Date: 7/12/2000
From: darkslider

This one is gonna be for the HOF, my friends...BLOOD GALORE.

SpaceTime:
Pappy...work the magic.

Good Luck
__________________________________________
Sabre,
You know how to flame with the best of them, man! You're gonna need to throw EVERYTHING at ol Pappy. Your ingenuity, wit, and quick thinking are TOP NOTCH.Use them wisely in this round.

Good Luck!

............ .................. ................ .......
BTW, your time is from roughly 2am today to 2am tomorrow,Bboard Time, on account of my punctuality rebellion.

<slinks through>

Date: 7/12/2000
From: sleepingtiger

phew. I think I made it.

tigger

Parallel Bladders

Date: 7/12/2000
From: SpaceTime

-= 1/5/545/19996... April 19, 2000 =-

Jorge and Sabre-Edge were having a grand time, wrapping each other in triple-ply, spring-scented Charmin toilet paper. Sabre pretended he was The Mummy and went around swatting at his nuts. They itched.

Jorge was making sure every inch of his body was covered in fluffy white goodness when he was overpowered. Not by sheer force, mind you, but by the gallons of tequila flowing through his veins and arteries. Now that's what I call a trooper. The alcohol took weeks before it finally hit Jorge, but when it did, it hit with a vengeance.

And at the worst possible time. No sooner did Jorge keel over from alcohol poisoning than the LoB striking, and striking hard. Sabre, panicked without the leadership of Yawn-too, stood perfectly still and hoped no one would notice a man-boy decked in nothing but toilet tissue standing next to an assembly line.

"Sabre, stand down any weapon you might have armed and for God's sake, put some clothes on," Dark said. Space picked up Jorge and threw him over his shoulder.

-=**aNaMoLy**=-

Sabre moved behind a pole and put his clothes back on. When he walked out he saw that entire Legion of Booze stood there (sans Lolita and Vance), weapons loaded and cocked. He thought back to his first clone and sighed. He knew he was screwed.

And whereas most versions Sabre-Edge have the balls of a lion, temporal anamolies can creep up. The Sabre-Edge of *this* world hesitates, and in that moment of hesitation...

Sabre-Edge pulled out his Colt 45. Unfortunately, SpaceTime, avowed KING of the Legion of Booze, fired first.

SpaceTime is a King. Hell, SpaceTime is a GOD. Not THE God, mind you but *a* God. And this God knew where to aim.

The bullet shot through Sabre's belly, doing major internal damage to his bladder. No aesthetic damage, thankfully. The idea of Sabre-Edge being even UGLIER made Space cringe.

Sabre crumpled to the ground. Sober-Edge chuckled. "You stupid, ugly bastard," he said. "Take some Acutane. You may have to wear a Depends undergarment for the rest of your life, but at least you won't have huge, gaping ACNE SCARS on your face."

Sabre clutched his gut...

And so, in a parallel world, Sabre-Edge went on to become a member of the LoB and die in glory. Not so on our earth. On this world... Sabre-Edge wears a colostomy bag.

Sadly, Sabre-Edge can no longer choose when he goes to the bathroom. His genitalia are attached to a Water Weinie in the hopes he doesn't soil his pants.

Ironically, Sabre's cowardice and inability to stop himself from shitting his Funderoos would keep him alive and away from the Dominion. He would not be eviscerated by Matthew Perry. And he would live a miserable, diahrreic existence wondering just how many more seconds before his anus emptied in his shorts.

Months later, after SpaceTime shot Dark and Tembi's body into space, he went and visited Sabre in the hospital. The stench of fecal matter was overpowering.

Space slapped Sabre silly. "Haven't I told you not to disobey me? You are my bitch. You will always *be* my bitch. And now you will be this wheelchair's bitch as well."

Sabre began to sob.

"Don't fuck with me," Space said sternly. "It only brings you a world of PAIN."

- ST

So it begins again...

Date: 7/12/2000
From: Sabre_Edge

So we pit ourselves against each other in a battle to amuse the onlookers. We dance this dance and continue on for the entertainment of the masses.

I tire of this game, much as you tire dressing in men's clothes, Space_Time. Your lack of enthusiasm is well documented as you strut your walk in platform heels and daintly sashay across the runway in your flowing pink sundress modeling the latest in summer wear. We need new activities to keep our interests. Where my interests differ from yours is that I enjoy creating things, you wallow in destruction. Destruction of Ring-Tailed Lemurs' virginity, destruction of your father's faith in you when you told him you wanted to join in the world's longest all male nude orgy train, the destruction of that Rock 'em Sock 'em inflatable Snuffalupogus punching bag that wouldn't stay horizontal when you wanted to make some sweet lovin' to it.

But I degress. This is a game and we must continue to play it for the enjoyment of others, and we know you like games. Funny thing is though, noone likes to play games with you, you don't play them as intended. We all know how you like to modify Monopoly to suit your purposes. The object is to collect the money, bro, not hide and seek with the playing pieces. No one wants the thimble after you insert it in your rectum and prance around on your tip-toes singing, "Who has the thimble? Who has the thimble?" We know where you have it hidden, you make such a display when you stick it there, wrapping your ankles behind your head and making propellor noises as you "fly" the doomed thimble into its "hanger". The sickening whimper you make as it "parks" is enough to make the healthiest men ill.

This battle bores me, but I must go on... for the pleasure of others. Bring your worst ST, thats what they want. Best me, they need a winner.

Bare necessities

Date: 7/12/2000
From: SpaceTime

Sabre_Edge touched himself. It was the best feeling in the world for a bald virgin.

And by bald I mean entirely bald; not a body hair on his body. And that is just the way he likes it.

Sabre enjoys stripping naked and running his nail-less fingers from the top of his head to the balls of feet. There are several pit stops along the way that I'd rather not mention.

How does Sabre stay so boyish? How does he consistently look as though the last chemo treatment didn't take? Nair. Nair and a pain stick.

The Nair is liberally applied by a mute dwarf named Rita who mutters a lot in Scandanavian. Ironically, she is from Patterson, New Jersey and has never spoken Scandanavian prior to this assignment.

The plot thickens.

Since Nair can only be applied when the hair has length to it, Sabre had himself injected with pediatric AIDS to stunt his growth. He also had his pituary gland severed, preventing GH from seeping into his scalp.

When that doesn't work, painful wax is applied, usually to Sabre's buttocks. It's okay, though; Sabre likes pain.

The end the result is hard to dismiss. And Sabre likes it.

But he'd like it better if you called him Powder.

- ST

Parting shot

Date: 7/12/2000
From: SpaceTime

JUBBLIES.

- ST

Original URL http://www.scifi.com/bboard/browse.cgi/1/5/545/22054
Nominated by darkslider