AIM: Pancaek Beast | E-mail: shdwdde@gmail.com | Denny's House of Pancaeks
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
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