like pretty badass and enraged as you gallop into town.
It is midnight by the time you actually roll in, and the city couldn't possibly look more alive... Well, actually, the city could look a lot more alive. Stray lights illuminate scattered houses, but surrounding them are much darker, more forboding apartment complexes. They have a run-down feeling, and you decide to explore one just for the hell of it, knowing full well that no good can come of it.
Or who knows? The door has literally rotted off of its hinges. Your mere approach toward the house generates enough motion to knock the door down and inward, but there is no sound as it hits the floor. You stick your head through the doorway and look downward. The drop looks considerable, but you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you are not afraid of anything.
So you step in and fall two full stories into the dark basement. It is extremely cold and damp. Though your layers of fur, muscle, and fat protect you from actually sensing this, you get a generally unpleasant feeling from the place. Not being able to see anything at all also seems to be a minor hindrance, especially when you realize that something particularly cold and damp has clamped down on your forearm. Instinctively, you swing your captive arm into the air. The grip tightens for a second and snaps easily. There is a silence, followed by a squelching, rattling sound, as the thing collides with the wall of the basement.
Cautiously, you make your way over to your fallen assailant. More disgusting grips intercept your path and yank you backward, causing you to slip backward. You fall, landing gluteus maximus first, but you do not hit the moist floor with your fantastic ass but rather something humanoid-shaped and slightly decayed. You push, shove, punch, kick out around you, dislodging these slimy beasts from you. Subconsciously, you know exactly what they are, but even you do not quite want to acknowledge the fact that zombies are attempting to do whatever it is that zombies do to innocent, harmless virgin schoolgirls.
But you are no harmless virgin schoolgirl. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong. Your lashing out easily demolishes the hordes of zombies that are swarming you, and you begin to make your way out, swinging your fists. A few have latched onto your unconquerable thighs and shoulders, but they have absolutely no stopping power to your solid progression across the floor. Total blindness isn't helping you much, but you'll get out... somehow.
BANG! BANG! Sparks of gunfire come out of nowhere. The bursts reveal the hideous faces of the mutilated zombies. Their contorted facial expressions explode as you shove your fists through their mouths and shatter them. The flying bullets also seem to help in doing some mass damage. Getting carried away, you unsheath your Coconut Gun from beneath your skin unload indiscriminantly around you. You have no idea where any zombies are, but judging by the instant splatterings that greet your ears, your rounds are encountering some serious zombie flesh. Over and over, you pull the trigger, spinning around to maximize destructive power. Your coconut supply seems limitless.
After around one minute of trigger happiness, you return to your senses. Gone are the hulking presences in the room. And then a brilliant light shines into your eyes. You hold up your hands in defense instinctively, hearing a shotgun load.
"Another competitor," says the feminine voice. You squint, unable to make out exactly who is talking at you, but you hear the cocking of a shotgun. You shield both eyes and chest.
BANG!
Rounds splatter your chest. They do not pierce your musculature, but they do make superficial wounds, and you are pissed. "AROURGH!" you yell, and though you are entirely blind, you can feel the blood draining out of the zombie killing chick's face. Your imposing hand descends upon her face and smothers it. With your other, you casually wrench the sawed off shotgun from her hand and crumple it into a paper clip. Holding her head in your hand, you stomp very hard on the ground. It cracks open a little, and you force it open with your legs. Running water is audible beneath it.
Taking her flashlight from her, you drop Claire Redfield into a running stream headed for the Pacific Ocean. Or so you think.
(A) Look for a doctor. You're wounded.
(B) Look for a bar. Sex and beer usually help.
(C) Get the hell out of the city. You're mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you've had enough of these mother****ing zombies in this mother****ing mansion.
(D) Take a nap... in the middle of the city streets.
SD
Friday, September 15, 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
Rikku vs. Lenneth Valkyrie (Points: 2/2 Matches: 2/2)
You blow one final kiss to the day's victim and realize that it's not quite over yet. There is still, as they say, unfinished business.
So you turn your back to the cliff and the setting sun and sprint back downhill. Going downhill, you realize, is much more difficult than going uphill. Each pump of your legs carries you dozens of feet, and you only manage to take three of these prodigious strides before falling onto your head and rolling downward like a katamari, crushing trees and absorbing them into your awesome person and making you a brambly, tree-lovin', one-part avalanche.
You brake hard and manage to pull out of your ball. Trees go flying everywhere and decimate the lush mountainside. Your knees take some serious damage as you dig your heels hard into the thinning topsoil, kicking up barrels of dirt.
Barrels...
You to feel slightly stoned; dirt is coating most of your eyes, preventing you from perfect visual clarity. Something slightly feminine-looking is hovering before you, and you see the red thing tied around its arm. It doesn't take much thinking to realize that this is not Ada Wong, the lady whom you were seeking. But your primal urges overwhelm your normal flawless reasoning skills, so you seize the figure around the waist and begin to pull it up the mountain. You carry it the full length and plop it hard on its ass right at the edge of the cliff.
Suddenly, you hear a piercing "Wait!" The frequency of the blast nearly destroys you; your eyes narrow to slits, and your palms cover your precious ears. Something with a red ribbon in its hair is walking up. You're still a little hazy on exactly what it is, but it's mostly skin-colored, and - "Oooh!" - it is also apparently the source of the replusive sound.
Massive damage mentality grips you, hard, and renders you quickly incapable of responding to it. Then, primitively, your instincts again kick in above your common sense. Your mind remains quite aloof to the events that occur. The voice numbs your brain, but the sensation is far from pleasant. Your hands, separate of any conscious thought, begin to grab large chunks of earth and roll them into barrel shapes.
And then you start rolling them down. The path between the Challenger and you is slightly demolished, but there are still enough trees to produce a generally twisted maze. You seem to jump from one frame to the next, rolling the "barrels" of dirt down the mountainside one by one, barely hesitating to watch as the skinny little creature makes its way around the obstacles that you are so sordidly rolling.
Hop... hop... She jumps over your projectiles like a 1980s arcade character as she reaches the top. You try to expedite your rolling process, but it is of no use. Before your brain can send the message to your fingers, several minutes have passed, and your enemy has already reached your little apex at the cliff. Suddenly, she is now rejoicing with your prized captive. She stands boldly before the blue-clothed woman that you brought up the cliff, and ... it may be just your brain kicking into hyper-overdrive again, but you can almost hear something whistling in the back of your head, almost see a pink heart flashing above their heads.
The strange eroticism of a hideous underage skank and a female warrior lady brings you back to your senses jarringly. The pink heart shatters from your sight as you realize that they are intruding on your territory. The vague bemused detachment gives way to aggression and all the testosterone of a gorilla in heat. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong.
So you punch the now-embracing duo hard in the side, shattering their grip. The blue one flies off the edge of the island quickly; the skimpily dressed one gives out another shriek and falls hard down the mountainside. The magnititude of the little *****'s scream knocks you out instantly. You lie spread-eagled on the spot.
You wake up a couple of nights later, but The Voice has disappeared. Narrowing your eyes, you descend the mountain.
(A) Get ye gun. Yes, just bust it out and open fire. Who knows what interesting people you'll meet?
(B) Head to the desert. It's a desert island, get it!? Plus there might be bananas.
(C) Go to that northerly city-looking thing up there. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you have some parties to crash. Literally.
(D) Take a nap. It is always an option. And plus being knocked out cold by high-pitched voice doesn't necessarily make you well rested.
SD
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Ada Wong vs. Jade (Points: 1/1 Matches: 1/1)
You assume authority and scurry away from the sun, bounding forth on all fours. The grass-covered earth trembles, parting in your wake. It takes you a couple of minutes to clear the miles of grass and a few hours to reach the mountains. Your shadow shrinks gradually as you run, uninterrupted. But the sun continues to chase you, cutting an exorable path through the sky, until it glares at you menacingly from overhead.
But it matters not, for you are now in the mountains. You begin the ascent up the mountain and find something most curious: a stream that runs uphill. It begins with a small puddle, the bottom of which is invisible to you. The stream seems to break all the rules, but... you remember the words that Alucard said to you: "Rules can be broken here."
Ignoring the fact that Alucard has ever actually says such words to you, you resume your running up the mountain. Trees of moderate height are beginning to appear around you, at first extremely sparse, then closing in around you slowly like seventh graders around an adult magazine. Though the density does seem to increase exponentially, they can never obstruct your inexhaustable running power.
... Except that you're getting pretty damn tired. And hungry. And sleepy. And.. thirsty. Is there a way to quench all four of these...? Yes, there is. It doesn't seem pleasant, you decide, sprinting uphill, but it will have to do. The sun has already obscured itself largely behind the mountain; you have no idea how late it is in the evening, but it has been a decent day of exercise, and you need to do something.
So you stop running and viciously uproot a tree and eat it. It tastes disgusting, and it's massively abrasive to your stomach, but you're mother****ing Donkey Kong; you're tough enough. Chewing, you discover after several bites, seems to help.
Then you dive in the stream and immediately howl in pain, for you have just cracked your head against the bottom of it. If you were less agonized, you would probably make a mental note not to dive into one-foot-deep bodies of water, but hitting your head seems to stop you from making deep intellectual leaps like this.
So you pass out. Not because you are weak, mind you, but because you feel like it.
Poof! The sun is high above you. Apparently you've been out cold for almost twenty-four hours. You come to consciousness with a massive scrunch of your face and feel something cold and wet pressing against the back of your body. Even before turning around, you begin to piece it together.
Cold... wet... it must be water!
And indeed, when you look behind you, you see twenty-four hours' worth of stream water throbbing and pulsating, begging to be set free. You are about to move, when there is another Poof.
You turn around, genuinely confused. What source..?
Poof! A flash of light blinds you, and you shield your eyes a little as you try to open them. The image is rather distorted because of the glare, but you believe that there are... two dark-haired girls fighting in the bed of the stream, both wearing red bands around their arms. One of them is dressed skimpily in red, shooting bullets at the other, missing entirely. The latter, clothed in green, seems to be fighting by blinding her opponent using a... camera?
You observe through your fingers for a few more seconds as the unstable chick in red stumbles backward and falls down off the streambed. Green-jacket girl points her camera menacingly at her fallen foe, advancing. "Don't move or I'll shoot!"
Common sense tells you not to move, but psychological twists have an effect even on you, mother****ing Donkey Kong. At the girl's threat, you leap instinctively into the air. and out of the stream.
With all the force of a river, the buildup from the previous two days explodes uphill and knocks the green-clothed girl clean off her feet, carrying her up with it. You jog a little to keep pace, soon reaching the top of the mountain. The peak is extremely steep, and you realize that it ends in a cliff. The helpless photographer shoots up off of it and, with a scream, falls into what you believe is the Pacific Ocean.
(A) Get down there and try to save her! There's still time!
(B) Go back to sleep and wait for the next day.
(C) Go look for more food. This mountain's getting boring. How 'bout that sandy beach with a palm tree and no ocean!?
(D) Use your high ground to nail that other woman, if you know what that means. You're mother****ing Donkey Kong, and even if you're not gonna bang her in the traditional sense, you can still give her face a banging she won't forget.
SD
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Samus vs. Nidoran F (Points: 0/0 Matches: 0/0)
Without a moment of indecision, you sprint to the center of the field, take a deep breath, and hurl yourself into the water. A diminuitive splash, invisible in the midnight hours, and you are underwater... you swim down for several yards until you feel a mushy bottom. A gentle stream of bubbles trickles from your nostrils. It is ****ing pitch black.
You stay submerged, not breathing, staring up at the utter darkness of the surface. Several hours pass with you in your water resting place, gazing longingly upward. But you do not doze off. You are wide awake, and you amuse yourself by picking a little at your right nostril, which has become somewhat congested, even without water. This, however, only lasts you two minutes; for the rest of the time, you make funny faces at the surface. You are one patient son of a gun.
Gradually, the sun rises. It bleeds right through the still water. The water above you is absolutely clear, and the eerily unrippling surface is totally transparent.
Then the stirring begins. "Mmm," says a distant voice from above you, "Looks so pretty and secluded and... I usually don't take off this suit, but I guess even I like to smell decent once in a while..."
From above, something ominous and shadowy and dark and intimidating leaps into the pond and moves, frog-like, through the water. Ripples and waves begin to form, and you blink a couple of times to adjust your eyesight to the scattering light. A feminine shadow now covers you and the bottom of your pond, darting back and forth. As your vision returns, you discern a blue leotard wrapped around a tall blonde woman. You hear trickles of laughter echoing down the height of the pond. She is the image of freedom, happiness.
For one instant, she dives down a little, sticks her yellow-haired head into the pond, eyes innocently open. She sees you, scrunching your lips and lifting your left eyebrow to snowcapped heights, staring deep into her face.
And you are angry.
A terrified bubble explodes out of the woman's mouth; she pulls quickly out of the water and breaks toward the edge. You take off instantly. Powerful strokes and natural buoyancy spring you to the surface in around half a second. A tunnel of light rushes at you like those delectable mushrooms rushing to your sensory pleasures. The surface explodes upon your exit, and you soar out of it, flexing your muscles and exuding a fascinating awesomeness before landing squelchingly on your feet in the grass.
There is a MIDI-generated sound, and you find a small scar on the left side of your chest. The force of the blast does not even faze you. With some incredulity, you look at a robotic, yellow and red-clad figure, pointing a cannon at you. A blue windshield or something is covering its face, but you can absolutely tell that it's the same woman - and you can also tell that her face is screaming "WHAT THE HELL." It's a good feeling.
Most importantly of all, you can tell that there is a red bandanna strapped around her arm. Regaining a bit of her wit, she fires a missile at you. You swat it away with the back of your hand. It falls into the beautiful pond and explodes, destroying its pure virginity.
And you are angry.
Sure, this woman hasn't done any harm to you, but she just wrecked your hiding spot, and mother****ing Donkey Kong doeson t stand for that type of disrespect.
You stride over, muffling her itty-bitty ice beam, and easily grab her arm-cannon thingy with both hands. She struggles ineffectually, beating you over the head. You sense a bit of mild aggravation, but her ate has already been sealed, anyway. Exerting just a little bit of effort, you crumple the cannon in your palms.
Ignoring the shriek, You hold the woman by her helmet in your left hand, dangling her feet a yard above the ground, and wind up with your right hand. You sense the absolute terror imprinted on the woman's face beneath you as you toss her a few feet into the air and wait... she descends... and you unload your punch, an uppercut that breaks the entire torso of your nemesis and takes her deep into the stratosphere and off the Island of Champions.
It is a good day for mother****ing Donkey Kong. But the fighting, you see, has torn up the grass of the field and made a general mess. You're outta here.
(A) Go North. In the daylight, it looks like there are palm trees and no ocean. And where better to relax than... a place with palm trees and no ocean!?
(B) Go South. You have no idea where this leads, but you have a good feeling about it.
(C) Go East, into the sun, where apparently there are bananas.
(D) Go West, into the mountains. Why? Because you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and if you want to do something that just "sounds cool," like "Go West, young Donkey Kong," then God Damn it, you will.
SD
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
My First Day Of School
You are Donkey Kong, an ape of ape-like proportions.
You are the Master of your Town; you wake up early as all hell and lord it all the way to a doughnut shop. You embark from there on a reconnaissance flight back to your Domain. You and Carol Murphree exchange words, laughter, hugs, and pastries before heading off to the New Challenges.
The path of the giant ape is beset on all sides by the inequities of the freshman and the tyranny of lower ability students. Blessed are you who, in the name of nobility and sheer leetness, shove the weak down the stairs of the West Wing, for you are truly your vassals' superior... and the owner of lost children.
And you will strike down upon the masses, with coconut shells and bongo bashings, those who attempt to obscure and deride your hallways. And they will you that you are mother****ing Donkey Kong... when you lay your vengeance upon them.
Empowered by your righteous religious imagery, you discover an English class that, for the first time ever, does not look like a total abomination. An abomination it is, without doubt, but not total.
SD
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Thursday, September 07, 2006
24 fanfiction
6:56:23A.M.
Day of the Acton-Boxborough Graduation Ceremony 2007
I never liked Rosemary Dow. She was the one who had first noticed my promise in math, but she was always too smart for me. Even while she cultivated my growth as a student, unthinkable corruption was snaking its way throughout the junior high math department, and even she did not know what was going on.
Or so it seemed. She asked me and my squad to do it. The entirety of my team flunked out of honors math except for me in uncovering Dow's role in the conspiracy: She had participated in jockery, committed acts that would send any non-commie straight to hell. My evidence was inconclusive, but the charges got her booted out of the school.
Bill Noeth had been one of my favorite people in the world. He'd guided me, opened my eyes, shown me much of the joy that is math. His teachings of Americanism had inspired me to become what I was that day. What was I that day? That is irrelevant.
But there was corruption in the high school math department - oodles of it, which somehow managed to weave into wrecking graduation. Someone was leaking secrets left and right, but Bill's best efforst could not produce the culprit. Again I volunteered my services. Investigation led me to the Community Services office... and finally to Dow, who'd been working under a different name.
Even after bringing Dow into custody, however, further troubles plagued our ceremony. I realized with far too much certainty that Dow would not break under normal mathematical pressure. Despite her attempt to escape, she was recaptured and imprisoned... but she was brought out to write one final "flunk them out" math test to prevent students from taking Algebra I in the fourth grade.
And then I cut the communications. Turned off all cell phones. She left the library minutes before I failed the last student on his test. I sprinted out, calling out her name in the long corridors of the Green Wing.
"Hold it right there, George!"
I froze, turned around. Rosemary Dow, as I had suspected, was waving a graphing calculator at me.
"Put the calculator down, real slow."
I complied. My TI-84 rested conspicuously at my feet.
"You were never gonna really let me go, were you?"
"No."
She hit the ON button on her calculator.
A look of confusion spread on her face; she knew exactly what was coming to her, but it didn't stop her from slamming open the battery case and observing clearly dead batteries.
I picked up my calculator and strode over to her. "You are responsible for the failures of Patrick Wu, Anandh Swaminathan, and Albert Chuang."
"That's the way it works."
ON. GRAPH. XYZEQUALSEQUALSEQUALSROROROSINSINCOSCOSSINPHIPHIPHITHETATHETA.
Perhaps now I could get a move on my life.
6:57
6:58
6:59
7:00
SD
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
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