Saturday, April 30, 2005

Fighting for freedom.

Valued reader, before embarking on the literary action adventure journey that is this post, I recommend you listen to either Survivor - Eye of the Tiger, Bill Conti - Gonna Fly Now or Survivor - No Easy Way Out, while you read. Personally I prefer Eye of the Tiger. Further to this advice it may add to the experience if you were to play Nessun Dorma, from Turandot, performed by Luciano Pavarotti as the story draws to a close. Enjoy

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Millions, if not billions of people had turned out to watch this spectacle, the spectacle to end all spectacles. Rocky strode out before the multitudes; an uproarious clamour of appreciation arose from the spectators. This was their hero, their champion. He would battle not only for their freedom but for their very existence and asked nothing in return.

Rockys' mind was focused; he tuned out the growing rumble emanating from the hordes of enthusiastic spectators, enthusiastic apart from the minority faction of unwashed, scabrous wretches who were present to support the opposition.

Rocky rounded a bend and finally beheld the arena of bloodshed. It was teeming with pathetic, flimsy cylons. A slight smile graced Rockys' angular face. He was going to enjoy this. His pectoral muscles began to twitch and pulsate as more and more adrenaline was pumped into his system, he clenched and unclenched his fists of ultimate power.

Rocky began to become aware of the jeers of the thousands of fuckface cylons crowding the arena "I have a far more efficient O.S. than you!" They bellowed at our courageous hero. Some even howled "You're mother was a Mac." Rocky paid no heed to such vain attempts at intimidation. He had noticed something far more interesting. In the corner of the arena was a D series Rage cylon, the reputed "human killer". In the other corner was number 6, Rocky thought to himself "I hear those cocksuckers are real cyberwhores, up for it with any rusty- bolt motherfucker.

Rocky leapt into the arena to the approving outpourings of his legions of followers. Almost immediately a dozen gleaming cylons charged at our stalwart combatant. "This is it", thought Rocky "either I win or the cylons get the planet." Just as the glistening assailants were about to let fly with their vicious onslaught Rocky countered with an array of brutal lefts, rights and super-mega uppercuts. In the blink of two eyes and the duration of a sneeze, all 12 cylons lay smashed and pulverised. A quiet awe spread throughout the human spectators and robotic aggressor motherfuckers. Rocky brought his bare, Italian American fist to his cheek to wipe off a smattering of cylon coolant. "First blood" he thought "12 down, thousands to go." As the realisation of what Rocky had just done dawned on the audience a cry of "Yeah! Way to go Rocko!" filled the arena. Rocky raised his muscular, glistening arms in appreciation and turned to face the onrush of cylon fury that was sure to follow. Sure enough a thousand silver clad assbandits where barrelling down on Rocky, he braced himself for what was sure to be an arduous conflict. The thousand assailants encircled Rocky, leapt into air then came crashing down on our brave protagonist. The cylons cheered, convinced the human rebellion had been ended with the defeat of the mightiest human hero. The human audience began to weep and bemoan a life of slavery to the cylons, others just enjoyed their cinema-style popcorn and nachos.

In an instant, an unmerciful explosion rang out in the arena, the thousand cylons that had been attempting to end Rockys life were thrown miles into the air, through the roof of the arena. Rocky emerged from the cloud of metallic dust and carbon fibre residue, holding the brain circuitry of 200 cylons between his teeth, the crotch circuitry of 258 cylons in his right hand, the intestinal circuitry of 158 cylons in his left hand and the ass circuitry of 297 cylons was enmeshed around his right foot. The remaining 90 or so cylons were plummeting to their death in and around Murroe, Co. Limerick.

The spectators went wild, popcorn, nachos and various condiments rained down on the arena. Rocky was heedless of this fact, he was glaring at the remaining cylons, some were leaking coolant at an alarming rate, others were defecating unneeded circuitry like there was no tomorrow. Some had even initiated their hibernation protocols. The rage and number 6 were glaring back, knowing this was not going to be a cake walk, they bade the remaining 9,000 functional cylons to stand-by and act as a tactical reserve to their upcoming barbaric offensive. They sped towards Rocky, fists clenched, knees padded and teeth ready to bite. Rocky positioned himself in-between them and at the exact instant they were drawing level with him, dropped to his knees raised his hammer like fists to crotch height and waited for impact. He felt the impact, then excruciating pain tore through his fists and up his arms. He looked up to see both the rage and number 6 smiling down at him "Titanium-alloy re-enforced crotch plates, those devious motherfuckers." Rocky was jarred from this brief moment of realisation by the rage and number 6 lifting him up then slamming him against the ground. "Ow", said Rocky. "Ha ha ha ha", responded the rage while number 6 made sure here hair was ok. Rocky took this brief window of opportunity, pounced to his feet, landed a right hook into the rages' repugnant face and then turned to show that bitch, number 6, what pain was only to fnd her ready for his attack. Rocky, being the legendary hero he is, swung anyway. She grabbed his fist in her perfectly manicured hand and began to squeeze. "Owwy", Rocky blurted out before dropping to the ground in agony, by this stage the rage had reset his somewhat glass jaw and was returning to the fray.

The human audience, which by now had swelled by many millions as word of this momentous battle spread, gasped in horror at seeing yet another well known celebrity drop to their knees. Rocky gritted his teeth, felt his will to survive cement within him, this was one time he wasn't going to trade his passion for glory. The dreams of mankind were entrusted to his fists of steel. Rocky forced his way back to his feet, screaming "Adrian, Adrian, Adrian!." A look of utter dread and pants shitting fear encapsulated numbers 6s' face. They locked eyes "You fight great, bitch, but I'm a great fighter." "I must break you", she replied. "Break this you blonde George Foreman grill" Rocky roared into her face before headbutting her and smashing her perfectly formed nose. Coolant sprayed out everywhere. "Smells like victory" relfected Rocky as he listened to the frenzied chants and shouts of the audience. The rage took advantage of this slight lapse in Rockys concentration and leaped on his back, Rocky couldn't support the weight of the rages' super colossal, titanium re-enforced body. His legs buckled and they both collapsed to the ground in a sweaty, coolant ridden heap, everything went blurry, Rocky was barely aware of number 6 climbing on top of him also, he could feel the rage probing his taught, clenched buttocks but couldn't get out from beneath both super colossal bodies. He could still hear his billions of fans calling his name. He struggled, to no avail, to free himself from this cylon prison, tears began to flow down his coolant covered face as he realised he won't be humanities saviour and has just damned everyone to an eternity of cylon slavery. Never has a story seemed so bleak.

Then he heard something he thought impossible "Come on. Right here. Lets finish this fight!". "Could it be?" thought Rocky to himself. "Apollo!" he screamed from underneath the sexually perverse cylon fuckbots. "This is who I am looking for. The Italian Stallion." Apollo Creed yelled out as he propelled himself into the ring at mach 2.8, taking 2,500 cylons with him. The audience went berserk. Rocky could feel his resolve strengthening. He suddenly remembered the advice Clubber Lang had given him so many years previous, "Remember sucka, eat cauliflower before every battle to save humanity, I pity the fool who don't eat cauliflower." Rocky never understood this piece of advice untill now. He unclenched his buttocks and let rip with the most violent gaseous expulsion he had ever experienced. The rage was blown out of the arena and beaten silly by the billions of on-lookers while number 6 was propelled through a jagged girder that had been damaged when Rocky ejected the first group of cylon bastards through the roof. She screamed and managed to get out "Fragment (Consider Revising)" before ceasing to function, her sickly sweet coolant began to rain down on the frenzied horde below. Women stripped off and danced in it, men washed in it.

6,500 cylons remained. Easy. Rocky and Apollo embraced each other in the middle of the arena to the cheers of the avid spectators. The remaining 6,500 cylons began to warily close in not knowing what to expect. Apollo grasped Rockys shoulder and charged off to do battle, he single handily tackled 3,000 cylons. He looked like a broad, black, human tornado. Cylon body parts where flying everywhere, human children were picking them up and using them as clubs to finish off the wounded cylons that had been thrown from the fray. Rocky turned his attention to the other 4,000 cylons, laughing maniacally as he advanced on them. Again ensued a period of excessive coolant leakage, circuit defecation and hibernation. Rocky laughed even more, flexing his well defined biceps. But then CRASH! A steel chair splintered over his muscular shoulders. The rage was back, he had fought his way through the crowds of beer swilling humans to finish Rocky. Rocky fell to his knees, the rage grabbed the splintered leg of the steel chair and raised it above his head, ready to plunge it through Rockys back. The crowd implored Apollo to help but he couldn't hear them over the sound of cylon brain squishing.

Then when it looks like all was lost, a magnificent rock guitar solo rang out over the arena. The second most electrifying man in sports entertainment ever, The Rock, came hurtling into the arena, the rage was too aroused and blood-thirsty to comprehend what was happening. The Rock grabbed him, spun him around so they were face to face and BAM! ROCK BOTTOM! The Rock stood up and dragged the rage up by his limp, lifeless hair. Rocky had regained his momentum and, seeing his opportunity, planted his foot square in the rages' ass. "Oooooo, kinky", the rage said before Rocky lifted him up, using the foot implanted in his ass and began swinging him around, taking out hundreds of cylons with every swing of the rage. Before long all that was left was Apollo Creed, The Rock and Rocky surrounded by millions of cylon fragments. The rage was nothing more than a coolant stain on Rockys boot, number 6 had been removed from her skewer and was being enjoyed by a few Tipperary hurlers. The Human race was emancipated, the threat of cylon tyranny ended. Apollo looked at Rocky, "You still got the eye of the tiger, now lets go pray and get shitfaced."

5 comments:

  1. I didnt realise how long this was. Sorry.

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  2. Great story. I was laughing my bum off.

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  3. Kick ass, yeah.
    Two class things from the story...
    Describing Dalys' face as repugnant.
    And the use of the line 'Never has a story seemed so bleak.'

    Although, this puts a stop to my story of Daly taking the 'Hill of a Thousand Bots'. Maybe someday...

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