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The room reeked of geekhood.
Ian and Chris sat on the bed, comparing the fluctuations in Malboro defence throughout the FF series, compared with that of the Cactuar. A computer squatted in the corner, smelling vaguely of cøcks.
“Woah, dudes.” Mike shouted from his seat in front of the computer. He jabbed a pasty finger at the screen.
Ian and Chris waddled their rickets-ridden way to the corner.
“Woah, dudes!” Ian squealed.
“Dudes,” Chris moaned, “Check that bizatch out.”
Mike gave a retarded chuckle, “That’s some serious HP ownage. Makes Omega Weapon look like a moogle.”
“Eh-eh-eh.” Chris said, in some form of a laugh. He gave a serious cough. “You mean FF8’s Omega?”
“Oh, of course.”
“Yeah, I was gonna say ...” Ian said, his gaze transfixed on the computer screen.
“Yeah! Blab-blab, what if you meant FFX’s Omega!” Chris leaked a little.
“Oh, come on dudes, give me some credit. I’m not that stupid.” Mike shouted.
“Eh-eh-eh”
“Garble garble.” (that was him laughing, by the by.)
“DUDES!” Ian screamed, like a pansy. He grabbed desperately at his crotch, trying to find something to pull on, but just fell off his chair and writhed on the floor for a bit.
“What is it, dude?” Chris asked.
“The ... the ... stats ...” Ian gasped, mid-climax.
Chris grabbed some tissues and bent over, screaming.
Mike started having an asthma attack. He took a few puffs from various inhalers and wiped off his trousers.
“Dudes ... 255 Attack, Magic, Defence, Mag Defence, Evasion, Luck ... Immune to everything.”
“MIKE!” Mike’s mum shouted, “You better be looking at porn up there, freak boy.”
Just then, the emergency phone rang. It had a flashy light and everything.
The three FF Losers quickly took up poses of the utmost coolness.
“Dudes,” Mike whispered, “Let’s move out! To the Airship!”
**
For some reason, they actually have an Airship.
It may not make any sense, but it’ll be funnier this way.
Trust me, good sirs, trust.
The three losers strutted onto the deck, Mike swivelled in a chair for a bit.
“Cid!” He shouted, “Let’s move out!”
“Ti -” Cid started, but was cut off.
“No! Move out, Cid.”
“Ti -”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Ti - “ Cid said, rather angrily.
“NO!”
“TI -”
“Oh, go on then ...” Mike sighed.
Cid grinned. “TIMMARGGHH!!!!”
“Can we go now?”
“timmargh.” Cid said in agreement. He spasmed his head in the vague direction of some buttons, and the airship lurched off the ground.
**
“Mnurgh!” Ian said. “I think I’ve broken my leg ... s.”
“I don’t quite understand ...” Chris said.
The Airship had dropped them off a nice seventeen miles from where they actually wanted to go. This was normal.
But the one-mile plummet down through the sky out the cargo hold was a lot more painful than certain games would have you think. Everything was going beautifully until the ground got involved.
Ian gurgled a bit. “Could someone help me out?”
Mike struck an awesome (lame) pose and pulled a little bottle out his pants. He smashed it on the ground and some lovely lights whooshed around, making sparkly sounds in the air. A big green 100 floated above Ian’s head.
Ian gurgled a bit more. “What the-?”
“It was a Potion! 100 HP regained! Now get up!”
“But ... my leg’s broken. I can’t get up.”
Mike suitably demonstrated than Ian very well could get up, with enough pulling, bleeding and a complex arrangement of steels poles and pulleys.
“So ...” Chris started, bleeding “Any sign of a plot yet?”
“Oh yeah,” Mike said in between brain haemorrhages “You know we got that phone call ... on the special phone ... then we got in the Airship ...”
“Yes, yes.”
“Hang on, I’m trying to think of something ...”
“Ooohhhh ...”
*Four hours later*
“I’ve got it!” Mike shouted.
Everyone yawned. Ian inched a bit closer to death. “What?”
“There’s something bad happening ... up ... errr ... that mountain.” He jabbed towards (duh) a mountain. “Let’s go!”
“Really?” Ian sighed / screamed. “Up a mountain?”
“Yup.”
“Can’t we go across a field, or into town, or to McDonalds?”
“Nope.”
“Ian ...” Chris said, “I feel you’re losing a little of your enthusiasm - like a chocobo with a headache. Eh eh eh.”
“Well, FF is only a game. And it’s nearly my bedtime.”
The other two spasmed in shock, their stupidly swollen brains unable to cope with this concept.
“Only ... only ... a game. What’re you? Normal?” Mike said.
‘It’s just ... probably not worth breaking my legs over. Y’know?”
“Blasphemer!” Mike shouted, “You should spend an eternity on the Island Closest to Hell!”
“Eh eh eh. Good one. Eh eh eh.” Chris said
“SILENCE!” Mike screamed, “Or I’ll nullify your auto-abilities!”
“Dude,” Ian whispered, “There aren’t any auto-abilities. Remember when Chris has auto-reflect on, and you torched him with that flame-thrower, and the fire didn’t bounce back?”
“But ... but ...”
“It’s okay, I understand. Now your gay life is worthless.”
“NO!” Chris shouted. “We’re FF Losers, and that’s how it’s going to stay. Mike, get your fat ass off the ground. Ian, haul you infected limbs up that mountain right now.”
“YAR!” Mike screamed, “Let’s fight whatever imaginary fiend lurks on the mountain top. Bagsy Omnislash!”
Ian started crying.
**
“B-b-b-b-bloody H-h-h-h-h-h-hell. W-w-why’s it’s so d-d-damn c-c-c-c-cold?!” Mike icicle encrusted-lips (oh-er!) spat
“Well, dickscrub, we’re up a mountain. Go figure.” Ian said, dragging himself along on his hands - his legs were black, red and yellow, ripe for picking.
“N-n-n-n-n-ow now, d-d-dudes. Everyone w-w-w-w-walks around m-m-m-m-mountains in T-shirts and hotpants, it’s n-n-n-n-ormal as normal can b-b-b-be.”
“And you source, mongtard?”
“The FF series.”
“...” Ian didn’t say.
**
“ROAR!” English Bloke said, rather politely. (Happy now, attention seeking hippy biznitch?)
“Oh, what a surprise.” Ian said. “To find someone evil up this mountain.”
“Actually,” Jesus said, “It is quite surprising, seeing as you all established, moments before, that the FF series is nothing but a work of fiction and should have no impact on real life at all. Toodle-pip.”
“He had a point ...” Chris started.
“You foolish, silly infants!” EB said (interrupting quite rudely). “You soul am mine! I destroy foolish, silly infants! I am the sauce of all bad! You might perish!”
“Fantastic translation, there.” Ian sighed.
“SILENCE, FOOL!” EB shouted.
“DUDES!” Mike screamed. “Boss fight!”
Ian waved a little flag.
*Battle mode*
The tense boss music starts.
Everyone stands around for half an hour.
“Dude...” Chris said. “It’s your turn.”
“No way, dude, you’ve been hasted.” Mike said
“Yeah, but your ATB bar is full.”
“Er ...” Mike did his flies back up.
“Here, I’ll do it.” Ian sighed, now carrying his rotting legs over his shoulder. “Er ...W-Summon Knights of the Round, Mime, Mime, Mime, Attack Reels 3-3-3, Steal Ribbon, Shell, Protect, Reflect, Flare, Ultima, Mime, Mime, Mime, Regen, Mime, Mime, The End. Mime.”
“You can’t do that!” Mike screamed, his ATB bar straining.
“I just did ...”
*Four hours later*
Everyone is snoozing. The sound of EB dying, very over-dramatically (as gay bosses tend to), woke them all up.
“Wha-? Wha-?” Mike said, blinking like a mong. “Have the tedious animations finished yet?”
“Hoorah!” Chris squealed, “We won!”
*Cut to the end-of-battle screen (oooohh ... technical)*
“What the hell...” Mike roared, pointing at the screen. “We only got 2000 exp for killing that fat git. But it was really hard!”
“No, Mike, you just suck.” Ian said. “You suck like-”
“DUDES!” Chris screamed. He was standing over EB’s broken body, which smoked a little. “I-I-I think we killed him.”
Mike nudged ED with his foot. The body rolls over - the front looks no more like a face than the back did.
“Nah, nah. Impossible.” Mike said, sweating slightly. “That never happens. You just watch - in a few seconds he’ll get up and laugh evilly, then disappear with a poof.” (a-boom-booom-tish)
“No, cockmonkey, he’s dead. Not so fantastical now, are we?” Ian said.
“Er ...AHA!” Mike pulled a little bottle from his nose. He smashes it on EB, further defecating the smouldering wreak. Some little flashy lights go everywhere, and a pretty feather falls from the sky.
“Ta-DAAA! Phoenix Down!”
Chris looked unimpressed. “That didn’t work last time, either. Maybe you bought some dodgy ones.”
“Maybe you’re a gimp.” Ian said.
“Let’s just ... leave, shall we?” Mike asked.
Chris looked unimpressed (he’s used his quota of facial expressions up) “Y’know, I think Ian’s right. Ever since he broke his legs things haven’t been quite right.”
“No-no-no-no!” Mike shouted. “Everything’s fine! It’s, like, Final Fantasy! And we’re, like, the heroes!”
“No, Mike, no it’s not.”
“No, Mike, no we’re not.”
‘But .. but ...”
“ACTually.” Jesus said. “The presence of an after-battle screen. And the fact you three penniless morons have an Airship, hints there might just be some realism in Mike’s crazy FF-obsessed world.”
“Shut it, God-boy.” Ian said, and began beating Our Saviour around the chops with his gangrenous legs.
**
“Timmargh?” Cid questioned himself, back on the Airship, pondering the reason for his existence and the meaning of his life. Did he even really exist? The answers were hidden from him.
But the whipped cream was in full view and ready for eating.
**END**
Yes indeed. What the feck was that?
Ian and Chris sat on the bed, comparing the fluctuations in Malboro defence throughout the FF series, compared with that of the Cactuar. A computer squatted in the corner, smelling vaguely of cøcks.
“Woah, dudes.” Mike shouted from his seat in front of the computer. He jabbed a pasty finger at the screen.
Ian and Chris waddled their rickets-ridden way to the corner.
“Woah, dudes!” Ian squealed.
“Dudes,” Chris moaned, “Check that bizatch out.”
Mike gave a retarded chuckle, “That’s some serious HP ownage. Makes Omega Weapon look like a moogle.”
“Eh-eh-eh.” Chris said, in some form of a laugh. He gave a serious cough. “You mean FF8’s Omega?”
“Oh, of course.”
“Yeah, I was gonna say ...” Ian said, his gaze transfixed on the computer screen.
“Yeah! Blab-blab, what if you meant FFX’s Omega!” Chris leaked a little.
“Oh, come on dudes, give me some credit. I’m not that stupid.” Mike shouted.
“Eh-eh-eh”
“Garble garble.” (that was him laughing, by the by.)
“DUDES!” Ian screamed, like a pansy. He grabbed desperately at his crotch, trying to find something to pull on, but just fell off his chair and writhed on the floor for a bit.
“What is it, dude?” Chris asked.
“The ... the ... stats ...” Ian gasped, mid-climax.
Chris grabbed some tissues and bent over, screaming.
Mike started having an asthma attack. He took a few puffs from various inhalers and wiped off his trousers.
“Dudes ... 255 Attack, Magic, Defence, Mag Defence, Evasion, Luck ... Immune to everything.”
“MIKE!” Mike’s mum shouted, “You better be looking at porn up there, freak boy.”
Just then, the emergency phone rang. It had a flashy light and everything.
The three FF Losers quickly took up poses of the utmost coolness.
“Dudes,” Mike whispered, “Let’s move out! To the Airship!”
**
For some reason, they actually have an Airship.
It may not make any sense, but it’ll be funnier this way.
Trust me, good sirs, trust.
The three losers strutted onto the deck, Mike swivelled in a chair for a bit.
“Cid!” He shouted, “Let’s move out!”
“Ti -” Cid started, but was cut off.
“No! Move out, Cid.”
“Ti -”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Ti - “ Cid said, rather angrily.
“NO!”
“TI -”
“Oh, go on then ...” Mike sighed.
Cid grinned. “TIMMARGGHH!!!!”
“Can we go now?”
“timmargh.” Cid said in agreement. He spasmed his head in the vague direction of some buttons, and the airship lurched off the ground.
**
“Mnurgh!” Ian said. “I think I’ve broken my leg ... s.”
“I don’t quite understand ...” Chris said.
The Airship had dropped them off a nice seventeen miles from where they actually wanted to go. This was normal.
But the one-mile plummet down through the sky out the cargo hold was a lot more painful than certain games would have you think. Everything was going beautifully until the ground got involved.
Ian gurgled a bit. “Could someone help me out?”
Mike struck an awesome (lame) pose and pulled a little bottle out his pants. He smashed it on the ground and some lovely lights whooshed around, making sparkly sounds in the air. A big green 100 floated above Ian’s head.
Ian gurgled a bit more. “What the-?”
“It was a Potion! 100 HP regained! Now get up!”
“But ... my leg’s broken. I can’t get up.”
Mike suitably demonstrated than Ian very well could get up, with enough pulling, bleeding and a complex arrangement of steels poles and pulleys.
“So ...” Chris started, bleeding “Any sign of a plot yet?”
“Oh yeah,” Mike said in between brain haemorrhages “You know we got that phone call ... on the special phone ... then we got in the Airship ...”
“Yes, yes.”
“Hang on, I’m trying to think of something ...”
“Ooohhhh ...”
*Four hours later*
“I’ve got it!” Mike shouted.
Everyone yawned. Ian inched a bit closer to death. “What?”
“There’s something bad happening ... up ... errr ... that mountain.” He jabbed towards (duh) a mountain. “Let’s go!”
“Really?” Ian sighed / screamed. “Up a mountain?”
“Yup.”
“Can’t we go across a field, or into town, or to McDonalds?”
“Nope.”
“Ian ...” Chris said, “I feel you’re losing a little of your enthusiasm - like a chocobo with a headache. Eh eh eh.”
“Well, FF is only a game. And it’s nearly my bedtime.”
The other two spasmed in shock, their stupidly swollen brains unable to cope with this concept.
“Only ... only ... a game. What’re you? Normal?” Mike said.
‘It’s just ... probably not worth breaking my legs over. Y’know?”
“Blasphemer!” Mike shouted, “You should spend an eternity on the Island Closest to Hell!”
“Eh eh eh. Good one. Eh eh eh.” Chris said
“SILENCE!” Mike screamed, “Or I’ll nullify your auto-abilities!”
“Dude,” Ian whispered, “There aren’t any auto-abilities. Remember when Chris has auto-reflect on, and you torched him with that flame-thrower, and the fire didn’t bounce back?”
“But ... but ...”
“It’s okay, I understand. Now your gay life is worthless.”
“NO!” Chris shouted. “We’re FF Losers, and that’s how it’s going to stay. Mike, get your fat ass off the ground. Ian, haul you infected limbs up that mountain right now.”
“YAR!” Mike screamed, “Let’s fight whatever imaginary fiend lurks on the mountain top. Bagsy Omnislash!”
Ian started crying.
**
“B-b-b-b-bloody H-h-h-h-h-h-hell. W-w-why’s it’s so d-d-damn c-c-c-c-cold?!” Mike icicle encrusted-lips (oh-er!) spat
“Well, dickscrub, we’re up a mountain. Go figure.” Ian said, dragging himself along on his hands - his legs were black, red and yellow, ripe for picking.
“N-n-n-n-n-ow now, d-d-dudes. Everyone w-w-w-w-walks around m-m-m-m-mountains in T-shirts and hotpants, it’s n-n-n-n-ormal as normal can b-b-b-be.”
“And you source, mongtard?”
“The FF series.”
“...” Ian didn’t say.
**
“ROAR!” English Bloke said, rather politely. (Happy now, attention seeking hippy biznitch?)
“Oh, what a surprise.” Ian said. “To find someone evil up this mountain.”
“Actually,” Jesus said, “It is quite surprising, seeing as you all established, moments before, that the FF series is nothing but a work of fiction and should have no impact on real life at all. Toodle-pip.”
“He had a point ...” Chris started.
“You foolish, silly infants!” EB said (interrupting quite rudely). “You soul am mine! I destroy foolish, silly infants! I am the sauce of all bad! You might perish!”
“Fantastic translation, there.” Ian sighed.
“SILENCE, FOOL!” EB shouted.
“DUDES!” Mike screamed. “Boss fight!”
Ian waved a little flag.
*Battle mode*
The tense boss music starts.
Everyone stands around for half an hour.
“Dude...” Chris said. “It’s your turn.”
“No way, dude, you’ve been hasted.” Mike said
“Yeah, but your ATB bar is full.”
“Er ...” Mike did his flies back up.
“Here, I’ll do it.” Ian sighed, now carrying his rotting legs over his shoulder. “Er ...W-Summon Knights of the Round, Mime, Mime, Mime, Attack Reels 3-3-3, Steal Ribbon, Shell, Protect, Reflect, Flare, Ultima, Mime, Mime, Mime, Regen, Mime, Mime, The End. Mime.”
“You can’t do that!” Mike screamed, his ATB bar straining.
“I just did ...”
*Four hours later*
Everyone is snoozing. The sound of EB dying, very over-dramatically (as gay bosses tend to), woke them all up.
“Wha-? Wha-?” Mike said, blinking like a mong. “Have the tedious animations finished yet?”
“Hoorah!” Chris squealed, “We won!”
*Cut to the end-of-battle screen (oooohh ... technical)*
“What the hell...” Mike roared, pointing at the screen. “We only got 2000 exp for killing that fat git. But it was really hard!”
“No, Mike, you just suck.” Ian said. “You suck like-”
“DUDES!” Chris screamed. He was standing over EB’s broken body, which smoked a little. “I-I-I think we killed him.”
Mike nudged ED with his foot. The body rolls over - the front looks no more like a face than the back did.
“Nah, nah. Impossible.” Mike said, sweating slightly. “That never happens. You just watch - in a few seconds he’ll get up and laugh evilly, then disappear with a poof.” (a-boom-booom-tish)
“No, cockmonkey, he’s dead. Not so fantastical now, are we?” Ian said.
“Er ...AHA!” Mike pulled a little bottle from his nose. He smashes it on EB, further defecating the smouldering wreak. Some little flashy lights go everywhere, and a pretty feather falls from the sky.
“Ta-DAAA! Phoenix Down!”
Chris looked unimpressed. “That didn’t work last time, either. Maybe you bought some dodgy ones.”
“Maybe you’re a gimp.” Ian said.
“Let’s just ... leave, shall we?” Mike asked.
Chris looked unimpressed (he’s used his quota of facial expressions up) “Y’know, I think Ian’s right. Ever since he broke his legs things haven’t been quite right.”
“No-no-no-no!” Mike shouted. “Everything’s fine! It’s, like, Final Fantasy! And we’re, like, the heroes!”
“No, Mike, no it’s not.”
“No, Mike, no we’re not.”
‘But .. but ...”
“ACTually.” Jesus said. “The presence of an after-battle screen. And the fact you three penniless morons have an Airship, hints there might just be some realism in Mike’s crazy FF-obsessed world.”
“Shut it, God-boy.” Ian said, and began beating Our Saviour around the chops with his gangrenous legs.
**
“Timmargh?” Cid questioned himself, back on the Airship, pondering the reason for his existence and the meaning of his life. Did he even really exist? The answers were hidden from him.
But the whipped cream was in full view and ready for eating.
**END**
Yes indeed. What the feck was that?
Page:
I feel sick
Ding-dong
Last orders then please.
Last orders then please.
Pfffttt.
Been done, about seven years ago.
Been done, about seven years ago.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> I'm not your bizatch. Not on Fridays, anywho...
>
> I did start a LOTR spoof (Lord of the Prings - Pringles) but it was
> pretty lame and LOTR has been over-spoofed, all the jokes have been
> used up.
>
> Also - I'd like to point out the total lack of glaring gay innuendo
> in this story. I'm quite proud of it.
How about.... Bored of the Rings?
> I'm not your bizatch. Not on Fridays, anywho...
>
> I did start a LOTR spoof (Lord of the Prings - Pringles) but it was
> pretty lame and LOTR has been over-spoofed, all the jokes have been
> used up.
>
> Also - I'd like to point out the total lack of glaring gay innuendo
> in this story. I'm quite proud of it.
How about.... Bored of the Rings?
Thought this post was about me at first...
must be paranoid
must be paranoid
Your gay jokes are what make your stories brilliant. if you would of made any of the characters gay in this story it would kick my ass.
Make a story about any friggin tv or movie, just make one before this thread drowns under the "i juS hAd seckx" topics.
PS: It's officailly not Friday anymore. Get on your knees.
Make a story about any friggin tv or movie, just make one before this thread drowns under the "i juS hAd seckx" topics.
PS: It's officailly not Friday anymore. Get on your knees.
I'm not your bizatch. Not on Fridays, anywho...
I did start a LOTR spoof (Lord of the Prings - Pringles) but it was pretty lame and LOTR has been over-spoofed, all the jokes have been used up.
Also - I'd like to point out the total lack of glaring gay innuendo in this story. I'm quite proud of it.
I did start a LOTR spoof (Lord of the Prings - Pringles) but it was pretty lame and LOTR has been over-spoofed, all the jokes have been used up.
Also - I'd like to point out the total lack of glaring gay innuendo in this story. I'm quite proud of it.
Dakarus Joe wrote:
> Do a LOTR one FFF
Yea and make me someone.
Yea. Do that.
MmmHmm.
> Do a LOTR one FFF
Yea and make me someone.
Yea. Do that.
MmmHmm.
Do a LOTR one FFF see there drunk cow have a cookie.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> Drunk Cow wrote:
> I miss Stryke Strikes Back.
>
> Write something like that again.
>
> Until the new Star Wars title is released you won't get one. I need
> my pun first.
There's lots of other things you could pun! Look for one dammit!
> Drunk Cow wrote:
> I miss Stryke Strikes Back.
>
> Write something like that again.
>
> Until the new Star Wars title is released you won't get one. I need
> my pun first.
There's lots of other things you could pun! Look for one dammit!
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