A NEVERENDING STORY Compilation Project

[Flick James]

Before you suspect me of having too much time on my hands, due to an extensive break from my MBA program, and the fact that I usually use my lunch break at work to do homework, I am now going use that hour to start compiling the story from A NEVERENDING STORY thread here. It's quite an undertaking, and I'm going to be posting it in chunks. I'm basically typing it up in MS Word and then pasting it here.

Just so you know how big an undertaking this is, I started with the very first entry, which began on March 20th, 2007, and am only up to March 30th, 2007, ten days later. So you know, that's how I will be spending the bulk of my lunch hours for a while. I will be sure to include, with each post, the dates from the thread for each post. I welcome and look forward to your comments, but I will ask to please refrain from trying to help with the project, it will only lead to my confusion.

To everyone's credit, the story, while random conceptually, was surprisingly cohesive, requiring very minor editorial changes here and there. I did keep them very, very minimal. 98% of it is word for word, with only punctuation added where it made sense, and the addition of words like "and" peppered sparingly, only when absolutely needed. I expected to have to make alot of edits but it turns out I didn't. It's also pretty hilarious and coherent at times for such stream of consciousness stuff.

So, with that, I give you the first installment of A NEVERENDING STORY...

(to start on the next post).

[Flick James]

Today's post is compiled from:

http://www.badmovies.org/forum/index.php/topic,113411.0.html

From the dates 03/20/2007 to 03/30/2007

There once was a forum a member named Depressed Crack Addict, who posted an outrageous tirade against zombies. As a result, the ground shook and a monkey gave the finger to Babe Ruth. “Where’s my banana?” and my underwear both lost in the big hurricane that also brought alien conga dancers to the brink of destroying Tupperware and cannabalism among the Wookanooba tribe, who ate veggie burgers made of asparagus and tree mold, which caused them to watch Se7en while eating pudding until they felt their bowels move. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t properly check for alligators, nudists, or gophers with pointy teeth.

Suddenly, a penguin jumped out and did the conga with a goose. Meanwhile, back at the Bat Cave, Harry met Sally at a bar when a big bad wolf came, covered in blood, and told them “me need feces.” The bartender resonded by coughing up blood, which he drank. A chemical solution bubbled and fizzed. He burped up a midget stripper who was holding a giant blue alien anal probe, and turned it into a snorkel that smelled of daisies and tulips.

“I had to get a whiff of this beautiful and magnificent snorkel,” quoth the Raven. “O.K.”

And then the snorkel was leading the midget who transformed into a giant killer BREAST shooting poisonous milk at the chosen Mothers Against Drunk Disciples of Feminism (MADDF?), themselves drunk on Miller High Life. Their tenacity for eating chocolate and the wrappers explained their strange lust for Miller beer, but not their husbands who erected large statues of remote controls, which they used to change the mindset of all which could bring Armageddon down upon all who dare dance the polka wearing polka dot trunks.

Dusty Rhodes revealed he really wanted to be a prima ballerina, from a secret underwater base located in an old house out behind mamma’s crotchless panty collection. Giant attacking frogs used their tongues equipped with poisonous spam sandwiches and corned beef hash to render humans defenseless against their own voracious urges for eating their own newborn spawn, which was okay.
 
Ole Lizard Lips got kissed by grandpa’s pet pig. The pig grew into a monstrous Hogzilla with disgusting, bulging red eyes that shot flames from its eyesockets. It let out an obnoxious gas and began to fumigate the land with foul stench.
 
Robert Young, a psychotic serial killer, smelled these fumes and turned into Michael Jackson the Grand Destroyer! He threw his nose at the bartender who then ran into a phonebooth where he became (?) and proceeded to kick the other weird singer clear to Cucomonga and back again, but now with less sugar added. The ground opened and spewed forth liver-lipped cockroaches with cellphones and uzis, bent on destroying Starbucks coffee houses. All of a sudden, giant chickens fleeing from KFC with secret spices disarmed the cockroaches and sprinkled them with magic pixie dust, which annihilated them.

Gamera the flying ketchup flavored cop played cards with Gigantor the meek, who refused to believe he was once an underpaid lawyer. So a ghost rearranged every single moment in time, and the Doctor Demento Show aired but was not clearly heard by the probe installed by Martians in an unknown crevasse. In darkness, Uma Thurman danced and Vincent thought “Mutant Giant Ants ate my pants!”

Just then, Alfred Hitchcock, naked and hiding from the composer Bernard Herrman, stubbed his toe and then yelled “beware the tribble!” The tribbles began to gyre and became dizzy. Then Spock found his tricorder and used it to pleasure the speech centers of dancing hippos.

Meanwhile, a brown, bloated, and unlikable tribble gave birth to Pauly Shore (a still born). In the netherworld, the flames roared and enormous demons in pink tutus danced about Azathoth while Cthulhu read dirty nursery rhymes about muddle trolls hovering over islands made of bologna. The demons drooled eldritch turqoise ichor upon the head and balls of Rosie O’Donnell, causing an enormous eruption on The View.
 
A gargling noise from the Donald whose hair was an optical illusion, prepared for Wrestlemania by throwing Madonna to the werewolves, becoming a werewolf in her cone-bra, who started singing “Vogue” and dancing the whootsi chootsi.
Meanwhile, in a satanic parallel dimension, Ed Wood’s Oscar, won for working on Jail Bait, was brought to Moonbase Alpha, where it was stolen and remade into and Angor sweater that was irradiated by flying saucers attacking from Mars.

[Flick James]

From 03/30/2007 to 04/11/2007

Such topics rarely let your imagination get really naked as hideous aliens slither their tongues against your leg.
Meanwhile back at werewolf Madonna’s shindig, Donald joined in a game of candyland where a fight broke out when somebody posted seven nude photos of Rich’s boo boo, exciting werewolf Madonna, which caused her bloodlust to rise, and she began her search for her .357 magnum and killed herself.

Meanwhile, in Guam, Madonna’s ghost appeared in a Taco Bell restaurant, howling for Turkish, who smeared honey on the script to Snatch, a movie oddly not about purple people eaters, but Captain Kangaroo, who had risen from the grave to feast upon Mr. Greenjean’s brains, pork and potatoes too. “Bring me my pipe, dear.”

Martian eyes watched nervously, from behind Mr. Moose’s tail, which let out a time warp of a fart that took everyone back to the dawn of man, where they discovered Donald Trump’s hair, which was eating Donald Trump. Midgets came in droves and offended their Troll 2 memorabilia to Rosie, who ate it all.
 
Meanwhile, back at Radio Ranch, Gene LeBell grappled a large Gwangi and shook it. 1,500 lumpy headed babies with mutated forked reptile tongues greedinly licked certain rare copies of Randy Newman’s last hit single, while their heads grew extra sets of big pink earlobes. All the better to squirt ear-wax at the thing turning into a wax golem, which rampaged through Las Vega, Nevada in search of girls gone wild. Willie Nelson, the Key Master of the planet Booginvika, blew his nose and hacked up a huge cockroach with a beard kinda like ZZ Top’s, hungry eyes, and huge claws that could not pick up the dropped soap.

Above, looking down, sat the most hideous orangutan, who licked large lollipops while scratching its coconuts, that hung from his pierced Monkey f**k Stick. As time passed, this story got more absurd than FREAKS.

The End


note: it's not really the end, but it was written in. Tomorrow's post will start with the sequel.

[Flick James]

From 04/11/2007 to 09/14/2008 (the thread must have gone dormant for a while)

In the remake, Ugandan Giant Kamala was selected totall wipe out low alcohol beer. The remake was directed by Clint Eastwood and written by Clint Howard, the brother of Ron, who has not achieved the fame of Ed Wood. In the cave there lurked a nasty attack hamster infected with scurvy but loved to paint her toenails with the deposits of Trevor’s underpants that she found behind her uncle’s vibrating toilet seat. He, a retired Kyrgyzstanian yak herder, upon hearing that gerbils make good after dinner mints, when eating brains, went out to a local canine slaughterhouse, where cats flocked vengefully, and sexually assaulted thirteen midget sorcerors, cast defensive spells, but unfortunately forgot to say please to the magic elf that was eating anchovies and grabbing midget head which he pickled spicy rooster’s testicles all night long with Rip Taylor and Rip Torn, while Buddy Ebson mounted a camel and road to Sc**thorpe in England.

They bought hookers to play cards and throw feces at Spanish monkeys related to Cher. When that ended, Amy Weinhouse performed oral sex on a dead bigfoot that turned out to be a frozen rubber costume in Paris Hilton’s personal Californian jail cell.
“Galoshes are yummy!” said Cthulhu’s followers. Brains taste better when mixed with pinto beans and jalapenos, but cause hemorrhoids to mutate and explode, which explained the origin of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen.
A proctologist arrived but then refused to remove his My Little Pony, which was coated with BBQ sauce and phlegm, with chunks of greasy mermaid fillopiaan tubes.

Meanwhile, Jackie Chan started to grow a third eye on his duodenum. However, his endoscopy indicated a small alien life form named Hildgard Fenstermacherson. Hildegard grabbed a potato chip resembling the likeness of the Virgin Mary and tossed it with eerie gusto into the waiting flames of Hell.
 
Meanwhile on Uranus, huge deposits of flying, flaming remnants of Tim Conway morhed and mutated into tiny pieces of a larger device programmed to kill Tony Danza’s libido, restoring universal harmony to all the pot smoking hippies.
 
Meanwhile, Telly Savalas at some cheese that made him so constipated that he took a fork and spoon and inserted them into Vanessa Del Rio’s large, jerel encrusted McDonald’s souvenir cup, filled to overflowing with slave urine that’s only good mixed with olives. Popey threw up massive chunks of three-legged frogs all over Bluto. Then Olive Oyl rubbed olive oil on the sweaty pair of testicles that belonged to Rowdy Roddy Piper.
 
Suddenly, Hulk Hogan took part in this direct-to-video sploshing movie, inspiring universal apathy in a group of B-movie fans who all hated the low frequency sound emitting from Madonna’s large heated crotch, defying all logic, laws of physics, basic common sense, and several ordinances, destroying midgets and broiling all chickens during mating season, causing egg shortages, stale chicken McNuggets, and sales of Britney Spears CD’s. So they decided to burn all bootlegged copies of Regis Philbin’s explicit sex panther video with some napalm.

That being done, the cast of Eight Is Enough bought flying monkeys wholesale, because Dick had an itch to find Toto and skin him, but didn’t have a butter knife, so he took  a nuclear warhead and rammed it into Rob Halford’s  motorcycle exhaust shaft, while he sang Baby Got Back with special guest Blind Melon Chitlin, who had been shaving off their armpit hair for use as a special seasoning for Italian chicken breast, washed down with human urine and toxic waste from my personal stash.
 
“Mmmm, tastes like tapeworms,” said the Professor Satchafunkilus, who, unbeknownst to his classroom of ghouls was about to be initiated into the dark, desolate sanitarium of the most high holy order of the transvestite known to mankind. The ceremony involves making kissy-faces whilst dressed in a tutu and jumbo bikini and white cowboy boots, and juggling seven greasy Spanish midgets while standing on a camel’s back. One then recites “klatu…barata…nectcoughcoughcough…” whilst drinking water directly from your child’s bubble bath as long as you could manage the floating particles that the brotherhood of travelling pants left in there with a gigantic box full of flying, flaming remnants, which temporarily blinded all of the members of Menudo.

After they recovered, they had a pepperoni and marmalade feast before engaging in naked charades in memory of Bigfoot and Wildboy, who had sadly fled the country due to an unfortunate misunderstanding involving the Dade County Sheriff’s Department, led valiantly, if misguidedly, to a full frontally nude attack on a beaver with Turret’s Syndrome, howling madly, intermittently, spewing unspeakably filthy $#!&&% hyms.

Meahwhile, Xena and Gabrielle, two unemployed warriors who made money as poultry inspectors, had an idea that involved stripping the paint off of Burt Reynolds’ old solid gold tricycle, using a mexican wrestler managed by the ghost of Jim Neighbor’s sister’s next door neighbor “Marvelous” Marvin Hagler Jr., the less talented brother of Anthony Michael Hall and his cousin Benicio Del Toro, who all jumped down into the crack of dark, dark midget hearts beating blood eternally, which is drunk by the giant purple Teletubby and his smaller lover, Bullwinkles friend Rocky, whose real name is Michael Hunt of Angel Beach. He lives with his mother and several wild raccoons behind the old wooden bike shed, where they store hairy brazil nuts and big golden hunting knives that, for some reason, could talk when dipped in guacamole.

Julia Child exclaimed, “NOW THAT’S A GOOD TV DINNER!” and everybody wennt to Taco Bell, where a battle of cheese and short order cookds caused a large mandingo to explode, yielding the unsavory taste of creamy artificial flavoring, causing an outbreak of yellow fever in Clay Aiken’s stop-motion closet, which was home to one large mannequin named Barbie, beloved of few, resented by many.

“This is ridiculous,” shouted Arnold Palmer, even though he himself was often setting fire to sandwiches, jello molds, doll houses, babies, old women, and Estelle Getty’s teeth, but only when he had discovered the secret place the government constructed to hide the Gary Coleman robot, and the evil Emmanuel Lewis cyborg that shot lasers out of his shiny left buttock. They fought off a dehydrated mule, which reaked of Rosie O’Donnell’s bathwater and fourteen different brands of cheap fruit-scented shampoos used by Steve Urkel, who didn’t read the labels on biohazard samples, turning him into a cross between Rapunzel and a 10-foot cuddly toy that began a fluffy rampage through a city comprised of drunken Ewoks shooting a porno with Misty Mundae, some wild stallions, the 1986 Chicago Bears, the Seven Dwarfs, and Jerry Stiller.

[Flick James]

Meahwhile, Xena and Gabrielle, two unemployed warriors who made money as poultry inspectors, had an idea that involved stripping the paint off of Burt Reynolds’ old solid gold tricycle, using a mexican wrestler managed by the ghost of Jim Neighbor’s sister’s next door neighbor “Marvelous” Marvin Hagler Jr., the less talented brother of Anthony Michael Hall and his cousin Benicio Del Toro, who all jumped down into the crack of dark, dark midget hearts beating blood eternally, which is drunk by the giant purple Teletubby and his smaller lover, Bullwinkles friend Rocky, whose real name is Michael Hunt of Angel Beach.

My problem with the logic of this sentence is not so much that they used a Mexican wrestler managed by the ghost of Jim Neighbor's sister's next door neighbor "Marvelous" Marvin Hagler Jr., the less talented brother of Anthony Michael Hall and his cousing Benecio Del Toro, nor that they jumped down into the crack of dark, dark midget hearts beating blood eternally, nor that the blood was drunk by the giant purple Teletubby and his smaller lover, Bullwinkle's friend Rocky, whose real name is Michael Hunt of Angel Beach. No, it's that Burt Reynold's old solid gold tricycle would have paint on it.

Why would someone paint a solid gold tricycle? That makes no sense.

[Doc Daneeka]

What I was saying in paragraph 7 was that Michael Jackson turned into , which is the proper name for The Artist Formerly Known as Prince!! Why do people never get my artistic genius?!?

[Flick James]

What I was saying in paragraph 7 was that Michael Jackson turned into , which is the proper name for The Artist Formerly Known as Prince!! Why do people never get my artistic genius?!?

I figured it was something brilliant. I do it during my lunch hour at work and at work certain things on this site can't be seen, probably because their source is something that is blocked by the network killjoys. Now that I know what it was I approve wholeheartedly.