Under the Rainbow - a panfandom game [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Under the Rainbow - a panfandom game

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[Oct. 12th, 2010|06:44 pm]

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The Eagle of Truthiness is once more among you, fellow citizens of the Space Ship Awesome. It's awesome because I'm here. And I'm here because Space is Awesome.

But not as awesome as America. Because that would just be wrong.

As your newly designated Encryption Specialist, allow me to debrief you all on my superlative duties and skills. I spend endless minuteshours making paper dolls out ofdecoding all those different Intelligence reports I receive and scanning them with my complex algorithms for interesting and potentially threatening keywords to our way of space life such as, "bears", "gravity", "laws of physics", "godless heathens" or, "Schnookums."

Then I, along with most of my division, spend the rest of our day convincing the people who pay our salaries to give us an increasingly ungodly budget allowance in order to keep producing the same, somewhat vaguely worded threats from our enemies at approximately fifteen space bucks per sheet, while we spend the rest on replacing the bathroom in my quarters with a nice little number from Martha Stewart's line at Space Station Depot.

Hey - if it's a good enough budget for the Pentagon, it's good enough for the Space Ship Awesome.

And check out my bidet, it's solid gold!
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[Jan. 30th, 2010|09:31 am]

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Did you know that you don't have to know how to drive it in order to buy it? You just have to pay for it.

So, I got [this one]
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Purify my love, baby. [Mar. 29th, 2009|08:02 pm]

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It's been a doozy of a last couple of weeks, folks. Oh yeah. You know what I'm talking about.

Let me tell you, there's nothing quite like waking up to the sounds of an angry mob burning effigies on your front lawn.

Those landscapers, man. You put one stop payment on a check because they didn't trim your bushes just right, and everything just goes straight to hell in a handbasket. You know the type, the ones lined with those doilies your grandma used to crochet?

...and then there're these Purifier guys.

Between you and me, I think those folks could use a rebranding. It's no good for your cause when people keep coming up to you to ask if you know where to get a replacement water filter. (Hey, don't knock it - it worked for Blackwater.) Note to self: They don't sell water filters, and they get kind of shirty when asked.

But seriously, folks, these Purifiers were going all-out. Mass pamphleting campaign, insane media blitz, torture of the genetically different masses... it was kind of like the last general election all over again, only with less potentially awkward and unjustifiable wardrobe expenditures. In fact, it was so overwhelming, even our President couldn't stand it, and threw only the second known recorded Messianic hissy fit on national TV. (Don't worry, Jesus. They still haven't come up with a better logo than yours. Two thousand years and you're still rockin' that crucifix, baby. Don't ever change. Love ya.)

In the ultimate example of Why Extremism is For Chumps and Crazy Old Bearded Men Living In Caves, it seems their plan to make everyone Just Like Them backfired, and now everyone on the face of the planet has the uncanny ability to make Michael Jackson look like a regular, normal example of manhood. Wow. I totally couldn't see that coming, y'all.

As further evidence of this particularly awesome turn of events, it turns out that I really can kill people with my mind.

On the downside, this means I'm going to have to find a new camera crew before Monday evening.


And replace the carpet in my dressing room. Things got kind of messy when I told my hairdresser to quit parting my locks to the left.
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[Feb. 1st, 2009|05:10 pm]

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If you have never had these? Eat them. They're AMAZING.
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The world is WRONG. [Jan. 28th, 2009|11:49 pm]

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This last week has been hell on earth, folks.

Do you have any idea what it's like to age in reverse? It's embarrassing, is what it is. It's degrading. It's having your pubic hair grow inward.

I'm never waxing again. I like my hair where it is, thankyouverymuch.

And someone needs to tell me what the goddamn grizzly-bear hibernating fuck is going on with this chick who says she used to be my blue-sidebarred friend The Word. This is impossible. For one thing? Just between you and me? She looks too damned butch.

(But she's got a really nice ass, even if she's clearly delusional. So I'm keeping her. As long as she doesn't suddenly decide I need to pay her. I don't pay delusional people. I leave that kind of thing to the government.)

No, folks, this week has meant being surrounded by more shit than a national Colostomy Bags Anonymous convention. I should've called in those crazy hippies with their newfangled green technology - there was enough methane being generated in this studio to power the national grid.

And then there was some kind of shindig happening in Washington last week. I don't know. Some black dude became President? Thinks he's some kind of Messiah, or something. I wasn't paying attention: I was too busy rediscovering Neopets and contemplating the relative size of Angelina Jolie's frontal assets.

(But everyone already knows Jesus was whiter than Marilyn Manson. So screw you, 'Jesus'. Come back when you've gotten a non-tan.)

Excuse me, guys. I need to go see if that one hippy dude's advice about playing music to plants works on body hair.
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Yulehannukwanzmas [Dec. 27th, 2008|02:04 am]

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[Current Mood |determined]

Christmas is supposed to be this huge glad tiding of joy and giving. If you're into that kind of Liberal thing.

But when I was growing up, it scared the living shit out of me. Think about it, folks-- you spend all your time as a parent instilling in your kids some really simple edicts: That you should never talk to strangers, that you shouldn't screw around on the roof, burglars are bad, and that kissing Uncle Ted is a familial obligation, even if that beard is really damned scratchy, full of the remainders of that meal you all just had, and he smells like the Anheuser-Busch brewery.

But then you go and turn all that on its head for this time of year, and you tell your kids, "Hey, this fat old guy dressed in bright red clothing that you only met once at the mall is going to break into your home while you're asleep, and you're going to like it." And so you leave him a bunch of cookies and some milk in the hopes that this bribe will distract the felonious fatass from taking an unnatural interest in your Playstation or your TV, because have you ever tried to get a restraining order against a guy who only stalks you once a year?

(Also, come on. Spending all that time with reindeer can't be healthy.)

So every Christmas Eve since I turned old enough to own a gun, I sit awake all night, watching NORAD track that criminal as he makes out like a Jenny Craig's nightmare bandit across the world, and wait for him to show up at my door so I can make like Dick Cheney on a hunting expedition.

I'm still waiting for you, Saint Nick. One day. One day.
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[Dec. 22nd, 2008|10:15 pm]
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Well that was weird. We have a power surge in the studio?

Steve? Camera guy Bob? ... Audience?

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[Dec. 13th, 2008|09:40 am]
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My first week as a fourth grade science teacher was AWFUL

Have you ever been outnumbered twenty to one? And by nine year olds?!?

Are you people positive that capital punishment isn't accepted in schools?
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Holy Gay Fabulousness, Batman! [Dec. 11th, 2008|12:05 am]

[Current Mood |amused]

My God.

I'm suddenly more sparkly than a vampire standing in broad daylight, more glitter-laden than a drag queen's questionable underwear in a Mardi Gras parade, and more shiny than the combined, waxed and polished heads of a convention full of Captain Picard lookalikes. The moment I bend over, at just the right angle, light is literally going to be shining out of my ass.

I could get used to this.

Stay fabulous, folks.
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Not a good Hallow-weenie. [Dec. 6th, 2008|03:28 am]

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What's the deal with this acid-laced, cracked-out crazy world dominated by Oompa-Loompas with extremely dodgy web developing qualifications? My God, a man can't even buy a copy of Dog FancyGentleman's Quarterly now without being assailed by limb-shedding corpses of the undead, or maybe that last time it was just Barbara Cartland posthumously signing her last novel at Borders, I'm not sure.

But lo, this Hallowe'en, evil pagan liberal holiday that it is, I ventured out, braving the bawling hordes of children dressed up like root vegetables and Tinky Winky to visit my adoring public and suddenly, there were zombies everywhere, the undead feasting on the brains of hapless citizens with a stunning swiftness that defied the laws of physics. It took me back to the Republican National Convention all over again.

Good times.

But folks, you know things are bad when shambling reanimated corpses are trundling around town without anything to do but get up in your skull. First they want your brains, then they're going to want something totally ridiculous, like equal rights under the law, and the right to get post-mortemly and post-brain-gorgingly hitched. I've got a plan to stop this madness, right here and now, before the next outbreak of graveyard shenanigans:

I call it, "Proposition 10."

I plan on getting funding for my movement from that niche, fundamentalist group, known as The Living Who Would Rather Like To Not Have Their Brains Eaten, Thank You Very Much.
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[Nov. 12th, 2008|02:36 pm]

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Who all wants to come to me and Onyxx's wedding? The location will be secret, for obvious reasons. Let me know so I can tell you in private.
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*Locked from the ladies.* [Oct. 30th, 2008|10:26 pm]
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[Current Mood |blank]

What is it with Woman and children, man? Eesh.
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[Oct. 19th, 2008|11:10 pm]

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Oh, you crazy Liberals. You're not content merely to suck world-class journalists out of their element using top-secret metereological phenomena explainable only in terms a basement-dwelling Trekkie would understand. You guys? You take it that little extra step further. You pay cracked-out Oompa Loompahs to code garish websites to explain your Agenda, with the full intent of traumatizing the viewer into incoherency, probably with the goal of making them want to pick up their nearest, shiny, glorious Emmy award and poke out their eyeballs. It's like the Sixties all over again.

But I digress.

Oh no. You aren't done yet. But this is where you guys' little plan falls apart. I bet you thought putting my photo on Bill O'Reilly's ID was the coup de grace. The final element, designed to make me lose what's left of my rapier wit, sending me gibbering into the arms of your compatriots. YOU'RE WRONG. Bill, you're like unto a God to me. I live to emulate you, I always wanted to be you. But I gotta break it to you, Bill-O: I have, and will always have, more hair than you.

And a better tie selection.

Also, less wrinkles.

And way more Emmys.

Since I ended up here, I've encouraged two underage kids to marry, got ordained on the Internet, talked to some guy who seems to believe he's a car, a groupie for some weird Death Metal band who probably looks at morgue contents like a fat guy looks at a McDonalds Value Menu, and been propositioned by God.

You read that right, folks. God wants to fuck with me.

I'm not one to turn down the Almighty, but I know what happens to people who fuck with God. Just ask Sodom and Gomorrah.

Oh, wait. You can't, because God wiped them off the face of the earth.

Even Mary got the short end of the stick. All of you people waiting on Christ's second coming? That's why it's taking so long. Nobody wants to sleep with a guy whose track record involves knocking up someone else's fiancée and kipping in a barn full of animals (but they'll pay $10 a month to watch the full video online).

I'm a serial monogamist, Ma'am, just like You told me to be. And right now, my bed only has room for one Holy Trinity: Me, Lady Liberty and Lady Justice. (Justice is big on the blindfold kink, but those scales can give a guy a hell of a concussion.)

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find some old guy sitting guard over an old boot while picking his nose by the Thames so I can get the hell away from here and get my portrait to the Smithsonian.
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[Sep. 27th, 2008|12:35 am]

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Ahh, that's better. A month of skeeball and porn really gives a deity a fresh look at things, you know?

So who missed me? And who can I smite? I had some reeeeeally long naps for awhile there.
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[Sep. 19th, 2008|05:51 pm]
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Hello, beautiful people of Oz! I'm excited to announce that the Anonymous Author has been quite busy this month! I bring you another batch of stories, and this one has a few special pieces!

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall )

And this next piece is worthy of it's own introduction, I think. A veritable smorgasbord of fun and patriotism!

The Eagle has Landed )

And one last one... This is quite a departure from the Anonymous Author's usual style, but I think you'll enjoy it! Send the kiddies to bed!

Kiss and Make Up -- Not visible to anyone under 17 )

I hope you've enjoyed! As always, I will pass along any and all feedback. The Anonymous Author loves hearing from fans!
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[Sep. 11th, 2008|03:36 pm]

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I'm bored.

Who's for a good old-fashioned kidnapping?
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It's time to listen, folks ... [Sep. 9th, 2008|05:16 pm]

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Because your benevolent, truthy Lord and Master is here, and boy, am I pissed.

The topic for today: Questions.

I don't like 'em. They're ungainly pimples on the rear end of Democracy. You go right ahead and pop one of those suckers, and all you get is some unspeakable gunk on your hands. They undermine the foundations of Liberty and National Security, and answers only lead one way-- down the Road of Impeachment, my friends. Questions got Goldilocks and the Three Bears into small claims court, and you already know how I feel about bears.

The only good questions, in my opinion-- and we all know that's the only one that matters-- are my questions. Those questions are the only questions in your lives worth answering, and do I have a doozy for you all right now:

What the red London bus-humping fuck is going on?
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