mass of black
Printable View
mass of black
and yellow armor,
Terrible Towels aloft.
The heavens shook
. But one of
the Steelers fans
stopped, thunderstruck, and
dropped his towel.
"Oh no!" cried
the fan (named
Ari Blumenthal, interestingly)
as he stopped
and bent down.
The rest of
the fans cringed
as Sam and
Dean pulled out
an amulet of
fan repelling and
pointed it towards
the approaching horde,
while chanting in
Midwestern accents. They
were quite surprised
to see that
a giant thundercloud
rolled in from
Mordor.
"Hey! That's
really rather unexpected,
considering that we
inhabit a different
multiverse entirely," observed
Sam. "But if
that's how it's
gonna be, then
bring it on
and gimme a
Ring of Power
, too," the hobbit
Odo Proudfoot, who
of a sudden
appeared beside Sam,
wiggling his toes.
Sipowicz moved closer
and touched the
business end of
his old school
.38 Police Special.
"It's about time
you started talking,
skel", he snarled
, all the while
keeping his eye
on the hobbits.
"Who you callin'
a 'skel'?", Odo
growled, wiggling his
hairy feet provocatively.
Sipowicz just smiled.
After all, a
chance to beat
up a hobbit
didn't come along
more than once
in a long
long, while. He
sized up the
hobbit and the
range, and drew
a whimsical picture
in his mind
of two men,
before he noticed
that he had
lost all of
his vital humours.
This was embarrassing,
but strangely not
because of any
puddles of humours
, though it certainly
wasn't his proudest
moment. Temporarily humourless,
Sipowicz pointed a
shaky finger at
the foul Proudfoot
, Steeler Nation, and
assorted other mopes
before him. "You
think you can
just take a
man's four bodily
humours without his
express written consent?!!"
The Sister Wives
, who had quietly
started a radio
broadcast of the
events that day,
looked up nervously.
"But the contract
clearly stipulates that
humours are forfeit
," Proudfoot's solicitor nervously
offered, all the
eyes on him.
Clearing his throat,
he whipped out
Law for Dummies
and flipped to
the glossary, whereupon
he began reading.
Proudfoot, none too
patient, spoke up.
"See here, bigfolk,
I brought a
great big pail
of legal representation.
I wish to
slosh it all
over this puddle
and throw it
amid the tulips!
"
The lawyer frowned
and scratched his
head. "I don't
see any reason
to pour legal
representation out and
over tulips," he
muttered, looking for
a precedent justifying
such a rash
and bizarre course
. Sipowicz smiled again.
"You may have
left me humourless,
but I still
have to laugh
at your absurd
legalisms. Also, what
do you think
you'll do with
all this humour?"
Silence ensued.
But
Proudfoot's solicitor spoke
, and this time,
he had citations
aplenty. Unfortunately, that
didn't stop Sipowicz
from shooting him.
"Ow! Do you
have any idea
how painful gunshot
wounds to the
butt are?" cried
the wounded barrister.
"Not as painful
as it's gonna
get," growled Sipowicz.
In the distance,
Wargs howled. Sipowicz
cackled with evil
glee, as the
cook announced, "Dinner!"
Everyone froze, astonished.
"Well, I am
waiting for you
to come and
eat already, people!"
"I could eat
a second breakfast
", Dean Winchester allowed.
"You're a hobbit?"
Asked a surprised
Sam.
"Uh, duh!"
Responded his "brother".
"My behind's bleeding,"
objected the barrister.
Sipowicz cackled and
said "Nobody cares".
"But wait," cried
Marion Barber, who
had run into
the kitchen to
see what was
for dinner. "This
Soylent Green is
actually NYPD Blue.
"
David Milch stepped
up beside Marion
and, to no
one's surprise, called
out, "David Caruso
is a jerk!"
The crowd applauded.
"That's a wrap!"
"Worst. Episode. Ever,"
came the nasal
whine of a