>>And he could not resist,
CROW: We are Cyclone of Borg. Resistance is Futile. You will picked up and spun around until you get really dizzy.
MIKE: Really really dizzy.
>>as he
>>could find no way to move his muscles....
CROW: His heart stopped, his diaphragm froze. With no way for his lungs to inflate or his blood pump, Perkins was soon nothing more then a lifeless corpse drifting towards the hurricane/tornado, his spirit already flying up towards the bright light, pausing only to stumble over a conveniently placed particle of dust.
MIKE: Crow, we are going to be having a very long talk after this is over.
CROW: It's the story, Mike! The horrible, horrible story. Why wont it end, Mike? Why wont it end?
>>His whole life suddenly
TOM: And without warning.
>>began to replay itself before him.
TOM: Ah, summer reruns have started already?
CROW: They have fewer and fewer original episodes every seasons. Such a pain.
MIKE: I remember when you could get 50 years out of a man before they started to repeat on you.
>>He saw
>>himself as a small child,
CROW: Is anyone else getting the mental image of that small nerdish kid with glasses that always got himself stuffed head-first into a trashcan?
MIKE: I was going more for the chubby kid with the sticky fingers that always seemed to trip over the doorstep on his way into the classroom.
>>he saw the small but comfortable house he
>>had lived in during his younger years,
TOM: Shaped like a large square, one chimney, one door, two windows on either side, a dirt path leading up to it, a triangle shaped house, three large flowers growing on one side, a large tree with a perfectly straight trunk and trimmed into a circular shape...
CROW: You know, when most kids draw that sort of thing, it's just because they're simplifying their world.
>>he saw the classrooms of MIT,
MIKE: The bathrooms of Stanford, the dorms of CalTech, and the hemp fields of Berkley.
>>where he had first learned how to program computers.
TOM: Which was where? His bedroom, at a school, at a job? Not that I care, mind you, it's just that you've put so much effort into describing the rest of the places he's ever been that it seems rather odd here.
MIKE: Actually, I think that's just the author playing around with his commas again.
TOM: ... Oh.
>>Then a quick
>>jump to the Naval Academy to please his father, where he got the
>>fool idea to become a Navy Seal, and somehow managed to achieve the goal.
MIKE: How, we do not know.
TOM: To this day, the commanders at the Pentagon refer to that day with hushed tones.
CROW: The Coming of Butterfingers they call it.
MIKE: When not referring to it as The Curse of Two Left Footed Walking Disaster.
TOM: I'm trying to imagine this guy as Steven Segual and it's just not working.
MIKE: Give it up, Servo, before you burn out a sub-processor.
>>He saw his friends, and watched as he, still a cadet, had to endure
>>the taunts and abuse from the upperclassmen.
CROW: Big surprise there.
MIKE: I think someone here has issues. And not with having to become navy S.E.A.L. either.
TOM: So where his friends the abusive upperclassmen, or is the author just being obtuse again?
MIKE: I'd go with obtuse. I mean, we still haven't cleared up that "How fast is the tornado really going" question.
TOM: I'd have to say T-3 or T-4.
CROW: Or just T-errible. Either way.
>>And there was his mother lying at her deathbed, never the same after
>>his father died in a freak accident.
CROW: What freak accident? We'll never know. When did she die? We'll never know. Was Perkin's standing over the bed in sorrow, or because he was searching the medicine jar for the hidden inheritance, we'll never know. Was his father killed off by Perkins tripping over an electrical cord and pushing dad out a window? We'll never know.
>>He stood over her now, hoping
>>to say the words that eluded him when he saw her before...before
>>what?
MIKE: I'd like to the second the question.
TOM: Alright, it's official: I am 100% utterly, completely, confused. I have no idea what's going on, when it's going on, how it's going on, or why it's going on. What started off with some guy trying to track down his once chance of getting a date has become a twisted combination of dream-sequence/flash-back/bad drug-trip, and I am this close to placing my head under a hydraulic press and just ending it all.
>>There he was again,
CROW: Good god, they're multiplying!
>>fighting that strange battle in the Gulf War.
MIKE: This has to be the most aquerd and painful way I have ever seen of inserting backstory.
TOM: It's as smooth and subtle as trying to force a rhinosaures into a clown-car my means of heavy explosives. Having him explain his life-history to his pet mouse would've been easier to bare then this.
>>It
>>was a silly mission, really,
CROW: <Monty Python> On second thought, let's not infiltrate the base, it tis a silly place.
>>just to dig up some intelligence
>>information from a low-grade official.
MIKE: Cardboard cut-out character seeks same for deep personal relationship involving aliens and orange, tornado-inducing mists. A hatred for dopey named protagonists a plus. Please apply to generically named compound in undetailed location.
>>Only he and his crew never quite reached their destination.
CROW: They ran into some guy who'd claimed to have been wandering the place for 10 years, and still hadn't found the off-ramp. They'd settled down for a long conversation over the map and things had been going pretty well until Perkins made a rabbi joke and the man started setting bushes on fire.
>>They
>>were but yards away from a huge compound, when suddenly
TOM: And without warning.
>>explosives
>>burst all around them.
MIKE: I am struck with the mental image of water-balloons filled with kerosene being tossed around here.
TOM: Burst, Detonated, exploded, ignited... It's all good.
>>His comrades fell to the ground,
TOM: Whoa! Perkins is Russian? When did this happen?
CROW: <Heavy Eastern Block movie accent> Few knew about the secret USSR involvement with the Gulf War. Fewer still survived with the tale.
MIKE: Uh, Crow, the USSR collapsed several years before the Gulf War even took place.
CROW: Oh sure, that's what they'd want you to think.
>>one upon
>>another,
CROW: Oh guys, get a room already! We do not need to see that here.
>>and that awful gas filled his lungs, and he felt he was
>>about to suffocate.
MIKE: Been there.
TOM: Done that.
CROW: Seen it.
MIKE: Taped it.
TOM: Loathed it.
CROW: Moved on.
>>And then he fell to the ground.
>>The hospital stay wasn't pleasant.
TOM: And just because we thought that there wasn't enough jarring scene changes, we bring you this.
>>The dreams began during his
>>convalescence.
CROW: I see someone had their vocab test at school today.
MIKE: I don't know. I would be heavily suspicious of any dreams that started while I was under the influence of heavy medication, but that's just me.
>>At first, just faint images, of space and then the
>>ships came, huge, oppressive, great behemoths of shiny metal,
>>spreading fire and destruction in all directions from huge
>>multicolored beams of light.
CROW: Men Who Love Commas and the Readers Who Loath Them! Today on the Jerry Springier Show!
TOM: Must... phars... sentence...
MIKE: Easy there, Servo. Don't overload yourself.
>>And above all, he saw her face.
TOM: I thought her face was below him as he was falling into the tornado thingy.
MIKE: No, that was the other time he saw her face, this is an earlier face that's being shown latter and while the first face is taking place. Um... I think.
TOM: Thank you, Mike, I am not more confused then ever. In the future, please keep your explanations to yourself, I think all of our minds will be thankful for it..
>>The most wonderful creature he'd
>>even seen, so close he could almost reach out to her.
MIKE: I think we're starting to tread dangerously close to stalker behavior here people. This kind of obsession just can not be healthy for any relationship. Especially one involving people on the other side of the galaxy.
CROW: Just wait until he breaks into SETI headquarters and starts breathing heavily into the microphones.
>>It was as if
>>he'd always known her, forever apart, yet so close he could see her
>>in her private moments of agony.
CROW: Every step you take/Every move you maaaake. Every vow you break/Every single day/I'll be watching you.
MIKE: Ah, the official anthem of obsessed lovers everywhere.
>>He could even see her counselor visit her in her private chambers
>>one fateful evening:
<sounds of a shrill screech and rumbling crash>
CROW: Well there's a paradigm shift in progress if I've ever seen one.
TOM: Since when in the hell has be been able to see where the bosomed wonder is? When has he been able to see other people? When was he seeing anything other then Star Wars CGI and the face of Rockoid Batchloret Number One? When!?!
MIKE: Breath, Servo, breath. Focus on the spelling. Notice how crisp and clear the spelling is? Breath in, breath out. Stay with us, buddy.
>>"Zanther, my princess, I bring you sad
>>tidings."
CROW: <snort>
MIKE: Oh dear god.
CROW: <snicker>
TOM: Zanther? Princess? If people start using words with more then one apostrophe and talk about how it will take nine decmars before repairs could be made, I am going to get very sarcastic with you!
CROW: <bursts out laughing and falls off his chair again>
>>"I know, my lord Yexin,
MIKE: Behold! It is the land of the funny-name people!
TOM: Ah, our noble hero should fit in just fine then.
CROW: <Crow recovers and gets back onto his seat> Oh I needed that.
>>it is my parents. I felt their death, I felt
>>all their deaths...."
MIKE: <Obi Wan> It was as if a thousand souls cried out in agony, and then where silenced forever.
CROW: No, that's just the test audience for Return of the Attack of the Rockoids.
TOM: Don't even joke about that.
>>And he felt her anguish, oppressive beyond his ability to
>>comprehend,
MIKE: Her anguish had already started wearing steal-toed books and goose-stepping. It was when it closed down all the dancehalls and banned jazz that he knew something had to be done.
CROW: Hey, everybody! We can throw off the Nazi occupation, all the oppression, all the genocide, if we just dance!
TOM: Does this mean that if we do the Macaraina in front of Pat Bucanin he'll flee back to the neitherwords forever?
MIKE: Yes, but then most anyone would.
>>and he too was sometimes overcome with grief, a grief
>>felt for alien beings who shared nothing in common but their tragic,
>>senseless deaths.
TOM: And understandable language, and physical features, and a sense of family, and a knowledge of death, and a monarchy style of government, and social structure, and for that fact that they too will be forced to deal with the Wonder Klutz.
>>Then it seemed as if he had regained control of his muscles,
TOM: But in reality, he didn't. It was all just a sick and twisted game being played on him by the author.
CROW: Just like this st-
MIKE: Enough, Crow.
>>that he
>>might move again, maybe find a way out of that horrendous, spinning
>>inferno,
TOM: Which had been completely unnoticed because of the Heavy Handed Life History DataDump of Death.
MIKE: I'd hardly call it a datadump. All we got was that he lived in a house, he went to MIT, he joined the marines, he got picked on, and the alien species is even more generic then we'd first thought.
TOM: Datatrickle of Death then.
>>but then everything went black again.
TOM: <heavy sigh> Again.
CROW: This story is like a tape on an eternal loop. Hero does pratfall. Everything goes dark. Rambling, pointless dream sequence takes place. Hero wakes up. Everything goes light. Repeat as necessary.
>>And there was total silence.
TOM: Does this need it's own sentence? No. Does this need it's own paragraph? No. Does this need to start with an 'and'? No. Does the author need to show his work to his 9th grade English teacher? Yes!
>>So this was death at last.
MIKE: Well, actually this is death at first. Death at last involves cute tomboyish chicks with moody older brothers, Death in the middle involves a large skeleton who likes cats and TALKS LIKE THIS, while death on the side comes free with french-fries and a complimentary coffee mug with a bone and skull motif.
>>It was all so comforting, so pleasant to
>>be free at last.
CROW: I wish I could share your sentiments dude, but we still have a ways to go at this end.
MIKE: Buckle down, we're almost at the end.
CROW: That's what Hover said in 1930.
>>He wondered why he had feared it so, all these
>>years.
CROW: Well, These Years can be dangerous beasts. I once saw a 1994 take a man's arm off while on safari in Africa. They're deadly temporal units and don't you forget it.
MIKE: Not nearly as dangerous as a That Month though. Februarys especially have the nasty habit of attack when you least suspect it. There you are, enjoying your life and yourself, and suddenly wham! You've got Valentine candy smeared all over your new coat.
TOM: I do not know you guys, I do not know you guys, I do not know you guys.
>>It was all so natural for the pain to have left him.
CROW: He'd return home one day to find all of his agony missing, his pangs ripped out of the wall, and the headaches missing from the garage. He was broken up about it for weeks before he took up with a cute little comfort he met at the coffee shop.
>>The voices were faint at first, hardly more than whispers, one here,
>>another there.
MIKE: <whispered> Kill your parents, kill your friends, worship Satan.
CROW: <whispered> Vote for Forbes, don't make your bed, pull the tags off of cushions.
TOM: <whispered> Take the last of the coffee and don't make any more, leave the light on when you're not in the room, stick your tongue out at people when their back is turned.
ALL: <whispered> Do it, do it, do it...
>>And then the volume of sounds intensified, and he
>>heard faint notes of some indescribable melody,
CROW: Sort of Marria Carry crossed with KISS with a dash of Billy Cole and Jewl added in for good measure. But with a snappier beat.
>>barely audible in
>>the distance.
TOM: So the whispers of music intensified to be indescribable in the distance.
MIKE: Something like that.
>>The people were talking, laughing, happy giggles infusing his ears.
CROW: Or jeers, mocking laughter, and derisive snickers. Take your pick.
TOM: How do you infuse something into your ears?
MIKE: Pore in molten sound and wait for it to set? Heavy duty blender action?
>>But he could see nothing; it was all black.
TOM: As had been stated before. Many times. Many many many times. Way too many times. We got the point, story, please move on. We beg of you. Please.
MIKE: When you start to talk like Shatner, you know the story's gotten to you.
>>Had he gone blind?
CROW: Spent too many nights up, ah, "thinking" of his lady love I see.
MIKE: Crow, you're on thin enough ice as it is. Don't push your luck.
>>The distinctive voice of a young child yelled out, "Mommy, who's
>>that strange man?"
MIKE: Alright everyone, one last time. Quickfire!
CROW: It's the amazing Flashlight Lost'n'Found Man!
TOM: The wondrous Forever Haunted by Giant Killer Snakes Man!
MIKE: The fantastic Trips Over Scattered Atoms Man!
CROW: The superb Can't Keep His Balance on Unmoving Ground Man!
TOM: The awesome Continuous Pratfall Man!
MIKE: The astounding Stalks Alien Chicks Across All Known Creation Man!
>>"Why, that's just a staggerhead.
TOM: Ooo. She's good.
CROW: I like that one best.
MIKE: Agreed.
>>Ignore him."
ALL: We will.
>>Then the light returned to Perkins's eyes.
TOM: <Light> Well, hello again. Had a wonderful time on my vacation in Tahiti, met some marvelous people and I just can't wait for my photos to be developed so I can show you all and *Oh my God, what did you do to the server!?!*
>>You've just finished Chapter 5 of Attack of the Rockoids.
CROW: Please stand by as we prepare the scorpion pits and special mime performance team.
>>Did you like what you just read?
MIKE: If you have to ask us that now, you need some serious help my friend.
>>Tell us. We'd love
>>to have your comments.
TOM: Somehow, I very much doubt that would be the case.
CROW: But you'll get them anyway. Don't you worry.
MIKE: Be good now, Crow.
>>If you'd like to read the entire book,
>>please let us know.
MIKE: No.
CROW: Never.
TOM: I'd jam red-hot pokers into both of my eye-sockets instead. Uh... if I had eye-sockets that is.
>>Click here to send your request.
<aimless whistling, innocent humming>
>>Or place your order NOW to get the special
>>eMatter edition direct from fatbrain.com.
TOM: eMatter? eForce. eAntimatter. eGravity.
MIKE: eXacly.
CROW: Can we leave now?
MIKE: Yes.
CROW: WOHO!! <races off-screen to the left>
<Mike picks up Servo and follows>
<1...2...3...4...5...Dogbone>
And thus we reach the end. I have toyed with the idea of buying the entirety of Rockoids and MSTing the entire novel, but I have decided that I cherish my sanity too much to ever subject it to such tortures. This was more then enough for one poor lone soul.
In any case, if you liked this, please let me know at nightrunner08@hotmail.com. Even if you didn't like it, were massively offended by it (Hi Gene!) or have lots of things that need to be improved in spelling, grammar, jokes, continuity, or whichever, please let me know. I would like some feedback on this attempt. :)
We now return you to your regularly scheduled web-surfing.
(Except for you. Yeah, you. Don't you have something you should be writing? Get to work!)