Reposted from Last Gladiator Standing because it’s just so relevant.
“Mr. Gyrobo, is it true that you’ve accepted Drone #389723’s challenge?”
“Mr. Gyrobo, Drone #389723 says you ain’t got the courage to face ’im. What say you?”
“Mr. Gyrobo-”
“Get these bums outta here!” Karl Überdale snarled, pointing at the gaggle of reporters surrounding me. Suddenly, the ground started to shake. As if the building was over a volcano, the floor split open, releasing four grotesque monstrosities. The monsters grabbed at the screaming journalists, dragging them down into the fire pit from whence they came.
“Hey, Karl, I don’t know if I’m ready to take on the Drone.”
“Don’t worry Gyrobo. I gots faith in ya. Yer a wreckin’ machine!”
“Ain’t nobody gonna mess with my main man!”
“Yes, you’ve said that several times now. But Drone #389723 is an actual wrecking machine. They used him to tear down houses before he was retrofitted and given enough intelligence to fight.”
“You just gotta want it enough! I know you,” Karl began. The aged sorcerer pulled out a scrapbook and went through a twelve minute montage of our time together. “You haven’t been hungry enough, Gyro. Can I call you Gyro?”
“No. Wait, if you pronounce it ‘hero’ like they do in Greece, then yes. But if you pronounce it the way it’s supposed to be, like a gyroscope, then forget it. No sale.”
“I’ve worked with you for twenty-some odd years, and yet I’ve never heard you say your own name before.”
“That’s because the communists were out to get me.”
He stared at me, trying to understand how that last sentence could possibly make sense. Then he gave up and drank another swig of coffee. The man loves coffee.
“Yeah, so I signed you up for the fight. You’re gonna fight Drone #389723, and- hey! Don’t you walk away from me! I made you...” then he pulled out a blue vial. “And I can destroy you!”
“What’s in that vial?”
“Gold!”
And then Karl started dancing about the room like a lemur. I hate lemurs... you don’t want to know.
***
“After-glow! Gyro-bo! After-glow! Gyro-bo!” chanted the crowds. Sure, my theme song wasn’t really catchy, but it sounded a lot better than Drone #389723’s “Carpe diem, buy a dog! Carpe diem, buy a dog!”
This is Ciscos, my number one fan this week.
“Okay, I want a good, clean fight,” said the umpire. Yes, there was an umpire. The usual guy who judges wrestling matches was out, so they got an umpire from the little league next door. You got a problem with that, tubby?!
“Unit active protocol delta,” clicked my opponent. I could smell his fear.
As we levitated over to the corners of the ring, Karl teleported in next to me.
“Where have you been, Karl?! You were supposed to train me hours ago!”
“Gyrobo, you can’t win! The guy’s a wreckin’ machine! Throw in the towel!”
“But...” I stammered, trying to make sense of Karl’s sudden, yet inevitable betrayal. “You were the one who told me to fight him! You signed me up. I told you I didn’t want to but-”
“And you gotta fight ’im, Gyrobo! He... he, uh... what?”
Then, with a glazed look in his eye, Karl lumbered off.
“You’re on your own, kid.”
“I’m fifty years older than you!”
“In robot years, Gyrobo. In robot years. You need to learn you some learning, young man.”
*clunk*
“What was that?!”
“Oh, that’s the bell,” said the shortstop. What? I told you, we were next to a little league.
“I didn’t hear no bell.”
“Unit protection protocol active. Delta. Delta. Strike. Alpha. bzzz.... processing primary directive...”
“Not on my watch!” I screamed, punching him out with my patented robo-hook. A half-nelson later, and the pitiful remains of my once proud opponent lay before me, shaking in agony.
“Take that, random stranger!”
“I did it!” I shouted as the umpire counted to ten. “I’m the greatest there ever-”
“Noooooooo! Gregory!”
“Huh?” I turned around to see a middle-aged woman run out into the ring.
“Gregory, can you hear me?! Gregory?!”
“What’s going...?”
“Hey, Gyrobo, I just remembered,” said Karl off to my left. “Drone #389723 couldn’t make it tonight. His car broke down outside of Memphis.”
“Then who did I just...”
“That was just some guy. From the audience.”
“Karl, have you ever been to Texas?”
“No. Want to go there right now?”
“You bet! Let’s go to Tom deLay’s house and get him to bake us cookies!”
“And also, we can see Mount Rushmore while we’re there.”
“Karl, you so crazy!”
“Mr. Gyrobo, is it true that you’ve accepted Drone #389723’s challenge?”
“Mr. Gyrobo, Drone #389723 says you ain’t got the courage to face ’im. What say you?”
“Mr. Gyrobo-”
“Get these bums outta here!” Karl Überdale snarled, pointing at the gaggle of reporters surrounding me. Suddenly, the ground started to shake. As if the building was over a volcano, the floor split open, releasing four grotesque monstrosities. The monsters grabbed at the screaming journalists, dragging them down into the fire pit from whence they came.
“Hey, Karl, I don’t know if I’m ready to take on the Drone.”
“Don’t worry Gyrobo. I gots faith in ya. Yer a wreckin’ machine!”
“Ain’t nobody gonna mess with my main man!”
“Yes, you’ve said that several times now. But Drone #389723 is an actual wrecking machine. They used him to tear down houses before he was retrofitted and given enough intelligence to fight.”
“You just gotta want it enough! I know you,” Karl began. The aged sorcerer pulled out a scrapbook and went through a twelve minute montage of our time together. “You haven’t been hungry enough, Gyro. Can I call you Gyro?”
“No. Wait, if you pronounce it ‘hero’ like they do in Greece, then yes. But if you pronounce it the way it’s supposed to be, like a gyroscope, then forget it. No sale.”
“I’ve worked with you for twenty-some odd years, and yet I’ve never heard you say your own name before.”
“That’s because the communists were out to get me.”
He stared at me, trying to understand how that last sentence could possibly make sense. Then he gave up and drank another swig of coffee. The man loves coffee.
“Yeah, so I signed you up for the fight. You’re gonna fight Drone #389723, and- hey! Don’t you walk away from me! I made you...” then he pulled out a blue vial. “And I can destroy you!”
“What’s in that vial?”
“Gold!”
And then Karl started dancing about the room like a lemur. I hate lemurs... you don’t want to know.
“After-glow! Gyro-bo! After-glow! Gyro-bo!” chanted the crowds. Sure, my theme song wasn’t really catchy, but it sounded a lot better than Drone #389723’s “Carpe diem, buy a dog! Carpe diem, buy a dog!”
This is Ciscos, my number one fan this week.
“Okay, I want a good, clean fight,” said the umpire. Yes, there was an umpire. The usual guy who judges wrestling matches was out, so they got an umpire from the little league next door. You got a problem with that, tubby?!
“Unit active protocol delta,” clicked my opponent. I could smell his fear.
As we levitated over to the corners of the ring, Karl teleported in next to me.
“Where have you been, Karl?! You were supposed to train me hours ago!”
“Gyrobo, you can’t win! The guy’s a wreckin’ machine! Throw in the towel!”
“But...” I stammered, trying to make sense of Karl’s sudden, yet inevitable betrayal. “You were the one who told me to fight him! You signed me up. I told you I didn’t want to but-”
“And you gotta fight ’im, Gyrobo! He... he, uh... what?”
Then, with a glazed look in his eye, Karl lumbered off.
“You’re on your own, kid.”
“I’m fifty years older than you!”
“In robot years, Gyrobo. In robot years. You need to learn you some learning, young man.”
*clunk*
“What was that?!”
“Oh, that’s the bell,” said the shortstop. What? I told you, we were next to a little league.
“I didn’t hear no bell.”
“Unit protection protocol active. Delta. Delta. Strike. Alpha. bzzz.... processing primary directive...”
“Not on my watch!” I screamed, punching him out with my patented robo-hook. A half-nelson later, and the pitiful remains of my once proud opponent lay before me, shaking in agony.
“Take that, random stranger!”
“I did it!” I shouted as the umpire counted to ten. “I’m the greatest there ever-”
“Noooooooo! Gregory!”
“Huh?” I turned around to see a middle-aged woman run out into the ring.
“Gregory, can you hear me?! Gregory?!”
“What’s going...?”
“Hey, Gyrobo, I just remembered,” said Karl off to my left. “Drone #389723 couldn’t make it tonight. His car broke down outside of Memphis.”
“Then who did I just...”
“That was just some guy. From the audience.”
“Karl, have you ever been to Texas?”
“No. Want to go there right now?”
“You bet! Let’s go to Tom deLay’s house and get him to bake us cookies!”
“And also, we can see Mount Rushmore while we’re there.”
“Karl, you so crazy!”
I think you should make a Mount Roboshrub.
I can't decide Wuther it's a budding Epic saga, the preface to a Grand play, or just some weird dream.
It's all in the dialoge. Shakespearian it is!!!
Non-the-less I laffed my ass off!!!!
Well, it was pretty funny. The drone will want a rematch, though. Count on it, captain.
That Gregory's been asking for it for years.
He comes around to all the Intergalactic Gladiator matches just begging to be hit saying the most outlandish things like "Hey, can I have your autograph?" and "Wow, you're so cool, can I have your autograph?" I am actually quite suprised that he didn't get smacked down like this long ago.
Wait a minute...
*flips through the Dead-Sea-Scrolls*
You ripped off the TRUE story of David and Goliath. Goliath was absent so the crowd replaced him with a bag of fag.
Hero
How many robot years will it take me to understand the relevance of the repost?
Ciscos
We can't all be Gregory.
The TRUE story of David and Goliath involved crossing guards.
The answer is infinite robot years divided by 200.
Greg Brady was a mans man.
And don't you forget it!
Probability approaching one.
I guess that's what happens this time of year - re-runs.
Forgot to ask: How did you get an image on your comment?
I only put the story here because I want all my good stuff on the same blog. Soon... soon there will be more... much more...
Hey how come I can't edit my comments with Grease Monkey on THIS thread?
Lots of reasons...
I want to hear the story of 'David & Goliath'. It's about a bully who taunts a poor giant & throws rocks at him, right?
In theory you can just edit the script you installed...and leave out some "protection" clause which will ultimately enable you to edit anyone's comment....probably under your name though.
I don't think it works that way. When you try to edit a comment on a blog that's not yours, it says it can't find it on your dashboard. The thing is quite interlopering. Deash len ten fore thelve.
I thought I was the only one that called you Gyro!
To his face, at least.
I was looking over the icons everyone has on their comments. It's kind of like Jon is straddling the fence between the real world and the artistic cartoonish drawings your regular crew uses.
Just an observation.
The fight scene was so dramatic it almost got my blood preasure elevated again...
Many have tried to walk the fine line between the real world and the beyond. Few have found a balance. I know I didn't. Ha ha ha ha ha! *click*
There wasn't much of a fight. More of a stand-still with a side of arroz con pollo.
Are you accusing me of being a fence straddler, Professor?
I've been called worse.
I have never been so confused in my entire life. Except for that time I ate the green spaghetti.
No accusations. As I said, merely an observation. That's what I do. Sit around and look at things.
Green things are fun to eat. But it's even more fun to teleport things into the Green Zone. That's what I'm working on right now...
hey you yeh you who in gods name [jealous check the bible thats what it says 'for he is a jealous god and his name is jealous'] are you calling tubby i mean i've put on a bit of wait sure but i can still fit in my chair without it breaking [ccccccrrrrrrrrrruuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnccchhhhhhh craaackk]
oh wait no i can't.