Super Pizza Squad

As far as alien cyborg's bent on galactic domination go, you could do a lot worse than Omega 7. He was a vast improvement over, for example, Omega 6.

Omega 6, though, still had both eyes, part of his left shoulder, his right lung, parts of his intestinal tract, a few square inches of skin, and, of course, his increasingly demented brain. Sadly, when creating Omega 7, the bio-engineers were unable to recover his right eyeball, instead replacing it with a powerful laser, as they were fond of doing. Still, Omega 7 was getting by with just his left quite admirably."FOOLS!" The warlord shouted, "Face the wrath of my QUAD LASER!" As he cackled maniacally his forearms split into two sections, which then transformed into laser cannons. Again, Omega's bioengineers are just nuts for lasers. He fired all four lasers at the woman in glowing purple armor that charged at him. She held up her own forearm and a large orange disc extended outward, deflecting the lasers away from her. At the last moment she lashed out with the energy shield and then stepped aside. As the cyborg stumbled back the man in the red spandex who had been shadowing the armored girl closed the distance and landed a steel crushing haymaker on the warlord's stomach.

These guys again. Ever since Omega 3 had made the mistake to target earth, these "heroes" had made a point of ruining his fun. Just because his fun involved subjugation and genocide on a planetary scale. Heck, the planet on which they now stood, a lovely world with a sentient species that had just developed agriculture, wasn't even in the same solar system as earth yet these guys insist on preventing Omega 7 from enslaving its peaceful inhabitants.

And so they were here with their annoying ancient alien battle armor and their stupid steel crushing punches.

Luckily for Omega 7, he was composed of an alien alloy that was actually stronger than steel, so he simply shrugged off the powerful blow. "Ha ha ha!" He boomed, "Your blows are nothing to the- BY FOGARR'S GROIN MY EYE!" His eye had exploded in a shower of orange blood as he gloated. On a nearby hill, a heavy-set black woman in an orange spacesuit pumped her fist in the air.

"Yeah!" She shouted over the comm system, "Got him right in the eye!"

"Don't get cocky Longshot," the man in red said, "just keep Omega 7's minions off us!"

"Yeah, yeah Dan, I just saw an opportunity and I took it."

"Colonel Crimson!" The woman in purple shouted as Omega 7 blindly swung a whirring saw blade down at the man in red.

Colonel Crimson spun around and grabbed the blade of the saw with his bare hands. With a grunt of exertion he bent the blade and released it, causing the limb to explode as it continued its spin.

One of Omega 7's henchmen, seeing an opportunity to win glory by saving the life of his liege, fired a rocket at Colonel Crimson. A pink streak plucked the rocket out of the air, and then deposited it in his back pocket. He got a brief image of a giggling, blonde sixteen year old girl, appearing suddenly on a pile of rubble to wave goodbye, before the rocket exploded.

"Nice work Speedfreak!" Colonel Crimson called out, launching another barrage of punches on Omega 7's chest. The girl suddenly appeared standing on the cyborg's shoulder, popped off a quick salute and then disappeared again.

"Be careful Jenna!" Another woman, clad in a stylized green doctor's coat shouted at the pink streak. Sure enough the streak abruptly resolved into the girl, sailing through the air, clutching her foot, and screaming a string of profanity that would make a sailor blush.

"What did I just say!?" The doctor shouted. Next to her, an overweight young man in yellow punched out another of the swarm of minions surrounding them, his arms turning silver just before the impact. "Adamantium lad, get me to Speedfreak."

 "Can do Doc," the young man nodded. His entire body turned silver and he bulldozed his way through the alien soldiers all around them. The doctor followed in his wake, occasionally kicking a body here and there for good measure.

Adamantium Lad tackled a pair of aliens closing in on Speedfreak and then taunted a larger group.  The volley of fire from their alien weapons deflected harmlessly off the diamond hard shell that covered his body.

"Ok, where does it hurt?" The doctor asked as she took advantage of the distraction to slip in next to Speedfreak.

"Um, I don't know," the girl said through gritted teeth, "maybe the part where my left leg is fucking backwards!" She removed her hands from her leg revealing a bloody mess, the highlight of which was her left foot being perpendicular to her calf.

"Wow ok." The doctor gently took her leg, and then roughly shoved it into the correct configuration, eliciting yowls of pain from Speedfreak.

"OW FUCK YOU! YOU FUCKING BITCH!" The speedster screamed. The doctor just sighed and placed her hands on the leg. Green energy poured from them and Speedfreak's screams died down.

"There you go, you big baby..."

Speedfreak stood up, flexed her completely healed leg, giggled, and disappeared in a flash.

"Wow! Thanks Asclepius " The doctor muttered to herself, "I'm so glad you're here for whenever I stub my toe at two hundred miles an hour..."

Suddenly a spray of orange blood coated the back of her head. She turned and watched the headless body of a cyborg soldier drop the energy sword it was carrying and then fall to the ground.

"Got your back Doc!" Longshot said over the radio.

"Thanks." Asclepius said into the comm. Adamantium Lad held out a hand and helped her to her feet.

"Fools!" Omega 7 hollered, "You may have won the battle, but it is I, Omega 7, who shall win the war!" He was missing his left arm and showers of sparks poured from hid robotic body. He hobbled over to a console he had been standing in front of and produced a glowing green device.

Omega 7 took pride in his Domination Fortresses. They were always classy affairs with plenty of room for minions and even more room for lasers. But he also made sure he could always blow the damn things to hell if need be.

"In a few minutes, this fortress, and everything in a mile radius, will be nothing but a fond memory!" Omega 7 cackled. A gaggle of his most loyal henchmen emerged from the shadows, and ushered both their master and his bomb inside the fortress.

"So did we win?" Adamantium Lad asked. The remaining cyborgs were scattering in every direction.

A few moments later a sleek silver ship emerged from the roof of the fortress and took off into the atmosphere.

"He'll be back." Colonel Crimson said.

"Probably as Omega 8, after what we did to him." The armored woman said. She casually extended her arm, causing a bow of orange energy to extend from her fist. She drew back the other hand, which generated an arrow and fired it into the back of one of the cyborg soldiers.

"Now, now Valkyrie, that’s not very sporting." Colonel Crimson scolded her.

She shrugged. Suddenly another spaceship, this one gleaming in red, white, and blue, swooped down on the battlefield.  It landed gently and extended its ramp. Colonel Crimson, ushered Valkyrie inside then gently rose into the air and took off toward Longshot, bringing her back just as Adamantium Lad and Asclepius were hurrying aboard.

"Thanks for the lift Colonel!" She said, as she began to disassemble the huge rifle she carried.

Speedfreak was, of course, already in her seat, texting on her phone. Adamantium Lad took a seat next to her as Asclepius ducked into the lavatory at the back of the ship.

Valkyrie's armor had already retracted into the symbiote that ran long her spine, revealing a sports bra and yoga pants. Colonel Crimson nodded to her and entered the cockpit as the muffled sound of an explosion rang out behind them.

At the controls of the ship was a dark haired man in a blue trench coat.

"Just in time, as usual, Mechanic."

"Don't you love it when a plan comes together?" Mechanic said. A glowing blue cigar appeared in his mouth and he took a couple imaginary puffs before it disappeared into thin air.

Colonel Crimson stared at him blankly.

"Hannibal? From the A-Team?"

"TV Show?"

"Yes!"

"I grew up without a TV, remember?"

"I always forget that. When we get back I am showing you the A-Team."

"Don't see the remake." Adamantium Lad called from behind them, "it's fucking terrible."

"Vito's Pizza, this is Amber, how can I help you?" Amber leaned on the counter as she took the order, typing it into a tablet. The restaurant was fairly empty, as usual, save for the pack of regulars inhabiting the tables near the back. Adam sat in a booth near the front talking to Jenna.

"Adam, we got an order." Amber called over to him. He sighed and shoved his Vito's Pizza hat back on his head. "And keep your hat on. Do you remember what happened the last time Dan caught you out of uniform?"

"Yeah," Adam sighed, "and I still think threatening to throw me through a building was over-dramatic."

"When are you going to let me do some deliveries?" Jenna asked.

"When you learn to drive."

"I don't need to drive!" Jenna protested, "I can get the pizza there in 3 seconds!"

"Yes, you deliver a wind-chilled pizza and then come back with a destroyed uniform. This isn't your suit Jenna."

"Besides," Adam added, "your special goggles aren't part of the uniform. If I have to wear a hat, then you can't wear goggles."

"Ugh. Whatever." Jenna sat back in the booth, her arms crossed.

"Shouldn't you be at the hostess station?"

"Oh I'm sorry." Jenna dragged herself out of the booth, "we need to be ready for the late afternoon rush!" She gestured to the deserted lobby of the restaurant.

"Just get up there."

Eric appeared from the kitchen, a flowing blue chef hat on his head.

"Can one of you go tell Dan we're running low on pepperoni? We need a bigger order next time."

"Oh come on!" Adam thrust a finger accusingly at Eric's hat.

"Cut that shit out when you're not in the kitchen Eric."

Eric looked up distractedly and the hat disappeared. 

"Sorry, forgot it was up there."

"Someone's gonna see and blow our cover."

Adam said.

"Honey, there's no one here to see that doesn't already know." Wanda appeared at Adam's side and put a hand on his shoulder.  She pointed back at the tables full of regulars in the back.

"Hell, hardly anyone here at all. Not that I'm complaining." She pulled a small scope out of her apron and began tinkering with it.

Amy was dropping off another plate of Buffalo wings to a table of teenage boys.

"You know Valkyrie," one began.

"Amy. My name is Amy."

"In the comic books you look like you have DDs but in real life you look more like a B Cup."

"You know I could break your spine, right?"

"Yeah but that wouldn't be very heroic." Another chimed in.

"Well I can still refuse to serve you so you nerds would have to find somewhere else to spend your afternoons."

"Sorry." The first boy said, "I was just bringing to light the comic book industries objectification of women at the expense of reality."

"Sure you were..." Amy retreated to the kitchen, where she allowed purple armor to cover her arms, extending out from her back. She threw a punch at the specially reinforced punching bag set up near the entrance to the dining area. The bolts securing it to the ceiling groaned in protest, but held.

A glowing blue tea cup materialized in the air in front of her and Eric poured a steaming cup of tea.

"Rough table?" He asked.

"The nerds are back."

"Ah they’re not so bad. Why don't you get Wanda to cover your table and I'll give you one of my famous 1000 hand massages?"

"Don't you have pizzas to make?"

Eric's smile drooped in an exaggerated pout, before returning to his usual sly grin.

"I could just invent a pizza making robot."

"You remember the last time you built a robot to do your job?"

"That was one time. And I realize it was probably a mistake to give a mail-sorting robot a flamethrower."

"Just finish those pizzas. You can give me that massage after work." She blew a kiss and then returned to the lobby.

Eric sighed and then turned his attention to the counter, where he hastily disassembled a crude robotic brain and took out a lump of pizza dough.

That night the heroes gathered in the backroom for their weekly staff meeting.

"Okay, so we'll be ordering an extra box of pepperoni starting next week. Any more Vito's business?" Dan looked around the small room. The rest of the heroes shook their heads. "Okay then. Does anyone have anything else they'd like to discuss?" He shrugged his muscular shoulders.

"Yeah," Adam spoke up first, "so I'm almost 19 right? Not really a 'lad' anymore. Can I change my name to Adamantium 'Man'?"

"That's up to you Adam. Your name is how you choose to identify yourself as a hero and if you think you're a man now then your name should reflect that."

"Can we change Assclaps name too?" Jenna chimed in, "To like, Doctor Woman or something?"

"It's Asclepius." Amber said, "The Greek god of medicine."

"No one knows what that is! Hell, we could just call you Amber and it would be a better superhero name."

"Now now," Dan intervened, "What Amber chooses to call herself is her choice.”

"It's better than 'Speedfreak'" Amber muttered, "you sound like a drug addict."

"Oh ha ha. As if Dan would even let us take aspirin."

"We don't need aspirin! I have god damn healing powers!"

The room was quiet for a moment as the two women glared at each other. Finally Dan broke the silence.

"Moving on, we've been tipped off that Herbicide and The Grasshopper are going to be raiding the University Botany Lab on Sunday. I'd like Valkyrie and The Mechanic to be there waiting for them."

"What?" Jenna shrieked, "Eric was supposed to take me to get my stupid driver's license on Sunday."

"Our first priority is always the protection of this city."

"Have Longshot cover Valkyrie then!"

"No can do, honey. It's Jamal's piano recital. Time to see what six months of whuppin' his butt away from that Nintendo got me."

"Ugh! Well who's going to take me then? My Grandpa's too sick to leave the house!"

"I can take you Jenna." Adam said, an awkward smile on his face.

"Thanks Adam!" Jenna sneered triumphantly, "see? He's a real friend."

"Yeah... a friend." Adam's smile wavered a little bit.

Suddenly the back wall exploded inwards and a half dozen alien cyborgs faced them down from the alley, all pointing needlessly large alien rifles.

"Fools!" Their leader snarled, an evil smile distorting his reptilian features, "we have found your secret lair at--" suddenly a streak of color disarmed the goons and they were left blinking as Jenna appeared in front of them, standing in front of a pile of their weapons. She blinked away for a moment and Wanda now held one of their guns. A quick salvo disabled all but the lieutenant.

"Oh... um..." the alien cyborg looked around nervously, "now, face uh... the wrath of my lord and master..." he pointed to the building behind him which suddenly crumbled into dust.

"OMEGA 8, GRAND WARLORD OF THE VAXXIS NEBULA!" The newly rebuilt alien cyborg now sported a new bionic eye and an extra pair of limbs, sporting a nozzle that dripped acid and a giant pair of shears.

"Big deal," Jenna taunted, "this will take us an extra 12 seconds or so to dismantle."

But as the dust cleared, seven more shapes came into view, all cackling doppelgangers of the alien cyborg.

"Ok so, that's 7 times... 12... Uh."

"Fools!" The warlords shouted in unison, “not even your powers are a match for the might of Omega 8!"

"Mechanic!" Colonel Crimson shouted, "Analyze them for weak points. Valkyrie, Adamantium Lad, try and keep as many of them busy as you can, Longshot, prioritize weapon systems, Speedfreak draw their fire away from any civilians!"

The heroes leapt into action. A blue, goggle like computer materialized over Mechanic's head. Longshot tossed aside the alien weapon and leapt under the table to retrieve one of her own rifles. Valkyrie and Adamantium Lad became encased in purple and silver respectively and charged at the warlords. Colonel Crimson tore off his polo shirt to reveal his costume underneath and launched a flying tackle at the closest cyborg. Jenna took off, returned a moment later in her costume and goggles, and then began circling the warlords as they fired at her. Two of the cyborgs noticed and sprayed the ground with a black substance.

Suddenly Speedfreak slowed down, and then stopped as her feet became stuck in the black substance.

"Muhahaha!" The cyborgs cackled, "not so speedy now, eh?"

Adamantium Lad jumped in front of her just as they fired upon her with a bewildering array of weapons.

"Asclepius!" Colonel Crimson shouted, just as Amber reappeared in her costume, "Get Speedfreak unstuck!" One of the Omegas took advantage of the Colonel's distraction and grabbed him in its robotic hands. The Colonel writhed in agony as the veins visible in his neck began turning black.

"We'll see how strong you are with mercury in your veins!" The warlord laughed. Colonel Crimson fell to his knees, shuddering as the poison coursed through his veins. Asclepius turned to him.

"I'll be fine!" He shouted preemptively, "focus on Speedfreak." Even as he spoke his skin around his veins began turning a silvery grey color.

"Do we have an analysis? " Valkyrie shouted, as she cleaved off a writhing metal tentacle with a glowing orange sword.

"Almost," Mechanic replied, throwing up a blue shield to deflect a volley of missiles. "I need a little more data..." He was so focused he didn't notice as Omega's lieutenant slid up through the rubble behind him.

"Eric! Behind you!" Valkyrie shouted.

Thanks to her warning, Mechanic sidestepped, so the alien blade didn't pierce his heart, nevertheless he slumped to the ground in agony. Valkyrie turned to run to him.

"Oh no you don't!" The Omega she had been fighting shot a metallic tentacle from its chest that attached to the armor symbiote on her back. A pulse of energy exploded down the length of the tentacle and Valkyrie was frozen in place as her armor lost its glow and froze up.

"Ha ha!" Omega 8 laughed, "It took my scientists a while but we finally figured out how the Kessel Centurions who wore your armor were finally defeated!"

Longshot smashed the alien lieutenant in the back of the head with her rifle and then applied pressure to Mechanic's wound.

"We need Asclepius!" She shouted.

Luckily, Asclepius had just finished removing Speedfreak's feet.

"I'll cover you," Adamantium Lad said, lasers pounding his diamond hard skin.

"You're not fast enough, Mechanic needs help now." Jenna said, her tone serious for once. "Get on my back."

Without a word, Asclepius climbed onto the speedster's back and in a flash she dizzily climbed off and knelt down next to Mechanic, who was still managing to maintain a shield, though it was starting to flicker.

"Ok, we'll get you fixed up in no time." Asclepius said as she laid her hands on his bloody side.

"Speedfreak..." Mechanic mumbled, "there's a neural transmitter...  linking the cyborgs. If you remove them all fast enough it'll short them out."

"Ok, what does it look like?" Speedfreak asked quickly, glancing nervously at his side, "it's an egg shaped silver thing with blinking lights on the back of the heads."

"Ok." Speedfreak stood up.

"Wait!" Mechanic pointed at her feet. A moment later glowing blue crampons appeared on her feet.

"Thanks Eric."

"Save Valkyrie..." his eyes blinked close and the shield and crampons flickered but they stayed.

"He'll be fine," Asclepius said, as blood absorbed into his side, "he's just being dramatic. GO!"

As Speedfreak sped off a sly smile appeared on Mechanic's face.

In the blink of an eye Speedfreak was back with both hands full of silver devices.

The cyborgs were wreathed in electricity before they froze up. Valkyrie's suit regained its glow and she ripped the tentacle off her back and then pulled on it, bringing the disabled warlord forward onto the glowing orange blade of her energy sword.

"No!" The lead cyborg wailed, "Not again!"

A sleek alien transport appeared in the sky above them, its cloaking device rippling the image as it deactivated.

Colonel Crimson pulled himself to his feet and ripped apart the closest cyborg. "This better be the last time we kick you off of Earth Omega!" Already, the color was returning to his face.

"You'll never defeat me!" Another Omega shouted, just as the flamethrower replacing his left arm exploded as Longshot penetrated the fuel tank.

A wave of cyborg grunts descended from the transport as it flew in low to the ground, most providing cover as their fellows dragged the remaining warlords onto the ship.

Their master secure they retreated back to the transport and took off into the sky, pursued by a squadron of Earth Defense Force fighter jets.

The heroes gathered around Colonel Crimson, who was still shaky. Valkyrie retracted her armor and grabbed Mechanic in a bear hug, kissing him deeply.

Amber sighed as Eric winced in pain. "You better not have re-broken his ribs."

"He got away again." Jenna pouted.

"I wonder what Omega 9's gonna look like." Adam's metallic shell disappeared as he joined the group.

"Trust me; it's going to be a while." Dan said, as Amber checked him over, "There were still five of him left. Knowing that egomaniac, there is going to be quite the discussion over who is the 'real' Omega."

"He did not think that through." Wanda shook her head.

"Let's hope the civil war lasts a long time." Eric smiled as he put his arm around Amy.

"Who knows," she said, "maybe he'll leave us alone for good this time."

"Well hopefully we'll have this place rebuilt by then." Dan gestured to the ruined back wall.

"Three day weekend!" Eric shouted.

"Amber can you call the usual contractors?"

"I'm on it Dan." Amber sighed.

Soon it was just Jenna and Adam left outside.

"You saved my life back there." Jenna said, her voice sincere.

"Oh! Uh..." Adam nervously scratched his head, "just doing my job."

"I know." Jenna stared at the ground, "you kind of save my life on a regular basis now that I think about it."

"You’re my teammate. And my friend."

"Well thanks. I don't say it a lot but it's nice to have you guys. It's just me and my Grandpa at home so you guys are like my family. "

"Oh... uh yeah. You're welcome!"

They were silent for a moment. Then the cocky tone returned to Jenna's voice.

"And don't forget to take me to get my license."

"Yeah no problem!"

"And maybe once I can drive I can take you to dinner to show my appreciation… Adamantium Man."

She blinked away and a smear of her pink lipstick appeared on Adam's cheek.

He smiled as he walked back inside the pizza parlor.

Triumphant Return of Dr. Thunder

So hey reader(s), I have decided to start updating this blog more often. Because apparently years of intense apathy toward my written works have communicated the message that clearly my work is in hot demand. Speaking of which, if you didn't know, I have recently finished my first full length novel, It will be the third book I have written and the first without the intervention of

SUP SLUT.

Oh. Hi Dr. Thunder. I thought you started a cult.

Oh I did. It was pretty fantastic, let me tell you. We were all set up in a nice little compound in the Peruvian Alps, away from the laws of man and god, creating a more perfect human being through a combination of untested genetic engineering and forcing kidnapped athletes to have sex with scientists. Then we videotaped that, sold the tapes, and used that money to fund a giant machine that harvests male and female zygotes and combines them in vast artificial wombs. Sadly, the Peruvian authorities while our army of perfect men was still in it's infancy. Rather than a legion of super-smart, physically perfect ubermen it was basically just a giant vat of gooey, incredibly attractive toddlers. They barely managed to kill anyone. Luckily, I escaped by sacrificing my followers in a fiery tempest that lit up the night sky like a midnight sun.

You know, the Alps are in Switzerland. You're thinking of the Andes.

Nah dog. There were Alpacas. ALPacas. Liek from the ALps.Not Andpacas. That would be dumb. Like you.

The sad part is that does kind of make sense in a weird way.

Of course it does. I'm Dr. Thunder. Everything I say or do becomes correct by virtue of me doing it. Speaking of which, I got married again, then divorced, then married, then divorced. I finally hit the big 120. I'm pretty proud of my sexual accomplishments. How about you big guy? You still hideously unlovable? Or did you finally pop the question to that big tub of vaseline. I volunteer to be the best man. I already have a speech prepared. You would be surprised at how many words and phrases the Peruvians have for "Gigantic torso" and "long, ape-like arms"

I've been busy. Writing a book. And I also graduated from college.

Right. Because that's so hard. Writing a book. And also graduating from college. I did that shit like nine times. But hey, at least you have a worthless degree in a field with no job openings from Cal State Whogivesashit right? I bet that'll look nice and shiny on your wall, next to all your My Little Pony posters.

Look, did you have a point? Or are you just here to harass me.

Let me think... no. Just the harassing you thing. Also I stole your car and filled it with jungle diseases. Oh and if you insist on writing, then I too must return to the game, to spread my wisdom down on all the... all the... children... of... the world. Yeah. Awesome. 

Fantastic. Well in summary, I am going to be updating this blog more, with short stories, and movie reviews and stuff about things, and I guess Dr. Thunder will be continuing his Ask Dr. Thunder thing.

Don't forget to email me at xtremedoctor@gmail.com! I won't read them, but it's nice to feel like your accomplishing stuff right?

Amber’s Car 2: Blood on the Nile

 So while Dr.Thunder is busy in South America with his weird cult-thingy, he has been unable to update Ask Dr. Thunder. So in the meantime, here is my latest short story:

"Hey Mike, do you think you could give me a ride home from work later?"

"Perhaps. Why do you need a ride?"

"Oh my car got stolen again."

"Where are you parking your car that it gets stolen this often? The slums of Buenos Aires? Nevermind, I'll assemble the men."

"No need, the cops actually already--"

"TOO LATE! ONCE ASSEMBLED THEY CANNOT BE UNASSEMBLED!"

0900 - Death Valley, California

The Chief hurried through the dank corridors of the S.S. Clusterfuck, a 300 meter land-based aircraft carrier churning through the desert sands on four massive treads.

At his side, Goggle, his lead communications expert strode in his shadow, flicking through a series of files on a tablet in his hands.

"So we can confirm that Amber's Car has been taken again?"

"Yes sir. That's the report we received from command as of 0730 this morning."

"My god man," The Chief pulled off the sunglasses he had inexplicably been wearing indoors. "This is big. That's like some sort of... like when multiple things fit together... like..."

"Pattern, sir?"

"You're damn right Goggle. It's some sort of pattern. And we're going to get to the bottom of it."

"We'll need a new team. Most of the men who survived the first recovery mission are either dead or retired."

"It's been a four crazy months. Don't worry Goggle, I have just the loose cannon badasses for the job!"

They stepped out onto the deck of the carrier into the baking sun where eleven human shaped mounds of angry muscle saluted sharply. The Chief returned the salute and then turned to his comm expert.

"Goggle, meet the new team!"

               

Brick "Meat" Torres- Heavy Weapons

Magnus "Magnus" Magnusson- Heavy Weapons

Warren "Skullcrusher" Skullcrushkowitz- Close Quarters Combat

Dirk "Chilean Thunder" Hardcastle- Heavy Weapons

Max "Blazerbeam" Steele - Recon

Rolf "Blitzkrieg" Schmetterling- Vehicles

Jack "Todd" Jackson- Heavy Weapons

Chet "Wolfman" Powers- Explosives

Ricky "Salvo" Starr- Sniper

Brock "Doc" Rockman- Medic

Rock "Socks" Brockman- Demolitions

He finished the introductions and turned back to the men.

"Alright boys. We've got a mission. For many of you this will be your first mission with the company. Consider this your trial by fire! Some of you may not survive. A couple of you may be killed, resurrected, and then killed again. But one thing is certain: we will get this young lady's car back!"

The men cheered wildly, pumping meaty fists and firing into the air. Meat slung the grenade launcher from his back and fired a single shot into the air as he whooped loudly.

"LET'S DO IT!!"

Moments later it came back down on top of him, blowing him into meaty chunks that scattered across the deck of the carrier.

"A bit overzealous there." The Chief nodded grimly, "but I admire the enthusiasm!"

The rest of the team piled into a massive AC-260 gunship that was far more "gun" than "ship", with six Vulcan Gatling cannons and two howitzers on each side, and took off into the arid sky.

Meanwhile, Goggle retreated back to the command room, where he devoted all 16 monitors to playing Starcraft 2.

"Alright Goggle" The Chief said over the comm, “What can you tell us about this latest theft?"

"Well sir, pretty much the same as the first time around. A brown Honda stolen in Santa Ana. There were some old books in the car this time. Mostly sentimental value."

"Exponential value? You're telling me these books are getting more valuable by the second?"

"That is the opposite of what I am telling you."

The Chief disconnected the radio and turned to the men in the back of the plane.

"Alright boys, looks like there were some exponentially valuable books in that car. We may be dealing with some sort of rare book heist disguised as a car theft!"

The men gasped in surprise at the notion of someone trying to acquire more books.

"This is good though!" The Chief continued, "We just have to figure out where they'll strike next. Where are there a lot of books?"

"The Internet!"

"A Turkish prison!"

"Gone with the Wind!"

The men shouted.

"That's right. A library!" He turned to face the cockpit, "Blitzkrieg, take us to the nearest library to the car theft" He turned back around, "Magnus, Wolfman, I want incendiary rounds in those Vulcans ASAP. Socks, I need 'Ride of the Valkyries' queued up on the sound system. We're going to flush the bastards out."

1100- Santa Ana Public Library, California

Ernest Lehman sat in his school bus out in front of the library and took a bite of his sandwich. It was tuna salad, his favorite. He glanced at his watch and saw with approval that he had started his lunch precisely at 11 am, as he did every day. The kids of Mrs. Preston's third grade class wouldn't be ready for another hour but he knew he would be finished with his lunch by 1130, no later. It was these simple little things that kept the 62 year old bus driver going, a routine, reliability. 

As he finished his sandwich and removed a pudding cup from his old tin lunch box he gradually became aware of a droning sound. It gradually grew louder as he looked back into the empty bus for the source of the noise. It seemed almost familiar, like he had heard it before. He gasped as he suddenly caught sight of the source of the noise: the biggest plane Ernest had ever seen, and it was heading straight for him.

He started having flashbacks to Vietnam and the terrifying things he had seen planes like that do. The sheer destructive power of an AC-130 with air superiority.

As he put the bus unto gear he decided he never really liked third graders much anyway.

"We are approaching the target sir!" Blitzkrieg called from the cockpit, "circling now"

"Get on those guns men!" The Chief shouted as the men hurried to comply. Todd, who did not have a gun to fire, stood by to reload.

The Chief pressed play on the gunships sound system and the opening notes of 'Ride of the Valkyries' blared from the onboard speakers, competing with the drone of the plane's eight engines.

"Open Fire!" The Chief screamed.

The public library below exploded as thousands of rounds of incendiary ammunition and howitzer shells slammed into it. In less than a minute it had been flattened into a burning crater.

"Target neutralized" Chilean Thunder called from one of the howitzers.

"We've got Army jets inbound sir." Blitzkrieg called out as the firing ceased.

"Get us back to the Clusterfuck Blitzkrieg." The Chief said. He smiled proudly at the scorched earth where the library once stood.

"One down..." He muttered to himself quietly.

1230- Death Valley

The Chief stood in the briefing room of the S.S. Clusterfuck his men enjoying celebratory tequila shots all around him. Finally Goggle entered the room, closing the tower defense game he was playing on his tablet and saluting.

"We did it, Goggle. We razed that bitch to the ground! But if we're going to be sure we got the bastards we're going to need to hit the rest of them."

"The rest of what?" Goggle asked.

"Libraries. How many more are there?"

"Like, in southern California?"

"Like everywhere. We need to be thorough."

"I don't know, thousands... maybe millions."

"Damn! We don't have time for that!" The Chief slammed his fist down in frustration. "We need  to catch this book thief and recover Amber's car!"

"Wait, did you say book thief?" Blazerbeam said, "I think I saw something about that on the news."

"That was a trailer for the movie The Book Thief." Goggle said.

"Hey yeah!" Wolfman said, "I saw that too! I think it had Chloe Grace - Moretz and Emma Watson in it."

"We'll need to bring them in alive." The Chief said, "Blitzkrieg, take Doc, Socks, and Skullcrusher to England in the gunship. The rest of you are coming with me after this Chloe Grace-Moretz character. "

1430- Beverly Hills, California

"I'm telling you babe, this role is perfect for you!"

Abigail Breslin's agent continued to pester her as she ate her salad. They were joined at the table by her manager, bodyguard, and publicist. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten alone.

"I just don't think I'd make a good Captain Ahab." The starlet replied, "And I also really don't want to."

"Come on!" Her agent persisted, "we already have Frankie Muniz as Ismael, and Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson as Moby Dick. It's going to be a blockbuster!"

Before Abigail could respond, her agent exploded from the waist up.

"Target is clear, move in." Salvo radioed as he loaded another round into his "Wrecking Ball" anti-building rifle. When you need to assassinate a skyscraper, you use a "Wrecking Ball".

The street in front of the restaurant patio where Abigail Breslin's was now screaming incoherently cracked and burst as a land submarine surfaced. The Chief, Magnus, Blazerbeam, and Todd burst from the hatch, guns blazing.

Blazerbeam shoved one of his two double barreled Desert Eagles into the bodyguards mouth and pulled the trigger while Magnus sawed the manager in half with the chainsaw bayonet attached to his rocket launcher. The publicist made a run for it, only to be bathed in napalm by Todd’s flamethrower.

"Hello Miss Grace Moretz," The Chief said as he approached the blood soaked starlet,  "we have some questions about the book thief."

"W-what?" Breslin's stuttered. She took a moment to compose herself, "Ok, first of all, I'm not Chloe Grace Moretz, I'm Abigail Breslin. Second, Chloe Grace Moretz isn't in the Book Thief,  you're thinking of  Sophie Nelisse. Third, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?"

"Sophie Nelisse? Who the hell is that?" The Chief looked over at Blazerbeam, who merely shrugged.

"I loved you in Hunger Games." Todd said.

"I wasn't in Hunger Games either! That was Jennifer Lawrence." Abigail said, as she began picking skull fragments from her hair.

"The guy from Black Knight?"

"No that's Martin Lawrence." Magnus corrected him.

"The founder of Protestantism?"

"No that's Martin Luther." Abigail said. Before Todd could ask another question a shot rang out and the tank of napalm strapped to his back burst, coating him in flames.

"Hostiles!" The Chief shouted as Abigail Breslin's head exploded, along with the front of the restaurant behind her. "Not her you idiot!" The Chief looked up at the rooftop where Salvo was perched and angrily pointed in the direction of two squad cars from the Beverly Hills police department with four officers crouched behind them. A SWAT truck was moving into position behind them.

Another shot from the "Wrecking Ball" tore into the side of the truck, pulverizing half the team inside it.

"Tactical retreat!" The Chief called out as Magnus took out one of the squad cars with a rocket, "back to the sub!"

Salvo took out the remaining squad car but he saw more flashing lights in the distance. He made sure the submarine submerged successfully, before setting up a laser targeter aimed at the ruins of the cafe where they had found Abigail Breslin and grabbed the jetpack he had stowed on the roof. As he took off into the afternoon air an orbital strike demolished the cafe and everything in a 10 block radius.

1600- Somewhere below Los Angeles, California

The Chief grimaced as he sat at the helm of the land submarine. Below him, Blazerbeam, Magnus, Chilean Thunder and Wolfman worked the controls, zeroing in on Salvo's beacon.

"So..." Wolfman broke the tense silence, "do we go after the real Chloe Grace Moretz then?"

"No no..." The Chief waved him off, "I have a feeling she would be just as useless. I'm starting to think this rare book heist was really just a cover for a car theft." He contemplated this for a moment before picking up the radio.

"Goggle?"

"Yeah Chief?" Goggle said, pausing StarCraft 2.

"What kind of engine did that stolen car have?"

"Engine? Just a regular internal combustion engine as far as I know..."

"Internal combustion..."

"Wait Chief!" Wolfman interjected, "I learned in Explosives school that combustion is a fancy word for explosion!"

"My god man!" The Chief put on a pair of sunglasses, "an engine that runs on explosions! That's it!"

"Um Chief..." Goggle said over the radio, "most engine use internal combustion."

"Yes, but if they can somehow reverse engineer the internal combustion engine, into an external combustion engine, they could have... Some kind of... explosions... thing! Wolfman, how many kilotons of explosives can an engine like that produce?"

"Well if I had to guess, I'd estimate it at 10 million."

"Jesus Truckasaurus Christ..." The Chief slowly removed his sunglasses. "But who has the motive to make a bomb like that? We already won the war on terror, Bin Laden's dead!"

"Somali pirates?" Chilean Thunder suggested.

"Of course! To Somalia!"

1940- London, England

The AC-260 flew low over the streets of London, occasionally skidding over the rooftops of taller buildings. Finally, their target was in sight: Buckingham Palace.

A few of the palace guards broke their traditional stillness as they looked up in alarm, some even taking shots with their rifles.

As it approached it suddenly began to tilt upward. The cockpit rotated downward and the guns lining its side migrated to the bottom of the plane. The massive wings split and moved along the plane, shaping themselves into arms and legs. Finally it touched down on the lawn of Buckingham palace, an 80 foot tall robot with a chest full of guns aimed at the Queen's front door.

"Bring us Emma Watson!" The PA system boomed, "Or we shall destroy this place and all who reside within."

Their initial demands were met with a missile strike from several fighter jets. The AC-260 fired, blowing the front of the palace apart in a hurricane of hot lead.

A second strike from the jets found its target, blowing the cockpit, with Blitzkrieg inside, to pieces and sending the bipedal plane crashing to the ground.

Doc, Socks, and Skullcrusher bailed out. Of the vehicle's torso and charged the palace, firing wildly at the scattered survivors.

"Find the Queen!" Doc shouted, "Don't worry about the guards, they'll die if they sting you."

"That's bees." Socks shouted, tossing a grenade.

"Same thing."

The three mercenaries ascended a ramp of rubble up to the second floor where they began sweeping the rooms. Finally they located Queen Elizabeth II cowering behind a massive gilded desk. Skullcrusher grabbed her and gripped her head in in his massive hands.

"Tell us where Emma Watson is!" He shouted.

"I don't know!" The monarch shrieked.

"AAAAAAAHHHHH!" Doc screamed in her face.

"AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" She replied.

In the heat of the moment Skullcrusher accidentally crushed her head.

"Damn. We murdered the Queen." Doc muttered.

"Oh hey," Socks said, as he rifled through the things on the desk, "The Queen has Emma Watson's address in her rolodex."

"No. She had Emma Watson's address in her rolodex."

2100- Johannesburg, South Africa

The Chief sat at the controls of the Super-Goliath a 300 foot tall crab like robot with an 80 foot rail gun capable of wiping out whole fleets with a single shot.  It was the second largest vehicle in the fleet. The largest vehicle in the fleet strode through at its side, the Ultra-Goliath a 400 foot tall samurai mech with a 230 foot diamond edged sword and a shoulder mounted 12.1 gigawatt laser.

The two mechs marched into downtown Johannesburg leaving a swath of destruction miles wide as they destroyed everything in their path.

"Keep on it men." The Chief said over the radio, "if we cause enough destruction here, we'll draw the pirates out."

On the ground, Blazerbeam, Magnus, Wolfman and Chilean Thunder moved through the streets, finishing off anyone that The Chief and Salvo, in the *Ultra-Goliath* missed.

"Uh sir," Goggles voice chirped over the radio, "What are you doing?"

"Drawing out the Somalian Pirates, Goggle. We went over this."

Goggle decided not to mention that his base was being overrun with Zerg during the briefing and he had not been paying attention.

"You do know you're in South Africa right?"

"Yes. And Somalia is in Africa."

"South Africa is a country. It's pretty much on the other side of the continent from Somalia."

"Damn it Goggle," The Chief slammed his fist down on the control panel, "I know what I'm doing!"

The Super-Goliath's rail gun misfired, hitting the Ultra-Goliath in the stomach and disintegrating its lower torso. The mecha-samurai lurched and then fell backward, destroying countless homes and businesses and accidentally crushing Chilean Thunder and Wolfman.

The 80 pounds of explosives Wolfman was carrying on his body detonated, blasting a hole into one of the Ultra-Goliath's nuclear reactors.

"Whoops." The Chief said as the reactor suffered a catastrophic meltdown and began burning a radioactive crater into the ground.

The wave of radiation that followed hit Magnus and Blazerbeam who, due to the cocktail of illegal steroids and genetic enhancements necessary to remain their massive physique,  mutated into horrific monsters.

"Yeah that's my bad right there." The Chief slowly backed his mech out of the city as Magnus and Blazerbeam, now roughly 30 feet tall began their respective unstoppable rampages.

0130- The English Channel

Skullcrusher roughly pushed Emma Watson into the room and handcuffed her to the metal chair at its center. Doc tore off the black hood covering her head and ripped out the duct tape.

"Hello Miss Watson." He said, a wicked smile crossing his muscular face, "we have some questions about the book thief."

"Yeah!" Socks added from the corner of the room, "and don't try any of your magic. This room is made entirely out of C4 and if I hear the first syllable of a spell, we're all going up."

"Are you retarded?" She asked.

"We will ask the questions here!" Skullcrusher shouted, "Tell us about the book thief!"

"What the movie? The movie I'm not even in? You're probably thinking of Emily Watson you twit."

"Isn't Emma short for Emily?"

"Emma isn't short for anything!"

"Ah." Skullcrusher looked at Doc and shrugged.

"Where are we right now anyway?"

"We're on an underwater helicopter in the English Channel."

"There's no such thing."

Skullcrusher resisted the urge to crush her skull in and instead went to the corner to sulk.

"Alright Miss Watson." Doc said, "Where’s Amber's Car?"

"Who the bloody hell is Amber?"

"The person who's car you stole! Because of books!"

"Because of books? Is that... some sort of Harry Potter thing? Is that what this is about?"

"She's casting a spell!" Socks shouted. Doc and Skullcrusher grabbed his arms to prevent him from depressing the detonator button.

"You're all a bunch of loonies."

"Yeah well at least we aren't car stealing witches." Socks retorted.

Emma rolled her eyes.

"Ok fine. You caught me. The car's parked under the whomping willow at Hogwarts. Wankers. Now will you let me go?"

"I knew it!" Socks shouted, almost pressing the detonator again.

"I'll radio The Chief." Doc said as he snatched the detonator from Socks hand and ushered him out of the room. Skullcrusher followed them, but turned back to Emma just before he left

"I loved you in Hunger Games."

"Oh man, did you see the photos they released of Frankie Muniz as Ismael from the new Moby Dick? That shit is going to be cray."

"What the hell Mike, I thought you were going to give me a ride home last night!"

"I was too busy solving crimes! Your car was stolen by Emma Watson. She'll be rotting in Volcano Prison for the rest of her sexy, sexy life."

"What the hell is Volcano Prison?"

"It's like regular prison, except inside an active volcano and not like regular prison at all because they throw you into a volcano."

"You are so weird..."

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 317

Welcome to another exciting episode of Ask Dr. Thunder. It's certainly been a while hasn't it? I've been a bit preoccupied, I founded a religion. It's called the Church of the Imperfect Machine, and my followers believe that all living things, especially mankind, are machines, created by god and honed through evolution toward an ideal that can only be reached if we devote our lives to the betterment of humanity as a species, through genetic manipulation and a dash of selective breeding. Basically it amounts to me having sex with a great deal of gullible women with low self-esteem. I mean, I wasn't having any trouble doing that before but now I get to wear a sweet hat.
My point is that in between shaping the lives of thousands of stupid people and my ongoing efforts to evade the evil forces of my bitch ex-wife Karen, checking my email hasn't been a big priority for me. Because frankly I care about you slightly less than I care about the nitrogen content of the Polish turnip harvest in 1874.
Let's get started!

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I've never been on good terms with my family, but I would like to change that. I was thinking of planning a reunion. Do you have any ideas for something that will bring us all together?
Daniel- Toronto, MO

Well Stephen, there's an old saying "You can't choose your family, but you can arrange for them to all die in tragic accidents". However, there are advantages to having people who are relatively similar to you genetically, like if you need to harvest their organs to give yourself quadruple kidneys, so it is often best to be on good enough terms that you can easily summon them if necessary.
Family reunions are a great idea, in theory, except for the part about actually meeting and interacting with your extended family. Instead, I suggest making up fictionalized versions of your family, and then convincing yourself that the version of your Uncle Seamus that fights crime, gives blood to orphans, and would never get drunk and jump off a balcony onto your birthday cake is the real one.
If you insist on trying to bond with your real family, try getting everyone stuck in some sort of tragedy, like a sinking ship, or a haunted cabin. As you band together to fight for your lives you will realize that spending time with those people is slightly better than being ripped apart by werewolves. Or, you or them will be ripped apart by werewolves, which also solves the problem!

Dear Dr. Thunder,
Have you ever been in love? I think I'm in love with this guy but I don't know for sure.
Cynthia, Prescott, TI

Well Stephen, even though several columns back I declared that I refused to answer any more relationship questions, I'm going to take a crack at this one, since as we all know love is a chemical reaction in your brain that causes the release of certain hormones and is completely independent of who you decided to mash your genitalia into.
As a man who has been married 118 times, you may be surprised to find out I have been in love only once. I was a young med student at Big Crazy Steve's Medical School and Pig Farm, collecting tribute from incoming freshman as lord emperor of McCauley dormitory. She was the ghost of a Victorian era seamstress trapped in an enchanted mirror by a gypsy to teach her a lesson about vanity. When she was brought to my suite as a token of fealty from a Romanian exchange student, I reacted poorly at first, since it was something I could neither fuck, snort, or exchange for something that I could fuck or snort. The Romanian was lashed to the roof as punishment. However as I spent more time with Rebecca Mandrake Pendleton  we found we had a lot in common. I felt like she was me, if I had grown up in the Victorian era under different economic circumstances and also had a vagina.
 But alas, I soon grew frustrated as her glass prison meant that our relationship could only go so far. One night, in my frustration I threw a toaster at her, as she was nigh indestructible. To my horror she shattered and escaped to the afterlife, as I hadn't realized the toaster held the spirit of a Turkish cigar magnate cursed by a different gypsy.
I was so sad that I burned down my entire kingdom and was forced to conquer another dorm with my surviving warriors. We put the Freshman of Regis Hall to the sword but no amount of blood could fill the hole in my heart.
Anyway, to answer your question, soaking the shirt in white wine will help to lift the stain, and then just slowly dab at it with a dry towel or sponge. Whatever you do, do not wipe, as that will just make things worse.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
Finals week is right around the corner and it is stressing me out. If I fail even one, I might not be able to graduate. Do you have any tips for studying?
Darnell, Scottsburg, DP

Well Stephen, I'm no stranger to stress, but luckily I just have to remember that I am the best at everything, and anything I do automatically succeeds because whatever the outcome is must, by definition, be victory because I achieved it. However, not everyone has that luxury. It seems to me that if your very graduation hinges upon your scores on every single final exam, then you clearly spent the semester disregarding your schoolwork. In which case, no amount of studying can prepare you so you can relax and let your failure happen. If this is not the case and you have been working hard all semester than you can relax because you are exactly at the level you are meant to be and will receive the score you deserve. Either way, it really isn't that important. Prospective employers don't give a rat's ass about your grades, it's all about who you know, who knows you, and what you can do. Or, if you are applying to be one of my interns, how much electricity your body can absorb before your heart fails.

Well, I'm getting sick of writing now, so I'm gonna stop, but before I do, I'd just like to let you all know that Michael Armor wrote another book for some reason and you should buy it. Because I get the money. It might be good too. I only wrote some of it and pretty much skimmed anything that didn't mention me, but I didn't vomit blood from my eyes like that time I tried to read Twilight. So there you go. You probably won't vomit blood from your eyes.
 Buy it here: https://www.createspace.com/4166119
Or put it on your electrobooky thing here: http://www.amazon.com/Indescribable-Glory-Dr-Thunder-ebook/dp/B00CJ17TBG/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1368653574&sr=8-1&keywords=the+indescribable+glory+of+dr.+thunder

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 316

Well we meet again, faceless reader type persons. I know last week, or whenever it was I last posted, you were all like "Dr. Thunder! Without your wisdom in the form of replies to emails, we will wither and die!" Well readers-- "WITHER AND DIE!" this week I am-- "WITHER!" gonna answer--- "DIIIIIIEEEEE!"
Ok you done now? "YES." Ok. So anyway this week, I am going back to the usual format of reading real emails you disgusting people sent in and then making fun of you. Our first email comes from Randy in Connecticut. "Wither and die."

Dear Dr. Thunder.
This coming election is the most important thing that has ever happened to anyone ever. Who are you going to vote for? Barack Obama or Tall Shiny Hair Man. Danke schon!

The Most Important Thing Ever

Well Stephen I have decided not to participate in democracy this season, as I have for the past 480 years. The thing is, democracy in the United States, isn't really a thing. Democracy is when everyone gets a vote for everything. What we have is a republic, where we elect a series of reprehensible people to make decisions that benefit them personally and sometimes, often by accident, the people who elected them. The founding fathers decided that the people they fought to liberate from the mild inconvenience of British tyranny were far too stupid to have any actual power so they came up with a system where that power would go to charismatic douche-bags instead. Now, obviously these are generalizations. But you probably don't know what that word means. You're probably picturing those previous statements in tiny peaked hats with little stars and those brushy shoulder things. They are called epaulets.
As for the presidential election, voting, on an individual level is basically the most pointless way to waste an afternoon that doesn't involve genitalia. Let's look at it this way. Let's say I live in California, in the hills behind Michael Armor's house so I can sneak in at night and secretly shave off a square inch of body hair every other week. Not that I am admitting to such, in case any ex-wives or the inhuman greed engines they call lawyers are reading.
Now let's say I wanted to vote for Mr. Obamington or whatever the president's name is. Woo! Hooray! The democrats take California and all 60 of it's votes go to the President. Now let's say I want to vote for Romnington. Woo! Hooray! The democrats take California and all 60 of it's votes go to the President.
You see, in a state like California where one party has a clear majority, voting for either candidate is completely and utterly pointless. If you vote for the majority party, they were going to win anyway, so good for you. If you vote for the minority party, they aren't going to win, your candidate will receive approximately zero additional votes, and you should probably just kill yourself.
"But Dr. Thunder! If no one votes, then how will we determine who the next President is? Without a President we will be easily assimilated by Canada!"
Don't worry. The elderly will still vote. And the hardcore partymembers. You could literally nominate a trained bear that has been dead for six months as a candidate for one of the two major parties and it would get at least 40% of the vote.
"But Dr. Thunder! This is an important decision we can't just leave to borderline fanatics and old people!"
No, it really isn't. Thanks to your system of checks and balances, the President doesn't have nearly as much power as he should have. Plus, he's not going to do anything too radical because he and his friends have to win another popularity contest in four years time.
So this year, do what I do. Stay home, crack open a bottle of stolen wine, and plant scorpion eggs in Michael Armor's laundry hamper.

Democracy!

Dear Dr. Thunder,
My friend was abducted by aliens. I am putting a team together to get him back. Will you join us?

Savages!

Well Stephen, if it really was aliens, then sure. As a scientist I am morally obligated to investigate new forms of life and then kill them, dissect them, and write papers on their remains. However, the concept of aliens visiting our planet is frankly mind-bogglingly retarded. Like my mind is literally boggled so hard right now it is difficult to type. Let's look at this piece by piece. First of all, we already checked all the nearby planets for life and they are as inhospitable as Lindsay Lohan's vagina. Which means that if there is extraterrestrial life they would have to be at least a few hundred light years away. And let's say they have the technology to reach the speed of light, which is the fastest anything can go. Now, hurtling through space at those speeds would mean that if they hit even the tiniest speck of dust it would tear their ship to pieces like a hammer through a baby's skull.
But let's say they for some reason have a ship that can not only go the speed of light but also either navigate with unimaginable precision. Coolio. Kudos to the artificial intelligence that will be piloting the ship. Because there is no way in hell an alien is going out into space for several hundred years. Mars is in our fucking backyard on a grander scale and we're sending robots there like an old guy who sits on his porch and pays the neighborhood kids to bring him his paper.
Ok so their robot gets here. What possible reason would they have to abduct anyone? They're sure as hell not going to bring them back to their planet. If they sent anything, it would probably be a passive observer because no alien society in their right mind would fund anything more elaborate than that when there is no guarantee that it's even going to find anything. And if they already had a way of seeing us before they sent the probe then why send it at all? If they've mastered space travel then they will know that we are actually several hundred years in the future of what they are seeing and for all they know our planet could have been destroyed by the time we got there.
Anyway, I'm tired of talking about this. Because I hate you now. I am going to find you, and kill you. I hope you're happy now. Next email.

Dear Dr. Thunder
What is your zombie survival plan?

Zombie?

 Well Stephen my plan is to sit down in a chair, lock my front door and then jerk off for about six hours until the U.S. military and the CDC completely eradicates the zombies. Seriously, have you seen the kind of weapons we have? Even if the government was somehow caught off-guard, everyone and their grandma knows what a zombie is and how to kill it. Hell, there is a HUGE segment of the population, probably including you has a "zombie survival plan" and a shitload of weapons and they are just itching for an excuse to murder random strangers. The zombies wouldn't last ten minutes. Why do you think every zombie movie and TV show starts AFTER the apocalypse because there is no realistic way that it could happen.
Well, I have to go hunt down the guy who wrote the second email and kill his whole family now. SO until next time, you keep sending those emails, and I'll keep pretending to read them.

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 315

So this week, instead of answering your stupid emails about bullshit, we're doing things a little differently. As you all know, I recently edited a collection of short stories that went on to win the prestigious Dr. Thunder Award for Things That Make Dr. Thunder Slightly Richer.
 Available here. Buy 10 copies.
However, the royalties I was contractually obligated to receive were somewhat less than I had expected. So I called up the shithead who wrote the stories and demanded that he publish another, better book, that I would name, edit, and receive all the credit for. So he did and now we're bringing him on as a special guest to talk about it. Well, special in the sense that he thinks he can write, like roughly 90% of the population.

Please welcome spite-fueled engine of self-destruction, Michael Armor.
How am I a "spite-fueled engine of self-destruction"?
Well you continue to insist that I am merely a character you created yes? So you are essentially talking to yourself?
Yes.
Well, then you just called ytourself a spite-fueled engine of self-destruction. That sounds pretty spiteful and self destructive to me.
Touche
This is America, we speak English here. If you don't like it you can return to whatever sandy hell hole you hail from.
First of all, I am American, second of all, this is the internet, which isn't technically America.
You just keep telling yourself that.
Can we talk about the book?
Sure, so you're a terrible writer. Which is a shame because it always seem like you are on the verge of not terrible, then you just add in a little hot glaze of failure that brings the whole work down.
Well, you know that`s the sort of thing an editor is supposed to catch so I can fix it.
Which is why I'm telling you.
Several months after the book was published.
I gave you notes!
You sent the proof copy back four hours after I gave it to you with a sticky note that said "Sounds Good" and a crude drawing of me getting sexually assaulted by a bear.
That's not true. He was raping you. That is a very specific kind of sexual assault. And I am pretty sure you were enjoying it. Anyway, that's all in the past, I will do a much better job on your next books.
Books?
Yep, you're writing two now.
But I haven't even finished the novel yet.
Oh he's writing "novels" now. Fancy. Just slap some of that crap you write in your spare time together and put a fancy title on it. I'm thinking "The Humble Magnificence of Dr. Thunder" or maybe "The Undeniable Glory of Dr. Thunder."
Or, you know, something relevant.
Ah! but you gave me the rights to name it!
Which isn't a real thing.
And to boost sales I will even include MY latest story, "Dr. Handsome Protagonist and the Temple of Being 
Better Than You In Every Way"
What, me personally?
No, just everyone.
So why exactly are we doing this when the book isn't even done yet?
Books.
Fine, books.
Because I haven't updated the blog in a while and if I have to sift through more emails from cretins asking me why other cretins won't fuck them I'm going to shoot someone.
Ok, so what do you want me to say? The novel's almost done, I'm probably half way through enough stories to fit another one. 
Tell them how pretty the books are going to be when you publish them. And I want my picture on the back this time. And the front.
Whatever, I'm probably going to have someone else edit them this time.
How dare you! I will hunt them down and kill their whole families with a spoon.
No you won't because you don't exist.
Boy you are just dead set on convincing the world you are a crazy person who talks to himself.
I guess I really am kind of a spite-fueled engine of self-defeat.
Self-destruction. 
Whatever. Buy my book.

Well that was insightful and a little depressing! Tune in whenever I feel like it for the next exciting installment of Ask Dr. Thunder. You keep sending those emails, and I'll keep pretending to read them! Unless I decided to interview a delusional jackass instead!

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 314

Hello my inexplicably loyal, possibly non-existent friends! I haven't had a chance to make a new episode in a while because I got involved with Doctors Without Borders and they sent me to Morocco. I later realized that the organization had nothing to do with bringing back the bankrupt bookstore Borders and was, in fact, some sort of dumb charity thing. Long story short, I am now supreme emperor for life of about 3 villages in Morocco that seceded from the government. Perhaps I will be back someday, at least to see how the eugenics is going. But in the meantime my only duty is to you and your nagging, frivolous emails. I was a god to those people. A GOD. Let's get started!

THESE ARE MY HANDS! THEY ARE LIFE AND DEATH!

Dear Dr. Thunder,
My office is doing a Secret Santa this year and as luck would have it I get to buy a gift for a girl I have had a crush on since I started working here. I asked her friends about her and they say she is a gamer. I don't play any video games so I don't really know what to get her! Can you help?
Tom

First of all, I'd like to address my fanbase as a whole: enough with the god damn relationship questions. I am not Will Smith in Hitch. I am a medical doctor and 5 seconds of my time is worth more than the lives of you and your whole family.
Anyways Steven, Secret Santa is a great way to build teamwork and camaraderie in any workplace. There's nothing like seeing the look on the faces of children as you round them up and reveal that Santa isn't real. It also serves the community by establishing early on that their parents are not to be trusted, only the cold reality of the system can show them the truth. I have never exchanged gifts before but I can see how that can add an extra layer of heartbreak on to the whole experience.
The fact that her friends told you she was a "gamer" tells me they are either vapid whores who know nothing about their friend or actively trying to thwart your attempt to put your dick inside of her. Saying someone is a "gamer" is meaningless in this day and age. Two people could both view themselves as "gamers" but have absolutely zero cross over in the games they play. There are RPG gamers, PC gamers, FPS gamers, RTS gamers, and lots of overlapping sub-categories. Hell I bet those assholes who clog up facebook with their retarded "free" games could be considered gamers. Have you tried actually talking to this person, getting to know them, and then making a decision based on that instead of asking a complete stranger on the internet? Or you could just get that bitch a gift card. Bitches love gift cards.

Oh good! It's like a less useful version of money!

Dear Dr.Thunder,
I believe that gay marriage is wrong but my friends all act like I am some sort of bigot. Is there any way to make them see things my way?

Well, Steven, normally I am against people who are different than me being happy but I actually support gay marriage. Now, I have been married to 112 women, 1 Victorian ghost trapped in a mirror, and 1 Truckasaurus so I am probably not in any position to judge a guy for marrying another guy. I stopped believing in the "sanctity of marriage" the second or third time I got married to avoid paying for dinner. Did you know that a lot of restaurants will comp your meal if you propose? This is especially useful to me, since the only currency I carry is tiny, solid gold statues of myself. And it's a lot less trouble than burning the place to the ground.

Getting back to the issue at hand, gay marriage provides a valuable service to the community. It removes the number of men available to marry women. Every year thousands of gay men marry women either to hide their sexuality or receive benefits like insurance or tax relief. This means that there are thousands of women who can't marry me. That's just unacceptable. Plus, I'd hate for Michael Armor to die alone when he finally comes out of the closet. I don't know how he has time to watch all those movies with all the covert dude banging he is no doubt engaged in all the time. Like some kind of buttsex ninja. Write a book about that, Michael Armor.

Michael Armor. Both of them.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I recently stopped drinking caffeine because my wife told me how terrible it is for you. The only problem is that I need to stay up all night for my job. You see, I work for a talking horse who lives inside a boulder that tells me to break into the houses of U.S. Congressmen and poison their food with mercury. Are there any alternatives to caffeine you can suggest?

Well Stephen, you're in luck. I have a new energy drink specially developed for people like you! Dr. Thunder's Atomic Bastard Sauce is scientifically proven to keep you awake better than any other brand! Unfortunately, it was banned by the FDA shortly after release because one of the ingredients was Hitler Blood. Not the Hitler, but a Hitler. You know what they say, you can't make an omelet without exsanguinating the relatives of a long dead German dictator. Luckily I have devised a recipe so you can make it at home! Just combine 6 ounces of Mountain Dew Livewire, 2 ounces of gin, 3600 milligrams of Modafinil and 4 milligrams of plutonium and you have something that's almost as good as the real thing! You'll be up for days at a time, trying desperately to stop the waking nightmares that torment you at every turn! For added authenticity, feel free to add a few drops of blood from an angry German.

I am from Germany and I am not happy about it.

Well that's all the emails I am willing to read this time. Remember to keep sending those emails, and I will keep pretending to read them!