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[Buddy Buddy Buds Buds]
by Manatee As NBC scrambled to prepare for the aftermath of the titanic Friends’ last hurrah, the DORK Club gained power. Its forums’ denizens numbered in the millions, requiring a mega-server all their own simply to stay afloat. There was a streaming media server, as well, for Vector_Black’s mind-blowing multi-media presentations. The mega-corporation’s internet presence had more unique hits in a day than the fox network had viewers in a week. How? Well a deal with the Devil had most certainly been involved. Travis “Wedge” Fiffyfive was no longer recognized by automatic doors in convenience or grocery stores, nor would his breath fog glass, but he said that it was worth it. And he was right. NBC needed a sitcom to replace its smash hit. DORK Club had resources and the guy with the goatee behind it. They struck a deal. DORK Club got complete creative freedom in exchange for naming the main character Johnny Peacock, and subliminally inserting the network’s bird flavored logo into three out of a thousand frames. So long as they kept their ratings up. And oh, would they keep the ratings up. America wanted a new Friends as bad as NBC. America would have watched anything that took over that time slot. Even if it had been smart, which the DORK Club’s new show certainly wasn’t. This is how inoffensive it was: There was an equal number of men and women, representing each race, major religion, and sexual orientation. But only the white Christians got real time to discuss anything even vaguely serious. Mostly they made cock jokes that wouldn’t hurt the feelings of the lesser endowed members of the audience, and showed women’s breasts except for the nipples, which were covered by shoes and tea cups and tassels and sandwiches and hoagies and grinders. Large black women sometimes shouted at smaller black women. But never white women. And they bought cars. And whitened their teeth. And they bought pants. Khaki pants. Blue jean pants. The show appeared to be broadcast in nostalgic black and white. Those with sharp eyes, however, would notice after only five or six episodes that it was in full color--but all its full colors had been so ridiculously washed out as to seem shades of gray. The show was called Buds. The beer might have had something to do with that, and it might not. Everyone watched Buds. Buds made it through two and a half seasons before everything went wrong. Johnny Peacock was just about to walk in on two of his best buds, Jaquima and Carlos, “doin’ the nasty,” when a little red creature with arms like scythes and a mouth like a graveyard burst out of his chest. Blood everywhere. As Johnny Peacock fell to his knees before it, the monster revealed its giant penis, which it forced down Johnny’s throat as he bled to death, and his guts fell out of his body. The walls turned bright red. Pulsated and swirled. The monster then went into the next room and cut off Carlos’ head. He cut of Jaquima’s head. He put Carlos’ head on Jaquima’s body, and it screamed and screamed as the monster brutally raped Jaquima’s body. This sort of madness went on for the remaining twenty minutes of the episode, except during the commercial breaks. For Pizza Hut. For Glad bags. For pickles. For Coke. Dr. Pepper. Pepsi. Vanilla Dr. Pepsi. Viagra. Chiclets. And everyone watched Buds. Some people died of heart attacks at the instant the creature (who would, in later episodes of Buds, refer to himself as Fishgun). Others claimed to have been blinded, but their pupils’ dilations confirmed their eyes were working just fine. Everyone reacted somehow. Everyone kept watching, week after week, as Fishgun had horrible adventures in depravity. It was a horror house full of shit. And he carried with him Johnny Peacock’s severed head, to protect from NBC’s legal spirits. Everyone watched buds. Even the commercials. Vlasic pickles. Glad bags. Disposable diapers. Fried chicken. Cheese sticks. Chiclets. |
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