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swedeheadchris

Goodkind XXVII: Welcome to the Yeard Reich

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Anyway, I'm beginning to get the feeling that some of the people there can actually have reasoned and intellegent debates...

Do I need to kick a girl in the jaw now? Kill peace protestors?

Something?

They are the Enemy. If you feel they have any redeeming qualities you are dangerously low in moral celery. Go eat some, then choose Life and do whatever it is your individuality dictates you should do to demonstrate your restored celerity (as long as it's in accordance with Lord Rahl's beliefs of course).

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Anyway, I'm beginning to get the feeling that some of the people there can actually have reasoned and intellegent debates...

Right. "Except that gray is just black + white." That's not an intelligent debate; it's experimenting with crayons.

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Right. "Except that gray is just black + white." That's not an intelligent debate; it's experimenting with crayons.

And don't try to hit them with the "red + blue = purple" thing, either. It's best just to give them a purple crayon and tell them to try and stay inside the lines.

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...

People there think I'm Myshkin.

And it's scaring me.

Anyway, I'm beginning to get the feeling that some of the people there can actually have reasoned and intellegent debates...

Do I need to kick a girl in the jaw now? Kill peace protestors?

Something?

No need to worry. There are people there as well - we have seen them from time to time (and yes, they can conduct reasoned debates).

But (un)fortunately, the Avatar of Pontification and Agent Provocateur - also Shining Example of Honesty - also resides there... ;)

Pita, as for your punishment, you have to almost-rape a woman (preferably a peace protester), while wearing a yeard (growing one is also acceptable). After that, you can gorge yourself on the generated celery.

ETA:

Hell, a lemming cannot go on a short vacation without you guys producing a sizable number of posts...Damn you, I have to kick someone in the jaw to get myself a new mouse :D

Edited by whelp

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Well, it's your fault for choosing Death and abandoning us.

And if I helped somebody not-drown does that count as an almost-rape?

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People there think I'm Myshkin.

And it's scaring me.

Myshkin is the closest you can get to a pansexual god - you should be scared. Scared and slightly horny. That's what David Bowie would do. Be. Whatever. Just don't go near Mick Jagger.

Anyway, I'm beginning to get the feeling that some of the people there can actually have reasoned and intellegent debates...

Do I need to kick a girl in the jaw now? Kill peace protestors?

Something?

Continue as you were - rationally, calmly, lucidly. Acquit yourself well, prove that we do have reasonable, non-trolling members. Debate from sources and books, prepare to give ground and concede points, grudgingly, if logically. Be prepared to admit a basic lack of agreement on aesthetic preference.

Like most of the world's problem this one is solved with alcohol intake, make sure you get drunk, i recommend vodka and beer, then everything will become clear.

Or there's that...

Should I admit that I like Jean Grey, and think Doctor Doom is totally cool?

Depends. Do you want to be called lame? Let me know your response. Honestly, is he even a doctor? And if he is, why didn't he just doctor himself a new face? Lame.

No need to worry. There are people there as well - we have seen them from time to time (and yes, they can conduct reasoned debates).

But (un)fortunately, the Avatar of Pontification and Agent Provocateur - also Shining Example of Honesty - also resides there... ;)

Wanna drive him nuts? Only respond to his sensible points.

Which is to say, ignore him. Carry on a long, reasonable dialogue with the rest of the board.

Pita, as for your punishment, you have to almost-rape a woman (preferably a peace protester), while wearing a yeard (growing one is also acceptable). After that, you can gorge yourself on the generated celery.

Such bad taste...

And if I helped somebody not-drown does that count as an almost-rape?

Sure, because two completely different things are basically the same.

Hold on, did you give mouth-to-mouth? Yeah, then it counts.

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For your amusement, my first try at a parody in english.

Be gentle, it's not my first language... :leaving:

Transmetropolitan: The Year of the Yeard

â€That’s what I hate most about this fucking city.†Richard Jerusalem shouted at his long-suffering editor Zeddicus R’oyce. â€Lies are news and Truth is obsolete!â€

Crushing the nearest chair under his heavy journalists boot like a straw-filled dummy The Seeker Of Truth grabbed a wooden leg from it’s remains. The glass walls of the First Editors corner office trembled.

â€You want to know about democracy? I’m here to tell you about democracy.†He continued, saliva spraying from his mouth and covering his editor and the glass behind him.

â€Imagine you’re locked in a huge underground night-club filled with commies, hippies and weirdo cultural diversity freaks who like to gang-rape Gars for fun. And you ain’t allowed out until you all vote on what you’re going to do tonight.â€

Richard pointed The Chair Leg Of Truth at his editor and R’oyce could tell from the dilated pupils and bulging veins that Richards Thing was rising within him.

The First Editor choose life by diving for cover under his desk. On the glass wall behind the desk his silhouette remained outlined in fine droplets of saliva.

"You like to put your feet up and watch 'Mud People Reservation'.†Richard raged. â€But they like to almost-rape normal people with Namble cocks.â€

R’oyce, dared to sneak a quick look at the enraged columnist from under the desk.

Richard had been cramming drugs into every vein, pore and orifice of his body again. The resulting moral clarity had produced ten weekly installments of his column for The Yeard so far.

The last one had consisted of the word fuck repeated eight thousand times.

The one before that may or may not have been twenty pages ripped from another book with the names crossed out and changed with a ballpoint pen.

Thanks to the Editors First Rule both had sold like hot cakes.

â€So you vote for television. And everyone else, as far as your eye can see, votes to fuck you with Agiels.†Richard continued, striking a manly pose.

â€That’s democracy.†He concluded with flawless logic.

Writer of Columns, Zeddicus R’oyce thought in awe. Writer of Columns.

Richard climbed onto the desk. He had not had sex in four years. His thing had risen through the roof. It had taken flight. It was orbiting the earth, raining fiery death from above upon his enemies. He had many enemies, he could feel it in his head-bones.

His left hand produced a book from somewhere deep inside his journalists outfit. Waving the book in one hand and the Chair Leg of Truth in the other he felt another column coming on.

As Richard started a rousing speech on the Important Human Theme of inferior authors plagiarizing him, R’oyces moral celery finally abandoned him and he pushed the alarm button hidden under his desk.

Startled Richard ripped the spine from the book and sent it flying through the room. As dismembered pages fell like rain on the carpet R’oyce couldn’t help to note that that book had been published in 1954.

Richard leapt down from from the desk. Swinging his chair leg like a club he cut the First Editors desk in half.

â€Do not offend the Chair Leg of Truth; it is wise and terrible!†He fixed R’oyce with a raptorlike gaze.

â€I have had a vision. It has been revealed to me that I am sexier than Buddha and harder than Jesus. I cannot die.â€

At that moment, roused by the alarm and a generous helping of deus ex machina R’oyces secretary entered the room.

Despite being larger than most (though not all) men, Richard moved quicker than a ferret on methamfetamines.

The Chair Leg Of Truth tore a melon sized hole through her torso.

It had been the only moral thing to do. The silhouette of R’oyce on the glass, outlined in saliva, vanished beneath the righteous spraying of various bodily fluids from the wound.

Richard forgot what he was mad about and became gentle as a lamb.

He laughed. The secretary laughed. Everyone laughed. Then the secretarys jaw fell off and she died.

R’oyce secretly wondered where the hell he would get another secretary in an hot leather outfit from. Preferably one with large breasts so she wouldn’t get killed on such a regular basis.

Maybe he could borrow one of Richards filthy Mord’Sith assistants?

Edited by danro

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Be gentle, it's not my first language...

And yet you're a better writer than Tairy...

Richard climbed onto the desk. He had not had sex in four years. His thing had risen through the roof. It had taken flight. It was orbiting the earth, raining fiery death from above upon his enemies. He had many enemies, he could feel it in his head-bones.

I'm not quite sure what this means, but it's simultaneously hilarious and terrifying.

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The last one had consisted of the word fuck repeated eight thousand times.

The one before that may or may not have been twenty pages ripped from another book with the names crossed out and changed with a ballpoint pen.

:thumbsup:

Everybody! Those columns must be reproduced on this thread before any other parodies are made.

Depends. Do you want to be called lame? Let me know your response. Honestly, is he even a doctor? And if he is, why didn't he just doctor himself a new face? Lame.

Supervillains don't actually have doctorates. They actually change their first names to 'Doctor' to get around that pesky "fraud" thing.

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The chair of truth. :lmao:

The Chair Leg of Truth actually makes an apperance in Transmetropolitan.

I didn't make that up.

Do not mock it however, for it is Wise and Terrible.

I'm not quite sure what this means, but it's simultaneously hilarious and terrifying.

Thanks. I was trying for drug fueled paranoid delusions crammed with as many Transmetropolitan references I could fit into the paragraph.

Edited by danro

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Everybody! Those columns must be reproduced on this thread before any other parodies are made.

Ok, I'll start:

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck <snipped> Fuck.

Someone else can tackle the previous column. I'll loan my copy of The Dragon Reborn if needed.

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It's so good to see parodies again. Sometimes I worry that we're getting away from what makes these threads so great.

I know, that's choosing death to think that, but it's a worry.

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I'll second Jax on this one, things get sort of stale with the GK threads without a fresh infusion of parody. My thread contribution:

Wizard’s First Red Riding Hood

Once upon a time, there was a naïve little girl, who read a lot of books (especially by Europeans), but knew nothing about the harsh realities of the world. Her grandmother kept and coddled her, telling her that the people of the world could get along with one another and work toward something better, and that spaghetti would bounce. The girl loved her grandmother with blind devotion, as only a blind devotee can do. She was called Riding Hood, because she constantly would jump onto the lord of death and ride him around*.

One day, her mother gave her a basket of treats that were made by the bakery around the corner to take to her elderly grandmother. The treats would be foul in the mouth of any child living in the Middle-lands, but Riding Hood did not know any better, as she lived in Imperial Soviet-land. The bakers who made the treats were lesbians and liked to hit men because they were kinky like that, and also liked to watch men eating balls. They also had handheld electric sex prods and wore skintight latex suits, which should make your wieners hard, but if it doesn’t, you’re gay or a woman. But this was not the reason the treats tasted bad: they were horrible because the sexy torture babes, Mord Sith** as they were called, protested wars at peace rallies, which soured everything they touched.

On the way to the grandmother’s house, Riding Hood was spotted by the raptor-like gaze of a large forest wolf. This wolf was large, larger than another wolf who was larger than it, and the wolf in question was larger than most wolves. The wolf coveted and lusted after both Riding Hood and her basket of pacifistic pastries, for his own reasons, which were many and varied and too detailed to describe.

The wolf ran to the old woman who was related to the girls house, taking care to not use the term for the old lady, so it makes it seem like he owned a thesaurus. He easily swallowed up the old woman and dressed in her clothes, but not in a gay way, but more of a Robin Williams way, where it is okay to dress up as a woman but still considered manly, and promptly made a speech about how everyone should mistrust fire*** .

The wolf got into the grandmothers bed, and when Riding Hood came into the cottage she said

“Oh grandmother, what big ears you have.â€

"The better to hear the lies of communists, my child," was granny-that-was-not-a-grannys reply.

"But, grandmother, what big eyes you have," she said.

"The better to see how a country called America is wrong.", said the wolf

"But, grandmother, what large hands you have."

"The better to rape and maim unbelievers with."

"Oh, but, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have."

"The better to devour your sweet lying self with!" exclaimed the wolf incarnate, and swallowed up the naughty little girl, smacking its lips in a very satisfied and sort of creepy sexual way that is titillating to readers.

A woodsman, who was in the neighborhood, heard the commotion at the pathetic, faith-having old lady, and dropped in. The wolf, whose belly was distended with the poisonous fruit of non-Randian thought, was sleeping on the bed. The woodsman, in his woodsman outfit, covered with symbols teaching him how to chop woods, tie vines into things, and what berries cure diarrhea****, leapt forward, and with a quick and silent and pretty badass swing, cut open the wolfs stomach with his Axe of Certainty. Out leapt Red Riding Hood, who was hurled across the room by a spectacularly executed roundhouse kick to her pale, frail, childish jaw.

She cried out, asking what she had done. The woodsman stared her down like the frightened little girl she was, and said “You represent people who follow ideologies that I don’t like.â€, and chopped her in half.

The criminal grandmother emerged from the felon-sized hole in the wolf (who hadn’t woken up yet), and as her blood flew from her throat and arms and torso from a whole passel of axe cuts, the woodsman thundered “You represent the people who follow ideology I don’t like, and might have known better, and probably lead OK lives, but I know for certain have not, because I believe in my knowing!â€

The wolf looked up from his sleep, and said “I tried to eat them, doesn’t that make me sort of like you in that we both tried to destroy them, and offered them an ‘our way or death’ choice?†The woodsman laughed, the corpses of the ladies laughed, all the trees in the forest laughed together.

The woodsman stepped forward and as his axe swished down in a manly fashion, he said “Nuances in thought do not exist because they might contradict something I believe. Wolves travel in packs, and since I’m an individual, that makes me right, so you die now.â€

The End

*Hood, Lord of Death, © 2007, Tairy Goodkind Industries Incorporated LLC XXX. Suck it, Erikson

**Mord Sith, and any property rhyming with the phrase (e.g., Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith) are henceforth property of Sword of Litigation Enterprises.

***Mrs. Doubtfire is now owned (and pwned) by the Yeardi

****Blueberries: anyone ever who has had diarrhea, or knows what the word means, now owes Tairy Goodkind a picture of their grandmothers left nipple.

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The Chair Leg of Truth actually makes an apperance in Transmetropolitan.

I didn't make that up.

Do not mock it however, for it is Wise and Terrible.

Wonderful parody, danro. But you should have included at least Channon Yarrow (sp?), for she is a big-breasted (therefore extremely celerious) companion of the hero :P

To be honest, I was wondering if Warren Ellis intended the Chair Leg of Truth scene as a mockery of SoT...:D

@WLU:

Wanna drive him nuts? Only respond to his sensible points.

Which is to say, ignore him.

I believe that no power in the 'verse could make him more insane.

@Vigo:

:rotfl:

Great!

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I still feel that the best parody is the actual QotD. Can't beat the Yeard at his game.

We can only aspire to his greatness by living our lives to the fullest, the way lives should be lived. BBHN.

Wonderful parody, danro. But you should have included at least Channon Yarrow (sp?), for she is a big-breasted (therefore extremely celerious) companion of the hero :P

I was planning to originally. But the thing got out of hand and I had to cut it short.

He who parodies Tairy should be careful least he thereby becomes Tairy.

For when you gaze long into the Yeard, the Yeard stares right back at ya.

@Vigo, Wizards First Red Riding Hood was awsome!

Edited by danro

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It's so good to see parodies again. Sometimes I worry that we're getting away from what makes these threads so great.

We've had, what, 7 parodies now in the past few weeks. Not enough for you? :P

For your amusement, my first try at a parody in english.

Be gentle, it's not my first language... :leaving:

I'm going to admit... I just don't get it. Not that it wasn't funny, but I didn't really follow what the point was. I think that having never heard of, let alone read, Transmetropolitan took something away for me. :dunno:

He laughed. The secretary laughed. Everyone laughed. Then the secretarys jaw fell off and she died.

The woodsman laughed, the corpses of the ladies laughed, all the trees in the forest laughed together.

Will these lines ever stop being funny? :)

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