THE ULTIMATE ANTI-HERO
Battles between various TV commercial & infomercial spokespeople, spokesanimals, spokethings, and the products themselves.
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ROUND SEVENTY FIVE: THAT STUPID SODDING PROGRESSIVE ROLLER SKATING DISCO PRICK vs. THAT FUCKING QUEER HAMBURGER HELPER HAND
This unholy battle shall take place on the set of the Progressive insurance commercial. The set is equipped with the kind of things you might expect: boom microphones on long poles, large video cameras on wheeled dollies, portable carpeted walls on casters, thousands of watts of hot light bulbs, a utility closet with numerous cans of white paint, and assorted & sundry stage props appropriate for a Progressive Insurance ad.
The employee's can is outfitted with a Kohler K-4917-0 14-3/4" vitreous wall-mounted porcelain uranator with a Sloan spud valve, a black Kohler Rialto one-piece toliet, a Cormatic brand toliet paper dispenser with a very small amount of Scott brand toliet paper in it (the dispenser has the phrase, "DO NOT EXCEED 3,250RPM!!!" neatly scratched onto it with the blade of a knife), a soured mop in a dirty plastic pale, and a severely dented metal swing-top wastepaperbasket.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
Flo is on vacation, so her stand-in for this battle is that stupid sodding roller skating disco prick with the monsterous ghetto blaster on his shoulder. Since he's on home soil, he attacks first!
Since this isn't a residential kitchen or a shopping mall, that fucking faggoty alcoholic Hamburger Helper hand doesn't have a motherfucking clue as to what's going on here, so that asinine roller skating disco prick takes first blood. He takes his big-ass ghetto blaster, ejects the cassette from it, hucks it toward the back of the Progressive set and inserts another. The song, "Reign in Blood" by the thrash metal group Slayer begins to issue from the ghetto blaster's 8" speakers, and the roller skating disco prick proceeds to circle around the Hand like a shark circling a bleeding swimmer. He cranks the volume to 11, and is rather surprised that the Hand appears unaffected. OF COURSE THE HAND IS UNAFFECTED YOU STUPID PRICK!!! IT'S A HAND FOR SATAN SAKES AND HANDS DO NOT HAVE EARS!!!
The Hand attacks next...he goes up behind that roller skating disco prick, removes the battery door from his ghetto blaster, and allows the ten D cells in its battery compartment to clatter rather noisily to the floor and roll around the stage set. Although this does indeed neutralise the threat, hands don't have ears so the loud ghetto blaster was never really a threat at all.
That stupid sodding roller skating disco prick (now sans ghetto blaster) goes on the offensive once again. He finds a queerly-placed butcher knife, grabs it, and runs toward the Hand fully intent on ripping its bunghole off...er...uh...I mean STABBING IT IN ITS NOSE so big & red that it looks like the Hand has a $500-a-day coke habit and also has a drinking problem. The Hand skitters into the employee's can and hides behind the shitbowl. That stupid sodding roller skating disco prick follows that fucking faggoty alcoholic Hamburger Helper hand into the bathroom, looks around, and soon sees it cowering behind the water closet. He repeatedly stabs the Hand over and over with the knife (looking like something out of the movie, "Psycho") until it becomes worm food.
THE WINNER ROUND SEVENTY FIVE: THAT STUPID SODDING PROGRESSIVE ROLLER SKATING DISCO PRICK!!!
ROUND SEVENTY SIX: THE HAMMS BEAR vs. THAT FUCKING FAGGOTY HAMBURGER HELPER HAND
This battle shall take place in the woods outside a suburban home, then rather quickly move into the kitchen of that home. The kitchen is equipped with a fridge, a four-burner electric stove with oven, a microwave, a double-bowl sink equipped with an In-Sink-Erator food waste disposer located in the right-hand bowl, and numerous small kitchen electrics and TV infomercial products. There are 28 cans of Hamms beer in the refrigerator. There is a moderate infestation of cockroaches and piss ants in the kitchen, and a light infestation of silverfish, carpenter ants, Monarch butterfly caterpillars (larvae), and rats in the rest of the house.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
That fucking faggoty (hey, I'm a faggot, and I don't at all mind using the word!!!) alcoholic Hamburger Helper hand doesn't have a gosh darn-diddly-arn clue as to what's going on in the woods because the stupid sodding little shit is lost out hrere, so the Hamms bear gets off to a rip-roaring start.
The Hamms bear drops a stool in its paw and launches it toward the Hand. The pile of ursine feces misses; the only thing of any significance that happens is that a swarm of flies descend upon the bear shit and start laying eggs in it which will soon hatch into maggots.
The Hand still doesn't know what's going on, so it skitters toward the open kitchen window of that house. It climbs up the downspout in the southeast corner, and shimmies into the window to its left. The Hamms bear follows, and enters the home via the unlocked front door. It soon finds itself in the kitchen and sees that fucking faggoty alcoholic Hamburger Helper hand. First thing the bear does is open the fridge and grab a few cans of Hamms beer. It shakes the living tweedle out of one, directs (aims) the top of the can at the Hand, and pulls the can's tab. A powerful stream of foam shoots across the kitchen and scores a direct hit on the Hand, hitting it squarely in its big red nose!!! The Hand, being a fucking alkie, sticks its toungue out and licks all of the alcoholic foam off its front.
So much for that tactic.
The Hand finally goes on the offensive here. What it does is scamper under the sink and grabs the first thing it sees, which is a can of Comet cleanser. It skitters up the vertical row of drawers, opens the knife drawer, and fishes out a serrated steak knife. It then jumps back to the floor, scampers to the Comet cleanser, and proceeds to saw the top of the can off with it. The Hand then waits for the Hamms bear...it doesn't have to wait long, as the bear soon comes within range. With all of its strength, the Hand directs the open can of Comet toward the bear, and lets 'er rip!!! DAMN IT MISSED!!! Must be all of the damn booze that loused up its aim!!! The Comet emerged from the can in this big poufy greenish-white cloud, and lands harmlessly on the floor in front of the bear and just to its left.
The Hamms bear hates the smell of chlorine, and Comet cleanser really reeks of chlorine, so he gets really fucking pissed. He starts to growl and roar, and before that fucking faggoty alcoholic Hamburger Helper hand can react, the Hamms bear first takes a moment to pee on the Hand, then smashes it with his huge paws!!! The Hand is quickly flattened; parts like intestines, liver, lungs, etc. splatter all over the place, the Hand passes micturition (piss) and defecation (shit) as it dies and is soon thereafter converted into worm food!!!
THE WINNER ROUND SEVENTY SIX: THE HAMMS BEAR!!!
ROUND SEVENTY SEVEN: ONE OF THOSE GODDAMN QUEER KIA "RAPPING RATS" vs. THAT GODDAMN QUEER TACO BELL DOG
This battle shall take place in the kitchen (and later, the parking lot) of a Taco Bell restaraunt. The available weapons and defenses are: three open (lidless) deep fat fryers, a carving station outfitted with various sizes of unserrated knives, a number of ovens for heating taco shells, making burritos, etc., two large gas-fired griddles for making taco meat, a motorised marinal chamber, and six rather heavy cash registers. The restrooms are equipped with Kohler K-4917-0 14-3/4" Vitreous wall-mounted porcelain uranators with Sloan spud valves (in the men's room only), white Kohler Cimarron toliets, a ROLLSAVR brand toliet paper dispenser with the phrase "DO NOT EXCEED 3,250RPM!" scratched into it with what appears to have been the tip of a pocketknife (in the women's room), a soured mop in a dirty plastic pale (in the men's room), a filthy roller towel (in the women's room), and a freestanding tampon vending machine (also in the women's room). In the parking lot among several other vehicles, is a 2014 Kia Soul with a custom candy-apple green paint job (the car next to it, a 1970 Ford Maverick missing its right rear quarterpanel, has a dull baby poop brown paint finish).
Since that goddamn faggoty-ass talking Taco Bell dog is on its home turf, it bursts out of the gates first. It shouts at the damn rat, "YO QUERO TACO BELL!" {"Taco Bell is gay?"} in a fake phoney-bologna Mexican accent, hoping to neutralise that damn rat. But even though the Kia Rapping Rat has ears, it is not aversely affected -- not visibly anyway.
The Kia Rapping Rat returns with its own aural assault: it fires back at that pussywhipped piece of shit mangy mutt with that godforsaken rap music: a heavy drum track (somewhat reminescent of the Arrid Extra Dry aerosol armpit deodouriser commercials from several decades ago) somehow magically issues from the Kia's stereo speakers, while the Kia Rapping Rat raps, "You can go with this, or you can go with that. You can go with this, or you can go with that. You can go with this, or you can go with that!" Again, even though that goddamn queer Taco Bell chihuahua has ears (and rather sensitive ones at that!), it appears to be largely unaffected by the aural barrage!
That goddamn faggoty-ass talking Taco Bell dog goes to the drive-through window, opens the till, and grabs several rolls of quarters. It takes aim that that satandamned Kia Rapping Rat, and lets 'er rip. The rolls of quarters whiz through the air...the first two miss and explode harmlessly against the door of the manager's office, but the third gets the Kia Rapping Rat in the head!!! The sodding creature is nocked into the manager's door! This causes the manager to emerge from his little room to see what all the damned commotion is about. He sees the Kia Rapping Rat, mistakes it for an unfinished Smothered Burrito, picks the little limp-ass fucker up, carries it across the kitchen and drops it into the marinal chamber along with three cups of boiling water and two packets of marination. He then affixes the lid and starts the motorised, rat-destroying satanic robot death machine!
The Kia Rapping Rat is fairly quickly converted into worm food -- but not before passing micturition (piss) and defecation (shit) into the marination as it dies!!! The manager sees the open cash register drawer in the drive-through, counts the money and finds the till $30 short, so he cans the employee that was supposed to be manning the drive-through window.
THE WINNER ROUND SEVENTY SEVEN: THAT GODDAMN QUEER TACO BELL DOG!!! (with a bit of assistance from upper management)
ROUND SEVENTY EIGHT: DELL "STONER STEVE" vs. THAT FUCKING FAGGOTY ALCOHOLIC HAMBURGER HELPER HAND
This fight shall take place in an electrical substation. This station takes 500KVAC (500,000 volts AC) power from transmission lines and downconverts it to 69KV and 3.8KV, which are standard distribution voltages in the United States. The substation is full of huge transformers, an office room equipped with reams of white copy paper, a Princess wall telephone, a desk, an old Kaypro II computer, plus assorted and sundry things that you might expect to see in a musty old office (such as a red Swingline stapler, a couple of plastic cups stuffed full of disposable pens, a few boxes of envelopes, etc.), an outdoor switching yard, a mile of high chain link fencing (liberally peppered with, "DANGER! HIGH VOLTAGE!" signs), large barrels and crates full of insulators, and a few pieces of heavy machinery.
The employee's can is closed and padlocked because a large insulator fell on and subsequently caused the toliet to become broken. In its stead, there are two Port-O-Liets equipped with rolls of generic bungwipe and plastic wall uranators that do not flush (the uranator in one has been clogged with buttwipe and there's approx. 7" of standing pee in it).
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
Neither one of our embattled contestants has homefield advantage here, so the first one to pop into view takes first blood...and that would be the Dell fag. He chases the Hand into the office, and gets it cornered atop the Princess telephone. While the Dell fag begins to take a swing, the Hand lifts the handset off and clocks Stoner Steve in the noggin with it!!! The Dell fag reels back a bit, very quietly says, "owww", and then sparks up a big fat doobie. While Steve is smoking out, that horrible "ROH*" (Receiver Off Hook) signal sounds rather loudly from the handset, which startles the Dell fag!
He drops his "J", and chases Hand once again. This time, the Dell fag finds him behind that timely old Kaypro computer. Steve then begins banging on the computer's keys, then when a DOS "A:>" prompt appears, shouts out loud, "GODDAMMIT THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN A DELL!!!"
The Hand goes on offense now...it lures Steve into one of those Port-O-Liets (the one with the clogged pisser), and says, "There's a Dell in this grey thing! Cummon, you know you want it!!!" This causes the Dell fag to put his head directly over the pisscan, and then the Hand jumps onto the back of his head and starts repeatedly hopping up & down! This causes Steve's face to land squarely into the large puddle of standing urine! That Dell fag pulls his head out of the uranator, dries off his face with bungwipe, and shouts, "YOU FUCKING PUSSYWHIPPED PIECE OF SHIT HAND!!! I'LL GET YOU, YOU LITTLE FOUR-FINGERED ASSHOLE!!!"
The Dell fag takes a moment to spark up another bowl and think up his next attack...after he's finished with his bowl, he chases the Hand into the large area of the substation with the transformers in it; then outside where the switching yard and the REALLY LARGE transformers are. He tells that fucking faggoty alcoholic Hamburger Helper hand, "Hey Hand! There's some Hamburger Helper up on top of that big ribbed grey thing!"
The Hand almost instinctively climbs up the outside of one of those really large transformers, starts to skitter up one of those tall, ribbed grey things, and then all of a sudden, there's an extremely bright flash, a very loud buzzing noise, and a muffled explosion! A small amount of grey ash gently floats to the ground -- but the Hand is nowhere to be seen! Actually, those grey ashes ***WERE*** the Hand!!!
The Dell fag grabs a pushbroom out of a nearby maintenance locker, and uses it to push the ashes outside the switching yard's boundaries.
THE WINNER ROUND SEVENTY EIGHT: DELL "STONER STEVE"!!!
* This links to an audio (sound) file of the ROH signal.
This is a very loud, somewhat obnoxious sound; don't say I didn't warn ya. :-)
ROUND SEVENTY NINE: DELL "STONER STEVE" vs. THE ALPOŽ DOG
This battle shall once again take place in the kitchen of a pet-owning household. The kitchen is equipped with a double-bowl sink & garbage disposal, refrigerator, microwave, douchewasher, range, and numerous small TV infomercial appliances. Under the sink, there are 47 cans of AlpoŽ brand dog food and two bags of PurinaŽ Cat Chow for the family cat -- which is probably peeing in its owner's underwear drawer...AGAIN!!!...(the owner wonders why his skivvies always smell like cat urine, but has yet to put 2 and 2 together). In the home office, a timey old Commodore 128D computer with a 1702 monitor and a 1581 (3˝ floppy disk) disk drive are present on the desk. The kitchen has a moderate infestation of giant water bugs, piss ants, cockroaches, and rats; and the home in general a light infestation of Goliath Beetle grubs (larvae), carpet beetles, termites, mice, crickets, grasshoppers (I think that they're attracted to the potted pampas grass, haha!), and silverfish (silverfish love to eat dead socks and musty old books).
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
The AlpoŽ dog gets to a rip-roaring start here because he's already in the kitchen getting several cans of AlpoŽ dog food out of the cabinet below the sink since the asshaberdasher who owns him is passed out stinking drunk in the bathtub and forgot to feed him last night. He opens the cans, dumps them into its food bowl, dutifully douches out the cans, and carries them over to the recycling bag (the AlpoŽ dog is environmentally conscious ya know). Finally it starts wolfing down the dog food until the bowl is empty. Guess it was more hungry than vengeful, hahaha!!!
"Stoner Steve" (the Dell fag) enters the kitchen, sees that there is a small lump of dog food on the floor near the AlpoŽ dog's bowl, and proceeds to yell, "BAD DOG!!! SHAME ON YOU!!!" while swinging at the dog's head. The AlpoŽ dog dodges Steve's open hand, growls and snarls a bit, and retreats to the area below the sink.
The AlpoŽ dog stays put only briefly; he then charges at the Dell fag, snarling loudly and baring its teeth (it really didn't like being swung at!). Steve backs away in terror of the dirty underwear...O WAIT!!! WRONG BATTLE!!! Steve runs to the home office and slams the door behind him. He immediately sparks up a big fat doobie! After he smokes it, he spies that vintage Commodore 128D computer on the desk and immediately sees that it is running Geos, not Windows! He wastes no time in shouting very loudly, "GODDAMMIT COCKSUCKER SON OF A BITCH ASSHOLE WHAT A FUCKING PUSSYWHIPPED PIECE OF SHIT!!! THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN A MOTHERFUCKING DELL!!!
"
The Dell fag got the munchies from smoking out, and makes the grave error of opening up the office door...and there stands the AlpoŽ dog, madder than a piss ant, and holding up a seriously menstruated pair of woman's panties...O WAIT!!! WRONG DAMN BATTLE AGAIN!!! What I meant to say was that the AlpoŽ dog is still at the door, he lunges at the Dell fag, and within a few seconds, rips his head off!!!
Bright red blood spurts everywhere!!!
The (now headless) Dell fag passes micturition (pee-pee) and defecation (poo-poo) as he dies, and quite rapidly becomes worm food!!!
THE WINNER ROUND SEVENTY NINE: THE ALPOŽ DOG!!!
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