I know that it took a while to get this crazy thing out, but here's a second story...enjoy!
The time is 5:30. The day is the 23rd of June. The year is...way in the future...or the past. It really doesn't matter. What does matter is that there's a few very important, very sophisticated men that have supple means to destroy the planet, and more importantly, they will kill DrBob in the process *gasp*. Needless to say, these men need to be stopped using any means possible. And thus...the story begins.
"Hey Jimmy," boomed a dark voice in the corner of the large room, "could you pass me the last piece of that pie you got there?"
Jimmy, looming at a height of 7'3" looked down to see who had spoken. "It looks like Mickey the Mouse has a hole in his little stomach," he said in his unnervingly high, almost screeching, and yet still very authoritative voice, "I guess that I can share."
Suddenly, the door busted open. Several cops rushed in and said, "FREEZE MUTHAFUCKAS OR YOU'RE BREATHING YOUR LAST BREATH!"
For some reason, Mickey and Jimmy found the sight of these cops speaking in unison really funny, so they put down their sandwiches and pretended to comply through loud outbreaks of strangely cacophonous laughter. However, hidden behind their backs, where they put their hands, were fully automatic assault rifles. Within a matter of seconds, the cops were lying dead on the floor, and Mic and Jim were preparing for a barbeque. "I always did want to try a pig cooked on a spit," Jim remarked happily.
A few days later, the less than dynamic duo headed over to a baseball game on the other side of town. On the way into the park, Mickey roughly pushed a hot dog vender that refused to sell him a cold beer. "I'm sorry sir," the vender exclaimed, "but we're not allowed to sell to minors."
As Mickey reached for his glock that he had so sneakily hidden in the waistline of his tourist style shorts, the situation was calmly avoided when Jimmy asked if it is ok for him to buy for his little buddy (note: Mickey is only ~3' 2½"). The vendor, being extremely foreign and kind of slow, did not understand anything other than the part that dealt with beer and sold it to Jimmy readily. "Thank you. Come again!" He remarked.
Inside the game, Mic and Jim took seats right next to the players from the other team. This kind of made them mad, so one by one, they began grabbing the players, dousing them with lighter fluid, and setting them back into their seat before they realized what was up. Then there was just a game of chicken with matches left to determine who got fried first. (note: while this may seem rather morbid, it should first be noted that the players on the other team were The SUCK, and were therefore deserving of this mild form of hazing)
Not very surprisingly, the other team won, though it had nothing whatsoever to do with the shortage of players on the team near Mic and Jim...nothing what-so-ever.
Meanwhile, DrBob carried on a really deep and meaningful conversation with a stripper named Esmerelda.
The next morning, almost at dawn, Mickey and Jim began to formulate their plan.
"First, we need to make sure that the disguises will work." Jimmy said.
After stretching and bending for about one half hour, the two were ready to test how they looked. The reaction of the public would be the deciding factor. Upon walking into the street, they knew that the disguises were a complete and total success. Immediately, people began running from all directions. "Bill Clinton," one asked, "did you have sexual relations with this woman (somehow produces Monica Lowinski), Miss Monica Lowinski?"
"Umm...no," Jim replied, though he was rather unsure...had he?
"OH MY GOSH!" gasped a nearby lady. "Is that Mario Mario?"
"No," Mickey said through his Stalin costume, "but I can see how you might make that mistake."
The two slapped hands, happy that their first task was complete, and went home.
On the way back, Jimmy decided to activate phase two. "Beep!" went the red button as the message was sent via wireless satellite to Washington DC.
In the capital, the message caused quite a stir.
"Test, test...is this mike working? I guess so." *clears throat* "Hi, my name is..." (off camera, "you're not supposed to say that!") *clears throat again, this time with more emphasis* "damn mikes...oh well, we'll try this again. Hello. I am the sinister mastermind of a plan that is going to take over the world...unless of course, you give me all the money you have." (off camera, "You idiot! We don't want money. We're supposed to be demented, not rational.") "Whoops! Did I say that I wanted all your money? That was just a joke to see if you're paying attention. Hehe. I guess that you are." *face turns slightly red* "Anyways, we have these nukes and stuff that will blow up the world in a little bit, cause like...you all suck!" -end of transmission.
"Hehe, that ought to cause a bit of a ruckus, don't you think, Mickey?" Jimmy said. "I bet they're all pissing their pants right now!"
And pissing their pants they were. As the president sat in disbelief, the rest of the free world began to ask questions like, "WTF???", "What are we going to do?", and "Why does Bill Clinton want to blow us up?" Sadly, no one really cared about the little Stalin that filmed the whole proceedings, even though he had turned the camera around while Jimmy had been speaking in order to create a cameo for himself.
Though no deadline had been given yet, the Star, the Sun, and the National Enquirer ranted endlessly about the end of the world and the ways of the wicked...and just for kicks, they brought Monica back for an encore. Other than that though, the next day or so went by relatively uneventfully. However, since the terror warning was high, Jim and Mic decided not to fly on any airplanes.
On Saturday, the second warning came. This time it was slightly more sinister.
"Behold. I am the one that is the end of all. I hold in my hand the power to end not only this miserable planet, but the rest of the galaxy as well. It is advisable for you to make sure that I do not get angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry! (note: sorry for the blatant stealing from the Hulk, but it's a cool line!) Here are my demands. It would be wise of you to note them well.
Around the president's table, the board is grim but hopeful. One brave soul finally speaks. "Mr. President, I believe that the predicament is like this. The first three demands are a piece of cake to follow, but the last one, sir, that's a humdinger." Nods of agreement go all around the table. "I mean, who in their right mind would believe that it's really possible to make a slinky that can reliably make it down the stairs? These men are obviously crazy!"
"Duh..." the president replied.
"What I'm trying to say here," the man continued, "is that there is no way that we can meet these demands, so we must therefore think of another way out of this dilemma." More nods of agreement. "I believe that our only choice is to bring in...secret agent...DrBob!"
Once again, the president showed his overwhelming agreement, "Duh..."
At the lazy estate of playboy DrBob, the good doctor was sitting in his gigantic whirlpool blowing bubbles with his good lady-friend Bigtits and her lady-friend Hotan'ready. They were all rather enjoying the cool breeze and warm sea air when the phone rang. "See you in a little, Tits!" DrBob said, as he had recently come into the habit of saying. "I have a phone call to answer on the perfectly normal (code for secret) telephone."
"Goodbye my love!" Ready and Tits said in unison.
DrBob knew that something needed to be done. In fact, he knew that something needed to be done fast. But DrBob was not one to rush things. So he took his time. After the 17th ring, he answered the phone. Yawning, he spoke into the receiver. "What is it this time George?" he asked.
"Duh..." came the voice on the other end of the line.
"Ok," DrBob replied, "I'll be right on it."
Within seconds, DrBob had scoped out the hideout of the fiendish twosome. "Hey you jerks!" he called out.
"Yes?" responded Jimmy in his ever-disturbing shrill voice.
"You can't just go and blow up the world because no one meets your unreasonable demands. I mean, come on...what were you thinking when you asked for that slinky???"
This question hit the two like a ton of bricks. What had they been thinking? In hindsight, they really didn't have the slightest clue. But it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
"Umm, I guess that we weren't really thinking." Mickey spoke up. "We were just all caught up in the motion of the whole thing."
"Oh." said DrBob.
"We're sorry." said Mickey and Jimmy.
Several moments of awkward silence followed. During this time, many great thoughts were made. Existence and the barriers of mankind no longer seemed like problems. A peaceful solution to all economic and global situations was close at hand. Never had any silence been so utterly useful.
And then Jimmy spoke up, "So...does this mean that we can't blow up the world?"
All thoughts ceased in that one second. Everyone was once again brought back to Earth and everything was once again very real. No more solutions, just a couple people.
"Yes." DrBob replied. "I'm sorry...for your sake, really I am."
And it was there again. That blissful happiness. That feeling that all was right.
That night, DrBob moved the party to Mic and Jim's house. There was lots of beer and women and all foul thoughts were forgiven and forgotten. And they all lived happily ever after.
The end.
Note: it is the opinion of the author that, despite the huge and unexplained plot gaps, the use of characters that might in fact seem as though they are similar to real people, and the random violence directed towards the police, this should be overlooked in the interest of considering the relative enjoyment caused by writing this story. Therefore, before anyone tells me that this is a sad use of my time, I would argue that it is in fact a very sensible use of an otherwise wasted hour or two of my day. Further, I apologize to all who may be offended by any and all parts of this story, but keep in mind that this story, while particularly harsh on some people/groups in particular, was really intended only for the pure and violent joy of the readers, those one or two people other than myself that waste their time looking at this site. On a final note, if you were in fact one that found this whole thing utterly offensive with no redeeming value whatsoever, I'm sorry. But I would just like to point out that however justified a lawsuit would be against this work, I have no money, so you would gain just that. Nothing. Thank you for your time and have a nice day!