The Passion of the Roboshrub III

Scientists have been arguing over countless theories for thousands of years. One theory is that Joseph H. Smith once said that “If you work hard enough, you can be anything you want to be.” One thing scientists can agree on, though, is the validity of this statement. How can anyone be so certain that hard work yield rewards? The lives of two boys named Vincent O’Neil and Gregory Wellings is living proof of that.

It was a beautiful crisp autumn morning. The air smelled of burning leaves and hickory. A morbidly obese Vince O’Neil was riding his bike home from school, his mouth watering for a slice of turkey. It was Wednesday afternoon, and he had a four day weekend ahead of him. What better way to spend it than to relax and eat a huge Thanksgiving dinner? Vince was so busy thinking about his already-bulging stomach that he was caught completely unaware as someone careened into him, knocking him off his bike. While his bike seat was overjoyed at its newly found freedom, Vince was nursing a seriously scraped knee. Looking up, he saw his arch-enemy and best friend, Gregory Wellings.

“OW! What’s wrong with you?!” demanded an angry Vince O’Neil, tears streaming down his blubbery face.

“Calm down, Vince. I just came to tell you my great new idea- and you’re in on it!” responded Gregory.

“What do you mean I’m ‘in on it’? What idea?” asked an interested Vince O’Neil, wiping the tears from the mound of lard he called his right cheek.

“This is Thanksgiving weekend, right?”

“Well, yeah. What? Are you gonna sell some turkeys?”

“No, Vince. We’re gonna MAKE turkeys!”

“Come again?”

As the hours wore on, Gregory explained his diabolical plan to Vince, about how they would “build” their own turkeys out of scrap metal and sell them at the local Mall of America. Vince wasn’t too keen on the idea, but Greg had some really nice diagrams and charts in his backpack, and explained their massive scheme. Each of the scrap turkeys would be “autographed” by Colonel Sanders himself. They would then be auctioned off for hundreds of dollars, the proceeds going right into Gregory’s pockets and Vincent’s insatiable gullet. Then Vince asked the inevitable question.

“Is that legal?”

“Technically no, but if we get caught I’ll just use you as a scapegoat.”

“But this whole thing was YOUR idea!”

“Vince, this is the only way we’ll get enough money to accomplish our shared dream of becoming the richest middle schoolers in the world. Do you really want to walk away from that?”

“Well, no…”

“Then what are you worried about? Let’s go down to the dump right now and get us some turkeys!”

***

The next morning one middle schooler and one morbidly obese middle schooler set up shop outside the Mall of America. What they were selling couldn’t be any rarer—turkeys autographed by Colonel Sanders himself. Many people ridiculed them, saying things like, “It’s called “Kentucky Fried CHICKEN’, not turkey!” to which Vince and Greg replied, “Stop politicizing Thanksgiving.”

They had started at eight a.m. It was now noon. Not a single scrap turkey had been purchased. Vince was starting to think the bottom was falling out of the scrap turkey market when a gold Cadillac pulled up to the stand. An old man with a thick glasses and a white beard got out and walked up to the boys.

“All righ’, which one o’ y’all been usin’ ma name wit’out permishun?” rasped the old man in a thick southern drawl akin to Foghorn Leghorn.

“Who are you and what are you talking about?” asked Vince, a knot forming in the pit of his massive stomach.

“You know who I am! I don’ need ta tell y’all anythin’ ‘cept ta stop impersonatin’ ma signature!”

“Sir, are you saying that YOU are Colonel Sanders? Because Colonel Sanders is dead—”

“Dead tired o’ y’all little riffraff thinkin’ you can make a quick buck off the Colonel! I worked ma whole life fer ma fortune, and y’all think you can just use ma name recognition fer yer own selves?! No sir! I’m gonna make sure y’all pay! Get ‘em, boys!”

Just then, two of the biggest, angriest dogs Vince had ever seen in his life jumped out of the Cadillac, snarling and biting.

“Uh, Greg, I think we should—Greg?” But Greg was nowhere to be seen. He must’ve run when the Colonel showed up! thought Vince. Then he ran as fast as his canckles would carry him.

***

“We definitely got ‘im.” said a comfortable Colonel Sanders, ripping the flesh off a chicken wing. He passed the bucket to his companion.

“I just can’t thank you enough, Uncle Ben,” seethed Gregory Wellings to his uncle, who was now pulling off the fake wig and beard that gave him the appearance of Colonel Sanders.

“Greg, what do you have against that fat kid anyway?”

“In camp last year, he ate my lunch every single day for a week before I found out it was him. I’ve hated him ever since.”

“But I thought you two were friends…”

“No, I always had it out for him. I pretended to be his friend for fourteen months just so I could pull this Thanksgiving prank on him. It took a long time and it was a lot of work. But it all paid off.”

Uncle Ben took off the thick Colonel Sanders glasses.

“Greg, you’re evil incarnate, you do know that.”

“What? He ate my lunch! For a solid week!”

“You made him think a man came back from the dead to sue him.”

“Whatever. Let’s go home.”

Start A Church For Fun And Profit!

Many people are sick and tired of paying taxes. Now, you don't have to! The government's separation from religious affairs makes it possible, nay practical to form your own religion. This allows you to violate zoning regulations and it bestows upon you the envied tax exempt status.

But how can you go about declaring yourself a religious institution? Don't you need to prove that you are in fact a spiritual place of worship? You just need to meet a few requirements and soon you'll be on your way to tax-exempt city! As long as you aren't soliciting political opinions and the like, you and your property can be zoned as a genuine religion! It's all in the tax code.

I plan to found the First Church of Tax Exempt Status any day now. The message of my church shall be: pay me money or you'll burn in the pits of Abaddon! It will be situated on top the still smoldering ruins of the Burning Sub-Blogosphere, and the ceilings will be twenty feet high. I will lead the denizens of the Lower Blogosphere to the Promised Land.

The First Church of Tax Exempt Status, when founded, will be the official church of the Lower Blogosphere. Having a theocracy may seem old-fashioned, but it's a step up from the brutal dictatorship to which the proletarians here have been accustomed.

All I need now are some gods...

Pandemic Sweeps the Frozen Lower Blogosphere

A flu-like pandemic swept through the Frozen Lower Blogosphere this weekend, infecting thousands of innocent people with a horrible yet not deadly disease. Named after the first being to catch it, the "Gyrobian Flu" has crippled the Frozen Lower Blogosphere's industrial sector, rendering the Lower Blogosphere incapable of vowel generation. Already the consonants are growing in number, and as every scientist versed in macrobiological gramatology can tell you, this will only result in more illness.

The symptoms of this disease are the swelling of the glands behind one's neck, a stuffed up nose, and a sore throat. After three days, this will devolve into a painful earache, disorienting the sufferer for a maximum of two days. Then if your brain doesn't melt, recovery is immediately felt. A thin layer of carbon-based material will crust over your eyes, followed by a sudden an inexplicable "pop" in the back of your head.

The Gyrobian Flu is expected to affect people not only in the Lower Blogosphere, but in the "real world" by people who have never even visited this blog. These will be the most unfortunate, for they will most likely succumb to the crusting.

May the eternal light of the Ancients fall upon the afflicted.

Dr. Flavour Wins Nobel Prize for Temporal Doorstop

The enigmatic Fakiegrind professor known only as Dr. Flavour won world-wide praise early this morning as he unveiled his new “temporal and spacial stopping device.” This new invention will vent chromaton particles out of the Frozen Lower Blogosphere at a manageable rate of .10078 microts per millisecond, leaving it functioning at normal levels for the foreseeable future. The stopping device does have a slight gravitational drag factor, but it shouldn't interfere with the blogging processes carried out here.

Doctor Flavour, he's amazing,
Flying high above the clouds,
Zapping like a bolt 'o lightning,
He makes the Fakies proud.
Doctor, Doctor,
Flavour, Flavour,
He's super amazing, super cool.
Doctor, Doctor,
Flavour, Flavour,
His powers of infinity so rule.
Rule, rule, rule!
Cool, cool, cool!
The doorstop of infinity does rule.

-From the Tome of Infinity, Volume 1

Time is Fluxing

The temporal and gravametric stresses resulting from the utter implosion of the Burning Sub-Blogosphere are seeping into the Frozen Lower Blogosphere at a measureable rate of .21 chromatons per microsecond. The normal seepage rate is .00015 chromatons per milisecond. I don't think I need to exagerate the implications of this.

While the finest minds at Roboshrub Inc. are working around the clock to reverse this dillution of the spacial grid, I must (as the unquestioned master of the Frozen Lower Blogosphere) prepare for the worst. Evacuation plans are being devised even as we speak. Because we all know the consequences of not having an evacuation plan.

All citizens are advised to stock up on duct tape and water. Freedom is on the march.

Temporal Stresses Seeping In!

The stresses and forces that tore the Burning Sub-Blogosphere apart just a few days ago is now starting to seep into the Frozen Lower Blogosphere! Apparently, the collosal implosion in the Sub-Blogosphere wasn't contained immediately after the disaster. If the initial cause of the implosion isn't discovered, the Lower Blogosphere could go the way of the Sub-Blogosphere&mdash total oblivion!

The new Prime Minister of the Lower Blogosphere, Roboshrub, appears to be missing. As this would normally fall under his jurisdiction, I must assume the role of Warlord once again. I am fully confident that we can identify and eliminate the source of this disturbance before it claims yet another blog.

Long live the Blogosphere! Long live Liberty!

Gyrobo Deposes Karl, Retakes Lower Blogosphere!

At 9:00 this morning, the combined armies of the Children of the Lower Blogosphere and Roboshurb Inc. deposed the ineffective dictator known as "Karl the Sorcerer" in a covert operation. As the new undisputed ruler of the Frozen Lower Blogosphere, I henceforth appoint Roboshrub Incorporated's President to be Prime Minister. His duties include trolling the enemies of the Lower Blogosphere, as well as giving out random quotes and the like.

As for Karl and his anonymous sidekick, the Anonymi, they have both been cast off into the abyss of the Burning Sub-Blogosphere. Along with Evil Bob Dole, they will be entombed for all eternity! Long live Gyrobo, the true master of time and space and also the dance.

A Shocking Plot Revealed!

The great Evil Bob Dole perished early yesterday when the Burning Sub-Blogosphere imploded upon itself. Many bloggers wonder how this could have happened— how could any blog simply implode? We, the Anonymi, have begun a thorough investigation and concluded foul play. This monumental collapse was premeditated, predetermined, and preplanned.

As of this moment, we have several prime suspects, all of which had a motive to destroy Evil Bob Dole. Normally, it is against company polity— polity? Policy. It is against company policy to post the names and motives of suspects. But in this case, we've just about had our fill of injustice. So, here's the list:

Gyrobo: The ultimate prime suspect, Gyrobo has had a personal vendetta against Evil Bob Dole since they first met. Our suspicions were only compounded by the fact that Gyrobo managed to escape the collapse of the Burning Sub-Blogosphere while Evil Bob Dole was deleted by it.

Roboshrub Incorporated: Never a supported of Evil Bob Dole, Roboshrub Incorporated has been known to attack political rivals without abandon. Due to the electoral victory of Evil Bob Dole, Roboshrub was unable to attain his seat in Parliament. This is indeed a strong motive.

Karl the Sorcerer: Karl was the minion of darkness who ruled against Evil Bob Dole, thereby condemning him to the Burning Sub-Blogosphere. What did Karl know about the Burning Sub-Blogosphere and when did he know it?

Destructobob: While Destructobob hasn't posted anything new in several months and probably doesn't even know Evil Bob Dole existed, I make it a point to always name her as a suspect.

Until this case is resolved, lock your doors and keep the windows bolted shut. Any one of those suspects could end up being the imploder.

Shocking! The Burning Sub-Blogosphere Implodes!

Normally, a Chief Justice like myself wouldn't demean himself by writing about such trivial things. However, I feel it paramount to express my earnest sadness at the fate that has befallen my fellow bloggers. At long last, the Burning Sub-Blogosphere suffered a catastrophic collapse when the gravatational troposphereonics tore it apart. The only known casualty of the implosion was Evil Bob Dole, the former candidate and exile. We shall all mourn the loss of the Blogosphere's greatest third person referer; henceforth this post shall be the "Evil Bob Dole Memorial Post". All shall pay tribute to the evil man who I foolhardily condemned to deletion within the fiery confines of the Sub-Blogosphere.

Alas, Evil Bob Dole! I knew him well, Anonymi!

The High Court Reaches Verdict

As the Chief Justice of the Board of Judicial Justice and Funny Hats, I, Karl Überdale, find both Lord Gyrobo the Awesome and Evil Bob Dole... guilty! Due to their use of fraud, I sentence both of those fools to the eternal fires of the Burning Sub-Blogosphere! And in another sweeping move, I hereby ban Gyrobo's lackey Roboshrub from the Frozen Lower Blogosphere! The corporate reach of Roboshrub Incorporated cannot be allowed to penetrate the free markets of the Lower Blogosphere, under constitutional precedent 123-5B. As Chief Justice, I am now the de facto ruler of the Frozen Lower Blogosphere. The Anonymi will serve as my primary advisers.

This case is now ended, the execution of said sentence to be carried out immediately.