Monday, June 22, 2009

The Aristocrats FanFic

An Autobot drives into a garage. He transforms and says to the mechanic "I got a great new show for you.."
The mechanic says, "I really don't have time for hearing you out, but go for it."
The Autobot sits back and says, "First a wheel barrel comes out and transforms into a robot. Then, a tractor comes out and transforms into a robot. Then the two robots start to shake hands. As they're shaking their robot mitts, a Vespa comes out and transforms into a robot, now they're all shaking hands and out comes a convertable and it transforms into a robot as well. They look like a Constructicon, that's how much they're shaking hands. The Vespa starts to leak gasoline into the Convertable. The wheel barrell starts to look like its gonna lose it and at this point it starts spastically transforming back and forth from its vehicle mode to its alt mode. It's like a William Carlos Williams poem about a wheel barrel, that's how crazy it is..."
"I gotta cut you off," says the mechanic, "this is the most perverted thing I've ever heard of, what do you even call a thing like this?"
The autobot transforms back into a car and says, "Transformers 3: The Aristocrats."

Thursday, June 18, 2009

M&M FanFic

It was a dark day for the yellow M&M, hell, the rain did all but wash away his favorite M. I say "rain," but that would undermine the tears he shed that afternoon. It was official, Red and Green made-out in her trailer. Usually, Yellow would tell her when it was time to come to set. This became custom even though it is the job of the PA. Yellow would always wait, like an animal, outside her trailer and just as the PA was to knock on the door he'd inform the PA of some emergency. Usually it was nothing. Sometimes however, by coincidence, the emergency was real. Like the time Yellow told the PA to check behind the studio for bombs and the PA found a whatchamacallit, passed out on a bed of teeth boxes. Candy eats teeth, you know. If it wasn't for this fool's errand, the whatchamacallit would've possibly died, lying in his own filth. Today however, today was different. After the PA left, Yellow was told to check behind the water tank. He was told to do this by Red.
He went behind the water tank, there was nothing there. Nothing but a gutter, a drain. He stared at it in the same way an astronaut would stare into deep space. The type of stare that turned the black into blue and green when he closed his eyes. Green. That's what this was about. He'd been duped.
Yellow ran like Dustin Hoffman runs. He almost tripped up the small metal stairs leading to the trailer door. But he didn't. It wasn't locked and he opened it fully, his anxiousness to see the truth was greater than his caution. There it was, like an IMAX, Green and Red were making out. Worse off, it wasn't even Red kissing Green. It was her, kissing him.
"This is how Richard Kind must feel," thought Yellow. He was sometimes told that he looked like Richard Kind. He walked out of the trailer backwards, making it down the steps one at a time. He could see the lips moving of Red and Green but he couldn't hear them. He could only see them kissing, even though now they were shouting, shouting at him. Why were they telling him to stop?
Crack. Yellow stared up at the sky.
"It's going to rain," he said.
He blacked out for a moment, but for him it seemed like hours. He was still looking up but the sky was now a deep blue, with clouds. They were shaped like a lab coat. The sky spoke to him.
"Everything is going to be alright, but don't move, you busted a nut."
Yellow's eyes focused and saw this was no sky at all but Blue. Blue had gone to medical school after his career in commercials died down.
"We'll get you back together, just rest, Red and Green are here to see you."
"NO!" shouted Yellow, or it would have been a shout if he had the strength, this was more of a quiet plea.
"I don't want to see them. I don't want to see them."
Blue turned toward the door and silently motioned for Red and Green to leave the room.
Three weeks passed and Yellow was released from Blue's care. He walked back on set and stood underneath the rain-machine which he dragged to Green's trailer. He began to shout.
"This is Me! This is me, Green! Won't you like me?!"
Red opened the door to Green's trailer, she was behind him, wearing his varsity jacket.
"Oh, no, still?!" cried Yellow, confused. "Still with him? Still with Red? Is that what you want?!"
"What's he doing," whispered Green to Red.
"I can hear you!" yelled Yellow.
Yellow bent down and picked up the razor-blade he kept in his shoe ever since the Junk War at Mars Headquarters in the 1980s.
"I can be Red, Green! Green means go! Green means..."
He put the razor to his wrist.
"Green means go!"
With a slash, Yellow stumbled back over the rain-machine. Chocolate poured out of his wrists.
"Humans love! Humans bleed red! I love you Green! I bleed red for you!"
Green bursts into tears and holds the silent Red for comfort. This makes Yellow squirm with frustration. He shouts inaudible words and runs away into the back-lot, clutching his brown arms. He slips on his own chocolate but makes it to the water tank. With one hand wringing the other, he empties himself into the drain.
"You're a Nut! You're a Nut! She thinks that's you out there in the commercials, the foil, the fucking foil! You go to her trailer everyday and the one day he does they're kissing?! That's not math! That doesn't make sense."
Yellow collapses and carried by his slick chocolate is swept halfway into the gutter. Hours later, the PA finds him and bandages him up with camera-tape. Yellow is assured that everything is going to be alright.
"Whatever that means," he thinks.
The next day he's told to stay at home, to think things over, and most of all, relax. He's sitting by his pool and even though he sees the gray clouds forming, he stays in his seat. It begins to rain, but that's okay, he's been crying all day anyway. At this point, the M on his chest is almost fully washed away. Without that he's nothing, just a yellow blob on the sunset strip. He closes his eyes.
The yell of coyotes wake him in the middle of the night, he runs inside, freezing to his core. He looks in the mirror, the rain had washed him completely blank. He is a ghost. He turns off his bathroom light and runs to his car.
"You won't melt in my mouth. But you will die in my hands."
He shifts into second gear and then to first gear, then to third, back to second, and he's at Green's mansion in no time. He busts the security intercom with his car-jack and drives through the gate. His car climbs up her stairs and drives through the front door. He's forayed in her foyer. Yellow opens his car door and steps out. He sees Red eating a grilled tooth mere feet in front of him, his mouth agape. Yellow shouts for Green and this only makes Red more silent. Yellow marches towards Red with a fire in his pale eyes but he slips. The floor is slick with chocolate. Yellow's white gloves are wet with it. He hits the floor in shock like a frustrated M&M Mini. On impact, a green shell spins away from him on the floor and crashes into more pieces underneath the carriage of his car. It bumps against two empty white shoes, womens' shoes, and stops.
"It must be a vase. Tell me it's a vase," Yellow manages to let escape his shocked lips.
His white face frozen, is flashed with shades of blue and red. The police are here. Initially alerted by the home invasion prevention service when the intercom was smashed, the cops now had a homicide on their hands. M&M slaughter charges were dismissed and Yellow was charged with first-degree murder. It was an accident, but he went to Green's mansion for chocolate. Red's chocolate perhaps, but chocolate nonetheless.
Alone in his cell, Yellow scratches an M into his chest.
"You're not going to wash away," he says to the M, "you're going to stay with me forever."
Yellow stayed in that cell, never leaving for the field or activities or mealtimes. Some say that when the guards removed his body he didn't weigh a thing. Prisoners say that when they carried him out, they could hear the roll of his nut going back and forth in his shell. Even the prisoners who had never been to the coast said that it sounded like the Ocean.
Blue went back to the studio and made several hit TV spots with the help of the PA and the whatchamacallit who had since taken up sound production.
Red became a shut-in himself and to this day, some say that everyday he stands inside the foyers of mansions near raceways for hours, waiting to be reunited with Green.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Be Kind Rewind FanFic

Jerry Gerber shimmies up to the counter that Mike is hanging over. To look at the two of them would be to know the meaning of opposite. Jerry Gerber is a goober. Exhausted, Mike presents a box of Sweded tapes, all based on Stephen Soderbergh remakes. The sighs he emits when there's nothing to sigh over make it clear that Mike has had enough of this.
"I want to live," he says.
Being a goober, Jerry Gerber assumes Mike is talking about the 1983 remake to the 1958 movie of the same name. Jerry Gerber assures Mike that they've already Sweded that and goes on to suggest places for lunch.
"I Can't..." starts Mike.
"Hardly Wait," Jerry Gerber finishes as he ejects the freshly Sweded version out of his camcorder. "You gotta see who we got to do Manilow's voice! ...It's me!" adds the dullard.
"Just Stop!" Mike yells. He has clearly lost his naturally cool swagger. He goes on a tirade about how they can't just keep remaking stuff, that the old stuff was great. Jerry Gerber makes a low blow about how Mike's idol, jazz great Fats Waller, would always improvise on previously finished music, and that's what they were doing - making jazz. Mike had seen Ken Burn's documentary on jazz and knew that at one point it was spelled "jass." In fact, last week Mike Sweded the documentary. All 1140 minutes of it. Even the special features. Truth be told, Mike had the time of his life recreating these 1140 minutes, but it left him spent, his head a mess of thoughts of ascending notes. Jerry Gerber didn't "get" jazz and taped over 896 minutes of these tapes with Sweded versions of most of the first two seasons of Weeds and whatever he could fit of Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Colors" trilogy. He got half-way through Red when Mike stopped him. At the time his face was wet with tears of frustration and anger. When met with these tears, Jerry Gerber became slippery and slid out of Mike's grasp, long enough to spit out a lie and say that it wasn't the Jazz tapes at all, but their infamously awful Swede of The Deep End of the Ocean which they commonly referred to as "Pink Trout," always with great disdain. Neither of them ever having seen the original film, they assumed it was Deep Blue Sea and the result was a Swede that no one rented and only served the purpose of occupying shelf space. Mike hated this failure so much that he was actually relieved when he heard this was the tape being used. However, the sudden shock of seeing Pink Trout still on the shelf led Mike into the rage that culminated in the tackling of Jerry Gerber. Their friendship was forever strained after this.
Nevertheless, Jerry insisted that Mike watch this version of Can't Hardly Wait. He did so since he still had a few hours left on his shift and despite all the hatred he had for Jerry Gerber and the fact that he wanted nothing more than to just walk out, he still respected his duties as arranged under the management of Elroy Fletcher.
Mike watched the entire 15 minutes. The swear words that came to mind are unrepeatable, but he couldn't resist. Jerry Gerber did it, he captured the entire Love Burger set piece using only crazy straws.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Quantum Leap FanFic

"Thank goodness I'm not a scientist again, I couldn't deal with being so close to the answers and still not be able to change this!" thought Sam Beckett as his helmet was removed and he stepped out of the cockpit.
"You passed," said a voice that would be impossibly charismatic with anyone.
Sam Beckett turned toward this welcoming news to see a tough as dirt pilot in a space-age green jumpsuit.
"Thanks," said Sam Beckett as he tried to read the woman's dog tags for a name, a clue.
"Eyes up top, it's that short attention span that almost got you shot down in that simulation."
Sam Beckett, now with no leads to who he was talking to, quickly ran behind some strange pencil-shaped jet fighter and covered his mouth.
"AL!" he shouted, muffled though his space-age gloves. "Al!!!"
Suddenly, like a doctor out of some sort of science-fiction, Al appeared, a hologram to whom Sam Beckett sought answer after answer.
"Yes Sam?" he answered.
Sam Beckett wanted to ask who that mean-yet-confident woman with the jumpsuit was but instead went first with, "Who am I?"
As Sam looked at his reflection in the future-vehicle before him, Al simply muttered. "Why, Sam, you're Zack Adama."
Sam ordered Al to find out what he was doing here and what wrong he was supposed to set right. Al started typing into his gadget known as "Ziggy" as Sam tried again to find the name of this short haired blonde stranger before him.
"So what would you say I passed in?" he asked coyly.
"Your flight test," she said without humor.
"Or your name isn't..." he pushed.
"Or my name isn't Kara Thrace," she finished.
"You still got it Sam Beckett," thought Sam Beckett.
"You still got it Sam Beckett," added Al a little later since he was busy finding out what was going to happen in the future. Ziggy still ran on Alta-Vista and was a little touch-and-go. Al mentioned that the Babel-Fish translator says that in this time period the common nomenclature for emotion is "frak."
"I'm frakkin' excited to hear that, Kara Thrace," Sam Beckett throws in with the same confidence he first discerned in Kara Thrace's natural tone of voice.
Kara suggests that they go play hexagonal poker. Sam thinks this must be some euphemism, and is glad. Flashes of his previous possessions of Buffalo Bill Cody, Samuel Clemens, and Data the android flooded his mind. Even with the help of Al and Ziggy, actual poker was a mess for him, usually ending in being shot and having to do a quantum re-do.
"WAIT," shouts Al as Sam Beckett was just about to leave through a submarine door with Kara Thrace. "Zack Adama has to die!"
Sam says "Hold on!" Awesomely, this works both for Kara to know to stop walking and to Al to imply, "tell me more."
As Sam pretends to tie his space-shoe and have Kara wait, Al lets him know that if Zack Adama doesn't die there is going to be a war with the Cylons and then all humanity is going to go camping indefinitely. Sam wants more information but Al protests citing that not all his programmers had seen the entire future and for their sake, the programmers who had seen it went through tedious lengths not to include any spoilers.
"Frak," says Sam Beckett.
"Good usage," compliments Al.
"Frak what," asks Kara Thrace.
"Frak, I love Pink Trout," Sam Beckett covers.
All three of them agree that this has become uncomfortable.
Sam asks if he could just meet her at her bunk or wherever they play hexagonal poker and then asks for directions, playing off that he got so drunk (on ambrosia, thanks Ziggy) last time that he forgot.
Now that they have some alone time, Sam Beckett, Al and Ziggy try to find out what's going on and if there are ways other than killing Zack Adama that humanity can be saved. They're really stumped and Sam forfeits that at least this'll put an end to his quantum leaping. First, however, there is some time for hexagonal poker.
Sam Beckett runs through the hallways and passes by Helo, Anders, Gracie Bell, Tim Riggins, Bill "Husker" Adama, and crashes into Petty Officer Dualla who is carrying a box of stuff for the the new Battlestar Galactica Museum to which everyone is donating their stuff. A side-arm falls out of the box. Sam Beckett asks Dualla if he can borrow it. She can't think of a reason off-hand that he shouldn't but is still hesitant. Sam Beckett trades her a set of toy jacks that inexplicably happen to be in Zack Adama's pocket. Al compliments his progress. Ziggy agrees that a gun could be helpful.
With a shortness of breath, Sam Beckett charges into Kara Thrace's bunk and sees a bunch of people playing hexagonal poker. For the first time, Sam Beckett realizes that even though everyone, including himself, was saying 'hexagonal poker,' he still heard 'horizontal poker.'
But wait, what's this, there is one player with his back to him. This man turns around. It can't be, but it looks just like...
"AL!" shouts Sam Beckett. "How did you get here?!"
"AL?" says the man, "I hate that name more than I hate the name 'John.' Call me Cavil. Better yet, call me Number One. Yes, that one, Number One."
Al backs away, clutching Ziggy to his chest.
"I didn't know, Sam, honest."
Number One takes the gun from Sam Beckett's pocket.
"I rather like indefinite camping," says Number One.
"Whatever!" shouts Sam Beckett. Last week this was a very common expression for Sam Beckett due to his time traveling. Here, however, in the futuristic bunk-bed room, it lost a little Umph.
Sam Beckett kung-fus the gun out of Number One's hand and tells everyone to calm down.
Fact is, Sam Beckett kind of likes all this space stuff. He decides not to kill Zack Adama and live in space. Cylons never come. The world is at peace. However, the Battlestar Museum goes without maintenance for too long and falls apart. At the demolition ceremony, where they push it off towards the sun for incineration, Sam Beckett as Zack Adama gives a touching speech ending with the cutting line, "well, it's not like it could have been avoided." Only Al totally gets this joke and it is his laughter which was the loudest.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

In the Bedroom FanFic

I thought I had discovered In the Bedroom fan fiction but have now realized that what I had seen was merely a scene taking place in a bedroom. The next paragraph is an answer to what I thought I had discovered. The following will not be proof-read.

INT. KITCHEN - Morning

Matt Fowler drags himself into the kitchen of his home. It's cold because it is morning in a coastal town and because his son has been murdered by Richard Strout, a man who could be a professional son-of-a-bitch if it wasn't for the recession. Actually, if it wasn't for Matt Fowler who revenge-murdered Richard Strout before the recession he would probably get unemployment for being a son-of-a-bitch. Anyway, that's in his past now. A past that Matt Fowler carries like a house. A house tied to his back with a garden-hose, kept afloat by a parade of balloons.

He starts to mix cereal with milk. Christ, he thinks. This reminds me of everything wrong with my life. The milk will only sog his cereal, creating a ticking clock on his appetite. If only his hunger was satiated when he and his William Blake quoting cronies decided to off that son-of-a-bitch, Richard Strout. "Dick Strout," Matt Fowler chuckles. "Dead as Dick."

"DICK STROUT!" screaches Ruth Fowler, his wife. Matt quickly covers up with the speed of a lobster-trap fisherman.
"I said Pink Trout," Matt Fowler says with a sigh of relief in how clever he's become ever since he started hanging out with those poetry fiends out in the woods.

"Good," says Ruth Fowler before setting her self at their kitchen table. She puts a second spoon in the cereal, it is a welcome flirtation, akin to the days they'd order a malted with two straws. Back then it was because they were young and cute and even now it could be seen as a sign of the recession. But it wasn't, it was clear to both of them that this was flirtation. Matt Fowler saw the added benefit of knowing that two people eating the cereal will help avoid the otherwise prevalent threat of soggy Captain Crunch.

"You let me get away with everything," she crooned. He pats her head condescendingly. He apologizes for this. He thought it'd be cute. It wasn't.

Ruth Fowler stands up and grabs a plate. She's going to break it. They just bought a new set. This was bad news Matt Fowler thought. Fortunately, she explains that in some Greek houses, breaking plates is a good thing. She breaks it, but at least she's not mad at him for patting her head. She was breaking it to celebrate that she wasn't going to let that jerkish move ruin her day. In fact, the school she teaches music at just got the rights to perform "Next to Normal." Things were looking up.

They finish their dry and crunchy cereal and go their separate ways. Her to her class, he to his. However, she goes to her job to learn about life and he goes to his boat to learn about trapping lobsters, in the bedroom.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Not with a Whimper, but with a Bang

Welcome to Fart Ax Reasons, the unofficial blog of the goings on at ForTaxReasons LLC, where I live and which conveniently for name purposes happens to house farts and Armani Exchange. Of course, I am lying, for the only fragrance in the air is from a 50ml of Armani Mania.

I'm not allowed to write about what they work on. I'll be your host. Zachary Scheer.