robinbloke | (no subject)

Bob: Hello once again folks, it's time once again for "Insane deathmatch".

*A crowd gathered in a nearby bunker peep around the corner of the blast-proof doors, cheer and then retire inside once again*

Mike: That's right Bob, we're here for another special episode in a custom built location sparing no expense at all.

Bob: Except our wages, they stink.

Mike: They do? I'm doing alright out of this, plus I get a free limo.

Bob: What? Where’s my manager.

*Bob stomps out*

Mike: Anyway folks, todays location is a two-up six-down mid west style home built by dedicated members of the public for virtually slave labour costs, thanks to blackmail material the network has gathered through webcams across the nation!

*The crowd blink, several pull out mobile phones and start calls*
*Bob stomps back in*

Bob: Damn manager, lousing stinking contract. Hi! I'm back, well today we see our reigning champion Eric "The flipper" take on an all new challenger, Macaulay Culkin.

The bookies are favouring the champion penguin after his shock defeat of the USS Texas only this morning.

Mike: Not to mention the network having to hire me at double rate to replace Jim.

Bob: Bastard.

Mike: Anyway, here’s our two challengers... Standing outside the front door standing at just over two feet tall and weighing in at an impressive 13 pounds it's Eric the penguin.

*Eric waves a flipper to the cameraman, and then promptly eats a haddock*

Bob: What a showman, erm showpenguin, who writes this stuff?

Mike: Stick to the script.

Bob: Bah. And cowering under his duvet in the spare room, having rigged the entire house with everything from rakes on the floor to weapons grade plutonium it's Macaulay Culkin. The kid everyone loves to hate, boy we had to pull some strings to get him here, armoured van, the works, kid has a home alone type shining thing going on, I'm telling you.

Mike: I told you we should have got Wheaton.

Bob: Shush, the budget only stretches so far, do you know how much sinking that submarine cost the network?

Mike: But the ratings don't lie Bob, the public loves to see the ultimate in modern technology getting sunk in comedy fashion by the avian equivalent of the black and white minstrel show.

Bob: I've never seen Eric dance or sing Mike.

Mike: Cut me some slack here, this script is all I have to work with.

Bob: Right.

*A schoolbell rings, Macaulay cowers still further under the blankets*

Mike: Anyway, it's seconds out for round one, the question on everyone’s lips is, how is Eric going to get in there?

*Eric pulls out a large trout and slaps the doorbell of the house, inside a series of wheels, pulleys and cogs manoeuvre a shotgun to poke out of the letterbox and blast out into the street randomly, missing Eric by a clear foot above his head.*

Bob: That was a close one.

*There was a squeal of tires and a car screeches past, the front wheel blown out, quite possibly from a shotgun blast. The vehicle turns violently towards the house, Eric scuttling to the side as it smashes into the front door. There is a trigger of buckets of acid, falling anvils and killer snakes being released against the car, all of which
seem to have no effect at all. The vehicle then rolls back down the driveway, into the bunker of spectators and promptly explodes*

Mike: That’s our ratings hit again.

Bob: The public love carnage, Mike, you have to know that by now.

Mike: I watch Jerry Springer, I know the drill.

Bob: Roll the adverts.

~Adverts pan past, offering a life of untold luxury from the purchase of what might otherwise seem to be ordinary household objects~

Bob: And welcome back, Eric’s in the front room now and heading for the stairs.

Mike: A formidable obstacle, Bob. especially considering their relative height compared to Eric.

Bob: You have that right, Mike.

*Eric waddles to the bottom of the stairs, there is a 'spoing' noise and a ironing board falls sideways from the wall to wave a good half foot over Eric's head, a bowling ball starts bouncing down the stairs*

Bob: We did tell Macaulay that he was facing a penguin, right?

Mike: I think he's read too much Batman, Bob.

Bob: He's in for a shock then, this is no comic book half-breed avian he's facing here.

*The bowling ball bounces down the stairs, one at a time. As it reaches the bottom one it bounces onto the ironing board, which bends and promptly catapults it through the ceiling, there is a crash, a cracking noise and a girlish scream*

Mike: First point to Eric there I think, that sounded like Macaulay's spine.

Bob: Guess I owe you $50, I said it would be a limb.

*Money changes hands, Eric hops up the stairs one by one*

Bob: He's at the top of the stairs now folks, and from the whimpering noise from under the duvet it sounds like Macaulay is still alive.

Mike: He's bound to have a good trap for that door though Bob, it'll be his last defence.

Bob: Too right, Mike.

*Eric waddles up to the door, looks at it and then proceeds to start cleaning under his wing*

Bob: Is he stalling Mike?

Mike: Who knows what sinister ideas are going through that razor sharp mind.

*A head pokes out from under the duvet, with appropriate whimpering noises, Macaulay pulls out a remote control and pushes a few buttons*

Bob: What's he activating there Mike?

Mike: My moneys on the teasmaid, Bob.

*Eric takes this moment to lower his head and waddle frantically at the door, he bumps into it and a trapdoor opens above him, a large number of dangerous pointy looking objects, including a revving chainsaw, fall from the ceiling and fall all around Eric; missing him. The chainsaw revs through the door and races into the bed, there is a loud scream from Macaulay.*

Mike: There goes your limb, Bob.

Bob: Well, that's luck for you.

*Eric waddles through the shattered door up to the screaming duvet, which is turning a sinister shade of scarlet, he looks up as the chainsaw races back across the room, followed by another loud scream*

Mike: That’s two.

Bob: That's going to leave a mark in the morning.

*Eric pecks at one of the legs of the bed, the bed, already somewhat shattered teeters and falls over; Macaulay rolls out onto the pile of extremely spiky objects outside his room, he just has time to scream before the chainsaw races back over him and cuts him in half, spluttering to fuel-less end a moment later*

Mike: And it's all over!

Bob: And won't Movie producers everywhere be thanking Eric tonight.

Mike: Amen.