January 25, 2006

• Post for the sake of it….diet post!

  Taken from TodaysRandomLuckyWinner…

  As he was dragging her past room after room of his lair, Lady Maria
  noticed that Dr. Molotov’s grip was stupendously strong, much too
  strong to be from any ordinary geriatric mad scientist. “I wonder if he
  works out,” Lady Maria wondered to herself. As she wondered and
  wandered through the halls of Dr. Molotov’s Island Fortress of Evil
  she saw many rooms which might attest to Dr. Molotov’s almost
  super-natural strength. Of course, being a woman, she only thought
  about the decorating.

  “Wow. I really would’ve made ‘Bio Enhancing Chemical Room 12b’ a lot less drab, if it had been me.”

  Eventually, they came to the room Dr. Molotov was looking for. He guffawed, no, no, he cackled. A high, evilly joyous cackle.

  “In
  this room, I keep a dungeon. In this dungeon I keep 13 natural born
  rapists/murderers. No woman leaves this room alive!” During this short
  speech, Maria couldn’t help but notice a tiny speck of spinach on Dr.
  Molotov’s right canine tooth. Little things like this always ruin
  dramatic moments in real life. This is why we have movies, because they
  can stop the cameras, remove the spinach, and continue filming.
  However, this was no movie. It’s just a short story. Of course, the
  writer could, at any time, go back and erase the spinach from Dr.
  Molotov’s mouth, but he won’t. This is because he is a realist.

  “Nothing will happen to me!” screamed Lady Maria, helplessly. “Vic Sabertooth will come to save me!”

  “HOW
  DARE YOU SAY THAT NAME IN FRONT OF ME!?” yelled Dr. Molotov, little
  pieces of spittle flying from his mouth and onto Lady Maria’s face and
  hair, causing her to wipe it off and feel a little awkward. There was
  no time to revel in the uncertainty of social interaction, however, as
  Lady Maria was summarily cast into the smelly, wet hole of a dungeon to
  meet her fate, or, as fate would have it, 13 fates. Only, 14, because
  there was a fate who made it so there were 14 fates. Yes, fate is a
  self-replicating autotroph. Aren’t you glad you read this far so you
  can find that out?

  What Lady Maria didn’t know is that the room
  was, in fact, a hole. She fell for a few seconds and hit the ground.
  Luckily, she didn’t have to contemplate such an inelegant entrance, as
  she was knocked unconcious. Unluckily, she was knocked unconcious in a
  room full of thirteen murdering rapists. Her last thought before she
  blacked out was “Vic Sabertooth,” (she always called him by his entire
  name) “hurry up and save m–”

  She awoke not long afterwards to a hand lightly slapping her face.

  “AHHHHHHHHHHH” she said, passionately.

  “OH
  MY FUCK!” replied a strange voice. In her haze, Maria noticed a dim
  light coming from somewhere to her left, and, with this light, a table,
  13 chairs, and 13 men. 13 murdering, raping men.

  “Terribly
  sorry!” said the strange voice with a rather cheeky (almost cute)
  British accent. “Didn’t know whether or not you were okay. ‘Course I
  would never think of just coming up to a woman and slapping her, but, under the circumstances, you know…”

  “GET
  AWAY FROM ME!” Lady Maria screamed. You would’ve screamed that too,
  unless you are severely level headed and realized that screaming that
  wouldn’t stop them. In which case, you should probably join the CIA.

  “Oh, dear, I’d known I’d offended her. Please, except my most gracious apologies!”

  “Apologies? But… aren’t you guys… rapists?”

  “Rapists! Oh, no, of course not. Did Dr. Molotov tell you that? Quite a nice bloke, isn’t he?”

  “Wait…
  what? You’re not? Does Dr. Molotov know you’re not rapists? He seemed
  pretty convinced. I mean, it’s a cruel joke, but, still…”

  “Of
  course he knows. He’s just completely barking mad. Couldn’t you tell?
  Nope, I’ve never raped anyone in my life. Have you blokes?” He said
  this last part to the men sitting at the table. They all said no except
  one guy who said “Well, I ‘ave.” Later, Lady Maria found out he had
  never raped anybody but rather a sheep that he used to herd.

  “So, what are you doing down here then?”

  “Well, right now we’re just sort of talking. ‘Aving a salon, if you please. What was it we were talking about, gents?”

  “The
  tendency for everything to divurge instead of–” said one gruff voice
  (not the sheep sodomizer though, he had a rather high pitched and
  whiney voice; poetic justice you might say, or, at least, a very good
  reason).

  “Right, right. Divurge instead of convurge. You see,
  Frank over there made a rather interesting point earlier when he
  noticed that not only have all the continents slowly drift apart (a la
  Wegner, who first published his theories in 1915), but, as any linguist
  would tell you, so do languages. That’s why we have a dialect like we
  do, and you have a dialect like you do. Another point, if I may, many
  astrophysicists believe that all matter was, at one point, all
  congregated at one central point in the universe, but that it has since
  spread apart. I need not mention–”

  “Oh. Okay. So, you all just kind of…. sit around? And talk?”

  “Well,
  yeah. Can’t think of a better life. Plus, old Molotov makes some great
  tea and cake, doesn’t he, chaps?” This, although a rather controversial
  statement, was greeted with almost unanimous positivity.

  “Ah. Is there a way out?”

  “Yes,
  ma’am. You see that exit sign? And the door right below it? Not to
  imply, of course, that you can’t. I merely said that as a way of
  pointing it out, you see.” Lady Maria noticed that the dim light that
  she had been seeing with all along was coming from an exit sign. Upon
  opening the door, she saw the beach of the island and the boat that she
  and Vic Sabertooth had arrived on.

  “Thank you all so much!”

  “Not at all, not at all. Goodbye!”

  “Ah, Vic Sabertooth,” she thought, “my eternal love, I will find you and we will get to the bottom of Dr. Molotov’s schemes!”

  Coincidentally,
  Vic Sabertooth was not thinking about Lady Maria at all, as he was
  being raped by several rather beautiful, blonde, and busty blonde
  women. The writer, being a realist, should have made them big, brawny,
  dirty old men. You’re forgetting one thing, however, the writer is also
  a mysogynist.

  -J

  The Josh wanted to share this with you all

  • 12:16 pm
  • 3 Comments