AL's SWC - A Rather Uninteresting Tale.

[Artificial Idiot]

Part 1:

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a town. A small, rather uninteresting town. Inside that town is a peaceful suburb, once again, small and rather uninteresting. And in that suburb, lies a house... now here's where it gets interesting! In this house lives a normal enough family, a mother, a father, two adolsenct brothers and the baby sister. Ignoring the fact that there also live three Leprechauns, Patrick, Stewart and Jon Bon Jovi, under this roof, and everything is perfectly normal. However, you have the benefit of knowing this is an Artificial, Inc. Production, so no doubt you know better!
Inside the living room, on top of the fireplace, no not that you fragging idiot! That's a radiator! Yes, there, just above that, lies a shelf. No, not that far up, under the fragging clock! Better. On this very shelf is where the majority of our story takes place. While to you and I, this shelf may look like a collection of inanimate objects and spare change, but just wait. Foot steps. Muffled voices. Bang. The door slams closed on the retreating mother, father and sister. Out of interest, it also closes on Johnson, the disgruntled cat. But you don't need to know about him yet.

"AH'M SLEEPIN' WITH ONE EYE OPEN! AH'M SLEEPIN' WITH ONE EYE OPEN! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW! SMOKED THEM DIRTY, COW SHAGGIN' BASTARDS GOOD!" Yelled General Slackjaw, in one of his fits of madness.

Chromium groaned, streaching the stiff bends in his metal work. He got off the imobile bicycle some prat of an artist had wielded him too, and threw a stray bolt that one of those damned twins had unscrewed at the picture frame.

"For iron workers sake, will you SHUT UP!" Chromium moaned, rubbing the rust off his faceless head.

"Ach! Yer keep up that insultin' tone, an' ah'll 'ave yer like I 'ave me 'aggis on a Sunday night!" Growled Gruff McHaggis, the ceramic, closet scotsman. "Stone cold an' red raw! Blood creepin' out the middle!"

"What's all the commotion?" Screamed Izabella, the Russian doll. "Can't you see I'm TRYING to get some beauty sleep here."

"Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick." Sighed Clockwork, always the voice of reason.

"Git 'round here, my little cow folk! Ole General Slackjaw gotta story for ya! I say, I gotta story for ya!" General Slack Jack spat a large chunk of chewed up tar off to the side of the frame and into some invisible bucket which made a loud clanging noise. Chromium, Izabella, Gruff and Clockwork gathered around the picture frame, as he lit himself the largest dang cigar you ever seen! And that's a fact!

"Let's see now.... Was the Summer... or was that winter? Brand a bull, ah don't have a danged clue! Anywho, it was 18mummble, mummbleity yadda, yadda, an' the living was suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuwheat! The livin' was easy, the bulls were wild... an' the girls! Whowee! The girls, jus' duun't get girls like them anymore, Ah say you don't get 'em like them anymore!" Izabella snorted, interupting Slackjaw for a fraction of a second. "Strokin' those long, golden locks with that brush outta that gibbon groomin' kit... clevage that coulda poked a man's eyes out an' stopped a ragin' bull.... an' when it got real, real warm, they'd strip down to their unmentionables an'...." He caught Izabella's rather unsavory look. "Did ah mentioned the wheel barrow race, heck of a lotta fun that!"

"Ach! Yer neva told us 'bout that, nay yer neva!" Gruff looked estatic. "Whell barrow racin'! Ingenius!"

"Yeah, tell us more, General! Please." Asked Chromium politely.

"Oh yes, do tell" Sneered Izabella. Who knew full well he was only changing the subject.

"Ah... well." Said the portraited face of Slackjack. "Yer see, it wa..... LOOK OUT!!!"

It all happened so fast. There was smash as the window shattered, spraying small shards of glass over the room and allowing Johnson an enterance into the house. The ball sped forward, in what to us, in comparison, would have been the speed of light. Gruff, Clockwork and Izabella managed to dive out the way just in the nick of time. But the heavy metal frame of Chromium reacted slowly. The ball hit him in his thin stomach, sending him reeling back into the immobile Slackjaw.

"GARGH!" The gruff voice of the old General yelled as the glass of his frame shatter under the combined weight of Chromium and the ball.

The frame toppled over onto it's back. Gruff and Clockwork helped move the ball off from Chromium, and then uncermonially threw him out the way.

"Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick!" Clockwork's voice quivered with emmotion as he shook the picture frame.

"Tell... Johnny... they cut me off.... at the pass.... ugh." A bubble of blood raised from the General's mouth, popped, spalttering all over his face and into his moustache and then, with one last faint "yee...haw." the General's eyes closed tight. And he died.

[Nyerguds]

Hehe. Nice work AI :p

[Ariss(DJ)]

:D :p :|

[Phyre]

we can submit in parts?


btw: highly halarious

[Wesforce]

Best. Characters. EVAR!

'Tick tick tick tick' Clockwork's voice quivered with emotion. LOL!

[Artificial Idiot]

Part 2:

It was a few days later. Perhaps a week, perhaps not. Chromium hadn't really kept track of time recently. He'd sat there, waving an Icelandic flag half heartedly. He sighed, or at least, the closed think he could come to a sigh with no lungs. The others had always hated him because he was too "modern", now they had two more reasons to hate him. One, he resembled the manthing's and secondly... he had killed the General.
Hell! He didn't know what the big deal was! Nobody had liked the General either! He was always going on and on about boats shaped like taco's and wheelbarrows with training wheels and the tales about young girls in skimpy under things... come to think of it, those were actually quite interesting!
He was about to sit back and relax and recount some of those tales, when something shifted behind him. He shot to his feet as fast as a NASCAR pit crew runs off to their lunch break, heart pounding as bad as that bloody leprechaun... what was his name? Bon Jovi sang. Old Irish folk songs of course. Johnson the cat, dropping his "Godfather of the cat world" image for a few minutes, looked like a scared little kitten in headlights and then shot off.

"Hey there, my freaky, deaky, shiney metallic cat! Welcome to the club..." There was a cool pause for a minute. A slow drum rhythm sounded as the candle holder behind Chromium shifted and changed. The wax melted to form a goatee, a smirking mouth, a moustache and then finally, his candle filled arms reached behind him and he pulled a pair of sun-glasses onto his newly formed face. "... Of one!"

The drumbeat reached a dramatic, fast paced end. Chromium edged towards the edge of the shelf, wondering if the falls would kill him.

"Name's Beatsworth, the grooviest candle this side o' the living room! Beatsworth don't stop, 'till the candle wax melts..." There was another cool pause as Beatsworth dropped his sun glasses so Chromium could see the edge of his eyes. Or he would, if the candle had any. "... And drops!"

"Uh right..." Said Chromium, deciding finally if the fall didn't kill him, Johnson probably would. "I gotta be somewhere, you know... else?"

"Coooool." He stretched the word out like an ice wind. "Going to that old cat's restin' place, no doubt."

"You... You know about the General?" Asked Chromium, so taken aback the decision about chucking himself off the shelf was almost made for him.

"Beatsworth knows all." The candle paused yet again, Chromium was getting very sick and tired of this and cleared his throat loudly. Or, he would have cleared it, had he had one. Instead he just made the sound that would be heard if he had. "There's this groovy little chick way down the bottom of the shelf, you know what I'm saying daddy'o? I'm saying way down! Says she can bring people back to life. Might want to drop her a line."

"Oh great, how nice. Now if yo..." It took a few moments for Chromium to compute what had just been said. "WHAT?!"

"Chill, daddy'o. Beatsworth don't repeat himself for nobody."

"Can bring back the dead..." Chromium muttered. "I have to go tell the others!"

"Cool. Beatsworth'll tag along, you dig?" The candle didn't wait for a response, he just grabbed his black beret and hopped off along the shelf.

* * *

After a long, perilous trek along the shelf, well to be perfectly honest, there wasn't much peril involved in the journey. That is, unless you could glares that could have stopped a crickets heart and the occasional heartfelt outbursts of "My heart belongs to Morgan O'Brien in bonnie wee Ireland!", not to mention the slow, rhythmic, drumbeats that were produced from his travelling companion on occasion. Eventually, the awful stench of Gruff's sheep stomach and oomegooly bird pie (with essence of haggis) tried to burn a hole in their nostrils (assuming either of the figures had any) and they knew they were close. Chromium would have called it Scottish food, however Gruff repeatedly pointed out that Oomegooly birds were not from Scotland, and haggis was just a personal preference.

"Friends! I am back! And I bring good news!" Chromium announced as they reached the small gathering of objects.

"What? You're going back to the ironworks to be melted down?" Izabella muttered under her breath.

"Even better!" Said Chromium, totally missing the insult in his excitement. "We can bring the General back to life!"

"Ach! That be Impossible laddie! Next yer'll be tellin' us yer puttin' on blue spandex, wearin' yer underwear o'er yer trousers an' callin' yerself lughead!" Spat Gruff, giving a glare at Beatsworth as his mouth went to form the words 'Hey, daddy'o, funky accent!'.

The group burst into a bout of exciting yells and ranting. So humorous was their excitement, it rivalled the utter hilarity of a talking dog with a strong Scottish accent. However, it's utter nonsense to believe such a thing exists. Scottish dogs are a barbaric, cannibalistic breed, they eat 60% of their young at birth and 90% of that before they are old enough to form a voicebox. So the chances of a talking Scottish dog are slim, and the idea is absurd anyway. And let's face it, imitation Scottish accents just aren't funny, are they?

"Chillllllllllllllll" A tone so cool it could have refrozen the arctic swept over the shelf space. Beatsworth stood over them, his aura radiating ice winds. "There's this groovy little chick on the far side of the shelf, calls herself the Oracle. Hippest little prophet around, and a figure that'll drive you wild."

The last sentence provoked the short, sharp "Hmph" from Izabella. Who was near enough obsessed with her weight and figure. The others looked at each other questionably.

"Tick, tick, tick!" Clockwork protested, voice full of distrust.

"Chill, my funky little cat. She has discounts for antique pieces like yourself."

"Tick, tick, tick, tick, TOCK!" The exact words are too obscene to repeat. However, the anger that vibrated though Clockwork's voice was unmistakable.

"I said, chill!" Frowned Beatsworth, shoving a waxy "hand" into Clockwork's gears. Provoking a few muffled, angry ticks and then nothing.

"Alright, if we're going on some kind of crazy, mystic roadtrip, I'm getting changed!" Izabella motioned for the others to look away. Which they did. However, she didn't account on Chromium being able to look out of the back of his head.

He watched in amazement as the top half of Izabella's body slowly unscrewed, and then was tipped off completely. A smaller Izabella, almost identical Izabella climbed out of her own legs. Chromium would have been somewhat disappointed, almost cheated, if the whole process hadn't been some utterly amazing. She looked herself up and down and then frowned.

"Still too plump." She muttered, as the process repeated it's self and an even smaller, slimmer Izabella appeared. "Right, lets get this over with then."

* * *

I'll admit, last time I lied about the long perilous trek part. However, I feel that part honestly does apply to the journey to the far side of the shelf. The journey took many days, with Beatsworth leading the way. During which they were attacked by several stray gangs of loose change, several defaced and scared by time, thought to be lost to the world behind the fire place, sprang up and ambushed them. This did not sit well with Gruff, who gave them a little rendition of "Heather in the mists of the highlands" on his bagpipes, all the while protesting that he was NOT Scottish. They were also harassed by money off coupons, who promised them riches beyond their wildest dreams if they would just take them home! And of course, there was Johnson. The top dog of the cat world eyed them with evil intent, just waiting for one to drop!

"Well drop me a beat, daddy'o" Beatsworth smiled. "We made it!"

The others stopped behind him. Izabella's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in awe, Clockwork gave a tick of appreciation and no doubt Gruff was wondering what treasures he could pilfer from inside. However, Chromium just gazed at himself looked back at him. The great glass pyramid stood proudly over them all. The glass was crystal clear, and yet, he could see nothing of what was inside. Assuming anything was inside, of course. However, Beatsworth had assured them that this was where the Oracle lived.

"So..." He ventured. "How do we get in."

"Stand back!" Yelled Gruff, producing a camber. The others stared in disbelief. "What?" It ain't mine! Ah swear it ain't! It was a... gift, frum me great Aunt Agn... Ameila! Aye, that's what it was! Ain't one bit o' Scottish clay in this body, ah tell yer!"

"Just get on with it." Groaned Izabella, tired, fed up and with sore feet from walking that distance in high heels.

Gruff grunted something about 'women havin' no respect, aye', and was about to charge into the side of the great, glass structure when a large door formed in the side of the building. The huge double doors that had appeared unexplainably before them, gave a low hiss and then swung open. Revealing the dark interior inside...

[Wesforce]

My Goddess... this is insane :scared:

A talking candle kind of reminds me of Beauty and the Beast Disney thing, but a Beatnik candle does pwn. More Beatniks on the Den :D

[Nyerguds]

Lovin' it, maaan! Gimme more o' this stuff! :cool: