Friday, January 11, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
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.
Posted by Jeremy Rizza at 6:02 AM 7 comments:
Labels: Blockade Bard, Perfect Fighting Machine
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
7/600 of One Trombone
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish conducting the world's tiniest marching band."
Also... "malnutrition"? Hey, Old-Enough-To-Know-Better Denny O'Neil, while you're busy padding out your dialog with highly improbable ailments and conditions for a muscular adventurer to suffer from, you might as well consider tacking on a couple more, like:
- "The jim-jams"
- Hysterical blindness
- Liver spots
- Ingrown toenail
- Deviated septum
- "Turkey neck"
- Peanut allergy
- Trichophagia (look it up)
- Lazy eye
- Parasitic twin
- Diaper rash
- Ear mites
- Diverticulitis (I prescribe macaroni-and-cheese)
- Third nipple
Posted by Jeremy Rizza at 5:25 AM 11 comments:
Labels: Batman, list, Perfect Fighting Machine
Monday, January 07, 2008
Emergency! Come Right Away!
Huh. Well, if he's anything like "Doctor Bombay", this should turn into one hell of a story! Bombay was always doing bad-ass shit like climbing Mount Everest and getting into shark fights, and he was the hardened veteran of many a tussle (with his own nurse, anyway). So if anybody could put Batman's stubborn tuckus in a bed and keep it there, it's him.
And I see that the mysterious extra arm is pitching in, by dialing the phone for him. Thank you, Thing!
(In the background, Batman removes his itchy woolen top, in preparation for giving Alfred the pimp-slapping of his life.)
Posted by Jeremy Rizza at 5:43 AM 8 comments:
Labels: Batman, Perfect Fighting Machine, pimp-slapping
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