I spent four summers building it. Every day I’d pack a lunch and head to the woods - ham sandwiches, a can of pop and a couple of biscuits. Tools in one hand, materials in the other and the day’s rations on my back, I’d walk the hour to my secret spot. With only rudimentary knowledge of the crafts involved, it was a learning exercise as much as anything else. As the days grew shorter and the nights got colder I’d have to pack it away in its hiding place, carefully covering it from the elements that would try to foil my plans over the next 3 seasons. But nearing the end of that forth summer, the project was complete. My 6-foot robot rabbit with killer laserbeam eyes and colossal razor-ended claws was finished. I started the first boot-sequence and watched the chest display anxiously, all tests completed successfully. I smiled broadly, a glint in my eye. My enemy’s would now suffer my wrath. The apocalypse cometh.
Posted by
WarHead, around 18th August 2006:
'Enemy's,' I thought to myself. 'Surely that should have been enemies.' But then I thought, 'But no one can read my thoughts, so they won't know I can't spell in my head.'
Behind me, a deep, but somehow furry voice said, 'What's up, Doc?'
I turned and was alarmed to see my rabbit chewing on a large carrot, while leaning against a tree.
'Do you know the way to Alberquerque?' it asked me. 'I turned left there, and now I think about it, I think that maybe I should have turned right.'
^%$^&&^%$&&^$%£
Dr Who leaped out.
"What!?" I cried, "Is Season II over already?"
"Never mind that," he said. "I need a new assistant. The last one's... umm... no good anymore. Do you know the way to Entridge Primary School?"
"What's UP, Doc *clank*"
"Christ, a cyberbunny. Don't tell me I've landed in 2006?"
"*clank*"
"Crap. So, that makes Joanna... ummm... 22? Bugger.
"...
"Don't suppose you know the way to 1996, do you?"
"*clank!*"
And with loud screeching groaning noises, the rabbit and the Doctor entered the Police MobilePhone.
Alone in the forest again.
My ham sandwiches tasted flat and my pop didn't.
I wanted my bunny back. My baby bunny, my child. My psychochica
(q'est que c'est).
I wasn't sure whether I should build a time machine myself or trace them via Caller ID.
Or just follow them into the Police MobilePhone which was just sitting there. Perhaps they suffered from premature groaning.
Posted by
syl_DUPE1, around 19th August 2006:
*groan*
Posted by
Sul_DUPE1, around 19th August 2006:
Sitting, thinking. Should I enter? Of course. A time machine. The Doctor. My foes would be useless against me if he were on my side. Yes, that's it, I would have to get the Doctor on board with my plan. And I knew just how to do it.
I entered the TARDIS. It didn't look as roomy as it does on the telly. I fear camera trickery.
"Finally, you decided to come along," said The Doctor.
"I will help you find this Joanna you speak of," I said "myself and the 6-foot robot rabbit will aid you in your quest. He has laserbeam eyes. They will be of use to you I'm sure."
"That's sound dandy", he replied.
This was fantastic. Little did The Doctor know, I had a treacherous plan laid out in my mind. Yes, I'd help him. I'd help the time-skipping old fool.
"Next stop, 1996!" screamed The Doctor. I sighed on the inside and feigned excitement on the outer. He really was just too joyous for someone of the last of his species.
We leapt forwards at 100 years an hour.
"Dammit" We juddered to a halt and with some frenzied graunching from the yearbox the Doctor threw us into reverse, his eyes pinned on the rear-vision memory above the winwinscreen. "Sorry about that. You're sitting right behind the little "3" button on the mobile phone -- makes it hard to use the yearstick."
Cyberbunny's eyes were pinned on the yearbox, aflame with metallic lust. Or possibly laserbeams. He wanted some red-hot graunch, THAT was clear. I had to move fast to distract him. Although, I was a little confused as to exactly how "speed" (distance moved per unit of time) actually worked inside a time machine.
It turned out I dithered for so long I created an internal time eddy which sucked us in and spat us out 27 minutes later. I look forward to reading my memoirs to find out exactly what I did, because it worked perfectly.
1996 loomed large in everyone's memory, and with a giant contracausal groan we all shouted "PUN!" and leapt out of the Tardis.
The rabbit leapt out and begun slashing with it's pointy claws at the busy street. People were torn to shreds before it's nasty slashy little hands. Blood rippled under it's swiss-army-knife fingers. It cooed in glee as the guts spiralled like a whirlpool out of water. Lifeless corpses clattered to the ground like so many metal dustbin lids thrown from their resting places.
This had to stop. I was all up for destroying my enemies, but even my dubious ethics quailed at the ine killer blood-spreeing down Tottenham Court Road. I turned to The Doctor,and implored that he help. We left the time machine, and he managed to rescue these two tiny little chinese guys. Meanwhile, I set my sights on the raging death bunny.
But someone else had already come to my help. Edward Scissorhands, accompanied by cock-in-hand-Gareth were approaching from either side. The rabbit's whiskers, which I had made from car arials, twiched with alertness, pointy cutty fingers at the ready.
Meanwhile the two little chinese guys put a tube up the Doctor's ass and started to fill him with custard.
There was no time to lose. There never is. Have YOU ever FOUND time? Never. Therefore no time has ever been lost.
So we had lots of time.
The Doctor, in particular, was sitting on large piles of time and piles. The fiendish chinese custard emma (oops this isn't enema) was fiendishly working its fiendish ends up his end, and time had nowhere else to go but passed. But too much! Truly the Doctor is a time lord, and the too little chinese guys were two little to cope, and suffocated for what seemed like about 13 million years but might have been longer, as they disappeared under the vast piles of time that washed over them. A gruesome end. The Doctor's, that is -- but their deaths weren't much better either.
Gareth was down, blood jetting from his truncated right arm. His sex life flashed before his eyes. So did Edward Scissorhands who with a bloodcurdlingly bad script leapt upon the robot rabbit
(robit? rabbot?-- first one sounds like a thief, the second one sounds jewish) and flailed at him, screaming "You can hide, but YOU CAN'T RUN WITH SCISSORS!" A fiendish backblast of Radio1 and XFM static exploded as scissors met whiskers and we all ducked as the buildings rocked and the street rolled in a massive explosion of cheese.
I was hurled away, skimming some Gallifreyan poo and aging 40 years. Outrage! This early advanced age could really cut into my world-domination plans! There was only one thing to do. Well, actually, there were loads of things to do -- my taxes, for example -- but all but one of them were suboptimal at this point in shit. I bounded back the way I came, skimming the reeking Time Lord effluvium, but unfortunately I underestimated my age-weakened springing and shot a little lower than I intended. Rather than reversing my age by 40 years, I undershot and de-aged 60.
I'm not sure that being an eight-year-old is going to help my credibility any, come world-domination time.
Never mind, I had other bunnies to fry.
There was a thud, a groan, and a queasy custardy belch from behind me. The Doctor was out of the picture. Which was good for the audience as that tube was still in place.
There was a long paws, tipped with pointy claws, which were tipped with miscellaneous scraps of dripping flesh. Our gazes locked, Rabbot and I, as we faced each other only inches apart.
Or at least, they would have done if I wasn't now eight years old and only three foot tall and thus way too short to be seen above his fluffy mechanical belly. Lasers sizzled holes in the tarmac behind me. Seeing the robot rabbit's confusion, I quickly kicked him in his nuts and bolts, turned, and bolted (sorry) into the bright blue mobile phone, slamming the interchangeable fascia behind me.
Breathing heavily (fighting arouses me), I made my way to the controls.
I didn't have a bloody CLUE how to operate this thing.
I opened the door a crack.
"Hey you! If you can drive this thing, I can introduce you to a lovely young yearbox."
His eyes lit up.
But he missed me.
Creeping along the floor, un-noticed, his severed right hand clutched tightly in his intact left hand, still clutching his manhood in the severed right, was ol' Cock-In-Hand Gareth! He bit deep into the Rabbit's Hydraulic Leg, and it yelped in pain.
It turned to face him. Faster than an excitable Spaniel, I instantly bit into the second leg. It was now unable to walk. Scooping up Cock-In-Hand Gareth, we ran for cover in an army surplus shop.
Posted by
syl_DUPE1, around 21st August 2006:
"Cock-In' Hell! Look at these prices!" said Gareth. "No wonder there's a Cock-In' surplus!"
[cockney accent]
Posted by
Saltation, around 8th December 2008:
*bump*