You close your eyes.





   


   

A desert, networked by power lines and roads. Scraggly trees, sprouting up at great distances from each other to maximize resources in the arid soil. In the distance, a monstrous bridge left standing purposeless after the Thirty-third Great Empire of His Royal Heighness Baron von Duke of King Prince Elfward son of President Murderboy drained the great lake of all its contents as part of a resalination project for all the world’s remaining fresh water. On the side of the road, a vehicle, parked. Its cargo, baking in the morning sun.
   



   

Its occupant, asleep.
   

who >_

   

 

 

 

 

no

 

 

 

 

 

no

 

   

 
 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

no

 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 

 

no

no

 

 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 

no

 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 

 

 

no

   

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

Ok

 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 

 

   

 
 

 

 

Your name is STARRE REIDER, and you awaken on the LONELY ROAD. Much of Trolternia is desolate wasteland outside of TROL MIAMI, and that leads TRUXOM SUNBINCHES like you plenty of space to roam.

 

You have awoken in the sleeper cab of your vehicle and home, the GORGONSOLAR, which serves as the base of operations for your infamous PIRATE RADIO STATION. The wals are adorned by your beloved BEEFCAKE ILLUSTRATIONS, and upon your bedside table lies the CRYSTAL BASKETBALL you use to DUNK SICK HOOPS INTO THE NETHERWORLD using your EVIL EYE.

 

Online, ou are known as gorgonsTires, but also sometimes as blowoutContinental, & y&u t&lk on & on in one unbr&ken and hypnotic s&nt&nce, yall

 
 




You warm up in preparation. While REGULAR BASKETBALL encourages stiff, stiltlike LEGS so as to achieve greater height, the key to a good SPIRITUAL MORNING DUNK is all in the arms. When you feel the rush of lubricating motor oil in your CARPAL TUNNELS, you let ‘er fly.







As the CRYSTAL BASKETBALL enters SATAN’S CRADLE, your EVIL EYE is able to pierce the veile into another world… the “INSIDE OUT”

(12-04-2019, 01:36 AM)Dalmationer Wrote: »trol seasson takes place in the mcu

what to do >_

 
 










It’s the superherpe himself, JOHN ASHCROFT! When you were just a wee tyke shooting hoops alone in the basketball court, he came to you and invited you to his wondrous world of the Netherlands. He gave you the EVIL EYE that lets you see into the Inside OUt whenever you had a spare bit of MANA and a few STOCK OPTIONS. You made so many great friends here when you were a young’un, rampaging around the WELFARE MAZE or balancing on the edge of the PRECIPICE OF SUPPLY SIDE. You trust John Ashcroft implicitly.




Oh, and it looks like the other Avengers are Assembling down in the WELFARE MAZE! Look, it’s Robin and Batman! Those guys are the FACIAL RECOGNITION DEVELOPERS for John Ashcroft’s next bid for “four more years”. You don’t know exactly what it’s four more years of. When you try to contemplate the political situation here, your VISION gets fuzzy.











You can’t PUNCH anyone here without PHYSICALLY EXISTING IN THE DARK PLACE! You instead throw your crystal basketball at her a few times.

































Oh, come on.










Ok.






>_

 
 


The Mining Corporation of Ymca trolternia (MCY) controls vast swathes of lan in trolternia (as well as a chain of department stores, the water rights of the moon (a brutal war still rages over the water lefts)), and a brand called “RAT” that was created exclusively to manage their patent troll properties). It’d take about eighteen hours of driving on this gravel road to get out of the MCT Supramiami Autonomous Zone.



There is a faster road, though. A more dangerous, rare, and illegal road. “The Railroad”

You focus your eye on the overpass and let your foot’s weight press the gas pedal down to the weathered, dusty faux leather of the cab floor. You’ve had your morning coffee, without which you literally can’t survive (you will die, this is not a hyperbole). The taste still lingers on your tongue. Fresh. While holding the wheel with your knees, you pull out your radio and log onto your group chat.


The connection crackles as you pass under a power line, and you have to restart the call.


You wait for a reply for several seconds, then realize with a pang of hunger that you haven’t eaten breakfast yet.









You open up your fridge and kiss your beefcake. Luscious gobbets of meat and strawberries mix with subtle whipped cream and soft meringue. You begin to salivate, opening your mouth - CRUNCH!!!






You’ve run aground!!! A smaller truck is lodged in your left front bumper. Your FIGUREHEADS hiss in alarm at the same time as steam begins hissing from under the hood of the other vehicle.


>_