By: Intensity
Created on: November 2, 1999
Note: Back by popular demand, here are the picks of the month. I should warn you that it gets a bit violent toward the end, but congrats to those excellent posters for their good work this month.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. Quite frankly, it was becoming the smelliest of times. Gamers spread across the known world (and across many couches) were beginning to feel the stirrings of revolution. And yet, being Lazy Bastards™ by nature they did nothing but check their e-mail.
"Meh," said the people.
King Gabe had abdicated the throne and his allies from the island kingdom of Beedah had withdrawn aid from his troubled nation. In the Beedah capital of See-Em, the embassy was refusing all guests and had a "No Sales Reps" sign on the door. The last act of the departing monarch had been to appoint a ruling council of Tough Bastards™ to administer and apply the law of the land.
"Meh," said the people.
And so, the land began to climb its way back up to prosperity. The craftsmen returned to their workshops to forge new and interesting creations, the jesters and satirists returned to their criticism and the rest of the nation sat and lurked.
"Meh," said the people.
Despite this pleasant state of affairs, the departure had left Ye Soure Taste in the mouths of many citizens and in their hearts they began to resent the power of the Tough Bastards™. In a certain town in the land was a certain tavern and in that certain tavern a group of disgruntled individuals met... and plotted.
"Sign my guestbook, ya DAMN LEECHES!" cried the owner of the tavern.
"Quiet down, Citizen," said one of the disgruntled. "Fellow Citizens, we are gathered here to whinge, bitch and complain!"
A cheer rose from the masses.
"We're sick and tired of the tawdry and rotten creations we get as handouts from the palace. We want proper creations!"
Another cheer.
"We want free creations!"
Cheering and shouting filled the room.
"We don't want to do any work and we want all the rewards!"
The Lurkers leapt and danced in a frenzy. Their greatest dreams were coming true. In each heart burned the hope of never having to write another game again. Their fellow Citizen had spurned them into a riotous mob and the began to scrounge for pitchforks, kitchen knives and broken toothpicks with which to storm the Bastard Palace™. Nothing but the gates of hell or a squadron of Super SAMAS were going to stop them.
Meanwhile, in the Bastard Palace™, the Tough Bastards™ were worried. They had recently traded their last Super SAMAS in for a packet of Cheezy Poofs and a copy of the Terrance and Philip Thanksgiving Special.
"Dustin," cried Conan. "I just heard word that the Lurkers are revolting!"
"Stop it with those crazy Mel Brooks jokes," came the terse reply.
"There goes my Jerry Lewis membership."
But before any further sad-arse jokes could be made, palace servants began announcing the arrival of many aristocrats seeking refuse^H^H^H^H^H^H refuge. Without regard for protocol or hygiene they burst their way into the ruling chambers of the Tough Bastards™.
"I hope you're going to clean that up," quipped Conan.
Again, Dustin turned to him and said, "Enough of these old jokes! We have to defend ourselves. Quickly, hand me the video case of the Terrance and Phillip show. I recently went up a level and have taken W.P. Video Case!"
"But you didn't get any training to learn it," said Necromancer Bob.
"Ahhh, the beauty of the Palladium System," replied Dustin, a smug look spreading healthily across his face.
His smugness and choice of weapon proficiency proved to be his downfall, however, as a horde of angry Lurkers crashed through the door. For a moment, silence deafened them all. Then nothing. No one said anything.
"Come on," said Dustin. "Say something!"
"They can't say anything because they're Lurkers!" interjected Conan. "The moment any of them say anything, they'll become one of us!"
With a large dose of extra smug, the Tough Bastards™ began to chuckle with glee at their good fortune.
"This cannot be," murmured Legate Legion. "This must not be allowed to stand. I will speak for them. I will give them hope. I will give them... the Panthenon of Misspellling!"
Stepping forward, he continued, "Lurkers of the List, I implore you! Take your place in my Penthonun of Misspaling and you will be without a voice no more!"
With cries of "Here, here" and "Me to!" the lurkers voiced their poorly-written assent.
"Get bent, Legate," said Dustin as he forcefully booted Legate's butt out of the room. "You are banished from this kingdom until... er, some other time. Nyer nyer!"
"I'll be back, you bastards!" was his only, fading response.
"Humph. That's *Tough* Bastards™, thank you very much," said Dustin.
"Alright, Tough Bastards™," said one of the Lurkers. "You're not so tough any more. We've had enough of your well written, nicely conceived ideas only being posted every six weeks. For your crimes you will be beheaded! In the name of the Lurkers of the PML, I call forth the most recent member in the Judge Judy Fan Club. Behold, the terrifying sight of... Judge Intensity, also known as the Bastard Judge™."
Through the door walked the Bastard Judge.
"That was clever," said FlashFire. "He didn't even open it."
"Quiet, you," said the Bastard Judge™ Intensity. "I have a job to do. It's a job in which the cases are real, the people are real and the judgements are final. I'm just glad that I don't have to wrestle a damn crocodile. Bring in the guillotine!"
Quickly, the Lurkers brought in and assembled the instrument of execution, exhibiting more creativity than ever before.
"Right," said the Bastard Judge™. "The first aristocrat to face the wrath of this court is Lantissmi. He is charged with "Funking in the face of ferdinand" and receives the FUNKMASTER AWARD for this effort:"
----
ferdinandtheduck@hotmail.com writes:
> i would assume it means strike/party/dodge could you see this in combat?
"He shoots you with his funk laser"
"I choose to party"
"You get down with your bad self, and take fifteen points of damage."
"I knew I should have gotten dance lessons: elite"
----
Grabbing the fiend roughly, the Lurkers thrust the guilty one onto his knees before the guillotine. The blade shows him no mercy. Giving one last look at the corpse, the Bastard Judge continues.
"Now, for one who has inflicted vile repetition onto this nation comes sentencing. Bring forth Dragon Juicer! You are charged with 8000 BABY NAMES, 2000 SURNAMES, 10000 REPEAT POSTINGS and are sentenced to beheading for sending the following message an awful lot:"
----
There's a program at the URL below that claims to have 8000 baby names and
2000 surnames...might be helpful in naming characters?
http://fdl.msn.com/pubshows/computingcentral/Shareware/Home_Hobby/namemstr10.zip
----
As the heavy blade sliced cleanly through Dragon Juicer's neck, blood splattered on the floor. "At least it matches the previous stains. If only people would stop bursting into this room," said the Bastard Judge™ Intensity.
"Hey! Those jokes aren't allowed here," asserted Dustin, who stopped short upon realising the identity of his foe. "My mistake. *You* of all people can make that joke (ya sad Bastard!)"
"Quiet, you!" yelled the Bastard Judge™. "I have more punishments to mete out. Bring out Colin Cashman!"
Heavily thrown to the ground, Colin began to panic in the face of his doom. "You," intoned the Judge, "have brought chocolate into disrepute by making people laugh at it. You are charged with M.D.C. (MEGA-DAMAGE CHOCOLATE) and are sentenced to death for this!"
----
>>See, in the Coming of the Rifts, the ability to tranport and distribute
>>chocolate candy bits was competely demolished. While Hershey's
>>factories still remained largely intact, their profits dropped through
>>the floor because they were unable to market or sell it effectively.
>>The owners of Hershey decided it would be in their best interests to
>>diversify, and given the vast technological advances of the Golden Age,
>>decided it would be in their favor to develop cybernetic and biological
>>technologies. Their first foray into the market was a disappointing
>>failure; it seemed that candy-coated chocolate bionics didn't make men
>>any more resistant to supernatural nasties, only tastier (and easier to
>>track). Their second foray - manufacturing metallic cybernetics -
>>proved more successful, and by 102 P.A. Hershey had repositioned
>>themselves as an OEM for cybernetic dealers. Hershey has an outstanding
>>offer of one million credits for information leading to the development
>>of an edible M.D.C. chocolate-metal alloy.
----
"Rallan! The Lurkers charge you with being a SARCASTIC BASTARD in your attack against their self-appointed messiah. You are to be executed for this crime against the people. Behold, the condemning evidence!"
----
Rallan
- get me a copy of the script and some women's clothes, I want to join the Pantomime of Legate
----
Without pausing for a moment to let the Lurkers clean up the blood, the Bastard Judge™ pressed on. "And now, the most vile offender against the Lurkers is to be sentenced. Bring out FlashFire."
Proud and tall against the cajoling of the Lurking mob, FlashFire strode forth to accept his fate. The Bastard Judge™ looked him in the eye and said, "For releasing BARBARIAN COMBAT, you may have simply been beheaded. However, for your creative and un-Lurker post entitled I GOT SOME ROUNDS you are to be beheaded in the guillotine and your head to be displayed for all to see on the end of the PALLADIUM PIKE."
Gasping at the horror of this punishment, FlashFire barely uttered his final scream as his head was removed and messily dropped onto the Pike. The Bastard Judge™ Intensity surveyed the damage and said, "My work here is done, Lurkers. You have had your way this day and now I must have mine."
So saying, he left the room and retired to a jacuzzi with three Jodie Foster clones. Yum!
HERE ENDETH THE PML AWARDS FOR OCTOBER 1999.
(Lazy Bastards, Tough Bastards, Bastard Palace and Bastard Judge are Turd Marks (™) of Them, They and Those Guys.)
.---------------.-------------------------------------. | ........ | I N T E N S I T Y | | ,:::::::::: | tensh@beer.com | | ::)) ; | | | C -o-.-o |------------------------------------ | | : _; ; | "Never underestimate the bandwidth | | \ .___. | of a station wagon, loaded with | |__/\`\_____|\__ | tapes, hurtling down the highway." | | | | `----------------'-------------------------------------'
PML_Awards_Oct1999.php -- Revised: January 27, 2021.