Chicken Soup for the Black-Fish Soul Jan 12, 2017 17:58:52 GMT -5 6ix God, Wade Moor, and 4 more like this
Post by Odin Balfore on Jan 12, 2017 17:58:52 GMT -5
~ Back at THICK HQ ~
The American based THICK HQ, meant to thwart and crush the anti-poon loving ISIS scum was buzzing with new information, poon and iCould leaks of Abigail Spencer and Ariana Grande. Such was a glorious day, indeed. The MIT (that’s Men in THICK for the uninitiated) hover over a map of the world and plot of recent terrorist attacks in Germany and now in Istanbul. Those attacks were circled in red marker as a thumb tack and string map hangs on the wall of possible suspects, Colin Keapernick is prime suspect numbah UNO; dat unthick jobbah. As MIT are looking over the map and trying to piece together clues, Conrad comes over an intercom.
Conrad: You boys find any clues.
Dat Fuddah ov Bob: The attacks just seem random and inspired. There isn’t any trace or trail of anything. It’s a matter of murkin’ fools before fools be murkin other fools.
The All Father: I say we just show up in Afghanistan or where ever and turn that bitch into a glass floor.
Conrad: I like it! However, we need to be covert than that. It’s kinda the whole point of espionage and treason. If this was easy, the CIA wouldn’t contact me to do their damn job.
Dat Fuddah ov Bob: Well it’s a good thing I have diplomatic immunity and can do such KAY-RAY-ZEE things.
Conrad: Alright, fine. Go to Poonganafstan and see what you can dig up. Have you found Keapernick, yet?
The All Father: Negative.
Conrad: Then Cairo, that’s your job. Find Keapernick. See where he ran off too. Odin, there is other business for you. I got some weird scroll Fed-X’d to my door today. Shit was written in purple ink and considering I only get weird scrolls at my house because of you, I assume it’s yours. So your mission is take your damn mail AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY POOL HOUSE!
The All Father: Purple ink? Shit, is it Friday the Thirteenth again?
Conrad: How the fuck should I know; no one uses calendars anymore.
The All Father: Then I got to go pay Corey a visit. Conrad, if you need anything -
Conrad: I don’t.
The All Father: I’ll be in Denmark.
Conrad: Good. Don’t come back.
~Denmark Heatwave ~
Denmark. -7 C (that’s 20F). Across the barren wasteland that is Dethforts immediate area is a castle. It dawfs Dethfort. Dethfort has six towers, like a peasant. The towers on this new castle are without measure. Dethfort has a finite amount of interior square footage, this new castle exists in a parallel void; making for infinite space. Dethfort has an observatory. This new castle can pick space apples off of Jalaxian A-7. Dethfort has a battery of cannon; this new fort has a “DethRay” (LOL). Dethfort has a Heli-pad, this new castle can artificially manipulate the rotation of the Earth. Dethfort overlooks a village; this castle overlooks dethfort. Dethfort has a foodcourt and a visitors center. This castle has the garden of eden and the waiting room for heaven. Dethfort has a petting zoo, this castle breeds raptors. Dethfort gets the idea; this new castle IS THE IDEA.
Back in Dethfort, high in the tallest tower, the one that attempts to compensate for Cory Blacks lack of all things THICK is bombarded by a laser light show that gleems into his window from this new castle. Corey Black tosses and turns, flips and flops, jobs and JAH-OBS fah dayz. He cringes with the pillow over his head, trying to emulate the thrill of an extension cord around the neck but it is not the same. Corey Black is not the same. He arcs up from his bed and peers through the blinds. The entire town is across the street singing carols and various “DAH WHO THICK-RAY’s” and “WEL-KUM, WEL KUM, THICK-WHO THICK-WHO.” Big tittied Latinas were being trucked in by the gigantic ass load to be railed by the men and the women of the town. Nordic bitches loves the Latina ass poon, it’s a well known fact of life. However, the Corey Black, that Grinch high up on the hill, who witnessed the featured act, who wholly enjoys the TORTOROUS wail of the plighted townsfolks reacts with a shrill tone in his voice.
“What is this, what is this happiness?! What is going on, why are they not unhappy? Why are they not unhappy? I am unhappy! I am always unhappy! And so shall will they!” Corey Black rolls out of bed with haste, stripping off his Superman fleece pj’s and disappearing into a walk-in closet. Corey re-appears in more normal winter attire as he stomps past his creepy doll / figureen collection that are still in the box. Nig, how can you enjoy the pleasures of the poon undah glass like dat? Anh-HANH, you cant. Just ain’t possible.
The Corey of Black leaves the warmth and anti-poon comforts of Dethfort and marches fifteen miles in the snow uphill, both ways and every which that originates from Sunday until he reaches this new castle. What he walks into, he can not believe or describe because such things are beyond his limited imagination. There was a ginormous Christmas tree that stood bigly in the front field of the house, the one that slowly crept into the property boundary of Dethfort. The entire town was having an orgy, and doing PG black tar heroin. Big titty bitches where getting smashed. Chris and Michael Duo are in the back spinning tracks on this party, roasting dudes on a podcast. They were roasting dudes so hardcore, even the MOUNTAIN was triggered, a half mile away.
Corey Blacks rage builds and builds until his screeching girlish voice pierces the night sky. “What the hell is going on! WHY ARE YOU ALL SO DAMN HAPPY?!”
then a voice responds from the crowd. “Shut up dude, you live in a castle.”
“Who was that, was that princess?” Asks Corey as the voice sheepishly replies.
“ … no..”
As Coreys rage spills over into faggotry, he is taken by surprise by a large clobbering paw on his feminine shoulder. “It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it, Jeetz?”
Coreys head creaks like an old rusty cog as his neck turns his brain case towards the direction of the voice. It is the all father in nothing but cut off jean shorts. “I mean, it is a little warm out today but that’s alright.” The All Father continued.
Corey greets his teeth as the words squeeze through them chompahs. “Its twenty degrees out here. Theres a guy on the lawn whose dead from hypothermia.”
The All Father shrugs. “I don’t know. He must be one of your friends.”
“ Although, I got a question. What the hell are you doing here, Balfore!?”
“ Oh, you know,” Starts the All Father. “ Taking a break from destroying ISIS. Thought I’d build a summer home here.”
“ Its January.” Corrects Corey.
“Yah, but in Poon Guinea, summer is winter. You know, hemisphere and such. I mean, I’d give you a tour of the place but your head might explode. But let me tell you, I got observatories that I haven’t even begun to count, and this right here, once the party is over, that’s where the necromancy field is going to go. Say, since, we’re neighbors and I now technically own the entire town and just about all of your land, what are your thoughts on necromancy. I want to make sure what I’m doing is accepted by the community.”
“I think necromancy is an abhorrent abomination.”
The All Father brings Corey in with a side hug and replies in a proud voice “Yah, abhorrently awesome! But you know, it still needs a name. I was thing Lyfefort.”
This sends Corey over the end as he breaks free of the side hug and yells at the All Father.
“ Mock MY PRIDEEE??!!”
“Whats wrong, best buddy?”
“You, you gibbering oaf! You come into my town, move next door to MY castle and name it Lyfefort? You make a mockery of everything that I have built and accomplished.”
“No, I think Jay Omega did that for you. I mean, come on, space pirate; you and Fly were doing that BEFORE Seth started getting drunk and reading Star Wars fan fiction.”
“Gah, you’re a god, why don’t you just go and build your own planet or something.”
The All Father thinks for a moment. “ You’re right. Why don’t I?” The All Father snaps his fingers. “Oh, yah, that’s right! I did. It’s called EARTH!”
Corey points his finger in the All Fathers face. “ That’s it, buddy, you just made..”
The All Father grabs hold of Coreys hand and inspects it. “ Wow, I never noticed just how small your hands ar—“
“ THE LIST!”
“OOWWHHH, like the Black List?” Asks the All Father with enthusiasm.
“GHRAHH NOO!!” Corey starts stomping around in a circle and yelling. “ It’s my list, my list, my list, my list!
“Whoa, CD, calm down. You’re gonna rip yourself in half li—“
Corey, in his rage, rips himself in half and disappears in a puff of purple smoke.
The All Father sighs. “ – Just like Rumpelstiltskin.” The All Father pauses for a brief moment. “Don’t worry best buddy, I’ll bring you some chicken soup later.
~ Chicken Soup for the Blackfish Soul ~
Later that evening, the All Father stops by Coreys castle with a pot of chicken soup. Corey is in bed, with a hot water bottle on his head. His body is still reeling from ripping itself in half from a fit of rage. The All Father sets the soup on the floor as he sits at the edge of Coreys bed.
“How you feelin, best buddy?” Asks the All Father but Corey just groans in pain. “That good, huh? Well, I brought you some chicken soup. I had to walk all the way here so it’s a little cold. I’d heat it up but I’m not a pyromancer and for the life of me I couldn’t find your kitchen. Did you know that Lyfefort has thirty-one kitchens? I just wanted to apologize, you know, for earlier. I didn’t mean to make you feel inferior, even if you know.. it’s true. But I warned you not to throw a fit like that even if I thought your hands were too small to actually rip yourself in half. But you’re just full of surprises, aren’t cha, best buddy.”
“Balfore..” Wheezes Corey. “Come closer.”
The All Father leans in. “What is it, best buddy?”
“ I’m putting you in Thirteen.”
“ I know.” Replies the All Father. “ I’m always in Thirteen.”
“Against Wade Moor, in a hardcore match.” Corey coughs and hacks and tilts his head to the side before falling unconscious. Corey Black has died.
“MPH, my rival has died. How anti-climactic. Does this mean I can take your soup?” The All Father takes his hand and manipulates Coreys mouth, mimicking his voice.
“ Yes, best buddy. You can have the soup.”
“Thanks buddy, I will honor your dying wish.”
~ Wade Moor and the Hawaiian Shirt Sweat Shop Scandal ~
Pantheon Tower, Hawaii.
The All Father checks into Pantheon Towers hotel service as inconspicuous as a seven foot tall Nordic man can look in a Hawaiian shirt, cut off shorts, fanny pack, aviator glasses and “this is not a gun,” gun bulge sticking out from his shirt. He slips the female clerk a folded piece of paper and casually looks away.
“What is this? Oh MY GAWD! Is this a robbery? Are you robbing me?” The clerk is terrified.
“What? No. It’s a bribe.” Corrects the All Father.
“But I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Havent you, haven’t you?”
“OH MY GOD, it is! It is a robbery! OH MY GAWD!”
The All Father spins the note around and reads it.
[ this is a robbery … heh heh heh heh heh] Accompanied by a picture of a crudely drawn lizard with sunglasses on.
The All Father turns around and loudly announces his mistake.
“Sorry, folks. Sorry. Wrong note, wrong note.” The All Father folds the note back up and puts it into his fanny pack before slipping the clerk another note.
“This is an expired coupon, for Circuit City. What is Circuit City? And why are you putting your pinky to the side of your mouth. Am I – Am I being pranked?”
“ You know.. one hundred million dollars!”
“Oh my god, you are robbing me!”
“Wait, what? No. I mean, maybe? Shit, is this a bank or a hotel?”
“It’s a hotel, sir. The Hotel that you’re trying to rob.”
“Oh, well then,” The All Father puts his pinky to mouth again. “ I’d like to check in, please.”
“Fine, whatever creep. Do you have a name?”
“First name, Wegot. Last name, Dodgson-O’Haire.”
The clerk does her thang on the PC, like a Baawse and checks the All Father into the room.
“Miss, this may seem a little forward but –“ The All Father is cut off.
“ Oh my god, is this a rape, are you going to rape me?”
“ Fucking Millennial's.” The All Father shakes his head at the state of SJWs.
“Oh my god, this IS a rape.”
“You wouldn’t know the broad side of my thick even if I hit you with it.”
“Oh my god, is that a challenge?”
“Oh my, me.. no. I mean, yes?”
Flash-> forward to an unmarked broom closet and the All Father has yet another successful defense of his Motel 6 Bedroom Star championship. The All Father steps out of the broom closet followed by the clerk whose fixing her clothes.
“Thank you All Daddy.” She says with a smile and a kiss on the All Fathers cheek before walking off down the hall to return to her station. The All Father looks around the hall way and sees that the coast is clear. Now it’s time for the main mission. Que the Beverly Hills Poon music.
The All Father is here at Pantheon Towers to investigate the use of Poon Guinea labor in the making of Pantheons shite merch (that’s merchandise, to those ZT boys who cant sell candy bars to peeps with low blood sugar. Somewhere crazy J is getting triggered and Jason Cash is coddling him on the couch because Odin is mean man. LOL deal with it.) If you got a Pantheon T-shart or a sweaty Pantheon bandana, it might be made with Poon Guinea labor and that shit just aint going to fly with the All Father. If the All Father can drop ISIS down to a roving gang of seven year olds then he can drop #BeachKrew back down to #Stryder( LOL dated reference) and the shitty Roy Speede doppleganger ( LOL even shittier, dated reference because Roy Speede is shit) and whatever the hell Johnny Rabid is, an assortment of stale peppermints on your grandmothers KUPPA KAWWEEFEE TABLE, YAH. The Intel the All Father has points to Wade Moor as being the head of the sweatshop backslash/ labor camp. It would be ZMAC but he’s off trying to star in a Star Wars novel so one day he can win the WCF world title, fuckin pleb.
The All Father heads down the hall and makes his way over to the Pantheon ONLY section of the hotel and on up to the upper floors of the Pantheon Suites. Things seem quiet, a little too quiet. There is no security, no guards, hotel staff or even a hot fries vending machine. Johnny Fly would be rollin over his grave starvin’ if he knew this was going on. The All Father takes an elevator up to floor 31, his Intel serves him right as the elevator stops at floor 27. The elevator opens to a dark hallway that’s dimly lit with emergency lighting. The All Father Steps out of the elevator, his twin Desert Eagles itching to be freed from his shirt. He channels Jason Cash and coo’s them into a sound coo’ing slumber but such things would be short lived as a raspy Southern drawl that’s more backwoods than Dirty South comes over a closed circuit PA system.
“HA. HA. HA. All Father, I’d knew you’d come. You will always come for your precious Poon Guinea. I know that you like to think of yourself the hero but you, you caused this. You made this in your own way, in your own image and by complete accident. I’ll tell you man, it couldn’t be any more beautiful and yet somehow, it is. Pantheon has once again taken over WCF and soon, BeachKrew will cleanse the world with a rushing tide. I am sure that you want to rescue your poor Poon Guinean citizens and sweep them away back to a world of serfdom and economic bondage but not before WE have had our fill of them. However, All Father, you are welcome to try. I welcome the attempt. You see, All Father, there are five floors between you and your subjects. The rules are simple, all you need to do is reach them. Survive. Survive between this floor and mine. If you make it to my floor, perhaps I’ll consider allowing your serfs to go back ‘home.’ In truth, All Father, they are home. Good luck, Fuccboi."
The All Father reaches into his fanny pack and pulls out a Poon Guinea blunt. He rolls it between his fingers for a moment before putting it between his lips and sparking up that bad motha fuckah. He takes a couple tokes before addressing his twin Deagles.
“This lowly, squalled jobbah got tried to catch us in a game of death. Now, I know he’s playin’ me but dat knegrow del blanco don’t know dat I got that Paul Levesque shovel on stand bye and it be itchin to bury a mo’fawk. How fitting is it that Jeatz done tried to do ya All Daddy dirty by putting him up against that Kazziest of marine Mazzyz for Thirteen. ”
The Deagles are silent but somehow speak to the All Father.The All Father pulls out his guns. He holds them with outstretched arms and looks at them.
“Let’s rock.” The All Father puts his arms down to side and walks calmly down the hall.
“Let the All Father ask you something Wade, do you feel as though you are special being in the fifth incarnation of Pantheon. You be holding up the Trios title with pride behind that twenty fourteen, trip. But I got chu, fam. You were a Whurlz Champ-YUN. Let us go back to that day, when your career mattered; when you were not trying to knock off three dudes in grease paint because your ‘whacky’ Godnilla bullshit did nuttin’ to scare em’. Now you think some Game of Death boo-sheit gone remove me from implanting my boot upside yo’ ass. You wrong, sun-fish. You wrong. It gone come down you needin’ all the back up in the world to take down dat All Father, strong style. I be tokin’ a blunt before I toke a blunt while sittin on commentary talkin’ bout how the All Father done split cha wig from crest tah crown as you bleed like a stuck pig. Be rollin’ on the ground N’ shit in straight up jobbah agony like you be getting GOT in the worst way imaginable, beggin’ for the pain to end N’ shit but All Father be there like: ‘Nah, son-fish.’
You forget Wade, this is Hardcore. This is that Old School Dub love, and Fam, you the young buck at the dinner table thinkin’ your Iraq WAR with Xbox and ice cream bars is the fucking trenches of the Somme. We in two different worlds, fam. You in dat undah the Sea, trip, waiting to have Ursula pop out a rice bowl and cap an All Daddy while he breaks for lunch. Dat All Father, doe, he in the Dub. He in the straight up killah of all Godnilla Killah, modes. He sees a Godnilla, dat KaiJEW Jr. and sees that he got some catchin’ up to do. And you know it, son-fish. This right right is your feeble attempt of makin yoself great again because you know that as long as you some low life, bottom feeding belt that you just gone be some fried Scampi in a pan. All flash, all sizzle. No bite and no lasting impression. A Worlds Champion and a Hellimination Survivor, MY, such an impressive list of accomplishments. But I can hear you now, son-fish talkin bout how I didn’t win Final Destination or that I didn’t King of the Death Match or whatever little factoid you want to put in that BeachKrew kool-aide. I got chu. You gotta make up the excuses for the fact that you, just can not do. In fact, even though you are the fourth most accomplished member of Pantheon, you hang out with the non world champions in Johnny ‘moldy candy dish’ and Jared ‘ I just got married and that ruins that gimmick’ Holmes.
You gone be domesticated too.?Rabid, Holmes, shee-it, even ol’ Z. You next? Yah, you bet your sweet bearded ass, you next. Tell you what, Wade – Why don’t you have my people start makin you a dress and a house coat. The All Father gone make you into a women yet. Friday night, dats date night, bay-bee. Dats when All Father gets to show you a whole new world. That’s a magic carpet ride N’ shit. We can go to Paint and Veeno and we can paint with all the colors of the wind while I try to civilize you and your savage friends. Then we can save China from.. wait for it… the Mongols. Whats that like five Disney movie references ? Shee-it, move over Jayson Price, theres a new ‘princess’ in town and her name is Wade Moor staring in the Disney adaptation of the Caitlyn Jenners true to life disappointing autobiography. They can call it ‘The Princess and the Gallywog’ or ‘ Snow Wade and the seven Fuccbois.’
Now I know you be like: ‘ All Father, how you throwin’ around DBZ references, Bruce Lee, Jurassic Park, a splash of die hard, history with that John Green dude who wrote Paper Towns (in store now!), Married with Children and even Disney? How you do dat?
Because, son-fish, while you talk about the fuccboi genocide that will never come; I actually did it. While you talk about your skies and your Jim Thuggins, I was hardcore muggin’ in the Dub because you were even a tadpolls wet dream. While you were off wrestlin’ gators or fucking your cousin, I was fucking this fed. When life was making you her bitch, I was mking the Dub, mine. Now I get dat you salty A.F, dats ‘As Fuck’, not All Father, but All Father Damn if I didn’t know any better. All dem sea puns went and clogged up the only brain you got between beach krew and it done went and made ya shit septic.
I also bet you’re thinking, ‘why the hell am I still on this floor?’ Well, two reasons. One, its apparent that my starting floor is safe in order to lull me into a sense of false security. And two, it don’t matter how many attack ninjas you got on floor two, I’m going to stay right here and shoot on ya punk azz, any damn way and smoke this blunt. Truthfully speaking, if you were so inclined to stop me, you’d do it yourself, or try to at least before I stuffed your Johnsonville sausage lookin ass into a Sunday dress and grill you up; finally give your career some sizzle. Be grillin’ ya punk ass and you be layin here, roastin in your own poon juice, talkin’ bout how you gone thank an All Father but you got that southern DEE-YICK in ya face poon and you say New Orleans as ‘Gnawlins’ like a fucking gremlin, so comes off like some back water revival church bullshit.
Days OK, doe. All Father gone send you to church, to skool, tah camp, to dah store, to the laundry mat, to the little gook smoke shop up the street and finally back home. You can fetch me my paper and slippers as you stroll your fatty batty ass in the doorway with that walk – you know the one. The one when you checkin out dat ass as them hips sway in the way that lets you know that bitch is a freak and takes it in the ass poon. You know, Wade, the way life’s been doing it for years now; the way I’m going to do it Friday Night.
So Ready or not. Here I KUM. And it’s.. the loudest thang I fuckin’ do.”
The All Father marches down the hall and up to the second floor. There were ten kung-fu ninjas waiting to kill him but them Deagles be letting freedom ring N’ shit. ‘MERICKA! Like Pop-pop-pop! Might as well be kah-kaw-kah-kaw. Freedom. The Stars and Stripes /FOVAH.EXE hums softly after each red, white and blue muzzle flash. Somewhere some homo is cryin cuz they be like: ‘But The All Father is a communist.’ Psh, faggot. We got one in dat chamber fah you too. Dying kung-fu Ninja Nazi’s be going down to the left and to the mother fuckin right as the All Father fights his way through UNTHICK-communism in that Pol-Pot Regime. Sorry son-fish but not today. This is THICK-communism, and it be a straight up killah. There was so much blood in the hallway, you’d think Iraq struck a new crude honey pot to suckle off of.
The All Father surveys his collateral damage and looks up to the PA system to address Wade.
“Yo, son-fish. This the best you got? Kung-fu Ninja Nazi’s. Zeig-Hay-yaa!? Amirite? Pshsh! It’d be clever if’n you could be clever. When we meet you better bring all of Pantheon to back your little guppy-yuppy ass up. The All Father gone clobber you all the way to the day when you first decided to grown ya beard, give you an epiphany of a second opinion and make you go back to shellin’ out hot pockets and pizza pans. I know you be thinkin whatever happened if you took that step. Grow ya beard out, put on ya mothers Sunday dress and prance around like you were the queen of the gator nest. Then you’ll realize the All Fathers just here waitin like a bad fuckin dream and a great fuckin’ nightmare. Ready to smoke ya punk ass and bury you undah the legacy that I’ve been forging for eighteen years.”
The All Father holsters his guns again and starts the walk up to the next floor. Rinse Repeat like this was 1812. Johnny Rabid is triggered (LOL get used to it.) Now its Kung Fu Ninja Zombie Nazis. Theres some Ten year old on Youtube right now having a fucking a fit over this NEW COD Infinite secret unlock (LOL Kidd Krazy is triggered). The All Father fights through the remaining horde and finally reaches the stairwell for the final floor. The All Father kicks the door in and just starts blasting. Freedom ringing like a mother fucker up in this bitch but when the smoke clears, it’s just a room filled with empty desks, chairs and a lone tape recording and microphone maned by one of those little water birds that just bob up and down. Next to the recorder is a note.
“Your Poon Guineans are in another Castle. HA. HA. HA.”
The All Father crumples the note in his hand and sneers, knowing that Pantheon had escaped; which doesn’t bode well for Wade at XIII when the All Father can freely dole out his revenge for this UNTHICK travesty against the nation. The All Father reaches into his fanny pack and pulls out his cell phone. He dials a number and puts the phone to his ear.
"Yah, the Emily Blunt Poon, yah, its me. We're gonna need a lot of chicken soup."