The Snow Arena

[jojo man]

But the Canuck was too fast: He grabbed the snowball mid air and threw it back at jojo, knocking out all his teeth.

 

He then proceeded to beat the tar out of jojo.

 

He took off jojo's jacket and threw it to stephanie, because as much as Marcus likes girls with nothing but their skirts on, he knew the poor girl would freeze to death if she didn't put a top on.

Jacket? What jacket? This is what i'm dressed in...http://www.bungie.net/Forums/skins/default/avatars/h3chief_strut.gif!!! Little did marcus realize that jojo was not who he did battle with! Marcus was pummeling an illusion of the real jojo's creation. Meanwhile the real jojo_man was watching from the sidelines, enjoying the spectecale and his ill-begotten bannana split...

[IndorilTheGreat]

(I am sick also! Flu or something my little germ-carrier daughter brought home)

 

 

 

The Goddess glared at him.

 

"You threw Spam and slushballs at me...YOU got my hair WET!" She hissed...."DO you have ANY idea how long this takes to dry?"

 

"Never let it be said I am not generous and forgiving. However if I feed you I will expect a favor of my asking in return.."

 

The Goddess smiles a little smile....

 

"What will it be Child? Honey Baked Spam, Honey and Peanut Butter or a honey snow cone?"

 

"What will the favor be?" gman asks. "Your eternal servant? A rag doll for you to throw around? What?"

[Lisnpuppy]

(I am sick also! Flu or something my little germ-carrier daughter brought home)

 

 

 

The Goddess glared at him.

 

"You threw Spam and slushballs at me...YOU got my hair WET!" She hissed...."DO you have ANY idea how long this takes to dry?"

 

"Never let it be said I am not generous and forgiving. However if I feed you I will expect a favor of my asking in return.."

 

The Goddess smiles a little smile....

 

"What will it be Child? Honey Baked Spam, Honey and Peanut Butter or a honey snow cone?"

 

"What will the favor be?" gman asks. "Your eternal servant? A rag doll for you to throw around? What?"

 

 

 

The Goddess smiled again, this time bearing her teeth at Gman.

 

"Favor and food...or....." And suddenly appearing in her hand was the scariest snow ball Gman had ever seen...

[IndorilTheGreat]

"Tell me what the favor will be first," gman says.

[Lisnpuppy]

<fwomp>

 

As the Goddess dissovled into nothingness, Gman felt the the numbing cold of the scariest snowball. And as he spat out snow, twigs, crunchy bits, spam, more snow and honey he heard her glorious laughter...

[Chesto]

...meanwhile on the burning paper moon...

 

The intoxicating scents of various foodstuffs... and wimmin... fillled the Old One's nose, which began to expand in direct proportion to the quantity and quality of the scents perceived by that voracious organ. Very soon, the olfactory conk was fully one third the size of the pint sized Shaman. This would have serious consequences vis a vis the Old One's optimal balancing skills, should it continue.

 

But there was a more immediate, and life threatening danger facing him. His paper moon was being eaten up by the growing conflagration. Soon, he would have nowhere to REST his growing hooter, let alone practice manovering...maneuovering....maneuv...moving it around.

 

Fortunately, the luscious scents had another, life saving, as it turned out, effect : the Old One's mouth began to water.

 

A growing meniscus of spit built up behind the quivering dam of his bottom lip. Then...

 

... the drool overflowed...

 

... and quenched the flames that were even then eating up the last of his fragile satelite. Now all that assailed the Old One was the foul smell of sodden burnt paper. His nose responded, correspondingly. And returned to its usual size...your basic D gauge, Mark VIII Shaman, First Class, nose.

 

Immediate immolation passed, the Old One gazed down at the activities below him. And shook his shaking head at what he saw...

 

'Oh my, oh me', he chanted, resignedly. And did a little salt shoe shuffle, a la Bojangles. This, he thought, is what happens when wimmin get involved in the manly arts of death and destruction. Someone always ends up cringing.

 

'I didn't get to where I am today by having anything to do with martial wimmin.', he expostulated.

 

This two meter circumference disk of paper was looking pretty good to him now. And it would remain safe as long as he didn't indulge in any more Shaman Naughty Words.

 

No way was he going down there to mix it with...

 

...'THEM'.

[Lisnpuppy]

As the Goddess dissolved she felt something..sticky....all over her hand!

 

<hmmm>

 

To no one in particular the Goddess spoke.

 

"I need a paper towel."

[Chesto]

' Eeeuuugh ', remonstrated the Old One, now practicing the Pas De Deux from Swan Lake. A difficult manuv... set of moves considering the constricted space....

 

If I had wanted graphic, he thought, I would have renewed my subscription to ' Fritz the Cat ' .

[Lisnpuppy]

The Goddess looked around and grabbed a handful of snow, washing away the worst of the stickiness from the scary snowball she had thrown at an infidel.

 

"hmmm....wet now...where..?"

 

A movement from above caught her attention. On a floating paper moon she saw an Old One dancing..something...Swan Lake maybe? Goddess wasn't sure since ballet wasn't really her thing. However as beautifully as the Old One seemed to be dancing, under the circumstances, it was what he was dancing ON which gardered her forcus.

 

The Goddess reached her hand and gently began pulling the paper moon down toward the insanity of which the Old One wanted none.

[Chesto]

The light bulb came on in the Old One's head, en-lightening all the dusty crannies ... and possibly... nooks , that existed therein! Not very much... because it was a fridge light bulb... the only wattage that the Old One's brain could produce on such short notice...

 

'Oh foolish followers of fashionable fudge! Oh you Heroes and Royal Goddess...ess of Spam and other mass produced mechanically retrieved meat products!', the Old One gurned. 'Can you not see!? As I, Shaman of the Remnant of the Paper Moon, doth see...th!?'.

 

'While you have been battling amongst yourselves over luncheon meats, jars of bee spit, trifles ... Pavlovas...deep fried Mars Bars... and other high cholesterol puddings... you have failed to see the REAL danger! Only I , Shaman of ... er ... yes... think we've established that already.... The REAL DANGER BEING...

 

THE BANANANA SPLIT REPLICANT! ... with extra NA!

 

Sure... it had been innocently introduced as a satisfying frozen fruity snack by Doomjockey The Poke-Man. Or had it !? Been!? Innocent !? Ly!? Introduced !?

 

How many times has the Bananana Split Replicant... with extra na... appeared amongst you!? What dastardly and nefarious plots and strategems...ga...was it pl...anning !? And still you do not see your peril! It must be I , Shaman etc., etc, ... who saves the day... or at least... the late afternoon !'

 

With that, the Old One began to chant some of the John Denver back catalogue.

 

And, finally, with a moan of '... country roaoaoaoaoads ', THE METAMORPHOSIS, that would save the sorry hides of all those benighted combabants, some of whom were very obnoxious to the Old One's Old Fashioned Way of Thinking, though allowances must be made, sometimes, afterall they're only young and callow, and many of them are American, so what the hey do you expect, however , really, that was no excuse for the disrespect and general aura of violence and stickyness which covered everything, and who's going to clean all this up, not me , that's for sure...

 

began...