Pibb and Tennis Page 1

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Author: Golem

Not too long ago, the world lived in peace. Tennis was a game freely enjoyed by anyone who wanted to. Who freely enjoyed tennis? Why anyone could. The King of Los Angeles (a friendly and humble rural town), was also dubbed Mr. Pibb, the ruler over all of tennis. And he was an awesome ruler, between you and me.

HOWEVER!!! (This is a transition into a section of oppositeness.)

One day an anonymous person... we assume to be male (thus nicknamed Mr. Anonymous from here on out)... snuck in the palace of the King of Los Angeles. Don't ask how. No one knows. Well, erm. Let me correct myself.

The guy who snuck in knows how he snuck in. Unless some other force snuck him in while he was unconscious and unaware of sneaking in at all.

ANYWAY, the guy snuck in and siezed the King's bottle of Pibb and shook it. And shook the bottle. You know how the fizz in stuff builds up like that?

So later, after Mr. Anonymous had snuck back out and the King had come to claim his bottle of Pibb... The King opened his bottle of Pibb and got SHOT IN THE FACE WITH SODA! (it's 3AM ppl) The King shot out of his seat from the force, was thrown against the ceiling by it. At this point, he realized the key card inside his breast pocket was missing. Then he landed in the arms of several surprised but still capable guards.

The King spoke weakly...

King: Gather Charles... and Leah... to bring justice...

And he fell into a coma which hasn't let up since. See, the key card made him king. It gave him access to the world's only natural Pibb fountain right near Los Angeles.

But fear not! Charles and Leah were more than capable. They tracked down Mr. Anonymous to the waterlocked Memphis and harnessed inner tubes to reach him. But, erm, here's the gruesome part. They were sent back to Los Angeles in body bags. And Mr. Anonymous, using his new kingly powers, ordered ALL inner tubes to be destroyed. It seems like they all have been destroyed. I'm pretty sure Mr. Anonymous, the EVIL Tennis King, the EVIL Mr. Pibb, has the key card, too.

The quest for Tennis and Mr. Pibb! The quest for Mr. Pibb and Tennis! Is there anyone who can take the quest now?! Is there anyone brave and able enough to harness the power of Tennis to restore peace?!

Author: Tylar

Fast foward few years. How many years? A few. Elsewhere, a town in Northern Mississippi. Enter a scene with our hero. He stamps onto the scene, obviously in a fowl mood. Sorry. Foul.

Pilot Light(to his girlfriend, Weekday): I'm so tired of these everyday, title-less drinks.

This is where Weekday WOULD say something, but she couldn't, for she was not living. No, that's gross, perv. She was a window. And it seems that everybody notices but Pilot. Who, except Pilot, notices? Everybody.

Pilot: Dr. Pepper doesn't count, honey. He had his practicing license taken away after...THE INCIDENT.

THE INCIDENT in question was something so horrible, so TERRIBLE, that the EVIL King of Tennis declared that it shall never be told what happened, and that it may only be referred to as "THE INCIDENT". All I can tell you is that it was a horrible INCIDENT involving the entire cast of the Mexican version of Friends and a mysterious onion blossom maker. What? NO! PLEASE DON'T TAKE ME! I'VE GOT A WIFE AND KIDS AND-

~enters a mysterious stranger of strange mystery~

Mysterious stranger: You want titled soda? Go to Memphis. There will be a hermit waiting for you there.

~Mysterious stranger leaves~

Pilot: Well, that was wierd. No sense in waiting. I'm quite parched. T.V. Zombie, watch after the place while we're gone, okay? There's some Soilent Green in the fridge.

T.V. Zombie: Kyuh...Kyoovee SEE. KYOOVEE SEE! ~arm with remote drops off. He picks that arm up with his other arm and continues channel surfing~

Pilot: Ready to go, dear?

Weekday:...

I'm another narrator. And so they set off. Where'd they set? Off.

Author: Golem

~Little did Pilot know that a gang of four of the EVIL Tennis King's goons were camping out on his lawn. Pilot's lawn.~

Dove Soap (a male human goon): Man these marshmellows are really great and toasty. Mmmmm!

Irish Spring Soap (a female human goon): Shoot... shaht... ah whatever this Irish accent never worked. Shut up, get ready for a RANDOM ENCOUNTER!

~They watch Pilot walk outside of his house and count the steps as he walks around their camping equipment. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12!!~

Lever 2000 (male dog goon, not anthropomorphic): RANDOM ENCOUNTER TIME!

~A female human goon, this one named Lava, jumps up and grabs him by the shoulders.~

Lava: I challenge you!! Do you ACCEPT?!

Pilot: No, I'm bu--

Lava: I'm PUSHY! You have to PLAY ME IN TENNIS ANYWAY!

Pilot: Fine! ~raises Weekday up on a stick as if she were a tennis racket~

Weekday: What are you doing?!

Pilot: There's no way we can lose this way, HON!

Weekday: You usually say "dear."

Pilot: Right! DEAR!!

~A tennis court appears under their feet, swallowing up the camping equipment. Dove, Irish Spring, and Lever 2000 stand outside the court. People appear from all sides to set up lawn chairs and watch.~

Pilot: Since this is my first random encounter, it's my turn to serve! Can we both agree on a one-game match?

Lava: Sounds fine to me!

~Pilot serves a ball so fast that Lava can't return it. SERVICE ACE!~

Pilot: Haha, one point for me!

Lava: Wait, I forgot! I need a tennis racket for this!

~The scoreboard shows 15 points for Pilot and 0 for Lava. The audience boos him, throwing various concession stand food items down to his side of the playing field. Among them are plenty of things that are not bottles of Pibb.~

Pilot: What?!

Weekday: They're mad that you got 14 more points than you should have!!

Pilot: Man, now I have to watch out for concession stand food dangers!!

Lava: Also: talking to inanimate objects, namely windows? What things are up with that?!

NEXT POST: A CONTINUATION OF THE STORY!!!

Author: Tylar

Angsty announcer for the tennis game: And, we're back. SWELL.

Lava: Look at me go! I'M DOIN' IT! ~smacks ball~

Referee: Lava is disqualified for self narration.

Pilot: YES! We did it, babe!

Weekday: Great.

Pilot: Well, I guess we should be heading towards Memphis now. The whole last post only took us about 15 feet from home.~looks towards Lava, who is being carried away in a police bucket.~ This tennis match has given me a mighty thirst for a titled soda. OH, WHAT A THIRST IT IS.

Pilot, along with Weekday, headed down the street. Look there's a mailbox. And another one. Look at the doggy. Why can't I have a doggy, mom?THEN! All of a sudden, Pilot is surrounded by a group of radical busboys who throw chicken legs. EXTRA CRISPY!

Pilot: Ow! The delicious bombardment of fried poultry is too much for me to handle. HELP, WEEKDAY!

Weekday: You must face this challenge on your own. I cannot help.

ELSEWHERE! In a desperate attempt for filler, a flight attendant takes lunch orders on a plane.

Scuba Diver: Yes. I'll have a-~head explodes~

TO BE CONTINUED!?

Author: AaronGuy

~A teenager lay asleep in his bed; a legendary tennis racket lay next to his bed. His shaggy, dirty-blonde hair was visible, as well as a large amount of food scattered across his bed. He sat up in bed and turned on the television~

News Reporter: In other news, was was a small uprising of busboys has now escalated into a mass riot! All citizens of 'Somewhere in Northern Missisippi' are requested to stay indoors until further notice.

Man: ~Leaps up from his bed~ WHAT!!?? I must punish them for this atrocity! For I am..... ~Lifts up his racket, wearing only his light blue pajamas with bunny slippers~ TennisMaster, Defender of Resteraunts!!! ~fanfare~

~TennisMaster immediately dashed outside and then realized that he was still wearing his pajamas. He ran back inside, and then came back out in darkclothes and boots before he was promptly run over by a passing dune buggy.~

~Meanwhile~

Pilot: OwowowowOW! That last one still had boiling grease on it!

Weekday: Well, you better do something about it.

Pilot: Right! *grabs Weekday again*

Weekday: Cut that out! I am NOT a tennis racket!

Pilot: Well what am I supposed to use?

Voice: HEY! BUSBOYS!

~The large group of busboys turn in unison to a tall man standing atop a dune buggy. Lifting back his goggles and lowering his scarf, he glares down at the troupe of meager wage slaves~

Man: My table was still wet. I DEMAND you give me my tip back!

Busboys: ~hiss, and begin to hurl fried chicken and various other fast food at the newcomer~

Man: ~reaches to a pair of wooden ping pong paddles at his hips, with long slightly curved handles, like a pair of pistols. Spinning each paddle in his hands, he leaps of his vehicle toward the oncoming food~

Pilot: Wait, I thought this was a Tennis OG.

Man: ~spins like a cyclone, deflecting each and every peice of food back into the faces of the busboys~

Busboys: Shriek! ~run away, covering their eyes~

Man: Pff, like I'd even EAT at their crummy establishments. Drive thru all the way! ~walks toward Pilot~ You okay, kid!

Pilot: Yeah, thanks! That was a pretty tough challenge, huh?

Weekday: ...

Pilot: Yeah, I KNOW I didn't do anything to stop them, but it's not like I had a RACKET. That's YOUR job!

Man: Uh... you're...

Pilot: Look, we'll make out and make up later, okay? Right now we're kind of busy.

Man: ....Talking to a window...

Pilot: Sorry, a little lovers spat. ~chuckles~ Anyway, my name is Pilot. Pilot Light. ~holds out his hand to shake~

Man: ~shakes hand~ Argyle Socks, Ping Pong Desperado, at your service.

Pilot: You know, you use those paddles so well, you might as well play Tennis with them!

Argyle: Uh, yeah. That's actually kind of what I do.

Pilot: Oh.

Argyle: This is a TENNIS OG, you know.

Pilot: Right, right, I do.

Weekday: ...

Pilot: That's right, Weekday! We have to time to lose! We need to get to Memphis, and fast! They have soda there! With BRAND NAMES!

Argyle: BRAND NAME SODA?! Say no more, kiddo. Hop in the Chariot of Fire, over there. ~Gestures to the Dune Buggy~. Ignore the stain, I think I ran a master over on the way to stop the Busboy onslaught.

Pilot: Eh, no one really misses those things anyway. Now, to Memphis!

Author: Golem

Pilot: Actually, I misspoke. I meant sodas with titles, like Mr. and Ms.

Argyle: Whatever. ~gets out of car, picks it up and turns it to face another direction~ There, now we'll head for the Land of Titled Sodas, Memphis.

Pilot: Titled sodas are in Memphis too?

Argyle: Well, yeah, since--OH NO EVERYBODY HOLD ON TIGHT!! ~stomps on the gas, car goes moderately fast~

Pilot: What is it?!

Argyle: We've got that--that THING chasing us!

~Pilot looks behind him and sees the ball that drops on New Year's Eve to ring in the new year, except now it is falling from the sky and actively chaSING the buggy. The sphere's face is gritty and mean.~

New Year Ball: Your daddy screamed REEEAL good before he died!

Pilot, Argyle: ~throw hands into the air like they're on a roller coaster~ WwwwwwAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! (whee!)

Weekday: Don't leave me to drive!!

~Pilot puts Weekday up against the steering wheel, and whether or not the window is driving or Pilot is manuevering his hand to drive through the window is probably known because windows don't move on their own. Anyway, Weekday, careless wreck she is in a situation like this, drives right into 2006.

2006 is ten foot tall giant who has stopped the buggy by putting his foot out, and the hood of the buggy is under his foot.~

2006: Yous gots as problems withs mys friends News Years Balls?

Pilot: PLEASE TAKE THE S'S OFF THE END OF YOUR WORDS KTHX?

Argyle: It's catching up! I don't think my ping-pong paddles can handle this one!

Pilot: Arright then... ~slings a bazooka up onto his shoulder, turns around to face the New Year Ball~ Let's see how it likes the feel of a TEEEENNNNIIIISSS BAAAAZZZOOOOKAAAA's projectiles!

~2006 grabs Pilot by the shoulder and grabs away his bazooka.~

Pilot: Whoops! ~shrugs~

Author: Tylar

2006: ~pulls Pilot up to his face~ I DESTROY YOUR HEAD NOW.

Argyle: HE GONNA SPLODE YOUR HEAD!

Pilot: Don't splode my head. I like it. Without it, I'll look ugly.

2006: Okay.~sets him down and walks off~

Argyle: Well, that was suspiciously easy.

Pilot: It doesn't matter. This OG is for cheap jokes.

Argyle: What's an OG?

Weekday: ...

Pilot: There ya go! She told ya ALL about it.

Argyle: Okay...

Pilot: MY shoulder really hurts, though. Maybe we should go to the doctor.

~cut to Hospital room~

Doctor: I have good news. The pants are benign.

Pilot: What?

Doctor: Oh, sorry. Wrong patient. You're fine. Actually, you're more than fine. We had to remove some of your internal organs.

Pilot: Aw...

Author: Golem

This is a Song OG post
I gotta make the very most
Of this little rhyming gimmick
For all to enjoy and maybe to mimic!

Then Pilot had to ask
The doctor for one little task
"Can you give me superpowers?
Like flying and lasers, do it nowzorz!"
Doctor man just shook his head
"'Fraid I can't do it my Light friend!"
Pilot was disappointed by his physician
Who he thought was a magician

This is a Pibb and Tennis post
I gotta make the very most
Of this little rhyming gimmick
For all to enjoy and maybe to mimic!

Pilot snatched the jars on the shelf
Organs not from him but from an elf
Pilot demanded "Gimme some powers
Or we'll claim these organs as ours!"
Mr. Doctor was in quite a conundrum
"Let the organs go with Mr. Dumb-dumb
Or fake him out with confetti?"
He called in the helpful Betty

This is a Song OG post
I gotta make the very most
Of this little rhyming gimmick
For all to enjoy and maybe to mimic!

Betty came in and walked into Weekday
The invisible girlfriend was in her way!
While Pilot was making sure his girl was okay
The Doctor made sure to snatch the jars away!
Argyle crashed in through an air vent
He said the doctor was of the Evil King bent!
This was quite the random revelation
Dealt with in the next post to my elation!

This is a Song OG post
I gotta make the very most
Of this little rhyming gimmick
For all to enjoy and maybe to mimic!

Author: Fred

It sure is.

Doctor: You fools you did not know of my strength
I say you'll pay at a definite length

Pilot: I'm not very interested in rhyme
We just did that last post.

Doctor: Post the most last post? Perhaps time is a better rhyme
Mr. Clean gets rid of grime

Argyle: I'm not in my Prime
Nor am I playing Metroid Prime

Doctor: Now I'll reveal my True Power
I'm fixing myself up for you, takin' a shower

Weekend: Cut that out! I'm getting rather sick of it!

"RATHER sick", that's kinky. Or not. I'm not sure. A girl said it, there has to be innuendo!

Doctor: Yes, yes, it'll become cumbersome soon enough considering I am going to reveal myself. I am really a CARBON-BASED LIFE FORM!

GASP

Argyle: those are the worst kind!

Doctor: Whoops that's MY WIFE. sorry, I'm TennisMaster, Defender of resteraunts and the obvious choice to round your team out with a fourth character.

Pilot: Okay, so we coulda used you before but now that you're here it's fine ju-

TennisMaster: YOU FOOL! I'M A BLONDE HAIRED KID, I HAVE NO WIFE! I challenge you to a dual!

Weekend: You... you murderer!

Pilot: Sounds well spelled and everything.

TennisMaster: Quiet! You cannot read thi-

Pilot: Listen, you've said the wrong thing, we've got to lea-

Doors slam around the entire area. Wait, then they'd be walls. Okay, I guess they're walls.z.

TennisMaster: Extreme tennis machine ball launcher, go!

Pilot: Oh crap I don't know the rules to this game

Weekend: You're the hero of this?!

Argyle: The hero always starts out experience and gets better! We need to escape, as the WALLDOORS put up are only like half a foot high!

TennisMaster: NO, YOU CANNOT ESC... I'm so very lonely.

Author: AaronGuy

Pilot: Wow, a lucky thing our hospital room was on the first floor as opposed to on a third or higher one like in most hospitals, eh Weekday?

Argyle: ...Still talking to a window, kid...

Pilot: But no matter! I need to find some of that... that...

Argyle: Experience?

Pilot: Yeah yeah, egg spear ants.

Argyle: *sighs* Well USUALLY in such a quest you have to play actual matches ad nauseum to build up your tennis power, but that's dumb and boring, so I'm just going to jump into a few small explanations.

Pilot: Super!

Argyle: Okay, first of all, you have to understand, Tennis isn't what you expect it to be out in this world. Sure, you stand on a court, but that's about how much is the same in this dog-eat-dog world. The net, the racket, the ball, the RULES, anything and everything can be altered in a heartbeat.

Pilot: Such as using a pair of ping pong paddles instead of one racket.

Argyle: You catch on fast.

Pilot: So why was that Master guy using a Tennis Ball Launcher Machine?

Argyle: Well actually, that wasn't a tennis ball launcher machine. See, such a machine would shoot tennis balls. But when you switch around those four words, things get weird. *reaches into his pocket, taking out what appears to be a metallic grey tennis ball with spikes in it*

Pilot: What is THAT?!

Argyle: A tennis machine ball. THIS is what that creepy kid was going to fire at us.

Pilot: Jeez...

Argyle: Just be glad it wasn't a tennis ball machine launcher. Those big things are hard to hit when they get shot at you.

Pilot: I'd think so... But what are the RULES of Tennis? Don't you have to knock the ball off the court after it bounces in play?

Argyle: You'd think so, wouldn't you. *throws the tennis machine ball over his shoulder into a nearby grocery store, which promptly explodes, sending produce everywhere.

Pilot: *oblivious to the grocery rain* But golly, if everyone plays differently, how will I know how to win?

Argyle: Easy. Just remember to hit anything and everything that comes at you with your racket. Eventually you'll figure everything else out.

Pilot: Great! But there's still a small problem...

Argyle: Which is?

Pilot: *pointing to his girlfriend* Weekday says she won't put out any more if I use her as a tennis racket again.

Argyle: I... see. Well then, looks like we're going to have to make a little detour on our way to Memphis. *walks toward where he parked his buggy*

Pilot: Where are we going?

Argyle: To get you a racket. And on a quest like this, we're going to have to get the best one we can. That's why we're off... to HELL!

*ominous thunder*

Pilot: *whimpers* H-Hell?

Argyle: Yeah. Hell, Michigan. There's an old RacketSmith that lives there as a hermit. He owes me a favor for saving him back in 'Nam, and I'm sure whipping you up a legendary racket will fit the bill just fine.

*20 yards away, back in the hospital*

TennisMaster: What what WHAT? My ears are burning! Someone must be talking about a legendary racket! *looks outside and sees Argyle, Pilot, and Weekday* ...Oh. So why am I burning? *realizes he was struck by ominous lightning* ...Oh. Ow. Well, no matter! As soon as I treat my burns of the third degree, I must make haste of the FIRST degree to go and follow those two dolts and their incredibly attractive window! TO THE FIRST AID KIT!

Author: Luiigii of the Pipes

Pilot: We are surely in Hell.

Everything is sunny and happy, with flowers. And bunnies. And dying kittens.

Pilot: I DON'T WANNA GO!

Weekday: Be brave, hon.

Pilot: I will, love. Only for you. Because Friday I'm in love. And Friday is Weekday.

Argyle: There is my RacketSmith. His name is Desperdorado. In fact, there he is.

Pilot: ~gasp~ [aside]He's hawt![/aside] Weekday, avert your eyes! I will not have him stealing you from me!

Desperdorado: Hola.

Desperdorado walks up to them from his shop. His beard and hair are gold, as are his eyes, while the pupils of his eyes are black gold... or something.

Desperdorado: Argyle is telling me that you are needing the new rackets?

Argyle: When did I tell you that?

Desperdorado: ~ignores~ So I am making the new rackets. They are wrought from de finest gold and cost 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 dinero.

Pilot: It's right here in my imaginary pocket.

Desperdorado: Or, you can tell me how to spell a soda similar to Dr Pepper that is in the name of this OG.

Pilot: Oh, sure. It's M-R-. P-I-B-B.

Desperdorado: Incorrecto. It's Mr Pibb. No period. Shame.

Pilot: No! I didn't come to Hell and back for nothing!

Desperdorado: I will give you another chance if you allow me a date with that fine looking window there.

Pilot: NO! Not my sweetie!

Desperdorado: Hmm. Then I'll just have to melt these rackets. Good day.

Pilot: NOOOOOOOOOOO! ~tears shirt~

Weekday: Hon, you're embarrassing me.

Pilot: I can't help it!

Desperdorado: Is he always like this?

Argyle: Yes.

Suddenly, a hail of tennis balls rains down upon them. Most of them hit Desperdorado's store and make it explode.

Desperdorado: Carumba! Fine! ~throws the rackets to Pilot~ Take these and prove your worth! Maybe I'll forget that you didn't pay for them!

Desperdorado whips out a pair of revolvers and starts shooting the tennis balls out of mid-air, with little poofs every time one is shot. Pilot and Argyle use their rackets and paddles respectively to throw the tennis balls back at the invisible zeppelin that is shooting the tennis balls at them, even though they can't see it. Weekday hosts a talk show.

Weekday: I'm a window.

Thousands of Fans: ~cry for her~

Author: AaronGuy

Argyle: Hey, you're doing pretty good, kid!

Pilot: *smacks a large number of tennis balls at once with his wide racket* Thanks! I didn't know I had it in me!

Desperdorado: We should be aiming for the zeppelin, I suppose.

Argyle: Huh? What zeppelin? I don't see anything...

Pilot: Yeah, how do you know it's a Zeppelin?

Desperdorado: I recognize this sort of attack. It's what I am expecting of my nemesis, Baron Ace von Deuce. He must have found my hiding spot. He'll be after your racket, young one.

Pilot: Aw, man! But I just got it, like, yesterday!

Argyle: *rolls eyes* Well, how do we know where to aim?

Desperdorado: His launching device is at the tail end of his invisible Zeppelin. If you aim just in front of it, you might be able to knock him out of the sky.

Pilot: But he's just hovering there! There's no way of telling what end is the front!

Desperdorado: No problemo. ~Takes of the golden glove that he was wearing on his right hand all along and you didn't see because you were too busy undressing Weekday with your eyes YOU PERVERT and picks up a clump of grass in his hand. After a moment, it becomes a loosely packed ball, made out of strands of grass turned gold~

Desperdorado: Senor Socks, knock this high into the air with your paddles, por favor. ~tosses it in the air~

Argyle: You got it! ~leaps upwards and smashes it~

~The ball flies highed and higher, until it finally bursts into a shiny cloud of dust. Reflecting the bright sun, the faint outline of a zeppelin can be seen just past the source of the tennis ball onslaught~

Desperdorado: AIE! There it is! Aim for it, arriba, arriba!

~Pilot and Argyle concentrate their shots onto where they saw the outline of the zeppelin, and tennis balls do indeed start to bounce off of it's surface. Eventually, several of them punch through the zeppelin, which begins to descend.~

Pilot: Woo hoo! We did it!

Argyle: Uh.. I wouldn't be too sure just yet..

Pilot: Why?

Argyle: Because though I cannot see it very well I THINK THE ZEPPELIN IS HEADING RIGHT FOR US!

~The three dive out of the way as the zeppelin crashes into the ground, kicking up dirt, stray tennis balls, and cans of Woo-ha Vanilla Soda. It comes to a halt soon after.~

Pilot: There, NOW we did-

~The door to the invisible zeppelin's cab burst open, as a stout man in a trenchcoat, and spiked german helmet exited, coughing. He adjusted his long curly moustache as he stood up straight, which was still about a head shorter than Pilot~

Baron: SO! Vee meet again, my gold vriend!

Desperdorado: Hello, Baron...

Baron: I am sure you are knowink vy I am here. ~holds out a hand~ Ze Rakets, please...

Desperdorado: Never! I heard the story of what this brave child and his gorgeous window are up to! They want to go spread Title-d soda back to the masses! To reclaim the days of old, where soda had a name, and a SOUL.

Baron: He does?

Argyle: You do?

Pilot: I do?

Baron: So ze child thinks he can tangle with the King, zen...

Pilot: Uh, no, I just wanted it for myself and maybe Week-

Baron: YOU ARE A FOOL, MY YOUNG FRIEND! Ze king iz as merciless as he iz anonymous! He vill strike you down vhere you stand! And then your uprising vill bring greater persecution on us ALL! It's just zoda vith Titles now, but who knows? Maybe he'll take ze Brand names away! Or maybe he'll just go right for the carbonation, leaving us all with FLAT zoda!

Pilot: Really, I'm trying to stay as far AWAY from the king as I-

Baron: I WILL NIP ZIS PROBLEM IN ZE BUD! ROBO VON DEUCE, ATTACK!

~A visible ten foot tall robot bursts from the invisible cab of the invisible zeppelin, visibly enraged. It has four arms, each holding a tennis racket~

Baron: Ze robot can play as two people, so zis match is even, ja?

Pilot: Wow, you actually care about fairness?

Baron: No, of courze not! Ze robot will just stomp you one vay or anozer.

Pilot: Oh snap.

~MEANWHILE, ON CABLE...~

Weekday: So here with me is Brad Pitt's fishbowl, Numerator. Now, Numerator- oh, can I call you Numie?

Numerator: You can call me anything you want, babe. ~would wink if he had eyes~

Weekday: Oh, settle down, you. I'm taken. Now then, I have a question that I ask most glass-related guests on my show, and I hope you don't get too embarrased, but... would you like to share some of your polishing habits with us? Give us a few pointers?

Numerator: Certainly, darling. First, I find it best if you mix Windex with

~KSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHT~

TennisMaster: ~turns off Television~ Psh, this motel has no good channels... ~sighs, walks to his window, over Northern Indiana~ I shouldn't be dallying around watching television, anyway! I need to keep moving! If there are Legendary Rackets to be found, you can bet TENNISMASTER, DEFENDER OF RESTERAUNTS, will be there! ~Poses, but loses his balance and falls out the two-story window~

TennisMaster: ...Help...

Author: Tylar

Robo Von Deuce: Ah wheel make wiss ze snopping, now. Late us bee gin a fa-yur motch. You are so very simple, ve sholl make zees Super Mario Pong, no? [/robotic German accent]

Argyle: The giant metal man is right. Pong is easy.

Pilot: Wait, I don't know. I wanted to use my new rackets some more...

Argyle: Just wait.

~the entire court, along with Robo, Argyle, and Pilot, becomes two dimensional. Their rackets become Pong paddles THAT CAN MOVE IN FOUR DIRECTIONS WOAH. Ain't that neat?~

Pilot: ARGH!

Argyle: ~pulls football away at the last second~

Pilot: I'M PIXEL LIKE IN APPEARANCE! OH NO!

Argyle: Shut up and stop typing in caps, foo.

Robo: Are ve goink to gate zees over weeth or note?

Meanwhile...

Weekday: SPOILERZ ALERTZ LOLWTF:

The of going cheese is and therefore give me some of dat and stuffs .

Weekday: You must HIGHLIGHT to read the secret message. If you crack the code, you get HIKERMONIES. YAY!

Author: Golem

Weekday: Alright, now it's time for a little break with our favorite treat: vinegar ice cream!

~Elsewhere...~

Pilot: I think we need some visual aid.

Director: Great idea. Hold on, I'll be right back. ~runs away~

Pilot: 'Kay! Seeya! ...Seeya. ...So. ...Argyle, how's it, uh... "hangin"?

Argyle: ~clicks his tongue a few times~ Well, uh, quite good, actually. I got a B in Pre-Algebra.

Pilot: Really, eh? Well, congrats... congratulateeonés... on a reasonably well score in Pre-Alge--

Robo Von Deuce: I CAN'T STAND IT ANYMORE I COULD NEVER DO MATH IN SCHOOL I AM A WORTHLESS ROBOT ZOMEBODY HUG ME WAAAAAHH!!!!!!

~Director comes back~

Director: O_o Well anyway, here's that visual help...

Pilot: Oh man. That's what I look like? I need a haircut.

Argyle: I didn't have the heart to tell ya.

Desperdorado: Say, it looks like an upside-down face, doesn't it?

~Everyone immediately stands on their heads and looks at the visual aid~

Robo: Hah, vaddaya know. Vait, am I zat ugly gray part? A-am I? ~chokes back some tears~

~Just then the "ugly gray part," which serves as the mouth of the supposed face, opens up and shows tons of sharp teeth. The visual aid rushes towards Pilot and company.~

Pilot: WHAT THE--!!

~Argyle rushes forth, ping-pong paddles in his feet, and does a 21-hit combo on the "nose," the yellow square. Robo Von Deuce comes in to help, but--AIEEEE!--he gets sucked into the mouth! Argyle gets pulled by the winds, too, but clings onto the nose to keep from getting sucked into the mouth.~

Director: BWAHAHA! LOOKS LIKE I WILL NEVER HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR STUPID PIBB QUEST AGAIN!

AaronGuy: Good to see one battle has been hastily discarded for another. THAT'S WHAT WE NEED IN OGS.

Author: AaronGuy

AaronGuy: Wow, I'm actually in an OG! It's been a long time since I've been one of these... Ah, the memories... Well, I might as well help. ~takes out his bullet bill launcher and fires a bill at the Visual Aid. However, the bill is a dud, and only serves to knock Robo Von Deuce completely into the Visual Aid's mouth, where he is promplty chewed up into scrap metal~

Baron: M-m-m-MEIN ROBOT!

AaronGuy: Uh... It was the wind. ~runs out of the OG~

Argyle: ~muttering to himself as he clings onto the nose~ Dang Author insert characters... ~raises his voice, but it falls down again and he has to hold it up with clothespins~ Pilot! Aim for the eyes!

Pilot: Got it! ~picks up some of the stray tennis balls that were dropped from the invisible zeppelin and starts knocking them towards the visual aid. It's hard to aim for them since they are close to the ground, what with the face being all upside down on him. Maybe if he held the racket upside down it'd be easier? Well anyway, wether it be Pilot getting better with the racket, beginners luck, or the sun, the Visual Aid's eyes get irritated. Unfortunately for it, it doesn't have eyelids, so it can't close them. It thrashes around, and Argyle leaps to safety in it's blind rage~

Argyle: Good job, kid! Now, lets take it down!

~Pilot, Argyle, and Desperdorado fire tennis balls and bullets at the increasingly aggrivated Aid. Finally, it collapes, exhausted from all it's struggling~

Argyle: Well, that's that.

Director: NOT QUITE! ~sitting on what appears to be a giant movie camera atop a massive tripod~ This OG is FAR too ridiculous for me any my intergrity! I'm going to put an end to it before it sees theaters!

Pilot: Well first of all, OGs don't GO into theaters. Second of all, people see it as the parts are made, so-

Director: ENOUGH! Time to leave you all on the CUTTING room floor!

Tripod: ~Begins walking forward. At the tip of each of it's feet is a long blade. Standing on two feet, it swings the third at the slightly dissasembled assembly.~

Pilot: GAH! This is awful!

~Meanwhile...~

Weekday: This is awful! What's wrong?!

Numerator: Ugh... it's nothing... I guess I'm still lactose intolerant. I thought I had it licked, but that vinegar ice cream...

Weekday: Uh, you don't 'lick' or stop being lactose intolerant. You just switch to soy based products for the rest of your life.

Numerator: Wow, really? Learn something new everyday...

~That was stupid. Back to the story!~

TennisMaster: ~Hitchhiking~ ~Gets run over by a passing dune buggy~

~NO! The MAIN story!~

Argyle: ~dodges another swipe~ We can't keep this up forever! We have to knock the director out of his chair!

Pilot: But how? We don't have the moves or budget to do something like that!

???: Maybe not, but I do!

Argyle: Gasp!

Pilot: It's...

Pilot and Argyle: AWARD WINNING DIRECTOR AND PRODUCER QUENTIN TARANTINO!

Quentin Tarantino: That's right, baby. This OG thing is crazy, wild, and has little to no coherence. This is just the kind of thing Hollywood needs!

Pilot: But we aren't a movie.

Tarantino: Who cares? Now then, with my excellent directing prowess, you two will become superviolent, superstylish heroes! Aaaaaand, ACTION!

~Pilot and Argyle are suddenly wearing white and red jumpsuits with a black racing stripe, respectively. They become sillouettes against the background as they perfom various martial arts style moves with their rackets and paddles, launching tennis balls at the Tripod. As the tripod starts to break, geysers of a red fluid start bursting out of various places upon it~

Director: NO! You found my secret hiding spot for my cherry cough syrup! NOW I WON'T BE ABLE TO HEAL MY SORE THROATS!

~Hitting a tennis ball particuarly hard, Pilot succeeds in breaking one the the tripod legs clean off, resulitng in a large spray of cough syrup. The tripod staggers on it's other two legs, trying to keep it's balance, but it finally crashes onto the ground, lying in a pool of it's own cherry syrup. The director is out cold~

Tarantino: Cut, print, that's a wrap! Poetry, my friends! That was poetry in motion!

Pilot and Argyle: ~Back in their normal clothing, which was never really described but it's doubtful either outfit was a jumpsuit~

Pilot: That was way too close...

Argyle: Yeah, and what are we going to do now? We don't have a director!

Pilot: Of course we do! Mr. Tarantino will give us a hand!

Tarantino: ~as he speaks, a helicopter hovers down above him, lowering a ladder~ Sorry boys, but I got things to do, people to see. Good luck on your quest to find Titled Soda, though. I'm rooting for ya. Hey, keep that blood flowing, all right?

Argyle: Say, can you give us a ride to Memphis in that thing?

Tarantino: No. Goodbye! ~flies away~

Pilot: Well, I guess we DON'T have a director.

Argyle: Eh, that's okay. OGs were always more of an Author thing anyway. And who knows? Maybe we'll find another director before all this is over.

Desperdorado: I hate to interrupt your optimism, but... It appears our muy poco amigo has fled the scene.

Pilot: Huh?

Argyle: I think he means Ace von Deuce. He probably scurried off after his robot got eaten. I don't think he's much of a threat right now... ~yawns~

Pilot: ~yawns as well~ Man, we've been through hell, today...

Argyle: Actually, we're still IN Hell.

Pilot: Don't remind me. Right now, all I want is some rest.

Desperdorado: I'd offer you shelter, but my own home has been destroyed. I'll alert the authorities to come and take care of the visual aid and the director. ~picks up some rocks on the ground with his hand, which turn to gold. He gives them to Pilot~ Here. Head into town, and get yourself a hotel room. I think your grand quest can wait one night.

Argyle: Thanks, Desperdorado. And thanks for getting Pilot a legendary racket.

Desperdorado: No problemo. Just remember to send a little titled soda my way when this ordeal is over, eh?

Pilot: You got it! C'mon, Argyle!

~The two head off into town in Argyle's dune buggy~

Pilot: ...Say, Argyle...

Argyle: Yeah, Pilot?

Pilot: Where's Weekday?