Badass Dragons of the Wasteland - Round Five Results

actually, that was Roland .

(OOC – the person who made the video clearly completely missed the point of Warren’s song. Which only adds to the Irony 8)

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You know, I used to know a guy a lot like that. Had a nice dog for the most part. Not a bad man, per se, but good luck to you if you ever crossed him. All you had to know was to do the right thing from the get go and don’t try to doublecross him. Or, if you do, have a shedload of firepower on your side and a boot on his neck…

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Hey, Junior (@funruly). We still playing cards?

Perhaps we should change the game to three-card brag, owing to my current…indisposition.

There’s a few things to be aware about yon mad chappie; firstly, I’d heard that his moniker formerly referred to his angry disposition, whereas nowadays it’s more about his mental stability.

On top of that, he has demonstrated repeatedly that he has a certain animosity towards all things English; I gather he’s got a slightly jaundiced view of historical events that apparently upset him somewhat. The Major and I may be well advised to avoid his attention.

The other thing is that apparently he isn’t too welcoming to those of different faiths, so perhaps our Brothers Mechanical may want to also stay out of his way.

And then there’s his famous contretemps with Bubba.

In fact, I guess everyone should stay out of his way.

Luckily (and Junior may remember this, since they go way back, apparently - more drama) -

he has a certain weakness that we may be able to exploit.

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“what are you looking at, Sugar tits?”

“I own this town”

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…and for those of you that are still under the delusion that we’re going to Mars

This book provides a helpful checklist.

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Piffle. Childish science fiction obviously aimed at kids who don’t believe aircraft carriers can fly or that the restless dead walk the earth.

Of course we can live on Mars.

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Trusssst you?

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~Bill:mood = bloodied~

Bill pulled back into camp, his bloody stumps bleeding all over his steering wheel. The adrenalin stopped pumping as soon as he got his gear shift in park!

“By The Craftsman’s creation call me crazy for trying to be an escort!”

Bill mumbled to himself, as he looked at the bloody stump’s of his fingers and flashed back to the the action:

Bill and Baby-girl rode with the convoy on mission #1. Bill had to keep his foot to the floor to even keep the Escort, Scout and Mule in sight!

When he finally caught up to the fray his faster comrades had already blasted a hole straight into the zombie mass! Baby-girl was whining incessantly, and poor Bill had already had all the shit scared out of him he couldn’t give a crap anymore!

He plowed into into the mass of putrid walking flesh, the decaying zombies twisted and turned, bodies flailing as they bounced off of Bill’s fenders. Heads slide to the drivers side of his windshield, teeth gnashed and fists broke out his driver’s door’s window!

Bill shoved the first hungry beast back outside of his vehicle with a face palm and had no problem, however on his second attempt one of the more decayed zombies munched down on his hand, and Bill lost his ring and pinky finger in one single bite!

“ACK! Baby-girl look out!”

Bill yelled incoherently as he quickly pushed his miniature mutant mutt off of the trucks bench seat and onto the trucks floorboards, just before a Zombie smashed through his passenger side window.

The Zombie was half inside and half outside of the truck, and Bill swerved almost out of control, the old Ford F-250 jerking up and down violently as 100’s of Zombies were overrun!

Bill punched the Zombie in the face! He punched it again and again but the Zombie was unfazed, his teeth still gnashing, arms flailing as he attempted to crawl further inside the trucks cab. Bill Punched the ghoul again and again and again until, the damned monster chomped into his fist!

Bill yanked with all his might but he couldn’t get free, he swerved right and left, desperately trying to stay in control on his truck! He saw Rideword making a right turn onto the next street, and Bill cut it sharp!

The ancient Ford tow-truck jumped the curb, ran over a Stop sign, and clipped the corner of a dilapidated Dollar store! The famine stricken demon in his window was scrapped from the side of Bills vehicle like a miracle!

His fist popped free from the radioactive mummy’s mouth and with it a finger flipped into the air in the cabin, and Bill almost lost control and wrecked the wrecker again as he desperately tried to catch the finger as it fell in slow motion!

“CHOMP!”

Baby-girl gobbled Bill’s last lost digit up as soon as it hit the passenger side floor boards… Immediately after which the loveable little pooch farted, and Bill knew her mutant digestion had already kicked in and there was no hope of getting that finger back either…

“It’s okay Baby-girl, if our old buddy Roland Deschain made it through the wasteland after the Lobstrosities took his fingers, some how we will make too…”

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What the hell?

Hold it, hold it. Slow down. I’m feeling a little like an outsider here.

Somebody, I don’t care who, anybody, tell me what’s going on.

Oh, yeah, that’s right. He always did have a habit of forcing his fellow Bronze into…early retirement.

Old Junior Burton doesn’t step down from his challenges. Though we need someone impartial to deal so we can divvy up these plates.

As for three-card brag, I don’t know it all that well, but I do know it wouldn’t be right for us to play without opening up the game up to the Major and Sir Lemmy, on account of it being a part of your collective heritage and all. But there will be plenty of time to pass on the Ark.

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~Clank: mood = serving the Craftsman~

~Without making a fuss about it, or explaining it in any way, Clank sets about converting the passenger compartment of the hulk of a mid-60’s Lincoln Continental…~

~…into a HUGE pizza oven by welding a flat sheet in place over the open top and rigging some shelves where the seats used to be. The acting leader of the UAW looks almost surreal, since he seems to have taken a fondness to the attire he donned for the last mission.~
http://cdck-file-uploads-global.s3.dualstack.us-west-2.amazonaws.com/boingboing/original/2X/d/da0744982f8ee9c678080edfba90f42f11b87575.png

~The old Lincoln is hitched to the back of the crawler, its not inconsiderable mass still being such a tiny marginal increase to the load on the Mule train that only those who actually see it happen take any notice.
Setting a nice fire in both the engine compartment and the trunk (that’s “boot” to the Brits) to preheat the thing, the mechanic begins to prepare a mountain of pizza dough. It’s as if he’s making ready for a feast of some sort, but he makes no mention of the occasion or the intended guests.~

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Wow, that’s a lotta custom work, and you’ve got the wood-fires going well.

But wouldn’t it been easier just to grab a pre-made slicetruck?

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Bloody hell! That symbol - that logo - it … it … nnnh …

~ pause, with baited breath ~

… hhh … reminds me of something! I … just … can’t … place it!

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If you google “six” this image comes up.

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~Bill: mood = possessed by The Craftsman~

As the Drivers to Mars all gathered at Clanks impromptu pizza party, Bill quietly aligned the front of his Ford with Clanks Dodge. Clank and Bill silently slipped away from the party, behind the ancient van.

After a few minutes had passed Clank and Bill emerged from behind the van transformed. Their old oil stained work jackets, jeans and sexy lingerie discarded, and replaced with new matching Craftsman pit crew fire suits:

Clank walked intentionally slowly ahead of Bill, he held his copy of the Whole Chilton manual in his left hand, and the Sacred Spanner in his right. Bill pushed a Craftsman tool cart behind him, with a mysterious object that had been obscured with shop rags on top of it.

Suddenly and without explanation, the high-beam headlights on both Bill and Clanks vehicles mysterious switched on, illuminating the two Mechanics and the red tool cart brightly! Clank whispered to Bill and then stepped aside as Bill quietly popped both vehicles engine compartment releases.

Clank theatrically whipped the shop rags covering the mysterious object away to reveal: the severed cranium of the droid formally known as Stretch 1.0! Bill attached two sets of jumper cables to either ear on the inanimate head. He attached one set of cables to his ride, and one to his mentor’s.

Clank spoke the words from his Chilton manual:

“Maintenance and specification tables that provide the unique data you need for each specific vehicle.”

“Step-by-step service and repair procedures supported by close-up graphics which give you the ability to determine your next move with expertise and confidence.”

“Vacuum diagrams to simplify troubleshooting.”

“Wiring Diagrams to help explain system operation.”

“Close-up photographs and illustrations for visual support.”

“Ayup!”

The headlights on the two Mechanics vehicles dimmed, and the engines sputtered as electricity flowed into that despicable droids head. Stretch 1.0 reanimated, sparks puking from it’s mouth! A thousand digital voices cursed the UAW Mechanics, and they cursed the Drivers to Mars too!

Bill raised his Whole Screwdriver of St Philips above his head in a double fisted grip (well at least as best as a 7 fingered man could manage to make a fist :stuck_out_tongue: ) , and he said:

“By the will of The Craftsman let these repairs finally be completed!”

As he violently impaled his screwdriver into the leftmost (sinister) eye socket of the mechanized robo-servant and impersonator of the UAW’s Mechanical Arts!

After that act a blinding burst of light occurred, nearly burning out all of the Drivers to Mars’s cornea’s, what happened next only The Craftsman could explain!

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And lo, thus spake The Craftsman, through His dented and somewhat oxidized mouthpiece, the Head of Stretch:

“Contents: Car Section: Ambassador - 815. AMX - 815. Barracuda - 857. Buick - 1. Buick Special - 39. Cadillac - 70. Cadillac Eldorado - 100. Camaro - 131. Capri - 676. Challenger - 857. Chevelle - 131. Chevrolet - 179. Chevy II - 131…”

On and on the Head rambled, picking up speed and volume until it became impossible to decipher or ignore:

“Imperial229Jaguar433Javelin815Jeep570LincolnContinental567MarkIII567Maverick370Mercury643…”

Faster and louder the litany went on, until it became an earsplitting ultrasonic screech that knocked all the Drivers senseless.

An hour later, the Head ceased its broadcast. And the Craftsman spake:

It is done.

Upon regaining what semblance of consciousness they had before, our stalwart Mechanics (as well as the new Stretch-bot) find themselves in possession of the entirety of the Lore and Technical Knowledge formerly locked inside Stretch’s Head. To them, it is most conveniently visualized thus:

Domestic vehicles, European vehicles, Asian vehicles… they now know how to fix them all to 100%.

May they use this knowledge wisely, for their RPs remain numbered.

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Not Australian vehicles?

Guess Max there is S.O.L.

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~Clank: mood = celebratory~

In the name o’ the Craftsman, let us break a ShitGo load o’ 'za together!

~Clank turns and offers the first, most excellent 'za to Brother Bill @webiii1976 ~

Brother Bill, will you be executin’ the duties ‘o your Whole office in slicin’ this here up and passin’ it 'round?

~Clank keeps the pizza coming, scooping it out of the converted Lincoln as fast as it can be passed around, hot as hell and as fresh as Chelsea’s indiscretion will possibly allow.~

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Hiya Folks,

Things are starting to happen again.