Ask Dr.Thunder Episode 310

Hello children! welcome to another session of Ask Dr. Thunder. Where I take time out from being great to answer your dumb questions about bullshit.
After receiving exclusively praise for my last entry, which for those of you too lazy to check, was the brilliant piece of prose known as "Atomic Cannibal Penis Monsters From Mars" I have come to the conclusion that not only am I the best writer on this shitty blog, but possibly the best writer in existence. However, until I can find the time to track down every other writer that has ever lived, and strangle the life out of them with my bare hands I can't be sure. In the meantime Atomic Cannibal Penis Monsters shall enjoy the fruit's of it's whirlwind literary triumph. Even now there is an intense bidding war for the rights to bring this masterpiece to the silver screen. Right now the front runners are Brazzers, 21st Sextury and The Asylum, which I am forced to assume are major Hollywood Studios.
While I wait for the filthy lucre to pour in, I still have to pander to you assholes. And in the spirit of pandering, starting with the next episode, we shall be re-introducing video content to Ask Dr. Thunder, My PR director suggested I embed a video alongside my masterful prose in order to appeal better to my target audience of illiterates, hobgoblins, and dogs wanderign past computer screens. I suggested embedding my dick in her sweet ass. Then she said something about sexual hash browns I think. It's hard to make out what she's saying when she's yelling like that. Anyway, the infrastructure to produce videos is not available to me at the moment because one of my bitch ex-wives somehow got a hold of a list of my assets and took the studio so we will stick with our text-based format for now. Because you can't seize a free blog, Karen.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I am thinking of starting a small herb garden in my backyard but the pH level of my soil is too high to support most of the plants I would like to grow. Is there an easy way to lower it?

Well Stephen, as you know, the "pH" level, or "pixie hand-job" level of your soil is a measure of the sex trade amongst mythical creatures in your garden. In soil with an unusually low socio-economic stauts, vices like sex and drugs can be prevalent. The best way to lower the pH level would be obviously to implement a series of economic reforms to reduce the dependency of your mythical creatures on the welfare system, but that solution takes time that you don't have, because based on the two sentences you wrote, it sounds like you have a crippling addiction to rosemary so we need to work fast. I would suggest introducing a gnomish psychopath into your garden, available from most home improvement stores, to thin out the prostitute population and leave those that remain in a state of fear.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I have a gay friend that I have known for years and I have never had a problem with his sexuality before. However he has recently announced that he and his boyfriend are engaged and will be getting married in a state where it is legal. What kind of wine should I get them as a wedding present?

Well Stephen, my disapproval glands are filled to the brim with anger-sauce right now. It is obvious that this "gay friend" of yours is actually you. Clearly you are one of the millions of Americans who abuse our cherished gay marriage system in order to extort free wine from friends and family. You people make me sick. I suggest a Cabernet Sauvignon, a 2007 or older.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
My hand is stuck in a toaster, but I really want toast. Like really bad. Do you think I should wait til my hand is out before I make the toast?

Well Stephen, it's important to note that while Puerto Ricans may be lazy, shifty thieves, their nimble fingers are vital in running the machinery that produces our consumer goods, and so without a steady influx of these disease ridden half-men we will never beat the insidious Chinamen in the global markets. I'm sorry what were you talking about?

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I hear you still have numerous unreported assets that you stubbornly refuse to disclose to collection agencies. Can you give a comprehensive list of these assets and their estimated market values?

Damn it Karen! HOW DID YOU FIND THIS BLOG? I swear by Odin's glossy vagina if I ever see you again I will stab you i nthe face with a soldering iron! And I would like to stress to your bloodsucking whore of a lawyer that that last statement was a metaphor. Because if I actually had a soldering iron with which to stab that donkey anus you call a face, YOU WOULD SEIZE IT.

Well folks, that;s all the time we have this week. Remember, next episode will feature a video! So tune in for that! Unless your Karen. Then you can go choke on a thousand dicks.

Dr. Thunder Episode 309: Atomic Cannibal Penis Monsters from Mars.

Well the people have spoken. And by "people" I mean "the one person who voted". Democracy! With 100% of the vote, my glorious manifesto on the dangers of sexy science won out over Michael Armor's "Dumb Bullshit Story for Assholes." Once again, the nation has bowed to the glory that is Dr. Thunder! Without any further fawning over myself, here, in it's entirety, is the future award-winning short story "Atomic Cannibal Penis Monsters from Mars"

Atomic Cannibal Penis Monsters from Mars

By Doctor Thunder

And no one else.

“…999…1000!” Dr. Handsome T. Protagonist gently lifted the Russian Nuclear Submarine off his chest into the waiting arms of the 30 foot android hovering over his shoulders and sat up from the bench.

“Excellent work Doctor. ” The automaton chirped as it placed the submarine on a reinforced rack above the bench.

“Thank you Spottertron. I think I’ll take some time before the next set to cure the new strain of that virus I eradicated last week that’s sprung up in Poland.”

“It’s no wonder Doctor. The Poles are a filthy race.”

“True, but it is my duty to help them nonetheless” Dr. Protagonist said as he wiped sweat from his chiseled pecs. Satisfied that his muscular, perfectly toned body was dry, Dr. Protagonist got up and left his personal gym, heading down the corridors of his sprawling estate toward his main laboratory.

Suddenly a panel on the wall to his left slid open to reveal a monitor that followed his progress down the hallway.

“Incoming call from President Bumbling Obstacle of The United States. Shall I put it through?” The monitor asked him. Dr. Protagonist sighed and snapped his fingers, summoning a small robot carrying a pristine white lab coat.

“Put it through”

A sweaty, fat little man in an ill-fitting suit appeared on the monitor.

“President Obstacle.” Dr. Protagonist greeted him, as The President nodded.

“Dr. Protagonist, your country, nay, the entire planet needs you. Again.”

Dr. Protagonist rolled his eyes. “What is it this time Mr. President? Don’t tell me AIDS is back.”

“Worse. Three days ago a shuttle crash-landed outside of Chicago. The entire crew had their… well… their penises… eaten… by some sort of creature.”

“Do we know where the shuttle originated?”

“It came from Dr. Stupid Bastard’s Genitalogy lab on Mars.”

“That Stupid Bastard!” Dr. Protagonist punched the lab-coat fetching android in the face, shattering it into a million pieces. “Who knows what kind of experiments he could have been conducting up there, away from the governing laws of the American Penis Association!”

“The survivors describe the creature as some kind of pink, fleshy tree, that moves like a snake and immediately goes for the dick. Our initial survey team found high levels of radioactivity wherever the beast was reported to have been. Since then we have quarantined the entire area.”

“My god… an atomic cannibal penis monster… from MARS!” Dr. Protagonist slowly removed his glasses, “Mr. President, I am going to need a team of expert Penisologists and 1,000 of your gayest Stormtroopers.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have the funding for that, I used it all implementing inferior European-style social programs! I can get you 1 Penisologist, 20 bisexual stormtroopers, and NBA star Dirk Nowitzki.”

“No! They have to be Gay!”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want these men freezing up at the sight of a giant cock bearing down at them.”

“Why not just send female soldiers?”

They then both shared a hearty laugh at this.

The next morning, Dr. Protagonist emerged from the Protagocopter out onto a small government installation outside of Chicago. President Bumbling Obstacle awaited him along with a beautiful woman, a platoon of United Statian Stormtroopers, and NBA star Dirk Nowitzki.

The President smiled as Dr. Protagonist approached. And waved him over to the leader of the stormtroopers.

“Dr. Protagonist! Right on time.”

“Please, call me Dr. Thunder. And I am always on time.”

“Of course you are Dr. Thunder! Always! This is Lieutenant Dudefella. He is about a 5 on the Kinsey scale.” Dr. Thunder shook Lieutenant Dudefella’s hand and then looked over at his men.

“All of these boys are at least 3s, and Lopez is a solid 5.5” Dudefella assured him. Dr. Thunder nodded his head in approval and turned to the woman.

“You must be my Penisologist then?” Dr. Thunder said, taking her hand into his and kissing it gently. She pulled her hand away and sneered.

“I am Dr. Initially Hostile Love-Interest. And I just want you to know now that I am in no way sexually attracted to you Dr. Thunder, and have no intention of becoming so in the course of our adventures.”

“Of course, and as a gentleman I respect that decision.” Dr. Love-Interest blushed and turned away from Dr. Thunder’s handsome disarming smile.

“And this is Dirk Nowitzki,” The President said, indicating the basketball player, who stood nearby gnawing gently on his left hand, “Our top analysts voted him as the person humanity can do the most without.”

“DIRK NOWITZKI HUNGRY!” The Dallas Maverick moaned as the President reached a hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a taco. He tossed it to the basketball player, who eagerly devoured it.

“Bully!” Dr. Thunder said, as Nowitzki began licking taco crumbs from his hands.

“And speaking of expendable,” The President said, suddenly becoming extremely nervous, “It seems you will not be leading the expedition after all.”

“What?” Dr. Thunder exclaimed, “You called on me for my expertise, and now you’re saying you don’t want it?”

“We still need your expertise, but you’ll be in an advisory role, in a secure bunker, guiding the team from a distance. It seems our top experts have deemed your penis is far too valuable to put in this kind of danger. If something were to happen to it, I would lose the support of the entire female population!”

“Damn it President Obstacle! We both know that women don’t actually vote! Computers confuse their tiny, tiny minds! No offense Dr. Love- Interest,” Dr. Love-Interest jerked away from gazing deeply into Dr. Thunder’s chiseled pecs as her name was mentioned, “That team will be slaughtered without me!”

“My hands are tied Dr. Thunder! I can’t let you go!”

“Well Mr. President,” Dr. Thunder pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his lab coat and put them on, “I can’t let you stop me,” Before The President could react, Dr. Thunder swung a right hook into The President’s jaw, stopping his hand with expert precision, knocking the man unconscious rather than exploding his skull into fragments.

“Dr. Thunder you’re out of line!” Lieutenant Dudefella said, “I like it! Let’s rock and roll!”

Two hours later, Dr. Thunder, Dr. Love-Interest, The Stormtroopers, and Dirk Nowitzki were on a chopper headed for the quarantine zone.

“Alright Dr. Love-Interest, what do we know about these things?” Dr. Thunder asked his comrade.

“Well I’ve been in contact with Dr. Stupid Bastard’s chief Genitalogist, Dr. Secret Villain. He was the man in charge of Project Monstercock.”

“Project Monstercock?”

“Yes, it was a project to create a miracle penis enhancement drug. Unfortunately the experiment went wrong. The experiment was supposed to be cancelled but we believe one of the members of the shuttle crew smuggled out a sample, took it and… well, you know the rest. Dr. Villain will be meeting us at the quarantine zone to give us more information.”

“DIRK NOWITZKI IS FLYING!” Dirk Nowitzki shouted from the other side of the helicopter.

The helicopter landed just outside a chain-link fence reinforced with concrete barriers extending in a wide circle off to the left and right for several miles. A gate led into the fenced off area surrounded by soldiers and one man with a white lab-coat and a black goatee.

The man approached as Dr. Thunder’s party exited the helicopter.

“Ah! Dr. Thunder!” He said, “We meet at last! I am a big fan of your work!”

“Dr. Villain! I have never heard of you!” Dr. Thunder shook his hand, crushing his fingers in a vice-like grip, “what’s the situation?”

“The beast has very distinct tracks so we know that it has not left the quarantine area. This means it is somewhere in this jungle.” Dr. Villain gestured to the vast equatorial rainforest on the other side of the fence.

“Good, because if that thing escapes, it will be in Chicago within the hour and since the people of Chicago are all huge pricks, it’ll blend in perfectly and we may never find it again.”

“Will you be accompanying us Dr. Villain?” Dr. Love-Interest asked.

“Oh no,” Dr. Villain said, rubbing his hands together, “But I will be around!” he then proceeded to cackle maniacally for a solid three minutes. Dr. Thunder thanked him for his assistance and headed for the gate.

The soldiers moved the gate aside and Dr. Thunder’s team entered the rainforest. Within minutes they were hopelessly lost.

“I just want to let you know Dr. Thunder,” Dr. Love-Interest said, taking her hair out of a pony tail and unbuttoning the top two buttons of her blouse, “I still am in no way interested in you, sexually.”

Before Dr. Thunder could reply, a chilling, German-accented scream tore through the mid-afternoon air, causing Dr. Love-Interest to leap into Dr. Thunder’s impossibly strong arms. Embarrassed she got down and the two scientists headed for the source of the scream.

Lieutenant Dudefella stood over the mangled corpse of Dirk Nowitzki, his men formed up in a perimeter around the scene.

“What have we got here?” Dr. Thunder said, squatting down to inspect the body and removing his sunglasses.

“The beast got him,” Lieutenant Dudefella said, poking the body with a stick, “It ate his dick off, and then, while he was bleeding to death, it shot his 26 times in the torso, removed his head with a chainsaw, dunked the head in acid until the flesh burned off, then put the skull back on top of the shoulders. Also it appears to have raped him six times.”

“Damn. What a way to go.” Dr. Thunder said, as he stood back up. Dr. Love-Interest, forgetting herself, wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his toned, muscular chest, “Lieutenant, tell your men to be on guard, the beast could still be nearby.”

It was another hour before the beast struck again. The team had stopped at a river to rest. Dr. Love-Interest decided to go skinny dipping by a nearby waterfall. As she stripped the clothes off her beautiful body she was suddenly surprised by a rustling in the bushes.

She dropped down below the waterline as Dr. Thunder entered the waterfall clearing.

“Mind if I join you? While also being naked? But not in a sexual way?” He said, as Dr. Love-Interest blushed.

“I suppose not, as long as it isn’t in a sexual way. As I maintain that I am not romantically interested in you at this point in the story arc.”

Dr. Thunder nodded and began taking his clothes off. As he removed his boxers, Dr. Love-Interest’s eyes widened with excitement.

“My god! That is the most perfect specimen of a penis I have ever seen!” She moved closer to Dr. Thunder’s glorious wang, before catching herself, “And of course my interest is only scientific.”

“Of course,” Dr. Thunder entered the water and got what should be uncomfortably close to Dr. Love-Interest, who for some reason was okay with this. “How would you like a more hands-on inspection?”

As their lips moved within inches of each other, the almost guaranteed marathon boning session was postponed as gunfire sounded from the nearby forest.

Dr. Thunder leapt from the water to the shore and pulled on his lab coat. He barreled through the trees to another conveniently placed clearing where the platoon of Stormtroopers fired into the bushes. Lieutenant Dudefella held up a hand and the platoon stopped firing.

Miraculously unscathed by the torrent of gunfire a massive 14 foot tall penis reared up out of the bushes and roared angrily from its mighty urethra. It lunged toward the Stormtroopers straight into the nearest crotch it could find. The unfortunate soldier screamed as it bored a hole the size of a hubcap through his body. Three more men died in this manner before Dudefella called the retreat.

Thinking quickly Dr. Thunder charged the creature and leapt into the air tackling it to the ground. Slick with blood the creature squirmed out Dr. Thunder’s vice-like grip gently brushing it’s massive testes across the scientist’s face.

Dr. Love-Interest, emerged fully dressed into the clearing.

“What happened?” She asked, gesturing to the pile of crotch-less bodies.

“It was the beast,” Dr. Thunder said, “We need to come up with some sort of plan.

“I have an idea,” chirped a young trooper, Lance Corporal Has-Only-Only-One-Line-Of-Dialogue, “there’s an old abandoned power station about a mile to the east of here. If we can trap it there, and overload the generators, or some other logically implausible engineering bullshit, we can kill it!”

“Good work son!” Dr. Thunder said, as the trooper disappeared from the rest of the story, “but we’ll need some sort of bait to lure it there.

“I know just the thing!’ Dr. Love-Interest said, ripping the lab-coat from Dr. Thunder’s perfect body. Immediately, all 16 surviving Stormtroopers became full-on gay.

“My god!” Lieutenant Dudefella said, ‘It’s perfect! Uh, for the plan I mean! The plan!”

An hour later, Dr. Thunder stood fully nude on top of the abandoned power station. Before he could contemplate why there would be a power station in the middle of a rainforest, or for that matter, what a rainforest was doing in Illinois, he spotted a rustling in the bushes before him. The dick-beast burst forth and roared in fury and hunger at Dr. Thunder’s Ineffably Glorious Trouser-snake.

Dr.Thunder lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth.

“Lieutenant! The beast has appeared! Are your men ready?”

“Yes Doctor! We have teams in the power station ready to something electricity something something bullshit as soon as it enters the courtyard!”

The cannibal dick monster smashed easily through the chain link fence surrounding the power station and thundered toward Dr. Thunder’s Majestic Baby-Maker.

“Come on… come on you big bastard!” Dr. Thunder shouted as the monster moved into position, as it reached the center of a series of Tesla coils that were at the power station for some reason, Dr. Thunder shouted into the walkie-talkie again, “Now lieutenant! Do science at it!”

The tesla coils roared to life and arced lightning into the beast, which screamed in pain.

“No you fool!” A voice came from behind Dr. Thunder, he turned in tiem to see Dr. Villain swinging a fire extinguisher at his head. The extinguisher impacted the side of his head and he was knocked to the ground.

“Dr. Secret Villain! What are you doing!” Dr. Thunder said, looking up at the turncoat with shock in his eyes.

“I am protecting my creation! I can’t let you destroy my perfect being!” Dr. Villain reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, pointing it at Dr. Thunder’s head.

“Why didn’t you use the gun earlier, instead of the fire extinguisher?”

“It is more dramatic this way!” He launched into another cackling session which was suddenly cut short, as he was dropped to the ground by yet another fire extinguisher, wielded by Dr. Love-Interest.

“Dr. Thunder! I love you!” Lieutenant Dudefella called from the ground.

“That’s… um… great Mike…” Dr. Thunder said,

“I love you too!” Dr. Love-Interest said, dropping the fire extinguisher and falling on to Dr. Thunder’s naked form, kissing him deeply.

“That’s lovely,” Dr. Thunder said, shoving her face away, “But we should probably go make sure the cock-cobbler is dead.”

On the ground, lightning continued to arc into the still form of the penis monster. Lieutenant Dudefella gestured to the control room and the lightning stopped. He approached the beast, poked it with his rifle, and gave a thumbs up to Dr. Thunder on the roof.

“Excellent! Back to the sex!” Dr. Thunder said, turning back to Dr. Love-Interest.

“No you fools!” Dr. Villain screamed, having dragged himself to the edge of the roof, he pointed down at the prostrate form of the monster. The testicles slowly began to twitch. Moments later, they burst open, revealing two more monsters, which quickly began growing until they were even bigger than the first one. Lieutenant Dudefella fired at the one on the left, but this only angered the creature, which quickly swooped down and bisected him.

“No! I loved him!” six separate Stormtroopers shouted, as the rest of the platoon emerged from the power station to avenge their fallen leader. Unfortunately they fared little better and with two monsters they died twice as fast.

“You cannot stop them!” Dr. Villain jeered, “Nothing can stop them!”

“What will we do?” Dr. Love-Interest said, clutching Dr. Thunder’s bulging bicep.

“The only way to stop a penis,” Dr. Thunder said calmly, as his member swelled with blood, “Is with another penis.”

“Dr. Thunder! No!” Dr. Love-Interest wailed, “It’s too dangerous!

“Don’t worry my dear, tonight we dine on cockmeat sandwiches!” Dr. Thunder said, “Actually, that sounds kind of gross, but yeah, I am going to go kill them with my dick now!”

Dr. Thunder leaped into the courtyard and approached the creature on the right. As it lunged toward him he landed a right hook on its head and it toppled to the ground. Gripping the foreskin with both hands, Dr. Thunder thrust his rock-hard dick through the beast’s head in a shower of gore. The body spasmed and then was forever still.

Enraged by the death of his brother the left creature roared angrily and swept out Dr. Thunder’s leg with his mighty nutsack. Dr. Thunder fell to the ground and the creature wrapped itself around him like a boa constrictor.

Dr. Thunder screamed in exertion as his cock burst out the other side of the penis monster’s shaft, spraying the entire courtyard with blood. As the fluid drained from his body the dick-creature grew flaccid, weakly flopping against Dr. Thunder before succumbing to blood loss.

The few remaining Stormtroopers cheered as Dr. Thunder pulled the limp body from his erection. Dr. Love-Interest appeared at the stairs, leading the treacherous Dr. Villain before him with his own gun. As soon as she turned custody over to a stormtrooper, she leapt into Dr. Thunder’s arms.

“You did it Dr. Thunder! You saved America!” she swooned.

“Yep, and now there’s just one last thing I have to penetrate.”

“God I hope it’s my vagina!”

“Damn straight.”

THE END. BASTARDS.

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 308

Greetings faithful reader! How have you been? I've been fucking great! Now, some of you out there seem to think the quality of these lovely little Q & A sessions has been declining. You think Old Dr. Thunder is losing his edge! HA! I am all edge! When I lose an edge, BAM! There's another one right there. Still, some of you find the short stories of Man-like Orangutan "Michael Armor" more interesting than my own posts! Soem of you even continue to insist that we are the same person! FOOLS! In order to put this hateful slander to rest once and for all, I have actually tracked him down, and he has agreed to take time out from his busy schedule of arm stretching and toilet scrubbing to be here and once again put to rest rumors that we are one and the same!

Those aren't rumors. We're the same person. You are a fictional character. The videos are just me in a lab coat.

LIAR! YOU'RE WITH HIM NOW!

Really? Quoting the shitty Star Wars trilogy now?

HA! You knew where it was from! NERD!

That's because I wrote it. I'm you.

Impossible. I have a normal person torso, whereas you seem to have been born with the torso of some kind of prehistoric mega-fauna such as a giant sloth or buffalo. Also, I am a master of all I attempt, whereas you kind of suck at the only thing you claim to be good at! I have seen better writing from a monkey with a head injury randomly mashing his dick against a keyboard.

Writing? Such as the way I am writing both sides of this conversation?

In fact! I challenge you to a writing-things-off! We shall each write the beginning of a short story, and let the reader decided which story he wants to see finished!

Sure. I guess I could write the beginnings of two short stories.

Stop doing that! I shall show you we are not the same person by being WAY MORE TALENTED THAN YOU. I would have won a Pulitzer prize by now if it weren't for my bloodfeud with the Pulitzer family. I swear, you send ONE pallet of threatening undergarments and suddenly they stop accepting your entries!

That never happened. Also I don't think the Pulitzer family actually has anything to do with the prize anymore. Also, I accept your challenge.

I'll go first!

Atomic Cannibal Penis Monsters from Mars

By Doctor Thunder

And no one else.

“…999…1000!” Dr. Handsome T. Protagonist gently lifted the Russian Nuclear Submarine off his chest into the waiting arms of the 30 foot android hovering over his shoulders and sat up from the bench.

“Excellent work Doctor. ” The automaton chirped as it placed the submarine on a reinforced rack above the bench.

“Thank you Spottertron. I think I’ll take some time before the next set to cure the new strain of that virus I eradicated last week that’s sprung up in Poland.”

“It’s no wonder Doctor. The Poles are a filthy race.”

“True, but it is my duty to help them nonetheless” Dr. Protagonist said as he wiped sweat from his chiseled pecs. Satisfied that his muscular, perfectly toned body was dry, Dr. Protagonist got up and left his personal gym, heading down the corridors of his sprawling estate toward his main laboratory.

Suddenly a panel on the wall to his left slid open to reveal a monitor that followed his progress down the hallway.

“Incoming call from President Bumbling Obstacle of The United States. Shall I put it through?” The monitor asked him. Dr. Protagonist sighed and snapped his fingers, summoning a small robot carrying a pristine white lab coat.

“Put it through”

A sweaty, fat little man in an ill-fitting suit appeared on the monitor.

“President Obstacle.” Dr. Protagonist greeted him, as The President nodded.

“Dr. Protagonist, your country, nay, the entire planet needs you. Again.”

Dr. Protagonist rolled his eyes. “What is it this time Mr. President? Don’t tell me AIDS is back.”

“Worse. Three days ago a shuttle crash-landed outside of Chicago. The entire crew had their… well… their penises… eaten… by some sort of creature.”

“Do we know where the shuttle originated?”

“It came from Dr. Stupid Bastard’s Genitalogy lab on Mars.”

“That Stupid Bastard!” Dr. Protagonist punched the lab-coat fetching android in the face, shattering it into a million pieces. “Who knows what kind of experiments he could have been conducting up there, away from the governing laws of the American Penis Association!”

“The survivors describe the creature as some kind of pink, fleshy tree, that moves like a snake and immediately goes for the dick. Our initial survey team found high levels of radioactivity wherever the beast was reported to have been. Since then we have quarantined the entire area.”

“My god… an atomic cannibal penis monster… from MARS!” Dr. Protagonist slowly removed his glasses, “Mr. President, I am going to need a team of expert Penisologists and 1,000 of your gayest Stormtroopers.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have the funding for that, I used it all implementing inferior European-style social programs! I can get you 1 Penisologist, 20 bisexual stormtroopers, and NBA star Dirk Nowitzki.”

“No! They have to be Gay!”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want these men freezing up at the sight of a giant cock bearing down at them.”

“Why not just send female soldiers?”

They then both shared a hearty laugh at this.

All the Time in the World

By Michael Armor

John awoke at 7:03am. He then got up, brushed his teeth, and got dressed. It was now 7:03am. John looked down at his alarm clock in puzzlement. He waited for what felt like five minutes but the numbers refused to change. The other functions of the clock seemed to work but the time did not change. Finally he decided to just unplug it and reset it manually. To his surprise, the time remained unchanged even with the plug out of the wall.

Confused, John went downstairs and found that every other clock in his house was similarly frozen. He saw his father sitting at the breakfast table.

“Hey Dad, what’s wrong with all the clocks?” John said as he walked up behind him. He received no answer. He shook his shoulder and his father sluggishly returned to the position it previously occupied. John waved a hand in front of his father’s face but the man stared glassily ahead at the newspaper clutched in his hands. John ripped the newspaper from his hands and was startled as it seemed to pull away from his hands toward those of his father. John let go and watched the newspaper float lazily back into his father’s grasp.

John’s investigation was cut short as he suddenly heard someone faintly singing outside. It was only then that he realized how impossibly quiet it was. He opened the door and stepped outside. In front of him, a jogger was frozen mid-stride. John searched for the source of the singing and saw an old man strolling down the street, singing Through the Fire and The Flames.

“Hey!” John said as he walked over to him, “Do you know what’s going on?”

Startled the Old Man stopped singing. He gave John an incredulous look as he approached.

“You’re not frozen…” the old man said, looking John over.

“Yeah…” John said, looking down at himself, “I guess not.”

“I know this sounds cliché but I’ve been waiting for you for a looong time.”

“Um… Ok.” John said.

The old man quickly pulled out a small silver pocket watch.

“The watch chose another!” The old man said, as he opened the pocket watch. Instead of a clock, however, the inside was blank, but for a red button. The old man pressed the button and sound returned to the world. Birds resumed chirping, cars honked in the distance and the jogger continued running.

“So… the watch stops time then…” John said slowly, “and it chooses people? Like the Green Lantern?”

“Apparently!” The old man said excitedly.

“You seem suspiciously eager to get rid of this thing.”

“I know, right?”

“Can I ask why?

“How old do you think I am?”

John looked the old man over. He was surprisingly well-dressed in a tailored suit with gold buttons. His hair was a dark grey and wrinkles creased his tan face.

“I don’t know… 80 something?”

“Physically, I am 86 years old. I was born 25 years ago.”

“Huh. So… the watch makes you grow older?”

“In a way, yes. Because when you are the only one moving forward through time, you tend to age a lot faster. But that’s not the only reason I want rid of this blasted thing. And why some day you will want to get rid of it too.” A sad look appeared in the old man’s eyes. “You probably think it’ll be fun to stop time. And it will be, trust me. You can do whatever you want with no consequences. Absolute Power. And Absolute Power corrupts absolutely. You see I was in college when I got the watch.” The old man paused for a moment as if trying to remember something, “I probably still am. I don’t remember ever graduating. At first I just used the watch for pranks and to give myself more time to study. But then I realized, ‘Why study at all?’ I just stopped time between questions and looked up the answer. And then it occurred to me that I didn’t need to waste time with college at all when I could just stop tiem and take whatever I wanted. Sure things clean themselves up when you disrupt them, but you can get around that. Before long I was robbing banks, slipping money out of people’s pockets, stealing food… eventually when I started to age too fast I had to create a new identity…and the women… I could get any woman I wanted and they never even knew...” he stopped again and stared off into space for a while and shuddered. John, attempted to slowly back away at this point but the old man grabbed his shoulder. “But I’m sure you’ll do much better my boy!”

“Um… cool…” John said as the old man gazed hungrily at him, “So… I kind of have to go.”

The old man laughed at this. “Why rush boy? You have all the time in the world now!” He slapped the watch into John’s hand and continued to laugh.

“I’m going to hell, my lad. And damn do I deserve it. But I have a good feeling about you.” He started to walk off but then stopped and turned back to John., “Say, would you mind stopping for a few hours? I have one last thing to take care of.”

John awkwardly fumbled with the watch until he got it open again. He pressed the button and the world stopped again. He waved goodbye and headed back into his house. Since he was no longer had to be anywhere anytime soon John decided to go back to bed for the few hours the old man requested. He tried to sleep but it would not come, as the possibilities of his new power rushed through his mind. After what seemed long enough, John let the world continue again and finished getting ready for class.

The next day John noticed an article on a news site as he waited in the library:

HOMELESS MAN FOUND DEAD IN BANK VAULT, AUTHORITIES BAFFLED.

The picture above the article showed the old man, in the center of the bank vault, with dozens of empty bottles of expensive alcohol clustered along the walls.

He reached down into his pocket and put a hand around the watch.

Really? That's your story? That's obviously the opening scene of Red Dawn.

Yep. Sure is.

So there you have it folks! Comment on this bitch and tell us (Me) which story should be finished! And by "which story" I of course mean "My story". Also light purple is a gay color to type in.

Your mom's a gay color to type in.

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 307

So it seems "Michael Armor" has once again posted on my glorious site with his film related bullshit. Further muddying the distinction between my handsome self and that long- armed Guatemalan broom jockey. I mean come on, it's not like I have a torso so large my ribcage can be used to house a family of Siberian Nomads!

And I hear he molests horses. Well two can play the "comment on contemporary media" game! It's time for Ask Dr. Thunder.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
What do you thi9nk of the new Blink 182 album?


Well, Steven, in a word: Awful. Now, don't get me wrong, I love Blink 182, or at least I did. I listened to Neighborhoods with high expectations as other fans of their work seemed to love it. "Classic Blink" They told me. Whores and Liars. I may not have heard every Blink song, but this album sounds like none of the ones trhat I have heard. It's full of synth and random indistinguishable sounds that aren't quite instruments and piano! GODDAMN PIANO. It reminds me of Angels and Airwaves, whose music I hate with the white hot passion of an exploding sun. The old songs you can tell were just Mike Hopper, Tommy Long and DJ AM playing their actual guitar/bass/drums. I'm not saying synth is a bad thing, in some bands it works rather well, but it is not Blink 182. And another thing, these are soem of the mopiest, most depressign vocals I have ever heard, and I am an avid My Chemical Romance fan. How do you out-depress a band that has a song called "Dead"? Sure the lyrics aren't that upbeat (or in any way as memorable as their old stuff) but you don't have to sign like your dog just fucked your wife and then kidnapped your children. Their older songs had some pretty depressing themes too, like Adam's Song, or Dammit, but they were young then, and not the sad old men they are now, and there was still an air of optimism behind the lyrics. This has been a bigger disappointment then Saints Row the Third. Why would you do that to the Saints Row Franchise, Volition? Saints Row 2 was the greatest video game of all time and you SHIT ALL OVER IT. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT VOLITION? It's like someone made a list of why Siants ROw 2 was great and you specifically dropped those things from the sequel just to fuck with us.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I keep getting this weird pain in the back of my head right above where my neck connects with the skull? What do you think it might be.

Throat Cancer. I mean the fact that you could choose which set of missions to do, possibly ignoring the other two gangs entirely is why I loved Saints Row 2! IT meant that every play through was different! Things don't always have to tie into each other you money-grubbing bastards. And What the hell is with that Professor Genki bullshit? That's not a diversion, that's just playing through a mission except all the enemies are dressed in mascot costumes! It's not even funny after the first time!

Dear Dr. Thunder,
Finals are coming up and I am just having trouble focusing. There are just too many distractions! I tried going to the library but that didn't help because I still had my smart phone on me. And I cant just leave that behind. What if there's an emergency? What should I do?

Chemical Castration. I mean sure, The Third does have it's good parts. I love the luchadores, and the tanks, and the VTOL aircraft and everything, but did you really have to take out the clothing customization system from SR2 and replace it with that clunky bullshit system. Ooh! The long hair bobs realistically, but now you can't customize the BEAR anymore. You had time to program in a 3 foot purple dildo bat, but not enough time to bring back fight club, or FUZZ or Septic Avenger? For shame, Volition.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I am dying of a rare disease cal--

And if you are gonna change locales, why do another city? Stilwater was great, I loved it. Steelport just feels like a stripped down version of Stilwater. You could have set it in an LA kind of city, or Miami, or get away from the GTA franchise entirely and set it in a European style city. That would have been awesome! I don't know, I mean I might as well just give up on the franchise entirely at this point! If this trend continues I might just stick with Saints Row 2 and forget this whole ugly chapter even happened. They've already announced Saints Row 4 so they are just gonna plow stupidly ahead without even waiting for feedback. Anyway, that's all the time we have for today. I am going to go catapult strippers into Volition's headquarters until they agree to make me lead programmer. Adios!

Mashups with Just Michael: Attack the Immortal Time

Well it's time once again for movies with just michael. And sure, it's been so long that none of you know what the title means anymore. Just to recap: I had a radio show called Movies with Michael and Mike but it was destroyed by apathy. Then I turned it into movie reviews on my blog called Movies with Just Michael. Then I decided it would be more fun to just mash up all the movies I had recently seen. So that's what I will be doing today, with three movies I saw recently: Immortals, In Time, and Attack the Block. Just a warning, there will be spoilers, although it's up to you to figure out which movie they are from. Let's get started!
So the movie begins when Justin Timeberlake leads his gang of teenage London street toughs in a small Greek village built into the side of a cliff. Despite his tough exterior he still loves his mother, Olivia Wilde despite everyone else in the village despising her because Justin Timeberlake was born out of wedlock.
Little do they know the evil King Hyperion has decided to ravage Greece, stealing all the time for himself with his vast army of Wolf-Gorilla Aliens and leaving the poor Greeks without a day to their name to rot in large apartment blocks. Justin Timeberlake and his band of hoodlums are approached by the Timecops who are amassing in an apartment block built above The Magical MacGuffin Prison. But alas Justin does not yet have the proper motivation to take action because his mother is still alive.
Luckily for the plot of the movie, King Hyperion and his alien horde quickly take care of that, slaughtering everyone in the village and taking Justin and his gang as slaves (Excpet Biggs who hides in a trashcan for the remainder of the movie. While enslaved, he encounters Amanda Seyfried, King Hyperion's daughter and a virgin oracle. She drools in his mouth to bring him back to life and helps he and his gang of London youths escape.
Meanwhile, they have gained the attention of the Gods, who have decided not to help him in any way, despite the fact that if he fails they will most likely all die. In fact, when any of the gods interfere and help Justin, which would have resolved the entire plot within minutes, the King of the Gods, Cillian Murphy, murders them. Because apparently he cares more about the letter of the law then actually doing what is right in a sort of misguided sub-antagonist kind of way.
Justin, Amanda and his gang decide to go to the Magical MacGuffin prison after all, to join up with the Timecops facing Hyperion, who has discovered a magical bow using his magical hyena that can somehow outrun a horse that is running non-stop for three days. Seriously, what was up with that Hyena? Did anyone else notice that?
While the Timecops face down the alien horde, Justin and his gang discover that they are being controlled by pheromones. And so with the help of Amanda Seyfried, Justin lures them into the Magfical MacGuffin prison and blows them up in a gas explosion.
Unfortunately, Cillian Murphy decides to arrest him anyway, refusing to listen to his side of the story because of his low class, but as he is carted off to Time-Jail atop Mount Olympus, he realizes he has gained the respect and admiration of the people.

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 306

Well folks it's time once again for Ask Dr. Thunder! I haven't updated in a while because my computer was recently possessed by some sort of evil spirit and I was forced to exorcise it using 2,376 rounds of sanctified incendiary rifle rounds. Later I found out that it wasn't an evil spirit, just a small family of mice, who are now burning in mouse hell for daring to defy me. I imagine mouse hell is a lot like those old Tom and Jerry cartoons, except Tom always wins. There were actually a few episodes where Tom actually did win in the end and it sort of made me wonder "Is he going to eat Jerry now?" Because unlike Sylvester and Tweety Bird, Tom was only occasionally interested in eating Jerry. He mostly just hit him with stuff. Or he would be doing something and Jerry would just fuck up his day for no goddamn reason. It's like if the roadrunner came into Wile E. Coyote's house and just took a big fat dump on his carpet then was like "Meep Meep" and booked it. And then later he's like "Why is this guy being such a douche-bag?" My question is, why were the laws of physics themselves being such douche-bags to that poor poor coyote. I mean the dude was just hungry and it's not like there's a KFC out there in the desert or something. Anyway, on to the emails!

Jerald Gauldersson writes:
Dear Dr. Thunder,
So I have the worst boss ever, he's a dick to me all the time, but I just found out that I am going to be laid off at the end of the week from my buddy in HR. Can you help me quit in a way that really sticks it to my boss?

Well Steven, when leaving a job it's important to resist the temptation to burn bridges. After all, these people may be listed as a reference or they might even right you a letter of recommendation for your future careers. It's best to write a simple letter of resignation detailing your reasons for leaving and thanking them for the time you spent with them. Then, break into your boss's house, staple the note to his forehead, and then cut off his genitalia with a machete. Then say "Now that's what I call," (at this point you don sunglasses, even though it is nigth and you are inside) "...A Severance Package" And then scream YEEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHH! and escape via fanboat. I hope that helps!

Dear Dr. Thunder,
Despite your repeated denials that you are Michael Armor, I noticed a lot of his writing appears on your blog, and in fact, predates the semi-regular Ask Dr. Thunder feature. How dod you explain this?

Well you got me. While I may not actually be lanky Mexican janitor Michale Armor, I did steal his identity and several pieces of his work in order to hide from my merciless harpy of an ex-wife. You see, back in 1996, my lovely wife Janet somehow transformed into some kind of slug-like bitch monster from the nag galaxy and so I immediately divorced her. Then she wouldn't shut up about me taking all of her possessions, and kidnapping her friends and giving her herpes. Of course what she doesn't tell you is that without that research we woudl have never known you can give someone herpes by shooting them with a crossbwo bolt that you just shot a prostitute with. And then to make matters worse, in 1999 she died in a tragic car accident over the Sea of Japan. I forgot the password to our joint Netflix account and so brought her back to life. Now she doesn't even need to take a break from nagging me to sleep or eat! Was it really worth it to watch the complete run of Sgt. Frog on my computer? Yes. Of course it was. But I needed to be able to post things on the internet so I had to become Michael Armor, Mexican janitor to avoid her relentless zombie bitchtaculosity. I mean the blog does have my name in it so the plan isn't really working too well but in my defense I came up with it while high on mescaline. But trying to come up with a plan while not high on mescaline is like trying to get all of your displaced time clones together in one place to practice our A Capella renditions of Slayer songs. The opportunity is rare is what I'm saying.
Anyway, I need to go make some calls to Dr. Thunder from 2016 to see if his Pilates class on Friday is canceled. You keep sendign in those emails and I will keep not even checking my inbox.
Auf Weidersehen!

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 305

By Odin's Vagina, has it really been 3 months since my last episode? And who the hell posted Mark Trail Fan Fiction on my blog? What the hell is a Mark Trail? I guess time really flies when you are on a deep sea diving expedition around the world, hunting for the world's sexiest coral formation, so that you can kill it with a hammer. Honestly, I didn't think it would take that long. Of course, I didn't count on getting sidetracked in Thailand. On the brigth side, I now have a steady source of Thai Child Prostitutes. Which I grind up to make Dr. Thunder's Tangy Child Prostitute Meatsauce, now availible in select Walmart locations. But that's not important right now. What is important is you, my loyal reader. Sure, if I updated more often there would probably be more than one of you, but then each update would be less special! Special like the delicious taste of Dr. Thunder's Child Prostitute Meatsauce!

Let's get to your questions!

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I can't stop watching TLC. Does that make me a bad person?
Arthur

Well Steven, Yes. Of course it does, you awful, awful man. TLC might as well stand for Terrible Life Choices because that seems to be what nearly every show is about. And the rest are about midgets. Let's take a look at some of these shows. First up we have Sister Wives, which is about polygamists. Now, I've had my share of wives in my day, but never more than one at the same time. Well, except for that time I married an entire Czech women's soccer team, but I made them fight to the death until only the strongest survived, so that hardly counts. A commercial for this show indicated that the squadron of wives was concerned that their children may not choose a polygamist lifestyle and, if so, then they had failed as a harem. Fantastic. Continuing the theme of having way too many of a particular family member, we have the crime against humanity that is 19 and Counting. Apparentyl these people hate children so much that they want to divide their attention between as many of them as possible, so that they never have to spend more than a few minutes with them individually. Plus, the bigger ones can take care of the little ones! Hell, the parents can probably just duck out and the kids probably wouldn't even notice, returning only to plop out the next infant on the porch, ring the bell, then return to a life of hedonistic unprotected sex away from their gigantic litter of neglected children. Which reminds me, why, at the GOP debate, was everyone bragging abotu the number of kids they have? Are we supposed to be eager to seperate the largest possible number of children from a parent by giving them a stressful, 24/7 job? Let's move on to Four Weddings: Four strangers attend each other's weddings, and then passive aggressively judge the most important day in this person's life. After roughly five minutes of watching this show, I hated each and every one of those petty bitches. Speaking of petty, Extreme Couponing. Why is this a show? Why do people want to watch someone clip coupons, and then buy things? Sure, it's really cool that they paid $20 for $1400 worth of groceries, but there's literally so little drama that they turn every little computer glitch into a life or death situation with dramatic stings. And it's not like these people even need $10,000 worth of groceries for 58 cents, as most of them have massive stockpiles of groceries, worth hundreds of thousands of dollars filling entire basements and warehouses. That's the problem with coupons and sales and the like. Sure, you're getting a good deal, a retardedly good deal in most of these cases as every other coupon combination somehow makes things free, but do you really need 109 cases of peanut butter? Or 300 2 liter bottles of soda? All you're doing is making the staff o your local supermarket hate you with a fiery passion. Sure, they look happy and are all about helping the "couponers" out when the cameras are on, but when they sell $352,000 worth of merchandise to these people for 2 pennies and an old rubberband, they are losing out on $352,000 that non-crazy people would be willing to pay for those same goods. And the other customers hate them too, taking every last fucking toothbrush on the shelf, clogging up aisles with a train of 21 carts, and taking six hours to check out with 9 seperate transactions. That part's not even an exaggeration. In order to get the most out of their precious coupons they split their shopping into a shitload of smaller transactions. I just... hate them so much.
One last thing, about all the shows about little people TLC is so fond of: Maybe 20% of people who watch these shows watch them and go "Oh, despite their physical differences, little people are just like us! Watching their daily lives is a fascinating and enriching experience." The other 80% are thinking "HOLY SHIT THAT GUY IS A MIDGET LOL! LOOK THEY'RE PLAYING VOLLEYBALL! HA! THEY'RE SO TINY! HEY MARK, YOU GOTTA COME SEE THIS MIDGET SHOW!" That is all.
Well, I have more emails, but I'm far too pissed off to answer them. So instead I am going to go cool down with some spaghetti with a generous dollop of Dr. Thunder's Tangy Child Prostitute Meatsauce. So keep sending those emails, and I will continue ignoring them in favor of fabricated ones tailored to what I feel like talking about. Good night!