Sunday, November 14, 2010

Ghostbusting Dinosaur Breeders

For whatever reason today I remembered some of the old games I used to play with my toys as a child. I never had complete sets of action figures, vehicles, or play sets. So, like any child, I used the power of my imagination to combine them all into one giant mind-fuckery of a production on the floor of my bedroom.
One such scenario involved Egon Spangler and GI Joe, respectively, over-seeing their new dinosaur park, complete with an incredibly uncontrollable and terrifyingly aggressive T-Rex. They sat comfortably in their Ecto-1, perched atop a precarious ledge overlooking the park, which was comprised of small trees and electrified Lego fences. "This park will make us a lot of money," said Egon. "Indeed. All of the money, Egon, all of the money," replied GI Joe, patting Egon on the shoulder. They finished off their Ghostbuster micro-brews and decided to head to the office, for there was still much work to do. Unwittingly, Egon put the car in drive, not reverse, and they plunged off the cliff into the middle of dinosaur country.

"Oh shit! Are you okay, Egon?!" Joe cried as he rolled out from under the smashed car. "I'm fine, also I'm a doctor or something so I'm pretty sure nothing's broken," Egon snapped back, surveying the situation. It was dark and quiet, not a soul in sight. "The radio's smashed, how are we going to signal for help?" Whined Joe, his manly bravado slowly sinking into his newly forming vagina. (Keep in mind that this plot hole is made possible by the fact that cell phones hadn't been invented yet.) "Calm down, Joey, we can figure this out. I'm a parapsychologist, you're a soldier, who for whatever reason have co-ownership of a dinosaur park. There's no reason for us to panic." Just as he finished, a loud roar bellowed from across the park, shaking the plastic trees. Would they make it out alive? Of course not, I was a sadistic little shit and both were mauled horribly and in great agony died pointless, gruesome deaths. The fucking end.

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