hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha*gasp* hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha*chokes but still laughs*:lol:

WOW! Thanks guys for your replies and thanks Mitsur for smashing us headlong into the wonderful world of page two-ers. Yeah, we can rub elbows with the best fan fic writers around now, baby! I wonder if we get a membership card for admittance to the 2-pagers club or if we just get a key to the VIP (very immature people) room. All of that behind us, lets continue with the next chapta!

Chapter eleventeen and three-halves,
"Thtar-date 55399202830484930809857839389
93589390057308q983bungeerhapsodyreview
553000000000.2," said a familiar voice, tripping over every word, "We theem to have found ourthelveth in quite a mesth. Three dayth ago, me and my medical offither, Hanths, found ourselvth in a horrific jungle with no where to go. Yethderday, we sought shelter in a dark cave. It theemth like it wasth once uthed for mining of thome thort. While Hanth and I search for intelligent life, we can't help but feel like we are being watched..."
"Are you STILL talking to that bone?!" screamed Hans, "For the love of all things hated, QUIT IT!"
"Its not a bone! Itsth a thpace megalopean googal tranthmodificatinator!"
"I don't care what it is! Just shut up 'cuz your driving me NUTS!"
"NUTZ? NUTZ?! Have you ever had Danish with nuts?! DAMN THOTH ARE GOOD!" screamed Sven, "But I'll never see my beloved Danish ever again, will I? WILL I!?" Sven broke out in tears and fell into Hans's lap. He wept on Han's medical belt, then sneezed all over it.
"HEY! Why I oughta!" shouted Hans, rasing his hand to hit Sven for spreading his mucous.
But before he could, Sven turned his head around, puppy-dog eyes directed at Han's sweet-spot and said, "I justh wanted to be loved!"
"Oh, don't worry my chum! We will find your danish in due time! I know that nothing could take your mind off that lovely little piece of heaven and I'm willing to do what I can to reunite-" Before he could finish, Sven was up and in perfect shape, his eyes following something on the ground. "Hey! I was gettin emotional ya lil batsitch!"
"Ya know, I didn't think that there was thomeone who could leave a trail of mucouth quite like me!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Look!" Along the ground led a long thin trail of mucous that continued into the darkness of the cave. Sven began to follow it, emphatuated with it and even wondering if there was someone at the end that, with such mighty snought-manipulation, that they could tell him where Danish lay.
Finally, after hours of search, they found it.
"What the hell is that?" asked Hans.
"It'th beautiful!" shouted Sven. There, on the rocky floor of the cave lay a small creature of about 4 inches that you may have heard of: a slurg. "Look at it Hanth! Thitting there, eating offoul like that! What-A-Life!"
"Your really easily impressed, you know that?"
"Shut up 'Thilly-Billy'! I'm gonna catch me one!"
"Do what you want, but I'm not coming with ya," said Hans as he turned around and began to walk back to the entrance of the cave. He didn't make it ten steps before he heard a loud popping noise, followed by a the sound of something hitting the ground. He turned to find Sven running at him, full speed. The look of terror on Sven's face could only be described as "bealiskabible". That's right. We had to make up a word to describe it. It was THAT bad.
Hans followed suit, not knowing what he was running from. He soon found out... "MY ASS!!!! AH ****!!!! MY ASS IS ON FIRE!!!" he screamed as he ran from the fleeches as they whipped their tales across his ass.
"FASTHER!" screamed Sven, who's ass was untouched.
The motivating factor of the intense feeling of 3rd degree burns on his cheeks made Hans run like he had never ran before... straight into an abducted train. Scratch that, SVEN ran into the train. Hans just hit the wall of it really, really hard. "PUSH A BUTTON!" screamed Hans, now locked out of the train. The train started moving, narrowly escaping the fleeches. "Wait a second! LET ME IN!" begged Hans as he beat on the door. The train began to pick up speed as it burst through the sign that said "To: Rupture Farms". It went out of the cave and into the open desert. Hans looked down as he moved faster and faster as he got higher and higher. Hans took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and held on. He had obviously done this before.

well, soon to come, the Rupture Farms Mini-Series... then it will be near the end and time for the (dum, Dum, DUM!) "Final Chapta"!
your turn.

*topic is funny*

*wakes topic up*

Mosquoitoes on my penis!
 

Here's da next chapter for all you horny people who wish to read weird stories of Vykkers and pastries.



Chapter 13
Shmo stared out his office window at the lush Oddworldian landscape. The Glukkon was in need of some encouragement, and not to mention some sort of booze. (and you know that with booze there’s gotta be some sort of hooker!). “Any word on the Danish?” Shmo asked his assistant.
“No sir. No word on the Danish.” the assistant replied. Shmo got a funny look in his eye and said “So all goes according to plan. Mwahaha!”
“What goes according to plan sir?”
“I told you. All of it.”
“All of what?”
“IT, you idiot! IT!”
“Sir, as of yet, there is no plan.” Shmo’s assistant was getting agitated.
“Yes there is! I have a plan forming in my head!” Shmo retorted, trying to keep his smidgin of pride. Though, I should tell you something, he had no pride to begin with. It was something he thought up whilst drunk. Anyway... Shmo and his assistant went on with their “conversation”.
“What plan? Explain to me this ‘plan’,” said the assistant.
“Well, I plan to invade Rupture Farms with my very own army and search for the Danish.”
“Sir, are you insane?”
“Slightly, but the Doc said it will wear off with a little bit of rest and some Chill Pills.”
“Shmo-” Shmo cut him off before he could continue.
“What did you call me?!? I’ll have you know I am your superior, and for calling me by my real name, you will get on the floor and lick my toes!”
“Sir?”
“LICK EM!” Shout Shmo. The Slig complied by taking off his pants (since he couldn’t very well bend over. I hope that clears up your naughty thoughts!) and getting on the floor to lick Shmo’s toes. After a thorough licking of the Gluk’s Almighty Tarsals, the Slig got back up into his pants.
“Sir, as I was saying, you can’t invade Rupture Farms. Odd knows what kind of spirits are in there playing Twister right now!” Shmo’s assistant seemed appalled at the thought of invading Rupture Farms without throwing a going-away party first.
“Think of all the happiness and shoes I would have if I found that Danish!” Shmo was definitely excited at the thought of the Danish. You could see it through his suit!
“What do you mean by that?”
“Haven’t you ever wanted a Danish of your very own? To have and to hold? Till death do you part?”
“Are you asking me if I would marry a Danish?”
“No! I’m asking if you would ever want to have a Danish! They are very lovely and make great decorations!”
“Uh, sir, I don’t personally care for pastries myself.”
“WHAT?!? Get out of my office you fiend!”
“But sir, I work here!”
“OUT! If you cannot appreciate a good Danish you do not deserve to be in my company!”
“Whatever, you nutty bastard.” That was the end of a little ditty I like to call, “A Gluk’s Sexual Attraction to a Pastry.”

n (nads in case you havent read my thread)

this is the funniest shi* on the whole da** planet

*falls off chair with laughing*

Okay, ya pathetic losers. I know you're sitting around waiting for another chapter (And I'm sorry that my last chapter really suckedP). We know Sal's chapters are better anyway... But right now he's havin' a little trouble with his 'Net connection and won't be on for a little while. I suppose you've got me to stay with while he's gone, don't ya? Well, I know that's not much consolation, but it's better than staying with my Uncle Aunt Jemima. And no, he/she doesn't have anything to do with maple syrup. Well, I must be going to give my grandmother a sponge bath. I'll see you little bastards later.

Umm... Since Sal is off the 'Net for a while, I have to tide you over ith the next chapter. This is mainly to redeem myself for the shitty chapter I wrote last time. Here we go!

Chapter 14

Shmo's plan went into action. He gathered an army of sligs and set out for Rupture Farms. This was his best plan ever! It was brilliant, and made good fabric for pants! He would find the Danish, and enjoy its cream-filled, sticky goodness. If he couldn't have the Danish, no one could!
"Sir, what are you saying?" someone asked Shmo.
"Huh?"
"You're talking to yourself."
"I am not."
"Yes, sir, you are."
"Silence! Keep carrying me!" Yes, that's right. The lazy bum was being carried by sligs! Couldn't even walk... I tell ya, if I was one of those sligs... Uh, anyway, where were we? Oh yeah. Well, Shmo wanted the Danish badly, and would've had it.

A couple days later Shmo's army came upon the ruins of Rupture Farms. It was run down, had fallen into disrepair. All that lived there now was Ratz and Mudokon outcasts.
"Ah, there it is." Shmo said to himself. "The heaven into which I cast myself to find the wonderful Danish!" The sligs around him kind of stared at him for a little bit. "What? What are you looking at? A guy can't bask in glory for a little bit? Huh?"
'You're a looney..." said a Slig.
"I'm not a looney! Unless you consider the time I jumped up and down yelling 'Walla falla woggie whee!' all day. That was a fun day... Or the time I tried to dance with a mop. Or the time I thought I was a famous actor. Or the time I-"
"We get it, you stupid screw ball!" said another slig.
"Okay then... Remember not to eat fleeches. They smell funny."
The company started to make camp. It was dark, and it was spooky.
"Is it gone?" asked Shmo, looking around him, panicking.
"There was nothing here in the first place! It was just a couple of birds coming out of a bush!"
"It was NOT!" shouted Shmo. "It had a bunch of red eyes and big smelly teeth! It was scary!" Did I mention Shmo was scared of the dark?
"Shut up and go to bed you idiot!"
"Mommy!"

The next day the company headed into Rupture Farms.

I've got to post again!

This is funny stuff! You have to give us the next installment!

I can sense Hans And Sven Do Stuff going to be placed upon somewhere big very soon!!! *winks at Joe The Intern*

Alcar...

BOOYA, IM BACK!!!
 

(REPEATS TITLE)
BOOYA, IM BACK!
Well, thanks Joe the Intern for covering for me during my time of absense! Sorry, but weve been having some "technical difficulty". But that's all behind us right! So, here I am, to make up for my lack of chapters and i made this one kind of longer than usual just to set everything up and either clear or create confusion. So, without further a-doo-doo, here's the fic. ENJOY!



Chabta Vivtene en den sum

Shmo’s plan, though it made no sense at all, seemed like it might work. Wait, no it didn’t, but some of the best plans ever conceived came from trying to make words out of the order of the letters in alphabits soup. Shmo on the other hand lived in Oddworld where they only had speghetti-os, which limited his progress. Anyway, it went something like this: Shmo and his slig assistant had decided a long time ago to use the ruins of Rupture Farms for a center of operations. The operation: They were going to find a Danish. Sure, they could just buy one, but what is the fun in that? No, they were going to STEAL a Danish. A stolen Danish always tastes better than a bought one. Especially with some oregano and some talcum powder. In fact, I know many recipes for such, but I’m not going to go into that right now. So, ass I was a saying, Shmo had had a fixation with danishes since he was quite young and was now ready to fulfill his demented dreams. The slig assistant (who’s name was Dale) was just following the dumb gluck like any sensible idiot. The pair were be unstoppabible… especially since they now had control of Rupture Farms and all of its, umm, stuff. The place was actually in pretty good shape, had it not be for it being shut down. The idea of recycling was only useful if you were REALLY, REALLY low on cash (much like Shmo was). Of course he didn’t let any of his sligs know this. No, you can’t get a good toe lickin’ for nothing these days. No sir-e-bob, things have changed quite some these days. There’s only one word for such change. I can’t remember it right now those. I want to say ‘goat-goat-throat-boat’, but I don’t think that that’s the right word that I’m looking for. Anyway, so things were going on these days, or something. Yeah, well, on this day in particularly particular, it just so happens that everyone’s two favorite Danish-loving, fat-jiggling, flatular-phenomenons were about to find themselves in the clutches of the ruthless, umm, I want to say ‘ram-jam-lamb-cram’, but that aint right. Uh, I guess I’m trying to say tyrant, but ram-jam-lamb-cram just seems to describe Shmo so much better. So anyway, to make a long story even longer, Hans and Sven stepped out of the train onto the Rupture Farms floor.
“Wow, who would have thought we would have ran straight into that large pile of sticky white powder?” asked Hans to Sven.
“Yeth, and then have our train break down in this creepy old factory.”
“What are you meddling youngins’ doing out at this hour?” asked an old mudokon with a lantern.
“Zoinkth Hanth!” screamed Sven surprised to see the figure.
“Excuse me sir, do you know if we could stay here for the night?” asked Hans.
“Sure, if your not afraid of the WEREWOLF!” shouted the mudokon laughing.
“The wha-?” started Hans.
“Or the zombies, and the that one vampire, or that clown-guy, or that robot guy that turned out to be crazy old Mr. Johnson from the shut-down amusement park. Or that tiki-monster. No wait, he was an old man in a good mask too. But what about the swamp monster?! Now THERE was a monster. But, he was a crazy old guy too.”
“No, he was the local sheriff, right?” asked Sven.
“What are you talking about?” asked Hans.
“I don’t know, I wath jutht mething wit him” said Sven.
“Whatever, gang, let’s go!” shouted Hans.
“Scoobidoobidoobidoo!” shouted Sven.
“What the **** was that?!” wondered Hans.
“Hey!” shouted Sven in happiness, “I lotht my lithp!”
…
“Ah, I got jipped!”
“You got hosed, Sven. Real hosed.”

There ya go! Stay tuned for more, and thanks for reading! Better chapters to come! I promise! Would I lie?!
DON'T ANWSER THAT!

whoo hoo
 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. ...HA! :lol: :D :fuzsmile:

Re: whoo hoo
 

I totally agree.... HAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAAA*coughcough*HAHA!!

Time for da new chapta!

Chapter 16 and 17 quarters. Hey, I wonder how many cokes I can buy with that... Anyway, on to the humor!

After Sven had gotten hosed, he and Hans left the funky (Hehe! Funky! Such a funny word... I can rhyme it! Funky monkey! Funky flunky! That's about all I can come up with) old Mud to his funky (There it is again!) old business.

Shmo sat in the dark, shaking.
"Sir, excuse my Mudosian, but what the **** is wrong with you?"
"The Danish is being gaurded by something! I can sense it!"
"Being guarded by what?"
"How in Odd's name should I know? A scrab? A pack of scrabs? A pack of hungry scrabs? A pack of hungry scrabs with a bad bedside manner? A pack of hungry scrabs with a bad bedside manner AND a butter knife? Or maybe just a fence..." After about five minutes, Shmo and Co. heard a noise. One slig went to check, and ran back looking white as a... uhh... albino slig? Anyway he was white. That's all I know. Anyhoo... The slig came out, blah blah blah. But can you guess who came out after the slig? No not Johnny Carson! That's right. It was Hans and Sven!
Shmo gasped. "What... are... those?!?"
"I don't know sir!" A slig said haltingly.
"They look like g-g-g-gaskets!"
"Gaskets, sir?"
"Yes! You know. The white poltenmiest things."
"You mean poltergeist? And ghost?"
"Don't correct me! After this you are SO giving me a toe licking!"
"What are these guysth talking about?" asked Sven.
"I don't know. I think it has something to do with us." replied Hans.
"Hey! You! Yesth! You guysth! Could you tell us where to find a Danish?"
Shmo looked incredulous. "A Danish?! You, too, are looking for a Danish?"
"Yesth. I must have my Danish back! Don't tell you're looking for a Danish!" said Sven.
"Yes! It is the object of my desire! The pastry of my love!"
"Oh no! You ain't gettin' my Danish!"
"What do you mean 'you're' Danish? It's MY Danish!"
"Wanna prove it? Let's fight, you pansy!"
"Okay! But let me win!"
"Uh... Okay..." replied Sven.
"Sven! If you let him win you won't get your Danish!" said Hans.
"Oh yeah! In that case, you goin' down, BITCH!" And so ensued a dramatic fight of purple nerples and loves taps.

Keep up the funny work guys!

Remember i am still updating the 'fanstuff/fics' section of OWU with all the new chapters! So i haven't forgotten you!

And i also added your poster on Hans And Sven Do Stuff as well Joe.

Alcar...

Dang, and purple nerples hurt! I've only began to imagine the horrible pain...

Almost the last chapter! GETTING TENSE!!!! TIMES A WASTING!!! GET THOSE REPLIES IN BEFORE THE BUZZER HITS!!! So here is the third last chapter in the story that we all know and love!

Sven spun around, doing a flying nose flick. Shmo was hit by the flick with the force of a thousand feathers and fell to the ground. Sven stood over his advecary, triumphant in his battle. He was now going to move in for the kill. With a lick of one of his claws, a firm grip of Shmo's undies with another, pinching nipple hold with his third hand, and a double eye-poke with his last two claws, Sven was setting up for the most dangerous pansy-move of all time: The Crimp! That's correct; the most dreade ever was heading Shmo's way! The Crimp may not be a popular move amongst humans, but squid are quite fond of it. In the blink of a urethra, Sven lust all limbs in the horrifying areas. Minutes later, Shmo could still be seen with his ears draining saliva, his underwear a staggering 42 cm in his ass, his nipples boarder-line black, and his eyes poring water. The deed had been done. Sven shouted and applauded himself until he had noticed that all of the sligs were staring angrily at him. In the back of the room, like 9 cancres on a herpes symplex II, stood some very pissed off interns. Sven had no hope whats so ever. Hans on the other cancre was already out of the room. He had snuck out once again through that chaos that Sven was fueling. As much as he hated it, Hans was going to need those dirty little mudokons' help to get himself out of this shit hole. He knew that they had teleportation and fancy croche needles. Hans took to fancy croche needles like Sven took to danishes. He new that he must have them all.
"Hey scum-bags!" shouted Hans into a room of workers. "In case you Jackasses didn't notice, there's been a bird portal here this whole damn time!" Hans giggled at the idea that the mudokons never noticed these shortcuts to freedom. "Now put your little freak-hands together and say some 'mmmm' noises!" The mudokons followed. Hans stepped towards the portal, fancy croche needles masking his little bit of fear of what might be happening to his fellow junky. But then the lisped son of a bitch had to come back into Hans's life... screaming and running from a mob of sligs. The two ran into the portal, with the idiotic mudokons following after them (those morons would follow you off a cliff!). Then all went black. Hans saw only Sven and several other mudokons falling through space beside him. Hans was horrified. Sven was having the time of his life, skysurfing through the darkness on a victim mudokon.
"Thisth kickth assth!!!" shouted Sven. All that Hans could reply was a huge green vomit that spewed all over a mudokon. In a flash, they all crashed on the ground of a deep, dark cave. Hans lifted his chin from the floor and looked at Sven, still standing on a mudokon's back, 'pretend'-surfing. Then a huge boulder opened all of its eyes and stared down at the group. Hans stood petrified, while Sven still surfed on the mud.
In the moments to follow, Hans learned that he and Sven were going to be rewarded... and possibly find true happiness! Hans was about to cry with joy when the creature (now known as the Raisin) told him this.
"I justh stho happy, Hanth!" cried Sven, with renewed hope. He was finally going to see his danish!
"But how come that Abe bastard didn't get a reward? He helped out alot more of these suckers than we did!" asked Hans.
"Abe, as you know, does not wear adequate clothing to cover his legs... which makes me jealous, for I have a lack of legs," said the Raisin, "If he'd just wear some damn pants!" Sven walked off, pawndering what other species have fallen on the evolutionary scale from their lack of pants while Sven desperately tried to tell the Raisin his name.
"Shwen? Shlim? Svthum? Look just go already, I don't care anymore!" shouted the Rainsin.
"Go where?" asked Sven. Then, all around the three appeared candy mushrooms and tea cups made of edible stuff and even a chocolate river. Hans eyes where about to rip out of his sockets when he thought of how much those toad stools would sell for and how much sewage could go into that lake.
"Come with me," started the Raisin, " And you'll be... In a world of pure imagination!" With the last line 15 and 1/2 or so mudokons with orange paint and white over alls appeared and started singing.
"LOOK! I can't take this anymore! We'll go! Just quit singing!" shouted Hans, holding his ear-holes.
"Fine, but no snozzberries!" replied the Raisin, shaking off his tophat.
"Wha?!" asked Sven, who didn't even understand this insanity.
"Just go," said the Raisin, opening his mouth.
"Huh?" said Hans, "You want us to go in your mouth?"
"Yeah, that's where ALL happiness is!" laughed the Raisin.
"COME ON!" shouted Sven with only his danish on his mind. He grabbed Hans by the neck and dove into the Raisin's mouth, which snapped shut immediately.
"How'd they taste?" aske one of the over-alled mudokons.
"THAT WAS THE WORST THING THAT I'VE EVER HAD...but the second was kind of spicy..."


What will happen to Hans and Sven?! Will Sven find the danish?! Will the pair be digested?!?! Will Hans ever turn into a giant blue-berry and roll across the floor!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!
Many answers lie ahead...

Well, needless to be needfully stated, a certain someone has decided to remain "story celebut" until he gets some replies. Sure, call him Insane, Retarded, Provokative, or, like me, just call him Morgan. Either way, there IS more to the story that we would like to convey to you... if we could only get some replies.

Thanks, and don't worry, the madness is almost over...almost.

Ok, ok fine fine...

I'm replying! Now would you PLEASE move on with the story? I've been waiting for laughing in here all week!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! STOP DISAPPOINTING ME!!! *starts screaming and pull my hair*

*calms down* I really like/love your story... It's nice... Cool... Drool...Danish....*starts dancing* Oh just write.

great story keep it up

NEW CHAPTA!
 

That's right, you worthless hobos! The new chapter! And coming soon... DA FINAL CHAPTA!

I am here to inform you of the downfall of every major civilization, because of pants. That’s right, pants. Seemingly harmless, these are great dangers to society. Such brands as Dockers and Old Navy are among the most dangerous. Remember the Greeks? The Romans? The were doing just fine with Togas. But then they started wearing pants, and society went down the crapper. The Egyptians? Yes, them too. Let’s start with the reasons why. Let’s take the Romans. The Romans had a fine Empire. Honest Politicians and hard working slaves. But then came pants. When pants came along, Politicians started lying and workers slacked off. With pants, there could be many styles. Shorts, long leg pants, and capris. People got jealous of others.
“Oh, nice pants.” they’d say.
“Oh you too.”
“I wish I could have your pants.”
“Well you can’t.”
“But I want them so badly.”
“No. They are my pants. Get your own pants.” Scenarios like this one played over many times, until eventually one would resort to homicide - and some even suicide - because they couldn’t have someone else’s pants. This, not to mention the competition between various manufacturers of “fine pants.” Small shops would open up. Places like “The Pants Boutique” and “Orpheus’s Fine Pants”. Prices would skyrocket and people would rush into markets to buy pants. Prices would rise and poverty was the result when all people spent their money on was multiple pairs of pants. And now, the whole world wears pants. Time will only tell what devastating effects pants will have on humanity in the future. But from this reporter’s standpoint, the future doesn’t look happy.

Stay tuned, or I will be forced to kill your family.

hahahahah!
 

Dude this story is helarous. I love it!:lol: :lol: :lol: :fuzblink:

I *NEED* the final chapter.....where is it? WHERE IS IT? :fuzzle:

Okay, okay, okay... Sorry, but me and Morgan had this insane idea that you guys would consider that the Almighty Raisin had eaten them, end of story, and that the Pantsless chapter would be just a quick fanile... while we secretly worked on... DA FINAL CHAPTA'. We were expecting that no one would post, thinking the joy-ride was over and let the topic fall off of the page into oblivion. Then... AND ONLY THEN! would we post the REAL final chapter (which we had come up with around the same time that we wrote the first chapter). We expected to be writing pieces of DA FINAL CHAPTA every now and then, which we did.
Recently, we checked up with the chapter, which is OKAY, and decied that we needed to fix it. But just as we were about to get off our lazy asses and start writing in some funny parts, we both sensed the force and ran into the senator's room to protect her from two highly poisoness alien worms and then chase a bounty hunter through an intergalactic night club... er... wait... no... that never happened. We just slept in a drunken haze and went to go see Star Wars (sorry about the spoiler)... BUT I DO REMEMBER YODA GOING INTO MORGAN'S HOUSE AND KICKING MY ASS...
Other than that, we used the excuse "looking for inspiration" to give us a reason to spend hours looking in the refrigerator for the meaning of life.
All in all, we were ****ing with you guys and DA FINAL CHAPTA will be up by Friday night...maybe.
Now go to Hell/Have a nice day. (You pick how this post should end)

DA FINAL CHAPTA!!!
 

That's right, kids! The only way that we could give you this final insult is to collide our skulls and merge into one entity (which ISNT as easy as you might think). Yep! We spent hours upon hours smashing our heads until finally... we gave up and just made a funny name. But all that head-smashing DID inspire to write this stupid and final chapter to the tale of Hans and Sven and explain ONCE AND FOR ALL how they did stuff. So without further a doo-doo: DA FINAL CHAPTA!


Hans woke up in a dark place. A dark, dark place. A dark, dark, crowded place. Could it be true? Was he destined to be in Frank Zappa’s groupy room? Had they REALLY survived a sing-along-sequence? No. This must be a dream... A dream with a chubby, ugly vykker drooling all over him. It was a nightmare. That idiot was here. That’s right, THAT idiot. No, not just any idiot. Any idiot would’ve just taken the bacon, shaken to the makin, but this one was rakin’... for the leaves. Or something like that. But anyway... It was an idiot next to him. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. “That sexy guy? The one with the six-pack and freestyles like there’s no tomorrow?” Yes, that’s right my friend. JA RU- wait, he sucks... No, this was SVEN! Our ever-lovable protagonist Vykker who has gotten into so much mischief. Hans poked Sven in the side.
“Sven!” shouted Hans. Sven didn’t move. Hey! It WAS a dream! “Sven, GET UP!” he plead again. Sven still didn’t move. Hans began to get a little jumpy. Could they have come all this ways for Sven to suddenly die? And to add insult to insanity, died drooling all over Hans. Hans reached around the small, pitch-black enclosure to find something suitable to perform a test to see if Sven was alive. “Ah! This’ll do!” said Hans as he grabbed a long, hard stick from the wall. **WACK!!** went the broom as he smashed it against Sven’s cerebrum.
“NO! JENNIFER! DON’T DO IT! IT’S NOT WORTH GIVING YOURSELF AN ENEMA!” screamed Sven as he shot back to life. Hans gave him a queer look.
“Do you remember the raisin-guy?”
“The one with the thtriped pantieth?”
“No, that was Humphrey... He’s dead now, remember?”
“Well, it wathn’t my fault!”
“Err... yeah it was...”
“Wath not! Those futhzles said they had candy for anyone who opened that door!”
Hans sighed, “Yeah, whatever, at least you remember!”
“Remember what? The pantieth?”
“No, you loony! Not the panties! The-”
“You were talking about the pantieth!”
“Yes, but I was, err, I mean, NO! I was talking about the raisin!”
“Did he wear pantieth?”
“No... well I didn’t see...”
“Then how do you know they weren’t thtriped?!”
“Because I... umm... THERE WAS RAISIN... HE ATE US... WE CAN GET THE DANISH NOW!”
“...I think he was wearing thtriped- THE DANISH?!”
“Yes, the danish!”
“Where?!”
“I have no idea.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t! You didn’t even know who’s pantieth thothe were!”
“Hey!! The panties didn’t matter! And besides, I always know what’s going on!”
“Like when?”
“Like that time I... well, there were... things going on... and I, umm, knew about it....”
“AH HANTH, LOOK OUT!” shouted Sven as he violently swung the broom, now in his clutching clutches, in the direction Han’s voice was coming from. The broom smashed into Han’s face and knocked him unconscious. The hours passed... Sven sat in the dark. After a while he got bored and started twiddling his thumbs. “HEY! I’VE MADE A TERRIFICAL DISTHCOVERY!” shouted Sven. “By twiddling my thumbs I can figure out the constant age of the Universe! But I can see you don’t care. Eh Hanth?” asked Sven, who wasted no time in smashing the broom into Han’s head again.
“The clowns!!! The clowns!!! Get your poetry and spandex away from my grandmother!!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Sven.
“Ummm...er... nothin’. Why‘d you hit me with that?”
“I thought I thaw those pantieth! They were on your fathe!”
“You’re going insane.”
“Tho what if I am?”
“I really hate you.”
“Whatever, let’th find that Danish!”
“Okay, well we seem to have been locked in some type of impenetrable cell, to wait gleefully for our dooms. I will meditate on the idea and try to channel my chi into a way to conserve air before we explode into little itty bitty bits... But only because we didn’t notice the surveillance cameras... THEY’RE ALL AROUND US!!! EVERYWHERE!!! There’s no escape! Life has lost it’s purpose!! We will surely parish in this cage of death until the maggots devour our eye sockets and use them to feed their evil Queen Nemificlikimus III!!!” cried Hans as he sunk into a corner and held tightly to his body in a small ball of depressed, horrified paranoia. Sven on the other hand opened the door.
“The light!” shouted Sven as he put his claws over his eyes and squinted, “The light of the danish! For it ith the only light of true purenethneths!” Hans crawled out of his ball and went out the door. After their eyes adjusted, they noticed that they were in a hallway and had been in a broom closet this whole time.
“No... the chicken! The egg had nothing to do with it! Think about it! How would the egg come first? Who lay the egg? Huh? HUH?!” The voice continued. There was no reply. It just kept talking. Neither Hans nor Sven had ever heard that kind of voice before. Though somehow, it seemed amazingly familiar. It was coming from just around the corner. The two moved to the edge of the corner to hear more.
“Yeah, and get me some REAL food, okay? This pastry stuff is killin’ me!” said the voice to no one. “If I eat another danish, I’m goin’ to be on the porcelain for weeks!” Sven heard the final statement of blaspheme and just went off. He stormed out from behind the corner, Hans following.
The creature that was speaking was talking to what looked to Hans like neuron-drill. It didn’t look like anything in particular to Sven, who hadn’t seen straight for a couple of decades. The creature looked rather pale, though not as pale as the vykkers. It had a thick tuft of black hair on the top of its head that reached downwards. A black rim of hair ringed its mouth.
The beast looked at Sven, closing in on him. He was in an amazing state of fear. He dropped the danish towards the floor.
All time paused... or at least moved very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very not-very-quickly. The danish tapped against the floor. Sven could not take his eyes off of it. Sven was full of pure hatred for this monstrosity that sat before him.
“Learn thome rethpect!!!!” shouted Sven. He then, to both the creature and Hans’ astonishment, leapt into the air. He froze in the air, legs and arms in a strange pose. The creature had seen something like this before and expected to be kicked violently in the face, followed by a part where the vykker would fling chairs through the air in amazing speed, run on walls, dodge bullets, leap from building to building and dodge more bullets. Fortunately for him, none of this happened and Sven fell to the ground, landing hard on his face. There was silence.
Sven slowly pulled his body back up, which was a hard task for this fat-ass. When he finally made it up (much to the help of the creature’s desk, which was used as a balance), he stared into the eyes of his adversary. There was nothing but fire in Sven’s eyes... that, or his veins were still red in his eyes after all those shrooms... but anyway... Sven walked up to the creature, who was still shocked. He bent over, which horrified the creature almost (and some say completely) to the point of insanity, and picked up the danish.
“I’ll be taking that!” he shouted as a sign of his personal victory. Sven walked out of the room.
Hans stared at the creature for a moment. He then broke out in laughter and chuckled his way out of the room.
Hans and Sven walked out of the building and towards the street.
“Eww... coconut!” shouted Sven as he through the danish to the gutter. Hans was stunned. He had come all this way, for something that REALLY didn’t matter that much! It’s like Armstrong looking over to Aldrin and going, “Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you! I thought the flag would look better in a triangle shape with the stars taken off. My bad!”
After a long pause, Hans decided that all that mattered was the present, and so he thought of the future (never being able to keep his mind on the right thing). “So where do you want to go now?” asked Hans.
A taxi drove by with a picture of casinos, dancers, and wine on it. Hans and Sven looked into each others eyes. The were both thinkin’ of the same thing.
“VEGAS!” they shouted together. Well almost. Sven said it more like “vegath” but that didn’t matter. The two walked off, Sven twiddling his thumbs and Hans screaming the number 42. Little did they know that this new, strange world had something they could have never contemplated: MARSHMALLOWS... but that’s a story for another day.
Meanwhile, in an office far far... a block away, the creature began to come out of the trance that he was caught in.
“Lorne?! LORNE!” shouted the phone which the creature had been still holding at his side. He picked it up and put it to his face. “Sherry... I’ve... got an idea.” And so Lorne made a line of videogames that really, REALLY sucked ass and earned him no notoriety from a couple of assholes from mid-west USA.


DA’ END!

OH MY ODD THAT WAS HILARIOUS!!!!!!!!make a second one will ya?

Oddling

*CLAP!*

That ith the betht thtory I have ever read! I LOVE the ending!!! Keep up the great work guyth, I hope to thee Hanth and Thven in the mere future. :fuzwink:

~Tex

Oh and did anyone sthee my danishth?I've been looking all over for ith.Oh!Here it ith.Ewwwwww coconut!!!Hey Sal the Mudokon and Joe the intern make another one!!!!!!!I want to sthee Hansth and Thsven again pleeeeze????

Oddling