Post by Corey Black on Apr 11, 2010 15:22:15 GMT -5
wcfwrestling.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=rp2010&action=display&thread=6073
VOIP.
T-Rex is now dust. Iron Death surveys the damage. The dust from the T-Rex floats up and other dinosaurs breathe it in, causing them to cough all over each other and start dying! Like some crazy situation involving Homer Simpson, Iron Death has killed all the dinosaurs.
Iron Death: Well fuck my life.
Iron Death hangs his head in shame as he strolls across the baron wasteland that used to house dinosaurs. He trips over something metallic.
Iron Death: MOTHER OF FUCK WHAT IS THIS?!
It's a DeLorean!
Iron Death: Great Scott, I've got it! I'll go back in time thirty seconds and stop myself from vaporizing that Rex! Or, maybe, if I go forward in time I can stop myself from even going back in time! But what if it doesn't work? Wouldn't I just vanish all together? What if I end up fucking my grandmother and becoming my own grandfather? And what's the deal with airline food?
The DeLorean's door opens up, and Logan is the driver!
Logan: Shut up, boudle!
Iron Death: Logan?! You have mastered time travel too?!
Logan: No, I'm just that old. SHUT UP.
Iron Death quickly turns Logan into dust. Actually, ID didn't do anything. Logan was that old that he just turned to dust. Right after the dinosaurs died. 65 million years ago. Logan and his material are just that old. Iron Death seems like he could give a shit, as he shrugs and jumps into the DeLorean.
Iron Death: Eighty eight miles per hour AGOOOO-OH FUCK I CAN'T DRIVE STICK.
The DeLorean is a stick shift.
Iron Death: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.
With every "fuck" ID hits the steering wheel, causing a repulsion blast to shoot out of his hand and damage the car further. After the last one, the car itself is mangled and just bad news. Over yonder, a naked man is walking toward ID. As he reaches our hero, he exclaims;
Man: I need your clothes, your boots, and your motorcycle.
Iron Death: Are you kidding?
Man: Fuck you, asshole!
The man walks away.
Iron Death: I'm glad he wasn't a cybernetic organism with living tissue over a metal exoskeleton. That sure would have been brutal. How the hell am I supposed to get back to 2010? Ughggh. Guess it's time to get out.
Iron Death whips out his trusty cellular phone and dials a number.
Iron Death: Tank, I need an out route.
Tank: Uh, dipshit, there are no working phones.
Iron Death: ... FUCK. Upload the Alexander Graham Bell Program.
Tank: Ooook...
We fade out with Iron Death wigging out from being uploaded with the ability to invent the very first telephone and tap out of the Matrix. Yep. You read that correctly.
VOIP.
T-Rex is now dust. Iron Death surveys the damage. The dust from the T-Rex floats up and other dinosaurs breathe it in, causing them to cough all over each other and start dying! Like some crazy situation involving Homer Simpson, Iron Death has killed all the dinosaurs.
Iron Death: Well fuck my life.
Iron Death hangs his head in shame as he strolls across the baron wasteland that used to house dinosaurs. He trips over something metallic.
Iron Death: MOTHER OF FUCK WHAT IS THIS?!
It's a DeLorean!
Iron Death: Great Scott, I've got it! I'll go back in time thirty seconds and stop myself from vaporizing that Rex! Or, maybe, if I go forward in time I can stop myself from even going back in time! But what if it doesn't work? Wouldn't I just vanish all together? What if I end up fucking my grandmother and becoming my own grandfather? And what's the deal with airline food?
The DeLorean's door opens up, and Logan is the driver!
Logan: Shut up, boudle!
Iron Death: Logan?! You have mastered time travel too?!
Logan: No, I'm just that old. SHUT UP.
Iron Death quickly turns Logan into dust. Actually, ID didn't do anything. Logan was that old that he just turned to dust. Right after the dinosaurs died. 65 million years ago. Logan and his material are just that old. Iron Death seems like he could give a shit, as he shrugs and jumps into the DeLorean.
Iron Death: Eighty eight miles per hour AGOOOO-OH FUCK I CAN'T DRIVE STICK.
The DeLorean is a stick shift.
Iron Death: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.
With every "fuck" ID hits the steering wheel, causing a repulsion blast to shoot out of his hand and damage the car further. After the last one, the car itself is mangled and just bad news. Over yonder, a naked man is walking toward ID. As he reaches our hero, he exclaims;
Man: I need your clothes, your boots, and your motorcycle.
Iron Death: Are you kidding?
Man: Fuck you, asshole!
The man walks away.
Iron Death: I'm glad he wasn't a cybernetic organism with living tissue over a metal exoskeleton. That sure would have been brutal. How the hell am I supposed to get back to 2010? Ughggh. Guess it's time to get out.
Iron Death whips out his trusty cellular phone and dials a number.
Iron Death: Tank, I need an out route.
Tank: Uh, dipshit, there are no working phones.
Iron Death: ... FUCK. Upload the Alexander Graham Bell Program.
Tank: Ooook...
We fade out with Iron Death wigging out from being uploaded with the ability to invent the very first telephone and tap out of the Matrix. Yep. You read that correctly.
