Dr. Thunder Episode 3OH!3

What is up, dawwwwwwwwgs?
Today's episode is only a few days late, which makes it on time, by my standards! As such, we will not be needing my usual round of excuses. For the record though, it totally involved the harvesting of testicles from live bears. FOR SCIENCE!

So let's move on to the emails! Our first question comes from Skipper in Warsaw, Thailand. He or possibly she writes:

Dear Dr. Thunder,

Boxers or Briefs?

Well, Stever It's like my Great-Great Uncle Erasmus Thunder says in his classic book Erasmus Thunder's Guide to Justified Persecution : "He that wears garments BENEATH his garments, away from the sight of man and Our Lord God must surely be touched by the hand of SATAN and knowledgable of Dark Magicks and must thusly be shunned and destroyed" So there you have it. Go Commando.

Dear Dr. Thunder,

I woke up this morning and my feet were itching a lot. I looked at them and there appeared to be some sort of weird yellowish growth. Is this some sort of fungus?

No Steven, I'm afraid you have feline leukemia. Your best option is to amputate your feet, set them on fire, and then lock the ashes in a small room, which you must never enter again. Finding new feet can be annoying but I suggest stealing them from a homeless person. The lazy bastards aren't using them anyway. And speaking of annoying, those facebook statuses that are just a long paragraph about a cause ending with a request to repost it have been pissing me off lately, and not just because the suffering of others amuses me (that's why I became a doctor, after all) no, it annoys me because it gives people the idea that they are somehow making a difference by reposting it. "Raising awareness" only works for things that people have never heard of and actually need attention drawn to them. I'm pretty sure everyone has heard of cancer at this point, so asking them to re-post, as opposed to, you know, donating their time and money to actually help research cancer treatment just gives them an easy way to "help"without actually doing anything. But gettign back to your problem, Steverino, you're probably going to die.

Dear Dr. Thunder,

When will you make more videos? I am illiterate and thus cannot take advantage of your wonderful blog version.

Dear Stevie Nicks, Sophisticobra Studios, where Ask Dr. Thunder used to be filmed, was burned to the ground last fall, taking with it, much of our camera equipment and personnel. So unless you feel like buying me a new camera and/or camera operating slave, it's going to be a while before our video making capabilities are at full capacity.

Well, I grow weary of this inane drivel. I'm going to retire to the Orgy-dome now, but you keep sending those emails, and I will keep pretending to read them.

Send your questions to Xtremedoctor@gmail.com

Dr. Thunder Episode 302

Look Alive, Sunshine, It's time for Ask Dr. Thunder!

As Usual we begin with the latest in my ongoing series "Excuses for Why I Never Update"

It was Thursday, the Marconi brothers had just built a time machine in an attempt to prevent their own deaths, caused by a previous time machine, but they needed an expert on traveling the infinite plains of the Time-Space Continuum. That expert was me.

I arrived at the Marconi's compound deep within Mount Kilimanjaro, expecting the expedition into the currents of time to last only three hours, seeing as time travel theoretically can be done without any time passing in the timestream from whence the travelling commences. And then the owls arrived.

A flock of Great Horned Owls, genetically engineered by my Arch-Nemesis Dr. Phineas Laserpimp, attacked the Marconi's time lab, disrupting their equipment and sending us to the time of Napoleon's wars. After slaying the French Emperor we were able to jury rig a reality displacer using seventeen hamsters, a Spanish Galleon, and fourteen tons of peat moss, but the 19th century equipment was not as precise as our modern instruments and we only just recently emerged from the timestream.

Also I hate you and don't care what you think. Let's get started!

Our first email comes from Daniel Kilroy, of Rochester, Qatar. Daniel writes:

Dear Dr. Thunder,

I read somewhere recently that Canadian scientists cured Cancer! but the pharmaceutical companies refused to mass produce it. Why are corporations such dicks?

Well Steven, first of all, if there was a cure for cancer, it certainly wouldnt come from that frozen half-french hellscape to the north. Second of all, corporations are dicks, but pharmaceutical companies are dicks that make drugs, sweet, sweet drugs, which kind of keep us all alive. Hell, I'd be dead right now if it weren't for the potent cocktail of Prozac, Excedrin, Vagisil, Ritalin and Jaegermeister I consume once every three hours. More likely these crafty Canadian devils were just trying to play on people's natural instincts to despise corporations as greedy, faceless monsters in order to get themselves attention and, therefore, sweet-ass government grants.

Next email!

Dear Dr. Thunder

You look an awful lot like my friend Michael Armor. Are you related to him?

Well Steven, I looked up this "Michael Armor" person and frankly I am insulted that you would compare me to that freakishly tall Mexican with long, ape-like arms. I am told he fancies himslef a "writer" but, like most members of the Mexican race, is some sort of theme park janitor. How would he even write with those Orangutan arms? He would need some sort of special keyboard, I think. Next Email!

Dear Dr. Thunder,

When will the meek inherit the earth?

Who told you the meek would inheirt the earth? Sounds like someone trying to make you feel better after someone larger than you stole your woman and farted in your mouth without actually having to do something about it. I sort of get the thinking, that assholes are constantly murderign each other, so eventualyl the only people left will be "the meek" but the thing is, meek people rarely get laid, whereas assholes get all sorts of pussy. I should know! I am literally rolling in vagina! I'm having sex as I write these very words! Sure, it's difficult and whats-her-face isnt too happy about it, but who gives a shit what she thinks? Who am I, the meek? NO! FUCK THE MEEK.

Anyway, my point is that due evolution favoring strong-willed males, there will always be assholes, so the meek will inherit absolutely nothing never.

Well all this talk about the meek inheriting my sweet, sweet earth from me has gotten me all riled up so I am going to write some death threats to Dirk Nowitzki. If you have a question fro Dr.Thunder, send it to Xtremedoctor@gmail .com so me and my staff can laugh at you before inventing our own questions to answer. Til next time, bitches!

Hootenanny and Shenanigans

So I have decided to start updating this blog more regularly. Not because Ithink any of you purely hypothetical readers are interested, mostly to hone my mighty writing talents. Speaking of which, here is my latest story:
(Note: Please excuse the terribly phonetic Irish accents)

It was a foggy night down at the docks, empty but for a lone figure carrying a briefcase, nervously glancing around him. Finally a black SUV pulled up a few feet from him, disgorging a trio of muscular thugs, dressed in the traditional Mafioso muscle uniform of sunglasses, ponytails and cheap suits. The sunglasses probably weren’t such a good idea, what with it being a foggy night, but these men weren’t exactly chosen for their brains. As the thugs secured the area, to the best of their sight-impaired ability, a fourth man emerged from the car, carrying a duffle bag. The man with the briefcase quickly slinked over, continuing to glance around him. He reached out his hand to shake, but was stopped a foot away by one of the half-blind thugs. The man took a step back and feigned fixing his hair, as though that were his intention the whole time.
“Do you have the stuff?” he said after a moment.
“Aye lad. Have ye the money?” The mobster said, his eyes drifting down to the briefcase.
“Oh! Yeah, yeah I got it!” the man said, raising the briefcase and fumbling with the lock. With a click it popped open to reveal rows of crisp, unmarked hundred dollar bills. The mobster snapped the briefcase shut and handed it off to the nearest sunglasses thug. With a light toss, the duffel bag landed at the man’s feet and the mobster turned to leave.
“Happy to be doin’ business wit ye lad.”
As he was helped back into the SUV by another thug, a shrieking whistle pierced the night air. A moment later an explosion tore through a sea container just to the left of the SUV.
“Damn I missed.”
Detective Jack Hootenanny tossed the RPG he had “borrowed” from the evidence locker aside and pulled out a pair of gold-plated Desert Eagles. From his rooftop vantage point he could see two of the thugs pull out their own pieces while the third quickly shoved their boss into the back seat. Hootenanny leapt from the roof of the warehouse he had been observing the deal from onto a nearby sea container and began firing a hail of bullets in the general direction of the mafia heavies.
A lucky shot hit a pile of rope and elicited a scream from the terrified man with the briefcase who had found cover there almost immediately after the explosion. The thugs by now were returning fire, their accuracy understandably quite low. On the other hand, Hootenanny’s accuracy improved as he got closer, leaping from sea container to sea container. One of the thugs fell, clutching a gaping hole in his neck as Hootenanny veered to the left, tucked into a ball and rolled to a stop behind a dumpster, reloading as he hit the ground.
“Forget tha fookin’ Psycho! Get me the fook out a here!” The mobster screamed as both surviving thugs ducked into the SUV. The tires screeched as the car turned around and drove out of the docks. As it reached the exit gate it suddenly exploded into a fireball, smashing into a parked car on the opposite side of the street and catching a dilapidated warehouse aflame. Hootenanny calmly stood up and brushed himself off, noting with a grimace the several minor fractures he had sustained from one of his several leaps off the roof.
“Ah, land mines, like a spike strip with attitude.”
He heard a moan from nearby and bounded over to the man with the briefcase’s hiding place. He lay curled in a fetal position clutching a bleeding bullet wound in his shoulder.
“Oh good! A survivor.” Hootenanny grinned maniacally as he hauled the man to his feet, pistol whipped him back to the ground, and hauled him back to his feet, “The Chief’s always happy when there’s someone left to interrogate.”

The Chief was not happy. Chief Michael Angerman paced back and forth behind his desk, the sweat beading from his brow and dripping off his beet-red forehead on to the perfectly groomed mustache that he wore, as was mandatory in his department. Suspenders pulled tightly at his shoulders, snaking down over his regulation white shirt, struggling to lift his brown slacks. Hootenanny, lounging in the chair across form him, calmly tooled with a toothpick in his mouth, jutting below his own standard issue mustache, and above a neatly trimmed beard. In contrast to the professional look of his superior, the brash young detective wore an aging brown leather jacket, Yankees cap, and cargo shorts, which even now bristled with armaments.
“Damn it Hootenanny!” The Chief shouted, slamming a hand down on a splay of documents on the desk in front of him, “You caused 145 thousand dollars in property damage, killed four suspects, and destroyed most of the evidence. You’re a loose cannon!”
“That reminds me, have we put that anti-tank rifle into the evidence locker yet?”
“You are this close to suspension Hootenanny, you are going to start doing things by the book or I am going to find someone who will.”
Hootenanny’s face suddenly hardened and he turned on the chief, grabbing the overweight man by his sweat-stained white shirt.
“Damn it Chief! You know the only book I play by is my own!”
His shirt still clutched in the detective’s hand, The Chief grabbed Hootenanny’s shirt, locking the two lawmen in a sort of awkward embrace. After a few moments, the two men let go, and silently agreed to never speak of it again.
“Do you know what that suspect you brought in told me you did to him?” The Chief asked, as he sat down at his desk and picked up a testimonial.
“Nothing that scumbag didn’t deserve.”
“He said you raped him, Hootenanny.”
“With the long hard dick of the law!”
“No, with your penis. You had forced, non-consensual sex with a suspect.”
Hootenanny coolly sat down across from The Chief and leaned back.
“Textbook Hootenanny. That will teach him to consort with criminals.”
“Look, I’m going to give you one more chance. And one other thing: A partner.”
Hootenanny leapt to his feet and slammed a fist down on the table.
“Damn it Chief! You know I’m a lone wolf! Ever since the tragic death of my partner four years ago!”
“He retired Hootenanny!”
“He was dead to me.”
“I need someone to reign you in before you bankrupt this department and besmirch our good name.”
“So who’s it gonna be then? Dirty Steve? Crazy Martinez? Some Kind of Death Machine O’Reilly? Don’t tell me you’re shacking up with Devastatingly Handsome Rick. I hate that bastard. That beautiful, beautiful bastard…”
“No, it’s a new guy, just transferred in from Chicago.” The Chief pressed a button on his intercom, “Dolores, send in the new guy.”
Detective John Shenanigans entered the room nervously. He was a portly man, yet tall, with olive skin. Although he wore the standard issue aviators of his profession, his mustache had not fully grown in yet. He reached out to shake Hootenanny’s hand but the other detective sneered and looked away.
“John Shenanigans, seven years experience on the Chicago P.D,” The Chief said as he lifted Shenanigans’ file from his desk to show Hootenanny, “And he’s gonna help you crack this case.”
“I cant believe I gotta work with a terrorist.” Hootenanny said, getting up in Shenanigans’ face “You speak English, Osama bin Lardass? You spying for Al-Qaeda?”
“I’m from Pasadena, you racist fuck!” Shenanigans replied.
“I’m kidding!” Hootenanny smiled and slapped Shenanigans on the back, “MY brother-in-law is from Dubai. Can you imagine if I was like that though? Add a whole different dynamic to our relationship.” Just as suddenly as it appeared the smile disappeared, “But just because I am tolerant of all races and creeds doesn’t mean you don’t have to watch your ass!”

“So what do we need to know about the case we’re working on?” Shenanigans asked as the two detectives strolled through the police station.
“All you need to know is to keep quiet and let me do my job!” Hootenanny replied, reaching his desk and sitting down.
“Or you know, I could just go ask someone else, I mean I’m sure-“
“The Irish Yakuza” Hootenanny interrupted him, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke in here.”
“Founded two decades ago when a Yakuza boss was exiled to Dublin, then came back over to reestablish a prescence, after some cross-breeding with the local boys over on the emerald isle of course, The Irish Yakuza have been a pain in this city’s ass for years. Their latest scam seems to be selling toasters to any poor fool who can meet their price. Last night I busted up a deal and nabbed the buyer, he’s in holding cell # as we speak.”
“Why would they be selling toasters on the black market?”
“That is what we need to find out. Turns out selling toasters isn’t, in fact, illegal, even if you do it in the dead of a foggy night down at the docks, so no matter how much evidence we have we can’t bring these guys down til we get to he bottom of this.”
“So why are we holding the buyer then? It sounds like we don’t have any evidence against him.”
“There’s something you gotta understand, rookie. Guys like us, we’re the law. You, me, Fudge Calhoun, Sex Detective, we uphold the law and it is up to us to determine who has infringed on our precious law. Finding out what, specifically they did is secondary to making sure justice is served.”
“What about due process?”
“Due process? I’ll show you due process,” Hootenanny pulled out one of his gold-plated Desert Eagles and pinted to an inscription on the side.
“That says ‘habeas corpus’.”
“Oh, shit,” Hootenanny returned the pistol to his holster and drew it’s twin, “There. This one’s due process.”
“Well, it just seems like-“
“Look rookie, I don’t know how you do things over in Chicago, but over here we get shit done! Now let’s interrogate us a goddamn suspect!”

In typical interrogation room fashion, a single beam of light shined down on to the suspect, the only light in an otherwise pitch black room. From behind the light source, stepped Shenanigans, the suspect’s terrified visage reflected in the frames of his aviators.
“I didn’t do nothing.” The suspect said as Shenanigans sat in the chair across the small wooden table from him.
“We haven’t accused you of anything Mr…,” Shenanigans looked odwn at the file in his hands, “Morgan. We just need to ask you a couple questions about thye docks last night.”
“The… docks… he isn’t here is he?”
“Who?”
“The cop who fucking raped me! If I see that psycho I will seriously flip the fuck out!”
“Look, my partner isn’t here right now. Just tell us why you were buying toasters down at the docks, instead of at, say, a hardware store or something.”
Suddenly Hootenanny lurched out of the darkness and seized Morganby the shoulders.
“TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW YOU FRANCO-GUATEMALAN CHUTNEY WHOOOOORE!!!”
Morgan screamed as Hootenanny leaned in and bit his nose off.
“JESUS CHRIST HOOTENANNY!” Shenanigans shouted as he grabbed his partner.
Morgan’s screams turned to gurgles as the blood from his nose filled his gaping mouth.
“I WILL RAPE YOU IN THE FACE!” Hootenanny continued, “I WILL DUCT TAPE YOUR MOUTH OPEN AND THROAT FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”
Morgan tried to pull away, prompting Hootenanny to smash his head into the table, smashing it in half and knocking the suspect unconscious. The detective then pulled out a large bottle of kerosene from his jacket and poured it over Morgan’s body. Shenanigans grabbed his arm as Hootenanny pulled out a Zippo lighter.
“Calm down man! He’s unconscious, we can’t get anything more out of him.”
Hootenanny breathed heavily for a few moments before calming down and putting the lighter away. He kicked Morgan in the ribs then stormed out of the room. Shenanigans knelt down to confirm the suspect was still alive and joined his partner a moment later.
“Man, that was like the worst ‘bad cop’ ever.” Hootenanny said nonchalantly as he pulled out a cigarette.
“What the hell Hootenanny? Is that how you treat all your suspects?”
“Well, he’s still alive, so… no.”
“How do you get any information from these people? At all?”
“Well… Wikipedia mostly. And sometimes random pedestrians just start telling me intimate details of criminal activities and then running away.”
“This is ridiculous! What do the other detectives think of this?”
“Well, after Some Kind of Death Machine O’Reilly interrogates someone, there’s usually not even a body left. Also when he arrests someone. And when he issues parking tickets. In fact, he pretty much brutally murders and dissects almost anyone he comes in contact with. Oh hey, there he is now!”
Hootenanny waved at a massive, ten foot tall monstrosity hovering over a desk, it’s grotesque, half organic, half machine torso protected by a chitinous shell, out of which protruded bone-structures, from which mysterious vials were strung. A pair of massive fore-arms, one wielding a massive razor-sharp hook, the other with a series of winches, chains, and smaller hooks, and a number of smaller arms, topped with a variety of hooks, claws and syringes poked from beneath it’s shell. At the bottom of its torso was a metallic mound, from which sprouted a number of jars filled with viscera and a long scorpion like tail ending in some sort of cannon. Its head was an expressionless steel mask, upon which someone had glued a fake mustache and aviator sunglasses. A smaller arm along its shoulder waved back at Hootenanny.
“That’s a detective?” Shenanigans asked, agape.
“Oh yeah, O’Reilly’s been on the force for forty-six years now.”
“Ok… it just seems like… never mind. So what’s our next move?”
“Easy, we take to the streets. We hit the Irish Yakuza on their home turf and get some real answers.”

Hours later the two detectives sat in a car across the street from Ieyasu Branagan’s Irish Sake house. A half dozen Japanese-Irish thugs stood inconspicuously around the entrance. From the humble wooden sign hung a flag, bearing a shamrock superimposed over the rising sun.
“You ready to do this partner” spat Hootenanny as he popped the trunk to reveal enough firearms to overthrow a small island dictatorship.
“Well, I’m still not entirely sure what the plan is.” Shenanigans said, as Hootenanny shoved a submachine gun into his hands.
“Simple, we go in there and have a little chat with the local boss, find out what the deal is with the toasters, and arrest the lot of them. Now shove that down your pants, we’re trying not to arouse suspicion.”
“I’d just like to go on record saying I don’t think this plan is going to work.” Shenanigans tossed the submachine gun back in the trunk and gaped at what appeared to be a World War II flamethrower.
“You have a better idea?”
“Well we could actually investigate that crime scene last night, or, I don’t know, look at the toasters? Am I the only one that’s actually occurred to yet?”
“Too late, while you were yapping I already killed like four of them.”
Shenanigans looked up from the trunk and saw Hootenanny casually gunning down a fifth Yakuza thug. The survivor fled inside shouting frantically.
“Well what are you waiting for,” Hootenanny lifted the flamethrower from the trunk, “Let’s do some good ol’ fashioned police work.”
Reinforcements and panicked patrons began pouring from the sake house. However all they found outside was a fountain of flame as Hootenanny torched the ever-loving shit out of the façade of the building and anyone unfortunate enough to attempt to leave through the front door. Unfortunately moments later the flames began to sputter. With a disappointing drip the flamethrower ran out of fuel.
“Well that’s lame. I knew I should have filled it up after that meth lab last Friday…” Hootenanny removed the flamethrower and tossed it back in the trunk as Shenanigans stood up from where he had been cowering behind the car.
“This is not police work!” Shenanigans shouted, gesturing wildly at the burning building, “This is you being a fucking psychopath!”
“Nonsense! Now that we have them scared, they’ll tell us anything!”
A bullet shattered the rear window of the car as the survivors began to fire back.
“Or they’ll FUCKING TRY OT KILL US!” Shenanigans resumed his cowering, firing wildly at the burning building. A moment later, Hootenanny joined him, crouching down and fumbling with his belt, “What are you doing now, asshole?”
“These pants are slowing me down, if we’re going into that firestorm, I’m going to need complete freedom of movement!” He gave up on the belt and reached up into the wheel well of the car’s back tire, drawing a Bowie knife, which he used to cut away his cargo shorts, revealing a complicated system of holsters crisscrossing his pale legs. Satisfied and pants-less, he stood up, drawing his twin Desert Eagles and began marching toward the Sake house, firing wildly as he drew closer.
“You dumb bastard…” Shenanigans said, as he reluctantly provided covering fire for his partner. A moment later Hootenanny, having cleared out the pitiful survivors in the antechamber, beckoned Shenanigans over to him, as he stood framed by the burning doorframe. Shenanigans sighed and ran across the street to join him.
“Alright partner,” Hootenanny said, drawing Shenanigans closer as they stepped into the building, “We need to find the sauna, that’s where the Yakuza big-wigs hang out and plot their nefarious mixed race criminal activities.”
“Okay, first of all, I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t have a sauna, and second I think anyone important probably would have escaped out the back do-“
Shenanigans was interrupted by a massive explosion coming from the back of the building.
“That’s why I set claymores!” Hootenanny said, giving Shenanigans a friendly punch on the shoulder, “I mean that’s just basic Stakeout 101! TO THE SAUNA!”
Hootenanny advanced further into the building, shooting anyone he encountered and singing a jaunty Irish tune.
Shenanigans looked outside to the firetrucks which were just now arriving and consoled himself with the thought that there was always a chance he and Hootenanny would be sent to different prisons.

“Damn it Hootenanny!” Chief Angerman raged, “I’m tired of your SHENANIGANS!”
“Are you referring to my partner or my playful, reckless behavior.” Hootenanny smirked, sitting once again in front of the Chief’s desk as Shenanigans stood shamefully at his side.
“You know damn well what I’m referring to Hootenanny! 45 civilian casualties, 2.4 million in property damages, you shot a fireman in the face for chrissakes!”
“Hey, it was the heat of the moment and he came at me with an axe!”
“That was a fire extinguisher! He was trying to put out the fire you caused!” Shenanigans said, almost as angry as The Chief.
“All that would be fine if you actually got us a suspect, but the only thing we have is what appears to be boss Miyazaki McDougal’s left arm and most of his spleen. How the hell do we interrogate a spleen, Hootenanny? Riddle me that?”
“Well, if you hook it up to some electrodes…”
“I’m done! You’re both suspended, turn in your badges and guns!” Hootenanny sprang to his feet and grabbed The Chief by the collar.
“Damn it Chief! I’m this close to cracking this case wide open!” He held his fingers an inch apart uncomfortably close to The Chief’s left eye, “Word is these slant-eyed drunks are trying to summon Czernobog, the Black God!”
“What the fuck?” Shenanigans said, “Who told you that?”
“RANDOM ASSUMPTIONS!”
“That’s not enough for me anymore Hootenanny. I’m sorry, but I’m turning the case over to O’Reilly and Johnson.”
“Devastatingly Handsome Rick? But that guy’s an asshole! A beautiful, beautiful asshole!”
“Also,” Shenanigans chimed in, “O’Reilly’s a killing machine, like, literally a machine built exclusively for killing organic lifeforms. He doesn’t even have hands!”
“Yeah but they get the job done, unlike you two! Now badges, guns, on my desk, now!”
“You know what, I’m sort of okay with this,” Shenanigans said as he dropped his badge and gun on the Chief’s desk, “At least I won’t have to hang out with this Maniac anymore…” As he turned to leave Hootenanny frantically began patting himself down.
“So, just the gun you gave me, right? I can keep the rest?” Hootenanny patted himself down, drawing his twin Deagles, a variety of other handguns, a tomahawk, and an mp5 before finally finding his standard issue revolver in a small holster along his inner thigh.” He dropped it on the desk alongside his badge before grabbing his personal weapons in his arms and storming out after his former partner.
“Alright Shenanigans, what’s our next move.”
“Well,” Shenanigans turned angrily to Hootenanny, “I plan on going home until my suspensions over, and I recommend YOU check yourself into a mental hospital. It’s over Hootenanny, we’re off the case. There’s nothing more we can do.”
“Hey,” Hootenanny attempted to grab Shenanigans by the collar, but the portly detective dodged. Hootenanny then punched him in the gut, causing him to jerk forward into collar grabbing range, “When Jack Hootenanny takes a case, he doesn’t stop until he solves it! I’m not gonna let a little thing like suspension from the police force slow me down. But I need you to do this thing. We may have our differences, but… you’re the best partner I ever had, and I can’t do it without you.”
“No. You’re insane.”
“Sometimes it takes a psychotic murdered, to catch a psychotic murderer.”
“That MIGHT be relevant if we were, say, after a serial killer, but you do realize this is a drug case, right?”
“Of course! That gives me an idea! TO THE SHENANICOPTER!” Hootenanny released his death grip on Shenanigan’s collar and rushed out of the station.
“I don’t… why is it named after me?”
Shenanigans stood there for a long while, debating whether to follow him. Finally he fell back on the excuse that sidekicks to maniacs had been using since time began.
“I have to go with him, to make sure he doesn’t do anything TOO bad…”

Hours later, Hootenanny and Shenanigans stood hunched over a set of blueprint in a poorly lit basement.
“Alright partner, here are blueprints to the mansion of Sasuke O’Donnell, head honcho of the Irish Yakuza.”
“I’m just not gonna ask how you got these blueprints… so what’s the plan? Sneak in and snoop around?”
Before Hootenanny could respond there was a knock on the door. Hootenanny drew a gun and opened a slat on the door to see who was behind it. He smiled and lowered his gun as he opened the door to reveal five heavily armed muscular men.
“Shenanigans, I’d like you to meet our back-up for this venture, all ex-cops,” Shenanigans tentatively stuck out his hand and it was grasped and warmly shaken by the five men in turn, “Butch Carmine, Rick Scarlet, Johann Rotehemd, Hank Retchert, and Gustavo Rojo.”
“Nice to meet you all, I guess. More people are gonna be harder to sneak in, but I guess we can make it work…”
“Sneak?” Carmine laughed, “Ha! This guy’s funny Hoot!”
“Jack Hootenanny, never sneaks!” Hootenanny said, as he returned to the table, “We’re going in for a full frontal assault, right into the heart of the mansion!”
“Are you insane! Wait, dumb question, you do realize there are going to be dozens of guards, especially after the fiasco at the sake house!”
“Let me show you something Shenanigans.” Hootenanny came around behind Shenanigans and showed him through a door at the back of the room into an underground garage, “They can throw a hundred guards at us, and it won’t mean shit if we’re in this baby!” Hootenanny gestured wide at the Mark VII tank squatting in front of them.
“Ho-ly shit!” Shenanigans gaped, “This thing’s from World War 1!”
“I know, right? I saw it in that Indiana Jones movie and I’m like ‘I gotta get me one of those!’”
“How can you afford all these things on a detective’s salary!”
“Embezzlement!”
“I should be upset about that, but that’s like the least illegal thing you’ve done since I’ve met you. So does this behemoth even run!”
“Of course not! It’s like a hundred years old! The guns work though!”
Shenanigans stopped gazing at the tank and turned to his partner.
“So wait, if it doesn’t work, how are we going to drive it to the mansion?”
“Who said we were driving?”

That night, Hootenanny, Shenanigans and Hootenanny’s brute squad manned the guns of the tank as it swayed precariously below a Bell UH-1 transport helicopter.
“That’s not the Shenanicopter is it?” Shenanigans said, sitting in the navigsator’s chair and gripping the seat for dear life.
“Oh no, that’s Wedge Janssen, old war buddy, owns a helicopter.”
“I’m genuinely surprised you have this many friends that are still alive.”
Minutes later, O’Donnell’s mansion loomed on the horizon.
“So is he just going to drop us in the courtyard?”
“Yeah, Shenanigans” Hootenanny rolled his eyes sarcastically, “because we’re clearly little girls. With big pink bows in our hair. Aren’t we Rick?”
Rick, manning the left sponson, laughed, “Oh aye, wee little girls in frilly little dresses.”
Suddenly the tank shuddered as the cables holding it to the helicopter released and it began plummeting to the earth. With a deafening crash, the ancient tank hit the roof of the mansion and smashed through into the lobby, where a pair of magnificent staircases led up to the second floor.
“GOOD SHOT JANSSEN!” Hootenanny shouted into a walkie talkie at his side.
“Why does every drug lord feel like he needs to copy Scarface?” Shenanigans mused as Yakuza thugs poured into the room.
“You may fire at will, boys!” Hootenanny said, climbing from the driver’s seat and heading for the hatch. The ex-cops obliged, firing the tank’s cannons and demolishing walls and henchmen alike. Hootenanny flipped open the hatch and began firing his pistols into anyone who managed to survive the devastating cannon fire.
After a couple minutes, the tank was out of ammunition and the Yakuza were out of thugs dumb enough to enter the lobby. Hootenanny, Shenanigans and the brute squad exited the tank, and headed for the staircase, blowing away any Yakuza who had come out of hiding when the cannon fire had stopped.
“Alright, according to the blueprints, there’s a secret elevator in the office at the top of the staircases that leads to an underground bunker. That dirty Irish-Japanese dog’s probably squatting down there as we speak.” Hootenanny, reloaded his precious Deagles and dropped prone at the top of the stairs. Shenanigans dropped into place behind him, wielding a borrowed Mac-10.
“Hey before we continue, I had a question.”
“Yeah?”
“Are these guys half Irish, half Japanese, or Japanese with Irish last names, or what? It’s hard to get a good look at them when you keep exploding them like that.”
“Uh… Is it really that important?”
“No, I suppose not.”
The office at the top of the staircase was abandoned. Hootenanny tossed a grenade behind the expensive desk to be safe and entered moments later as the smoke cleared. He stepped over to the bookcase in the rear and pulled down one of the few books that had not fallen off during the explosion. The bookcase slid upwards to reveal a small elevator, which the seven men crammed into.
“Lock and load boys. This is it. Final boss time.” Hootenanny, lovingly caressed his Desert Eagles as the brute squad reloaded and prepared their own respective firearms.
“You act like this is all some game,” Shenanigans said, checking the number of rounds left in his Mac-10, “These are real people, real, ethnically confusing people we’re talking about.”
“These aren’t people,” Hootenanny, managed to pull out a cigarette and light it, “These are criminals. They gave up their human rights the second they decided they were too good for the laws of society. These… animals are a disease infecting our fair city. And we are the cure.”
“Wow, that was as insane as it was hypocritical.”
Finally, the elevator rumbled to a halt and the doors opened, revealing a dozen Yakuza thugs with guns trained on the interior. They opened fire, filling Carmine, Rotehemd, and Scarlet, the men closest to the doors, with bullets. The others used their muscular bodies as human shields as they returned fire, taking down most of the thugs and forcing the others to retreat behind a large door at the end of a hallway.
Hootenanny, Shenanigans, Rojo and Retchert stepped over the bodies of their comrades and advanced down the hallway. When they reached the door, Retchert knelt and began taking explosives out of the pack he carried on his back. As he set the first charge, a massive hook erupted straight through the steel door and withdrew, ripping the door off it’s hinges. Some-Kind-Of-Death-Machine O’Reilly tossed the door aside and wrapped the hooks and chains on his other limb around Retchert, who screamed as he was drawn into range of the smaller limbs, which quickly began tearing him to pieces.
Rojo fired at the detective, but his bullets ricocheted off the black chitinous armour plates protecting his grotesque torso.
“Madre de Dios!” The ex-cop screamed as he dropped his gun, “Our weapons our useless, reliance upon them is death!” He turned to run but was suddenly transfixed by a bolt of searing electricity from the cannon affixed to O’Reilly’s “tail”.
“Oh Fuck! We’re fucked!” Shenanigans backed slowly toward the elevator as Hootenanny advanced angrily.
“I knew it, you Irish fuck! Nothing worse than a dirty cop!” He aimed one of his pistols at the detective’s head, then lowered it toward the bag of explosives Retchert had abandoned that the creature was currently hovering directly above.
“The doctor is in.” Hootenanny fired and the bag detonated, engulfing the corrupt detective in flames and eliciting a hideous shriek, as he fell to the ground. Hootenanny took a few steps back, and then took a running leap over O’Reilly’s flaming carcass and into the room he had been protecting. At the other end the Yakuza boss was being helped to his feet by the only two goons to survive O’Reilly’s explosive death. Hootenanny gunned the two thugs down mercilessly and stood over the Yakuza boss.
“Alright O’Donnell, just you and me now.”
“Ya crazy bastad!” O’Donnell spat, “What the hell do ye want boy?”
“Why are you bringing toasters into my city? Are you trying to summon the Black God with some sort of toaster electrocution sacrifice? Like… maybe in a lake… or something… like, drop em all in…”
“Ye doss cunt, the toaster’s’re full a Heroin! Did ye even look at ‘em? It’ t’aint even a good disguise, I mean, juss a cheap shell, ye can take apart wit ye bare hands!”
“Oh… that makes sense I guess. CASE SOLVED!” Hootenanny put a bullet in O’Donnell’s head and climbed back out of the room.
“Man, Shenanigans, you’re never gonna believe…” Hootenanny looked own the smoke filled hallway to where Shenanigans lay slumped against a wall, “Shenanigans? Partner?” Hootenanny rushed to Shenanigan’s side where he saw he was still barely alive, “Shenanigans! What happened?”
Shenanigans’ eyes flickered open weakly.
“There… was an explosion… you dumb bastard…”
“Don’t die on me Shenanigans!”
“In fact, I’m a bit confused how you managed to just shrug it off…”
“I need you buddy… you’re my partner! You can’t have the crazy guy without the straight man…”
“I mean… you were standing closer than me…”
“And speaking of ‘straight man’, I think I might be gay.”
“That’s… really not that surprising…”
“Yeah, I don’t know, I just have a powerful hankering to bone some dudes.”
“Can it wait… til you get me to a hospital?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m on it!”

For the third time in as many days Hootenanny and Shenanigans sat in The Chief’s office. The Chief stood silently, his back turned to the detectives. Finally he spoke.
“Do you know how much trouble you two are in? 168 dead. 3 million in property damage. And without a goddamn badge between the two of you to justify it,”
He turned to face them, his face a picture of disdain and rage, exemplifying an entirely new emotion known only as “disdaige”.
“Chief, I can explain…” Shenanigans tried to rise but was stopped, and sat back dopwn, clutching his bandaged chest. The disdaige on The Chief’s face melted into a sly smile.
“…and you wiped out the entire Irish Yakuza leadership base, taking out a dirty cop in the process. That was some of the finest god-damn police work I’ve ever seen.”
“I know! Right?” Hootenanny said excitedly, “We got to drop a tank on a mansion, and I shot like thirty guys in the face, Oh! And it was heroin. The toasters are full of heroin.”
“Huh. Makes sense. Welcome back to the force you two!”
“I would comment on this turn of events,” Shenanigans said, as a look of bliss passed over him, “But it looks like the morphine is kicking in. Hooray for police!”
“That’ll be commendations for the both of you!” The Chief said, as he pulled a pair of medals shaped like explosions from his desk.
“Thanks Chief, but I’m just glad justice was finally served.”
“Now, let’s get to work on that Fudge Calhoun, Sex Detective Spin-off”
“The Chocolate Fuck Machine? I’d read that!”
“Good night Folks!”
THE END

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 301

Hello! And welcome to Ask Dr. Thunder's new format! You may be wondering why we are no longer shooting videos. Funny Story: So we were shooting the latest episode when I accidentally summoned Drak'thor the World Eater while answering an elderly Swiss woman's question about canker sores. Luckily, I managed to slay the beast using Far'adrin'cronok, King of All Swords, which I had been using to balance out a table in the break room, but not before the beast managed to slay my entire staff and destroy Sophisticobra Studios.
Unfortunately, due to the 97% fatality rate of my employees, it has become increasingly difficult to meet my staffing needs, especially since I refuse to work with unions. Luckily, I remembered the dying words of my webmaster, Hogarth the Stout, as the World Eater devoured his soul. "blog!" he said, or maybe "BLAAAARRRGGHHHH!" it was kind of hard to tell what with his entrails all up in his mouth, luckily, after an intense round of googling, I found this blog, which conveniently already had my name in it and took over! So let's get started!
Our first question comes from Scarlett, Rodriguez in Madrid, Wyoming. She writes:

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I am looking for a used car to take with me on camping trips. I am torn between the Toyota Rav4 and the Isuzu Amigo. Which one should I pick?

Well Steven, let's look at the pros and cons of each vehicle:
The Rav4, often called "The Auschwitz of Motor Vehicles" has been called the worst thing ever made in the history of mankind. Not just car, everything. The cramped, universally foul smelling interior has been known to make those unfortunate enough to be trapped within envy the dead. It's design has been known to cause blindness in infants and the elderly. The engine is made mostly of cardboard, spiders, and the bones of the damned and it gets 4 miles to the gallon. On the plus side, Kelly blue book lists the average value at around -$600, which is the average price those poor souls are willing to pay you to take the car off their hands and/or destroy it.
The Isuzu Amigo, on the other hand, is the Chrome Steel of automobiles, meaning it is resistant to corrosion, it gets excellent fuel economy, comfortably seats 4, and has a stylish, sporty design. The downside is that the engine is made mostly of plastic, except for the transmission, which is made of peanut brittle.
My recommendation is to take the money you would spend on a car, and instead spend it on a handgun, then use that handgun to kill yourself and anyone whose life you value so little that you would be willing to have given them rides in your hellish deathtrap of a car. Next question!

Dear Dr. Thunder,
Was James Franco stoned when he hosted the Oscars?

No. He was James Goddamn Franco. Haven't you seen any of his movies? Seriously? Well that's all the patience I have for this weeks episode of Ask Dr. Thunder! Tune in next week, and probably be disappointed, then continue to tune in until I actually do post the next one! And be sure to send your emails to xtremedoctor@gmail.com where a trained professional will eat them. Peace bitches!

Kangaroo Jack

Kangaroo Jack
Leonardo “Jack” DiCaprio stood on the bow of the HMS Gigantic, gazing out over the ocean and thinking of the endless possibilities that awaited him in Australia. A tap on his shoulder took him away from his thoughts and he turned to see his old friend from New York, Daniel “The Butcher” Day Lewis.
“Are you ready Jack?” The Butcher said in his archaic New York accent as he placed a hand on his young friend’s shoulder, “Once this tournament is over, neither one of us will ever have to fight again!”
Jack nodded, took the invitation from the pocket of his coat, and re-read it for the thousandth time. It still almost felt like he was dreaming sometimes. To think that they, a couple of amateur duelists/knife fighters, had been invited to Kangaroo Jack’s legendary Yu-Gi-Oh and Mixed Martial Arts tournament to the death, it was almost too good to be true.
Behind them the other invitees milled about on the deck, perfecting their fighting techniques, trading cards, all just as eager as Jack and The Butcher. The ship would pull into Sydney Harbor by tomorrow morning and then two days later the tournament would begin. Any apprehension about the many battles and card games to come was drowned out by a yearning for the steady footing of dry land after the three week voyage.
“Do you really think we have a shot at winning Butcher?”
“Of course lad! I’ve seen no man that can beat your deck! And my mastery of the Turkish Kilij is famed throughout New York!” The Butcher drew his sword to emphasize his point and thrust it into the damp wood of the deck.
“Well if you say so…” Jack looked uneasily back at the competitors arrayed throughout the deck, “some of these guys look pretty tough.”
“Ah lad! It doesn’t matter how tough the competition is, as long as you are tougher!”
“That seems like really cheesy and generic advice to give.”
“Well, I’m pretty drunk right now.”
Suddenly the two friends’ conversation was cut short as the boat shuddered with a violent impact.
“Shark Attack!” A crewman shouted as the ship was once again shaken by another hit.
“Impossible!” The Captain said as he rushed to the side, “This is a god damn cruise ship! It would have to be either 10,000 sharks working together as one or some sort of… Mega Shark!”
“It’s 10,000 sharks working as one!” Another crewman shouted as Jack looked into the water at a writhing carpet of shark fins charged the ship for another strike.
“Quickly Jack!” The Butcher shouted, “We have to get below! It’s our only hope!” Waving his sword in front of him The Butcher struck a path for the nearest door as the ship began lurching to the side.
“Also Impossible!” The Captain shouted again, as he began organizing crewmen to repel the shark army, “this ship is unsinkable! The sharks cannot penetrate our 11 hulls!”
“The sharks have plastic explosives!” Yet another crewman shouted as a bright explosion lit up the starboard side of the vessel.
Jack followed The Butcher down into the depths of the ship. Everywhere crewmen and competitors alike armed themselves for the coming shark onslaught. The two friends hurried to the elevator and rode it down to steerage where their own meager quarters lay. Another explosion caused the lift to stop dead. The Butcher quickly pulled open the doors and they took the stairs the rest of the way.
The lower decks had begun filling with water, which was filled with sharks. A group of crewmen escaping from the engine room were torn to shreds as they tried to reach the staircase where Jack and The Butcher watched in horror.
“Damn! We’ll have to find another way!” Jack said as he backed away from the rising water.
“There’s no time lad!” The Butcher replied as he bisected the head of a shark that leapt for him, “We have to get to the cabin before the water level reaches the shelf where your deck is!” He cut another shark in half with his Kilij and drew a long dagger. He then dove into the water, cutting apart the sharks in his path.
Jack reluctantly followed, staying close behind his friend and mentor as the swordsman cut a bloody swathe through the legion of sharks. Finally they reached their room. A Hammerhead lay in wait for them in the room and The Butcher stabbed it right between the eyes as Jack closed the door and locked it. Luckily his cards were still dry and he shoved them into a waterproof sack, and then packed the rest of his few possessions into a backpack. The Butcher had a pack of his own but wore his extensive blade collection strapped to his body for convenience. He threw Jack a Shamsir and opened the door, letting in a great white shark that closed its jaws around his leg. The butcher grunted and parted the creatures head from its body.
The water in the hall was now up to their stomachs as they made their way back to the staircase past a series of dismembered floating corpses. They climbed the stairs up to the main ballroom, where First Mate Denzel Washington was addressing a frightened crowd of crewmen and duelists.
“Everyone needs to stay calm,” Denzel said, standing in front of the grand staircase that led to the lower compartments, “Now you’ve seen how bad things can get,” he said, gesturing to the rapidly rising shark filled water behind him, “And how quickly they can get that way. And things are going to get a whole lot worse. So were not going to fight anymore! Were going to pull together, and were going to find a way to get out of here! First, we’re going to seal off this…” his words were cut short as a shark, twice the size of the rest leapt out of the water filling the staircase and bit him in half. As chunks of Denzel rained across the stunned crowd the shark stopped and looked at them.
“This ship is mine now.” The shark said in a thick Austrian accent, “If you want to live then you will ged out of here. You humans think you are so smaht. With your giant boats. On this day it we have shown zat we shahks are the true rulers of the sea!”
The shark roared and the panicked crowd fled to the main deck where the Captain was supervising the loading of lifeboats.
A ring of crewmen with submachine guns kept the sharks at bay with sporadic fire but for every one they killed another two took its place. Jack and The Butcher made it to the last of the lifeboats just as the last of the crewmen was dragged down into the water. As they rowed themselves away the burning wreckage of the HMS Gigantic sank below the waves.
“There goes the finest ship to ever sail.” The Captain said sadly.
“Hey aren’t you supposed to go down with the ship?” Jack asked.
“Fuck no. There were fucking sharks. That rule only applies if there aren’t thousands of giant kill-fishes in the water.”

Days later the survivors of the wreck, having been picked up by a passing whaling boat, made their way to Australia. By now there wasn’t much time before the tournament began and so the competitors quickly made their way to Kangaroo Jack’s top secret tournament location as quickly as they could. Jack and The Butcher hitched a ride on a passing kill-dozer owned by a local poacher.
“So where ya from mates?” The poacher said while his giant monitor lizard sat on the back of his seat and hissed.
“New York,” Jack said, his eyes locked on the freakishly huge lizard, “Were here for Kangaroo Jack’s Yu-Gi-Oh and Martial Arts tournament.”
“Ah the tournament!” The poacher said, scratching his head beneath his hat made from an endangered animal, “I had a friend who competed in the tournament one year. They sent back what they could find of him in a shoebox.”
“Didn’t fare so well then?” The Butcher asked as he waved a dagger at the reptile threateningly.
“Actually his car collided with a gas tanker on the way to the tournament. Horrible explosion. Dozens killed.”
“Ah, I see.” The Butcher said, nodding.
“Well, if I recall correctly, the tournament starts tomorrow morning, so if you’d like you mates can take a nap in one of the cages I got in the back. Just ignore the large soulful eyes of the animals.”

The next morning Jack and The Butcher arrived at Kangaroo Jack’s compound in the middle of the Outback. Dozens of competitors from around the world were gathered to show off their fighting and children’s card game playing skills. The warriors filed into the coliseum at the compounds center and were greeted by Kangaroo Jack himself. He was a massive kangaroo who wore a bright red hooded sweatshirt and carried a cane. Atop his head sat a silk top hat. Also he kind of looked like Renee Zellwegger.
“Welcome my friends, to this tournament of champions!” Kangaroo Jack said, a statement greeted by thunderous cheers from those assembled before him, “This shall be the ultimate test of your skills in the art of fighting and the art of playing a children’s card game!” His every sentence was punctuated wit ha gout of flame from the walls of the coliseum, most likely for dramatic effect. “The first round of the tournament shall begin this afternoon, but for now, please enjoy these tigers!”
14 Bengal Tigers were released into the coliseum, creating a panic amongst the competitors. By the time they were all slain, several warriors were dead and almost everyone was wounded.
Jack and The Butcher left the coliseum and headed for the motel where they would be staying. As Jack opened the door they both heard a strange crying coming from inside. The Butcher drew his sword and slowly stalked into the room. On their bed was a baby, wrapped in the remains of an American flag. A note was lying on the bedside table and Jack picked it up and read it.

Dear Jack,
This is your niece, Roxana. I have decided to send it to Australia to be raised by you due to my pathological hatred of infants. I am sorry to put this burden on you, but I can’t afford to raise a child, especially with my crippling addiction to plastic surgery.
Your Sister, Jill

Jack looked at the note, and then at the baby, and then back at the note.
“Well what is ti lad? Some sort of psych out trick by one of our competitors?” The Butcher asked as he suspiciously picked up the child.
“No, this is my niece. Apparently I am supposed to raise her now.”
“Huh. That’s right; Your sister hates infants and is addicted to the knife. What about the father?”
“My sister regularly has sex with strangers to pay for cosmetic enhancements. There’s no real way of knowing who the father is.”
“Well, there’s no sense in worrying about it, or about how this baby got here to the middle of the outback and just happened to be placed in the correct motel room. Get your cards out we have to practice!”
“I looked at the schedule and my first match is this afternoon. I will be using my insect deck against a Brazilian Jujitsu master.”
“I suggest you load it up with trap cards.”

Hours later Jack defeated the Brazilian with a devastating Red Eyes Black Dragon combo, and then executed him with a handgun. Up next was The Butcher’s far more interesting match. His opponent was a swordsman from Scotland who wielded a Katana. The two master swordsmen squared off in the center of the Coliseum, gazing into each other’s eyes like star crossed lovers who were about to dismember each other with cold steel. The staring contest seemed to drag on forever until finally both men moved at once, drawing their swords and charging one another. In a flash it was over. A trickle of blood dripped from the butcher’s shoulder and fell onto the Scotsman’s intestines that had become wrapped around his leg. As Kangaroo Jack’s men dragged off the steaming pile of offal that was his opponent The Butcher joined Jack and together they walked back to the motel.
“Today went well.” Jack said happily, as he shuffled his deck.
“Indeed lad. If the rest of the tournament goes like this the prize money will be ours.” The Butcher said, as he removed several of his opponent’s teeth from his hair.
“Wait, there’s prize money? How come we haven’t mentioned it before?”
“Oh I’m sure we have, in one of our many less interesting conversations. Just to refresh your memory, we are competing for 5 million dollars cash.”
“Ah! That makes sense, and gives our characters further motivation.”
“Indeed.”
Jack suddenly spotted a bright orange glow in the distance.
“Hey Butcher what’s that orange glow?”
“My god man, the puppy factory! It’s a flame!” The Butcher shouted, as he began running toward the light. Jack quickly followed, silently questioning why Kangaroo Jack’s compound contained a puppy factory.
They arrived to find the entire factory ablaze. Kangaroo Jack’s lackeys as well as several of the competitors scurried back and forth desperately combating the flames. The panicked yelping of adorable puppies could be heard above the frantic shouts and the crackle of the blaze.
“We’ve got to save those puppies before the fire sets off the puppy oil!” The Butcher said, throwing off his jacket and running toward the front door.
“Butcher!” Jack called after him, “Be careful!”
The Butcher braved the inferno and smashed down the front door. A minute later a herd of adorable, soot covered puppies burst out of the door, followed by the master swordsman himself, carrying a half dozen of the smaller, weaker puppies in his arms. As he stepped out the door, the volatile puppy oil in the factory ignited and the building exploded. As the dust cleared Jack ran over to his friend who was pinned under an exploded conveyor belt.
“Butcher!” Jack cried as he bent down to look his mentor in the eyes.
“I… I saved… the puppies…” The Butcher coughed.
“I know you did Butcher. You’re a hero.”
“My sword Jack… I want you to have it…”
“Which one? You have like ten.”
“The Kilij… you know… the one I use all the time… retard…”
“I will swing it proudly old friend.”
“Use it to win Jack!” The Butcher croaked, as blood dribbled out of his mouth, “use it to win…” slowly The Butcher’s eyes closed for the last time.
“NOOOOOO!!!” Jack screamed dramatically, making things extremely awkward for the crowd of people who were also present.
His heart heavy with sadness, Jack returned to his motel room. He was shaken out of his grief by the realization that Roxana was gone. In retrospect it was probably a bad idea to leave an infant unattended in a motel room. A note was pinned to the back wall by a shuriken.

We have your baby
Quit the tournament.

Jack didn’t know what to make of the note. He still had the promise he had just made to The Butcher. Also, the note did not actually say they would return the baby if he quit, or even that they would harm her if he did not. It was very ambiguous. On the other hand, it was obvious that whoever kidnapped this baby meant business, based on the efficiency with which they wrote threatening messages. Jack decided to sleep on it and make his decision in the morning.

He awoke in a cold sweat in the middle of the night to find the door to the bathroom was open. He got out of bed and walked over to see the glowing ethereal form of The Butcher sitting on the toilet.
“Why hello lad.” The ghost said, as he pulled up his drawers and flushed the toilet, “This is a bit embarrassing, I didn’t expect you to wake up for another couple minutes…”
“Butcher! You’re dead!”
“Indeed I am lad. And I’ve brought a message for you from beyond the grave!”
“Really? Is it going to be in the form of a vague, cryptic riddle that I will only figure out at the right time.”
“Damn straight lad, anyway here it is: When the Shark bites the Lizard, the Kangaroo shall fall.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean.”
“Well if I told you that, it wouldn’t be vague and cryptic, now would it?”
“No I suppose not. So does this mean I should continue the tournament?”
“Do whatever the fuck you want kid.”
“Butcher…”
“Yeah lad?”
“I miss you.”
“Christ lad! I’ve been dead for maybe four hours!”
“So what’s being dead like?”
“Not bad. Except they make you do stuff like this.”
“Goodbye Butcher.”
“Goodbye Jack. And remember what I told you. With the shark and the rabbit.”
“I thought it was a lizard.”
“Whatever. I’m pretty drunk right now.”
Slowly the ghost faded away, leaving Jack alone once again in the motel room. After an hour of contemplation he finally managed to fall back asleep.

The next morning he was awoken by a familiar shout that he hadn’t expected to ever hear again.
“Shark Attack!”
He picked up Butcher’s sword and stumbled outside to find that the compound was indeed under siege by the same sharks that had sunk the HMS Gigantic. Each wore a robotic suit filled with seawater, allowing them to walk on land. Everywhere sharks fought against the weary tournament warriors and Kangaroo Jack’s henchmen.
“Foolish land people!” The Austrian shark said, riding the largest of the robotic suits, “We have decided to extend the range of the shahk empire! Australia shall soon fall to our powah!”
Jack raised The Butcher’s Kilij in his hands and prepared to help out the defense when a robed figure pulled him into the shadows.
“You are Jack?” The figure whispered.
“Yes. Yes I am.” Jack responded cautiously.
“If you wish to see your niece again, come with me.”
While Jack hadn’t actually grown particularly attached to the baby he had know for all of six hours he felt it was his duty as an uncle and so he followed the mysterious stranger to a large rock behind the motel. The robed man touched a symbol carved into the rock the rock lowered into the ground and revealed a staircase. The staircase led to a large chamber illuminated by torchlight filled with more of the robed figures. On one side of the wall was an altar carved from jade. On the other side of the wall was a platform, upon which stood Kangaroo Jack with Roxana in his arms.
“Hello Jack.” The Kangaroo said, as Jack was led to the center of the room, “so glad you could join us.”
“What’s going on here?” Jack said angrily.
“Why, your ascension dear boy!”
“Ascension? To what?”
“To greatness!” Kangaroo Jack walked toward Jack in the center of the room, handing the baby off to one of the robed persons. “You see, you are about to become a Queen!”
“Uh, don’t you mean king? Because I’m not gay.”
“No no, its queen, trust me. It’s complicated.”
“Uh… Ok.”
“You see your niece is actually meant to be the next queen of the lizard folk, but she is far too young, and so it must be you.”
“Why me? I can’t be a queen! First of all, I’m a dude!”
“Yes, you are not a perfect match but the transformation will last long enough to defend this place from those wretched sharks.” Kangaroo Jack looked Jack up and down before placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I think I’m going to require further exposition.”
“You see, for thousands of years, a war has raged between the lizards and the sharks. Every twenty years a shark king is chosen, as well as a lizard queen to champion each side. Only the worthiest may become a king or queen, which is why I hold these tournaments.”
“So you knew the sharks would strike?”
“Yes, that was unanticipated, but whatever is lost today shall be gained back tenfold, for we now possess the chosen one!”
“Me?”
“You? Of course not!” Kangaroo Jack laughed, “I speak of a child! It is prophesized that only one of the line of the great lizard guardians can become the ultimate queen. In twenty years time, she shall be ready to lead the lizard people to victory not only over the sharks but over the entire world!”
“So wait, does that mean my family are lizard guardians?”
“You don’t understand my boy, she did not inherit the blood from her mother, but from her father!”
“Her father could be any plastic surgeon on the east coast with low enough standards!”
“Ah but you see, I am her father.”
“NOOOOOO!!!”
“Christ that dramatic No thing is really annoying… anyway, while traveling around the world sleeping with kangaroo loving women, I apparently managed to impregnate your sister. That is why I called you here, for her!”
“Wait… then the puppy factory…”
“Yes, it was I who started the fire, to distract you long enough to kidnap her!”
“Why didn’t you just do it while we were fighting in the tournament?”
“We had a very busy schedule yesterday.”
“So wait, why do I have to become this lizard queen? Why not you! You are one of the guardians!”
“Because,” Kangaroo Jack said, as the robed figure surrounding jack began transforming into giant lizards, “I am a Kangaroo. Kangaroo’s cant turn into lizards, silly.”
The lizard people grabbed Jack with strong scaly hands and dragged him screaming onto the altar. As they held him down onto the altar lore lizard people began covering him with shed skins, which began to come alive and wrap themselves around Jack’s struggling body. As he became further entangled in the cocoon of dead skin a change began to overtake Jack. He felt his fingernails grow and strengthen before forming into claws, he felt his skin ripping apart and reforming as scales, he felt his tongue extending and then splitting down the middle, he felt his reproductive organs change from male to female. As the last of the dead skin wrapped itself around him the lizard people backed off. The cocoon wriggled for a few moments before falling still.
“Well shit,” Kangaroo Jack said, “ I hope we didn’t kill him.”
“I AM THE LIZARD QUEEN!” Jack roared as he burst forth from the cocoon. The assembled lizard people hissed in excitement as Jack picked up the Butcher’s sword and led them to the surface.
Outside, the sharks had nearly finished their massacre Jack climbed to the roof of the motel and let out a mighty roar. The sharks looked up as one and made sort of a bubbling noise, because they are sharks, before charging him/her and his/her tiny band of followers. Suddenly a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. A moment later it resolved itself into the poacher’s kill-dozer, commandeered by the monitor lizard and packed with lizard people. Behind then was a vast horde of lizard people walking, crawling and slithering their way toward the compound to defend their newly risen queen. Jack caught the eyes of the shark king and wordlessly began heading for the coliseum. The shark king followed suit and for the moment at least a truce fell over the sharks and lizards.
Inside the Coliseum the sharks and the lizards filled the stands as the two leaders stomped into the center ring. The shark king flexed the pneumatic muscles of his robot suit as Jack tossed The Butcher’s sword from hand to hand. With a bubble filled roar and a hiss the two titans charged into combat. Jack swung the Kilij in a wide arc, but the shark king ducked. His tank was breached however and saltwater began pouring out. Unfortunately the shark king was fully capable of breathing air and leapt from his robot suit, biting down on Jack’s free arm. Jack brought the hilt of his sword down on the Shark King’s skull and he released his bite, crawling back into his robot suit.
“You can’t win puny lizard garl. I am a shahk, and everyone knows shahks are better than lizards!”
“I will defeat you Shark King, you’re a fish out of water here!”
“Oh! Fish out of watah joke! How original!”
Jack charged once more, throwing his/her sword into the chest of the robot suit, he/she then leapt into the tank atop the mechanical legs and wrapped his/her powerful scaly arms around the shark king’s throat.
“This is for Denzel!”
“Ah’ll be back…” the shark king gasped with his last breath, before slumping to the bottom of the tank. At this point the lizards attacked the now demoralized sharks, driving them away and presumably back to the sea/robot workshops from whence they had come.
Jack sat down on his/her bed at the motel. Kangaroo Jack hopped in, Roxana in his arms.
“Well done my queen. I can sense that you’re reign shall be long and terrible! Terrible in a good way! Good for us I mean! It will be pretty shitty for our enemies.”
“Shut up.” Jack said, he/she swung The Butcher’s sword and rent Kangaroo Jack’s head from his shoulders. As his body hit the floor, Jack used his/her reptile-like reflexes to catch Roxana in his/her arms.
He walked outside to where a group of lizard people were feasting on the remains of fallen sharks.
“Hey, you.” Jack said, “Your queen hungers. Bring me a taco. And a cat. Or, you know what, a cat made of tacos.”
The lizards nodded, hissed and slunk away.
“Well Roxy, I guess I’m the lizard queen now.” Jack said. He looked over to the horizon where the ghost of The Butcher stood waving at him next to the ghost of Denzel Washington and, for some reason, Hayden Christiansen.
“I hope you’re proud of me old friend.”
“No. Not really. You’re a god damn lizard woman.” The Butcher replied before fading into the air.
THE END

Countdown to Infinity

The Deadline's almost here, and I still have nothing to write about for this week's blog entry.
"Ok, first of all, What deadline? And second of all, you barely update this thing once a month!"
I have to think fast if I was going to come up with something interesting and exciting to talk about. Millions of my avid readers are counting on me! But what? Justin Bieber? That's still a thing right?
"Really? Millions? I mean, I know that despite the title, people read it, but probably closer to 'several' than 'millions'"
Shhhhut up. I know what I'm doing. And I can do it just fine without you bitching at me all the time with your facts. It's bad enought that I have The Chief on my ass about increasing circulation I don't need this shit too!
"What Chief? There is no Chief? What the hell are you saying. And what's this about circulation? You're using a free internet site!"
DAMN IT MAN, I'm a Doctor, not a sense-makey-person!
"You know what? You just do your thing. I'm not going to say anymore, 'Doctor'"
Hey! I saw those quotes around Doctor! I should kill you for that! Kill you right in your stupid face! But I can't right now! I have to locate the Justin Bieber and find out it's secrets, so I can expose them and make lots of moneys!
"Money is already plural. Also I'm pretty sure Justin Bieber is a person."
LIAR, YOU'RE WITH HIM NOW!
"Star Wars quotes? And not even from the good ones..."
Shhhut your faaaaace. The people must know what Justin Bieber does with her time? What plans does she have brooding in her big... stupid... face. With those eyes... and the lemon Jell-O...
"Pretty sure Justin Bieber's a dude."
GAAAAAARRRRRGGHHHHHAGAGAHH
"Well okay then."
What about the Lady Gaga? Is that a dude too? Where does this media conspiracy end? Does it go all the way to the top?
"Lady is part of her name."
Inconsequential. Clearly these are things that the people must know! And it is up to me to expose this corruption! For America!
"Good luck with that."
Fuck it. Too much work. Instead, I shall make a list of funny sounding words! To the delight of my many Czechoslovakian readers!
"That's actually not a country anymore, they... fuck it. Follow your dreams."
1. Pudding
2. Bieber
3. Pudding
4. Golfcart
5. Steve
6. Six
7. Six
8. Six
9. Eleven
10. Sandwich
Blog Post Complete. I win.

How to Hot Tub Your Train Dragon Time Machine

So, over Spring Break I saw two movies, Train Dragon, and Hot Tub Time Machine. Due to a combination of drama, binge drinking, and havign a crappy memory, I only remember about 50 percent of each movie, so I have decided to review them together! This should turn out fun!
So this movies stars King Leonidas, Darryl from The Office, Craig Ferguson, The kid from Tropic Thunder, John Cusack, McLovin, and Rob Corddry. The movie begins with three vikings, who used to be best friends, all dealing with the shity hand that life has dealt them. One of the Vikings, played by Rob Corddry, appears to have attempted suicide by locking himself in the garage with a flaming dragon. So the his two viking friends, and a young viking named Hiccup for some reason, decide to go train to fight dragons at a ski resort. The trouble is, the ski resort hasd fallen on hard times, because dragons keep coming and stealing their livestock. Luckily Hiccup manages to capture one of the dragons, and when he can't bring himself to kill it, it takes him to a magical Hot Tub that takes the four friends back in time so they can stop the Train Dragon and get Back... TO THE FUTURE!
No, but seriously, these are both great movies, and I definitely reccomend them both. Hot Tub Time Machine is like a combination of the Hangover and Back to the Future and that alone should be enough to make you want to see it. Rob Corddry gives a really great performance as Lou, and really steals the show for me. Craig Robinson, from The Office, does not disappoint either, and he shows why he has been in so many fucking movies lately. Seriously, it seems like he's the new go-to guy for funny black actors. Not that I'm complaining, because he's awesome. John Cusack, gives a very John Cusack like performance. I've never really had an opinion about him as an actor, and I don't really have an opinion about his character either. I will say he made me completely forget that he was in 2012, which is definitely a good thing. Also, Chevy Chase is i nthsi movie! So yeah! See it. There was also the fourth guy, John Cusack's character's nephew, played by Clark Duke, who some of you may remember from Sexdrive. His character is sort of the straight man to the antics of the three friends, and the one who is most focussed on not upsetting the time stream, because he has the most to lose. Like his character in Sexdrive, Duke's portrays Jacob as sort of a Non-socially awkward nerd. I like this, I'm glad Hollywood is moving away from the stereotypical nerd character. Those of you who are shying away from this move because you think it's going to be some ultra-cheesy Snakes On A Plane affair, well, it's really not, so go see it.
As for How to Train Your Dragon, I am going to say it is a cross between Avatar, Beowulf, and a movie that was actually good. Those of you who miss the days when Gerard Butler was a badass action movie star instead fo a semi-badass Romantic Comedy star, you probably won't be disappointed by this movie. He plays the king of a tribe of huge, muscular Vikings, who inexplicably have Scottish accents. Because everything is better with Scottish accents. Speaking of which, Craig Ferguson is hilarious in this movie. He actually plays a pretty important character for someone who isn't actually a film actor. Jay Baruchel, from Tropic Thunder and She's Out of My League, plays Hiccup, the main character. For those of you familiar with his other roles, it's pretty much just that, except he's a Viking. Well, a nerdy, MacGyvery Viking. The flying scenes in this movie are pretty amazing and for a detail-obsessed overthinker like me, it was really nice to see the whole process of trial-and-error that Hiccup goes through before he can actually competently ride the dragon. The ending battle is also totally awesome, when our hero finally faces down the Legendary Train Dragon. I don't want to give anything away, so that is all I will say about that.
So in conclusion, get a job, whore yourself out, somehow raise the roughly 20 bucks you will need and then go see both of these movies.