Before we start, can I just say that being occupied by Mek Quake is no fun.
I was told to teach him chess.
Took the thick drokker three days to stop calling the knight a horsey. Never again...
Anyway, let's have another comp, running until the end of November.
The title, as you can see, is "Bdum... Tish!".
This is the traditional sound effect of a good old punchline, so what I want to see is a story that has a nice punchline at the end. Use any character but try to have some fun.
Oh, and Johnny Alpha stories that end with "Every dog has his day" are BANNED! :P
Bad City Blue
The name's Saturday. Joe Saturday. I used to be a chronocop. But that's all in the future now. My ex-partner, who's going to be my friend, is trying to kill me. His name is Thursday. Ed Thursday. He has a gun. A big gun. He's pointing it at my head.
"'Bye, Joe," he says. He talks in short sentences. We both do. It saves time.
"Don't do it, Ed," I say.
He holds up a calendar. It's marked with crayon. "Already did," he says.
His trigger finger tightens. I sweat.
There's a flash. It goes "FWARP." A man appears. He has weird eyes and an even bigger gun.
"Alpha," he says. "Here to help you. Get you away. Enlist your skills at the Doghouse."
I hide behind him. I'm relieved.
"FWARP." Another flash. Another mutant appears. He has a weird face and a big hat. "Rot you, Alpha," he says. "You got Saturday but I get Thursday. He's coming with me."
"FWARP." He disappears with Ed.
I look at Alpha. "What gives?"
"Time job," he says. "Need your expertise. Styx just made it a race."
I nod. We go.
I guess every day has his dog.
[Airhorn.wav] Winner, competition over
Heh, thank you - very premature, of course, but thank you :-)
I'll allow it
:D Cheers! (It was a bit cheeky...)
I'm not sure if this qualifies, but here it is anyway.
Did he want Fries with that?
Due to the ineptitude of a Justice Department Psychiatrist, Mean Machine Angel has been paroled into a work release programme.
Mean glared down at the Juve and handed him his No: 46 - Hot Munce wings with Mock-Choc sauce. "Thank you, Sir." He resisted the urge to leap across the counter and 'Bok' the Spug into oblivion. Staying out of the Cubes was his main concern... for the moment. "Enjoy your meal!"
"Yeah, Drokk you, Slaphead!" The Juve walked away laughing and the queue shuffled forward. A family of four were next.
"Welcome to 'Masticators'. How can I help?"
"Well, for starters I want two 'Juve-Meals' wit-"
"I'm sorry, sir. When placing your order you have to quote the meal number. Juve meals start at number 75 and end at 155." Mean could feel the rage smouldering within.
"Oh, ok." He scanned the board "Can I have a 75 and a 77, Fattie-Size-
"I'm sorry ,sir. Here at 'Masticators' we don't like to use language that may offend-" Drokk you, Spughead, he thought to himself and again resisted the urge to leap the counter. He knew he was on the verge of losing it. Big time! "Standard size is 'Slender', 'Fattie' is Large, and we also have a Mega-size which is called 'Face full'"
The guy sighed. "Right then, I'll have a 75 and a 77, Large. My wife would like a 69 with extra sausage, Large."
Mean was about ready to go Nuclear "And for you, Sir?"
The guy licked his lips "I'll have a 'Face full' of number 4!"
BOK!
:lol: :lol: :lol:
Nice one NapalmKev.
- C
Great stuff!
I think the Shark has it but here's my ditty.
Numbers Up.
The world runs on numbers, so Vince McGuffin counted the seconds as the clock outside Fulcrum Publishers Chief Editors office passed 4:55 PM. He'd pitched his idea despite annoyance from the seniors gathered around the office's dingy table. A Junior Staff Writer like Vince proposing anything was laughable too them, but the Chief said he'd scrutinise it carefully.
'Pre-millennial tension.' Vince recalled himself saying to his sceptical colleagues, 'and the success of this recent Film called 'Star Wars' meant younger readers were primed to accept a new product, my suggested science fiction based comic strip!'
Groans and catcalls engulfed the Editors room at his proposal, but the Chief Editor wanted a 'private discussion' with the Seniors, and so Vince had found himself outside in the dark corridor. The clock's minute hand click on to nearly 5:00 PM. Other Numbers would now decide his project the cold, hard arithmetic of commerce. Even the proposed comics name was a number, and Vince recalled the undisguised contempt amongst the editors after he'd spoken it aloud.
'2000 AD?!' one snorted with derision. 'Load o' cobblers!'
Suffice to say the Junior writer received no financial breakdowns or fancy sales graphs. No, instead the Chief Editor ordered him inside, then thrust a slip of paper into Vince's Hand with a recognisable if damning number printed on it.
P45.
Joking Time
A man walked in to a bar. "Ow!"
On the counter a 12 inch man was playing a tiny piano. The guy next to me started to explain how he met a genie who granted wishes.
I lost interest when a small ghostly dog walked in holding its severed tail in its mouth. The barman took the tail and with a few drops of glue reattached it to the translucent terrier who wagged it cheerfully as the barman pointed to a sign that read "Licensed to retail spirits."
A horse walked up and the barman asked "Why the long face?"
Next to me a gorilla complained about the amount he had been charged for a pint.
A group of surrealists holding fish and a step ladder walked past. "Don't mind them," said the barman, "they're just here to change the lightbulb."
I ordered a Crocodile beer and asked him to make it snappy. He brought me my drink and asked for a double entendre, so I gave him one.
A woman beside me said "Hi, handsome, what's long, hard and full of semen?"
"A submarine." I brushed her off and turned to meet my contact.
"Agent Fraud, you're looking well. What's long, brown and sticky?"
I gave the expected code response, "A stick. What's going on, Young?"
"Haven't got the joke yet? We're in a Jocularity. A nexus point of humour, a collapsing wave equation of bad gags. We have to knot up the ravelled sleeve of care and then move onto the next prime location in our exploding clown car."
"This isn't Agency work, what do we know about humour?"
"You wrote a treatise on the meaning of jokes, Fraud. I read it to my students and they slept like babies. Screaming and covered in their own excrement."
In a corner of the room Holmes and Watson were explaining the riddle of the missing tent. I'd heard it before and another listen would be too tense. Around us the humour became much cruder. A blue shift if ever I heard one.
Something large and menacing moved in the rafters above us.
"Is that a blind dinosaur?"
"Do you think he saw us?"
"What the hell are those things?"
"Time flies."
"Like an arrow?"
"No, these ones prefer a banana. Watch out for the skin. Whoops. Let me help you up."
A woman holding a penguin said "He's already been to the zoo so I'm taking him to the pictures instead."
"Whatever you're going to do you better do it soon, Young."
"Almost ready, we're approaching the gag response point now. Wait for it."
A man rushed in "Guys, you've gotta come outside, the chicken says he's finally figured it all out!"
Young called "Now!" and there was a popping sound as all the laughter died. We were done.
"Another successful case for Fraud and Young. Now how does our old joke go?"
"Neurotics build castles in the sky, psychotics live in them ..."
"And psychiatrists collect the rent!"
Is it time for ...... (dum, dum, dum) .... Judgement day? (Or Judgment day if you're in the US)
Firstly let me issue a warning: some of the gags referenced in this story are not suitable for work or for those of a young age or to be used in the lull between Christmas dinner and Dr Who.
DEATH BY MAU MAU
JUSTICE DEPT. AUDIO FILE 78365B
EXCERPT FROM HELMET MIC RECORDING OF JUDGE T. GUZMANN
MUGLINS: 'Terrible!'
GUZMANN: 'What happened at the Jaw-Acher Club last night
Muglins?'
MUGLINS: 'A jumper with big pockets!'
GUZMANN: 'What happened to those twelve missing citizens?'
MUGLINS: 'No eyed deer!'
GUZMANN: 'Something tells me creep that you're not taking this
interview seriously.'
MUGLINS: 'Shark infested custard!'
(GUZMANN SIGHS)
GUZMANN: 'What do you call an ex-comedian caught with the
property of twelve missing citizens?'
(PAUSE 2 SECS)
GUZMANN: 'What, no punch-line? I'll tell you - guilty. Who's
responsible for these disappearances?'
MUGLINS: 'Gohan.'
GUZMANN: 'Gohan who?'
MUGLINS: 'Gohan be a long night Judge!'
GUZMANN: 'Right, that's it!'
(SOUND OF PATWAGON DOOR OPENING)
GUZMANN: 'Who the hell are you?'
(SOUNDS OF A STRUGGLE)
(GUZMANN SHRIEKS)
(SQUELCHING NOISE)
(POPPING SOUNDS)
(HISSING)
(FLATULENCE)
(MUFFLED SOBBING)
MUGLINS: 'We are The Aristocrats!
Has this comp died? :(
Maybe like the Art Comp its gone the way of all flesh.
Awfully sorry chaps.
I know this is just a daft wee comp but it can still be stressful for us strange headed types and I just kept away for December to allow other things to take precedence.
let's crack on and get writing again.