I signed up for three. Sorry I didn’t post mote.
Bill scratched his slightly balding and extremely dandruffy scalp, and asked the miniature mutant mutt:
“Is that the best you can do Baby-girl? I said let me see your WAR face!”
Brother Bill called upon Reverend Clank @davide405 , for help firing up his Lincoln Continental pizza oven (kids always get an adults help when using the oven).
Under the Reverends watchful eye and with his expert tutelage, Brother Bill whipped up some most excellent personal pizza pies. Using his secret weapon ingredients he made:
Garlic Spam Pizza: Eat this before the mission to provide yourselves with a personal protection bubble of flatulence and bad breath!
Chocolate Ex-Lax Pizza: Eat this if you run out of fuel from over use of your flame thrower…
Bill packed the secret weapons into some old school novelty lunch boxes:
and stealthily placed one on each of the drivers seats of the volunteer Vampire hunters on Mission 3.
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~ shivers ~
Reminds me of my stay in Shengzen. Bloody hell.
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(( ooc:
I agree with Junior’s @funruly analysis, so mission 1 is my choice for round 6. Sorry for the late posting and general scarceness.
))
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Hi Everyone,
I apologize for the extreme delay here. It’s unconscionable, and you’ve been very kind and patient. I got a new job on a TV pilot before my current job is finished, and even though the new paychecks don’t start until April, the meetings and phone calls and memos have already proliferated. But I feel my responsibility to you all most keenly, so just bear with me as we start chugging our way down the home stretch to Edwards.
I promise you, the Ark will get there before April Fool’s Day. Thank you for still caring whether it does.
Now: to business. I know I said this particular bit would be in a PM, but I’m gonna put it out here just so you all can see we’re still a going concern.
Oi. You with the purple paintjob and the dead wankers hanging off your boot lid. I have a proposition for you. Yeah, you @daneel. You’ve been around long enough to know the value of high-speed driving. Fact is, all the firepower in the world won’t keep you alive if you can’t get out of your own way. Now, that Italian eggplant of yours is a hell of a looker, and I can see you’ve upgraded its firepower to a fare-thee-well, but it’s a bit of a slug when you put your foot in it.
Don’t get offended. I like your ride. I like it so much, I want it for myself. And I could just take it if I wanted to. But I don’t play that way. I propose a race. You and me, driver against driver. And I don’t propose you drive in that plum-sack of yours, 'cause I’ve been watching you these last few days, and though I admire your skills, that Iso just runs out of breath in the backstretch. It’s nice for beachfront cruises, but to be honest, you’re lucky you haven’t been caught up by the Pale Horse. Yet.
But take a look around here. You’re on the old Warner Bros studio lot. I used to work here, every now and then. Some other people you know did as well. One of them was a particularly high-profile presence here before he struck out on his own. He had money, and women, and every material thing he could ever want, but it was never enough for him. He’s dead now, and most of his assets are long since scattered to the winds, but a couple of his personal vehicles still survive. See that building over there?
His old office. He used to park right in front of it, red curb or no red curb. And that was not a subtle ride, either. He drove it for decades. I hear he died in it, eventually.
But he had a spare. A red one, kind of a prototype. And it’s parked behind that building. It’s fast enough for you. Among other things. If you’re up to it.
But maybe you feel like something a bit more… muscular. Something with a different sort of attitude… and a very different skillset.
Right over here is another building you may or may not recognize.
Amazing how nice it still looks. Guy that used to work out of that building was powerful, made a lot of enemies. And he liked to keep trophies, too. One particularly intriguing trophy is kept inside the garage to the left. It’s neither tasteful nor subtle nor particularly attractive. In fact, “garish” doesn’t begin to go far enough to describe it. It’s not even quite as fast as that other car I described. But there’s one thing it can do that the other cannot. One thing… that could save your life, under the right circumstances.
So… what’s it gonna be, De’Ath? Will you race me down Ventura Blvd to Van Nuys Blvd and back? Will you do it in the car inside this building:
Or the one inside this building:
Oh, what are the stakes? Glad you asked, mate. You win, you can drive away in your new car, or your old one, or even mine. Winner’s choice.
And if I win, you walk home. No, scratch that. I’m not that kind of arsehole.
I’ll let you drive away in this one:
I’m ready when you are, chum.
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Haha! What a … ah, perhaps I’d better keep the old trap shut …
I refer you to the reply given in the case of Arkell v. Pressdram.
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Yes, that’s the spirit! Old Cookie’d be so proud!
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Tach it up.
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Burn up that quarter mile.
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The brakes are good, tires fair.
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Tony Schumacher was in Pomona recently.
Talk to him about “The Sarge”.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9f/Flickr_-_The_U.S.Army-Tony%22the_Sarge%22_Schumacher_for_Army_Drag_Racing.jpg
Never bring a knife to a gun fight.
April Fool’s day, eh? Ha. Never a day I forgot. Dance on my own every time it comes around! Fantastic bloody coincidence - nothing like coincidences for letting you know everything is just bloody right set in the right bloody place!
What’s you 0-60, (@Donald_Petersen)? Things are a little quiet round the campsite at the mo. What’s everyone sodding doing?!
Bill had been taking a nap in the cab of his truck, his dirty old cowboy boots hanging out his drivers door’s window. But with all of the Major’s commotion he stopped snoring and woke up.
The old Ford’s door opened with a rusty creak and the old mechanic stepped into the bright afternoon sun. He stretched and cracked his back, making a sound louder than the rusty door.
Looking around the camp, Bill couldn’t help notice that most of the drivers had lashed themselves to the Ark and put their rides on autopilot, but the Major was wide awake and itching to find some action.
“Hey there Joe, I know where we might find some fun.” Bill said to the Major, “If you can drive fast enough, and if I ride shotgun, we maybe able to find ourselves a little adventure, while these other fellers are napping.”
The Major didn’t say nothing, he just nodded silently, so Bill jumped into the passenger seat next to him. “Let’s head on down to L.A. River, and see what we can find.” And with that the two telepathic drivers left camp, leaving a plume of dust behind them.
Once Bill and Joe made it to the river, The Major went into stealth mode. Downshifting into low gear he deftly drove alone the edge of the concrete canyon, creeping along almost silently only the crunch of gravel under tire could be heard!
“There!” Bill whispered hoarsely, and pointed down stream at two super mutants that lived under the bridge at First Street and Santa Fe Avenue. A fortified camp had been constructed, the super mutants had erected a lean-to of aluminum siding, had several 50 gallon drums for fire braziers, and a pyramid of stacked large metal dog crates, all surrounded by a wall of used car tires.
“Look at the cages.” Bill whispered again, and the Major did, children were inside the cages, boys and girls of all ages. “That’s whats on the menu, my friend. You wanted some action, here it is. What are we going to do about it?”
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A crease, then a frown, then an expressian of explosive fury swept across Joseph’s face as he saw the awfulness of their plight. All’s fair in war and bloody love, but anyone who doesn’t leave the kids out of it - they had better call The Priest, because the Major despatched them to meet an eternal welcoming party they hadn’t relied on.
Calm professionalism and stoicism settled onto his demeanour, and as he exchanged glances with Bill, Perky’s engine throbbed quietly.
“Perhaps,” he thought, “a little use can be made of a career in the armed services”.
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Your funeral, mate.
You missed out on a couple of opportunities here. The guy that worked out of here?
Not much of a car guy,as you can see here:
But one of the things he acquired during his long, sordid career was a trophy he prized over everything else. The symbol of the defeat and eventual ruin of his family’s greatest rivals for three generations back in his home town. None of those ancient politics mean anything to any of us anymore. But what it comes down to is this: inside his garage is a very fast car… that can fly.
Wouldn’t that have been a sweet ride? Aw, no matter. Still wouldn’t have been fast enough to beat me.
And how about the other one? Remember the guy who kept his office in here?
Here he is parked in front of it, back when he was young and full of promise.
Yeah. You’ve seen that car before, squashed flat back in Huntington’s Bitch. Did you know another one existed? This was the prototype, in fact. Lots of tricksy bells and whistles in this one. And runs faster than just about anything out there. Faster than me? Hmm. Would have been fun to find out.
Now you better get that grape popsicle of yours in gear. I know your FP is high, but it looks to me like most of your guns are facing forward… and you have me behind you. With SP of 85. MV of 75. FP of 90. AR of…
Well, I’ll just give you a ten-second head start. Let’s see if your friends can keep up to help you.
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Haven’t you got a beaver you should be whispering to?
After you, sweetheart. I’m in no hurry. You aren’t imagining I’m indulging you in your infantile race, are you?
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