D Sterling and his skank

[mvscal]

I'm curious as well.

Oh, by the way, funny is funny. Jay, you aren't funny.

[Moving Sale]

That's because you are an idiotic POS just like puptent.

[Smackie Chan]

puptent

OK, I admit it. I laffed.

[Waynegro]

Lifetime ban from the NBA

That's going to be a long six months, folks.

[Jay in Phoenix]

Mvscal submits his name and password, sits back and cracks his knuckes. "Goddam Moving Sale, fucking midget guessed my password, now I have to change it to something clever...hmm. He'll never guess this."

type type type

LOGIN: mvscal / Password: NIQQER

type type type

He clicks submit.

I'm curious as well. Oh, by the way, funny is funny. Jay, you aren't funny.

Mvscal: "Ha! That'll show that idiot Jay. Goober told him he wasn't funny, I just carved it in stone. Now, to watch him cry like a little bitch."

He sits back with satisfaction, smug and grinning, waiting for the numerous RACKS that are sure to follow. In the background, there is a light "ping" and the screen wavers. Mvscal suddenly feeling light headed, rubs his eyes, blinks, rubs them again and opens them. His little Nebraska room, desk and computer are gone, replaced by a muggy, green countryside. It is pouring rain.

Mvscal: "The fuck?"

England, early 1300's.

Mvscal finds himself in the middle of a pasture. In the distance lies a crumbling castle. He is dressed in a knights tunic and armor, his feet mired in a cow pie. He wipes rainwater from his eyes, wrinkling his nose at the stench wafting from his boots. Next to him, a jester dressed in a black and silver motley stands, wearing a harlequin mask, holding a puppet head on a stick. His head is adorned in a multi-pointed jesters cap, festooned with silver bells. The jester is bone dry.

Sir Mvscal shakes his head, whipping rain drops like a dog fresh from a bath. "What great sodding bollocks is this? Where in a tawdry tarts tits am I?"

Jester: "England, early 1300's."

Sir Mvscal: "How do you know that fool?"

Jester: "Narrator said so. Can't you bloody read?"

Sir Mvscal: "Right right. Yet I hail from Nebraska! By what witches magics do I find myself here, speaking in a sodding English accent?"

Jester: "Mayhap good sir knight, thou hast taken of too much mulled wine, stomped by wenches of spoiled grape."

Sir Mvscal: "Mayhap you speak true fool...or mayhap this is but a dream."

The jester reaches into the folds of his motley and sprinkles glitter into the air. There is a twinkling sound not unlike the laughter of a sprite.

Sir Mvscal: "What are you doing fool, bewitching me with a spell...how is there the mocking titter of fairies...oh wait." He spies the jester's cap, the bells still ringing from his silent giggle. "Not amusing fool, perhaps I should slice thee in twain with the edge of my blade." He draws a sword from his scabbard but the blade falls limp, like a rubber prop.

Jester: "Hmm, seems a bit metaphoric, innit?"

The puppet speaks: "Bollocks, his blade droops like a poofters wrist. Met-a-foric indeed!"

Sir Mvscal flings the traitorous blade aside, scowling at the fool. "And how in a tossers sauce are you staying dry fool? 'Tis a deluge pouring down upon us?"

Jester: "Puppet stick."

The knight, growing frustrated scowls at the fool. For the first time he notices the face of the puppet seems oddly familiar. "Fucks sake, it makes no sense, 'tis nay a parasol, just a damnable puppet...on a stick. And why in sodding hell am I still standing in cow dung?!"

Jester: "Narrators choice."

The knight pulls his boots from the muck with a wet plop and moves closer to the jester. He peers closer at the puppet.

Sir Mvscal: "I know that face. What ho, wait one damnable moment..."

He rips the mask off the fool and gasps. The jester is grinning broadly, his countenance familiar and mocking. "Martyred..? What be you doing here?"

Jester: "You're dreaming dummy. And I'm not Marty, I ain't Jewish." The fool rips off the Martyred mask, revealing a face as black as coal.

Sir Mvscal: "No!!! Bloody fucking hell fire, a god damn niqqer!"

Jester: "Knickers, I'm not wearing knickers. This is a fools motley, not some silly knee pants."

Sir Mvscal: "No damn it! A niqqer! You're a fucking Moor!"

Jester: "Ahh, makes bloody sense now, don' it? You just can't say the two gg's, so you have to use two qq's. That must twist your 'niqqers' something fierce."

Sir Mvscal: "AHHHHHH!!! Enough of the heinous fuckery! 'Tis most foul and egregious!"

And so, the confused knight attacks the jester, smacking his face with a dripping gauntlet. Black greasepaint streaks the gloves finger tips, leaving three white stripes on the jesters skin.

Sir Mvscal: "You're white? 'Tis but makeup?" The racist knight espies something even stranger, as the sky itself seems to hang like a ripped drape. He reaches up and pulls, and the entire scene, sky, grass, castle, fool and cow poop all tear away, leaving mvscal holding a large, wet painted cloth. He finds himself standing in a white limbo. Stunned, he stumbles forward a few steps and his face plows into an invisible wall. "Fuck!" he curses. He trips backwards another few feet to the left, and smacks into another invisible wall. "Alright, alright, what the fuck is going on? Who the hell is fucking with me?"

A large pencil appears to his right, rubber eraser jamming into his body. It erases his form, just leaving his head in place. The pencil redraws his body, creating the physique of a black, cartoon duck. It draws a yellow bill on his face. A mirror snaps down on a rope, showing him his new appearance. For all intents and purposes, he looks like Daffy Duck. "Oh very funny, ha ha, it is to laugh." He scowls. "Now I'm a niqqer duck."

RACIST! Booms the voice of the narrator.

A gun barrel appears stage left, stopping in front of mvsducks' head. There is a loud, hollow 'BANG' and his head is reduced to the size of a burnt matchstick. His beak is on backwards. He sighs..."You're...dith-picable!"

The pencil moves in and erases him again, redrawing him as a cartoon grotesque of Stepin Fetchit.

Narrator: "The cycle is complete. The end."

The scene pulls back, revealing an artists sketchpad on an easel. A gray rabbit sits with his back turned, his whiskers twitching in mirth. He turns around coyly.

Bugs Bunnjay: "Eh, ain't I a stinkah!"



End scene 3.

Coda

Mvscal stares blankly at his computer screen. "You're still not funny Jay."

[Dinsdale]

On an NBA side note, a screen shot of the Rockets' Wikipedia page from last night. RACK the joker.

[Smackie Chan]

RACK the joker.

Bwa!

[Moving Sale]

2 Billion?

Is there anyway the old man, the dragon lady and the skank cooked this whole thing up?

If so it's working...

[Screw_Michigan]

the dragon lady