After the Shadow Proclamation took custody of the Terrible Zodin from us, and ratified its articles to include, unfortunately, that the use of custard in battle would now be considered a war crime (though I still stand by my statement in my last entry that custard, in and of itself was used as a last resort and the residents of Clom could never have survived had we NOT covered the planet with the stuff), we were sent on our way.
To try to console Skippy in regards to the revelation of his true origins, Tristan did what Tristan did best: distraction through debauchery.
The two of them took Tristan's capsule...SOMEWHERE... but the damage cause to his navigation systems in the battle with Zodin's minions made actually determining WHERE and WHEN they were going completely impossible.
Tristan's TTC materialized on a world he'd never encountered before. It was a barren world. An orange sky blazed overhead and there was little sound save for the wind...
And faint voices in the distance...
"I am...the Doctor...Can you...Help me get...a TARDIS..."
Panic began to set in.
Tristan and Skippy immediately ran back into the TARDIS, locking the doors behind them and attempted to re-enter the vortex.
Unfortunately, an attempt to engage the time rotor was met by a sound that we have since been told by Rowan translates roughly to "Like BELGIUM I'm going back into the vortex, you unthinking BOOB! You never respected me and, just so you know, I faked all my orgasms!"
Even without a time rotor, a Gallifreyan Time Travel Capsule is still capable of more traditional, non-trans-temporal travel, and so, Tristan engaged the engines and his TARDIS shot into the sky, into safety.
And the path of a high-speed meteorite.
The meteorite smashed into the TARDIS, flipping it end over end, knocking the doors open, shaking loose a large amount of the cargo, straight out the door.
I must explain at this time that Tristan's TARDIS, being a later model, had all the bells and whistles, from a food machine and replimat to... well, actually that's about it.
Because of that, he didn't carry any food stores. His wardrobe, being deep in the bowels of his capsule was safe, as well.
Indeed, the cargo he lost when the meteorite struck was what he considered to be the most valuable things in the TTC...
Six hundred eighty seven crates of various inflatable women and sex toys tumbled out of the primary doors of his console room and onto the surface of Tennoobia, opening, scattering, their contents spilling all over the ground.
Into that pile of kink, the meteorite slammed...
And cracked open...
A terrible roar was heard as the Nestene Consciousness erupted from it and took control of the spilled (and, admittedly, well used) items of plastic, latex and poly-vinyl, which rose to attack the now advancing waves of Tennoobs.
It was at this point, Tristan's TARDIS ushered forth a sound, we're told translates to "Oh, FINE!" before suddenly dematerializing and hurtling through the vortex toward Bruce.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Tragedy, Revelations and the Origin of Skippy
----ATTENTION----
THIS RECORD HAS BEEN DELETED BY THE CELESTIAL INTERVENTION AGENCY UNDER ITS AUTHORITY BY ORDER OF LORD PRESIDENT SEN OF THE NEW GALLIFREY HIGH COUNCIL.
THIS RECORD HAS BEEN DELETED BY THE CELESTIAL INTERVENTION AGENCY UNDER ITS AUTHORITY BY ORDER OF LORD PRESIDENT SEN OF THE NEW GALLIFREY HIGH COUNCIL.
The Day The Whole Kind Of General Mish-Mash Said Hang This, Imploded, Changed Its Mind, And We Got Salad
Things had been a bit odd lately for the Killing Time Alliance. Between the lawsuit, the sudden arrival of emerald, the unexpected procurement of a new TTC and the somewhat sport-related transformation of Rowan to a partially aquatic form, frankly, we were all a bit perplexed, tired and, oddly, peckish.
It was Tristan who, using his standard brand of recuperative logic, suggested we travel to the planet Event Bistro Major.
What must be understood at this time is that Event Bistro Major, at that time, did not actually exist yet.
In fact, it can be said that, in a very real and objective sense, Event Bistro Major has NEVER existed.
Due, however, to the subjectiveness of reality while traveling in a Gallifreyan Time Travel Capsule, doing something which is, in fact, objectively impossible, is subjectively not only possible, but simple, and, by the definition of trans-temporal existence theory, actually compulsory.
If the previous explanation has cause your head to go cloudy, your eyes to glaze over, and drool to begin leaking from your mouth, take heart: the description was the literary equivelant of a pref-frontal lobotomy. This was intentional, as that is necessary to understand the rest of what I am to explain.
After piling into my TARDIS, I set the trans-temporal coordinates to take us outside of regular space-time, as Event Bistro Major existed in the purposefully pun-named happy hour.
As any Time Lord will tell you, it is possible to cross from regular space-time into an alternate existence, however, it requires the deletion of mass from within a TARDIS to do so. I, however, am FAR too fond of my capsule to eject any rooms from the interior. Therefor, I had long ago developed a strategy for accomplishing this goal.
At some point in my travels, my TARDIS materialized on a cargo freighter on a collision course with the planet Earth prior to the primacy of primates. On that freighter, there was a single life form. an Alzarian I came to find was named Adric.
Adric, as it turns out, was a polymath of incomprable ability, being nearly on par with the entire populace of Logopolis in his ability to calculate, recaluclate and alter the fabric of reality via his computational manipulations.
So useful was he, that I had him calculate a way to prevent a temporal paradox created by having more than one temporal instance of an individual in existence at the same time. This, to him, proved to be child's play.
Therefore, anytime I needed to breach the boundaries of regular space-time, I would take several (and on occasion, hundreds or even THOUSANDS) of temporal instances of Adric on board.
And eject them into the time vortex when I needed an extra boost.
The trip to happy hour, being one of the most taxing, was a trip that measured twenty-six thousand Adrics.
When we reached Event Bistro Major, we discovered a few things.
First, it was busy. There was a fourty seven year waiting list just to get into the lounge.
Second, the entire crowd consisted of us.
That is to say, not just us, but just us.
Repeated.
Millions of instances of us.
It seems, due to some odd set of coincidences (or, perhaps, merely the certainty of reality and the constant factor of Tristan's desire to party with the one being in the universe capable of understanding his need to party, which would be himself) it seems that at every single instant of our existence, the Killing Time Alliance decided to go have drinks at Event Bistro Major.
This fact created such an immense paradox within the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash that it actually brought Event Bistro Major into being by itself, hence becoming an space-time event occurring merely BECAUSE it was not an event which would never occur in space or time.
And hence, we all began drinking together, by ourselves.
I must, at this point, note that it is cosmically irresponsible to challenge yourself to a drinking competition. Even if the yourself you're challenging exists in a seperate body, the sheer magnitude of impossibilty of this actually happening, causes, by the very nature of it actually happening, the entirety of the Whole Kind Of General Mish-Mash to tear itself apart, become embarrassed by its sudden self-exposure, re-intigrating itself, then offering a chef salad as compensation for any inconvenience.
After a time of non-time, in a place of non-placement, I returned with the Killing Time Allience to my TARDIS, though I'm not certain which contingent of the alliance returned to which version of my TARDIS with which version of me.
But I do know that after taking the twenty-six thousand Adric trip back, we were unceremoniously introduced to someone referring to herself as The Terrible Zodin.
It was Tristan who, using his standard brand of recuperative logic, suggested we travel to the planet Event Bistro Major.
What must be understood at this time is that Event Bistro Major, at that time, did not actually exist yet.
In fact, it can be said that, in a very real and objective sense, Event Bistro Major has NEVER existed.
Due, however, to the subjectiveness of reality while traveling in a Gallifreyan Time Travel Capsule, doing something which is, in fact, objectively impossible, is subjectively not only possible, but simple, and, by the definition of trans-temporal existence theory, actually compulsory.
If the previous explanation has cause your head to go cloudy, your eyes to glaze over, and drool to begin leaking from your mouth, take heart: the description was the literary equivelant of a pref-frontal lobotomy. This was intentional, as that is necessary to understand the rest of what I am to explain.
After piling into my TARDIS, I set the trans-temporal coordinates to take us outside of regular space-time, as Event Bistro Major existed in the purposefully pun-named happy hour.
As any Time Lord will tell you, it is possible to cross from regular space-time into an alternate existence, however, it requires the deletion of mass from within a TARDIS to do so. I, however, am FAR too fond of my capsule to eject any rooms from the interior. Therefor, I had long ago developed a strategy for accomplishing this goal.
At some point in my travels, my TARDIS materialized on a cargo freighter on a collision course with the planet Earth prior to the primacy of primates. On that freighter, there was a single life form. an Alzarian I came to find was named Adric.
Adric, as it turns out, was a polymath of incomprable ability, being nearly on par with the entire populace of Logopolis in his ability to calculate, recaluclate and alter the fabric of reality via his computational manipulations.
So useful was he, that I had him calculate a way to prevent a temporal paradox created by having more than one temporal instance of an individual in existence at the same time. This, to him, proved to be child's play.
Therefore, anytime I needed to breach the boundaries of regular space-time, I would take several (and on occasion, hundreds or even THOUSANDS) of temporal instances of Adric on board.
And eject them into the time vortex when I needed an extra boost.
The trip to happy hour, being one of the most taxing, was a trip that measured twenty-six thousand Adrics.
When we reached Event Bistro Major, we discovered a few things.
First, it was busy. There was a fourty seven year waiting list just to get into the lounge.
Second, the entire crowd consisted of us.
That is to say, not just us, but just us.
Repeated.
Millions of instances of us.
It seems, due to some odd set of coincidences (or, perhaps, merely the certainty of reality and the constant factor of Tristan's desire to party with the one being in the universe capable of understanding his need to party, which would be himself) it seems that at every single instant of our existence, the Killing Time Alliance decided to go have drinks at Event Bistro Major.
This fact created such an immense paradox within the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash that it actually brought Event Bistro Major into being by itself, hence becoming an space-time event occurring merely BECAUSE it was not an event which would never occur in space or time.
And hence, we all began drinking together, by ourselves.
I must, at this point, note that it is cosmically irresponsible to challenge yourself to a drinking competition. Even if the yourself you're challenging exists in a seperate body, the sheer magnitude of impossibilty of this actually happening, causes, by the very nature of it actually happening, the entirety of the Whole Kind Of General Mish-Mash to tear itself apart, become embarrassed by its sudden self-exposure, re-intigrating itself, then offering a chef salad as compensation for any inconvenience.
After a time of non-time, in a place of non-placement, I returned with the Killing Time Allience to my TARDIS, though I'm not certain which contingent of the alliance returned to which version of my TARDIS with which version of me.
But I do know that after taking the twenty-six thousand Adric trip back, we were unceremoniously introduced to someone referring to herself as The Terrible Zodin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)