General Angst: Wait -- what do you mean, "more than tests"?
Doctor Moon: It's all very simple, my dear General Angst! The dim-witted lad you procured for this experiment rated perfectly in the initial round of examinations, so I went on ahead with the bio-augmentation.
General Angst [blustering]: You presume too much! Mine is the ultimate authority here!
Doctor Moon: Calm yourself, my dear General Angst! All is as you had planned! The tractor-tread feet, the disco strobe eyeballs, the Popamatic bubble implant, the Mr. Pibb cannon...
General Angst [furious]: Madness! I never asked for any of those things! You speak treason!
Doctor Moon: Perhaps, my dear General Angst, this will refresh your memory...
[He reaches into his lab coat and produces a small device. At the press of a button, it plays a tinny recording of General Angst, speaking in a slurred voice.]
Recording of General Angst: --annnd mayb-be some o' them cattypillar tractory treads fer the dude's feetsies, and his peepers, his peepers, we could go 'n' replace 'em with these lights, mannnn, an' they'd be all BEEP BOP BOOP BEEP BOP oh! An' on his big ol' titties, I say we mount thisss plasticky bubbley thing-a-ma-bob like I seen once, you know, it's like, it's like from a board game or some shit, and you press on it, and you go "Popamatic pops the dice!" and like "Whoo! I win!" only ours, only ours, the dicey things, they all gots like skulls an' shit on 'em, and then our dude, he says to Batman, "Popamatic says DIE, motherfucker!!!" Ha, ha, ha, oh, oh, I allmosst fergot, wait, waitaminnit, his arm, we just chop that shit off, an' then we install this gun, an' it sprays out Mello Yello allll ooover, like BOOOSH!!! NO! NO! Scratch that shit, change it to Mr. Pibb! Yeah, and then we--
[Doctor Moon presses another button, stopping the playback.]
Doctor Moon: Those were your express orders, my dear General Angst, as of 9:26 yesterday evening.
General Angst: You mean, about halfway through our "Barnaby Jones" drinking game?
Doctor Moon: Correct, my dear General Angst.
General Angst [defeated]: Quit calling me "my dear General Angst."
Doctor Moon: Whatever you say, darling.
7 comments:
An arm with a cannon that sprays Mr. Pibb?
I just spewed coffee out of my nose and all over the keyboard. Well, not literally as I am not drinking coffee right now and I'm trying to be quiet to let the baby sleep, but it's a figurative spewing of coffee onto a figurative keyboard. Agh, I said too much.
I demand -- nay, the world demands! -- a drawing of Dr. Moon's fantabulous creation!
G--
General Angst?
Oh come ON now!
Who's his military aide? Private Misgivings?
Jon: So, you're saying you didn't actually have to miniature coffee cannons installed in your nose?
Bill S.: I think that can be arranged!
Scipio: And his private secretary is Mister Ected-Hostilities. (Okay, so that one's a bit of a stretch.)
I never said that.
Not per se, at least...
The name General Angst reminds me of when I had the idea last year to attempt to revive a comic book character I had created in high school. I tried to come up for villains for my hero to face and one of them was an undersea goth kid named 'Captain Emo'. His battle cry, "THE FISH DON'T JUDGE ME"
In hindsight, it seemed a bit too silly, but now I realize that it wasn't that bad.
Post a Comment