RE: EIGHTEEN WHEELERS OF FORTUNE: LET'S PLAY BMFCT
07-23-2015, 04:57 AM
"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" yells Scab The Crab Bard, throwing his amp out the back of the truck as soon as the doors open, before the truck's even come to a stop. "IT'S FUCKIN' ALL FUCKED UP WITH THIS ICE CREAM GOO SHIT! THIS SHIT, HAD VACUUM TUBES, ALRIGHT?! THAT SHIT'S EXPENSIVE! IT'S A GOD DAMN ANTIQUE! FUCK! LISTEN TO THIS!" Scab strums furiously. All that comes out of his axe are pathetic clunks. He has been reduced to metaphorical impotence.
"I probably could have fixed that if you hadn'ta thrown it, shithead!" hollers Piston Shrimp.
"NOT IN THE GOD DAMN MOOD, PISTON!" screams Scab, collecting his guitar pedals into a duffel bag. "YOU GOT YOUR PINCERS FULL WITH THE FRIDGE ALREADY, DON'TCHA?" He picks up three crates of halfway-decent ice cream (rocky road that managed to survive the rocky road,) places it atop his head, and grumpily hops out of the truck. "Alright, where the fuck's the new truck?"
He carries his load over to the parking lot of the depot and nearly drops it all when he lays his eyes upon the most magnificent truck he's ever seen — it is in the shape of one gargantuan amp, with a cab on the front that looks like some kind of skull.
"Is this for me?" he asks, to nobody in particular. "No, fuck it, it's mine. The Motherfuckin' Crab Goddess has smiled upon me, woo boy!" He scuttles aboard like an excited child and loads the ice cream — careful not to disturb the enormous vacuum tubes that line the speaker-edge of the truck bed. Then, for some reason he loses interest in lifting and loading and scrambles up on top of the amp.
"Motherfucker... these knobs are the size of ME!" He shortly discovers, conversely, that the jack is still the correct size for his cord, and the rest of the crew discovers shortly after him, along with everyone in a 100-mile radius.
"I probably could have fixed that if you hadn'ta thrown it, shithead!" hollers Piston Shrimp.
"NOT IN THE GOD DAMN MOOD, PISTON!" screams Scab, collecting his guitar pedals into a duffel bag. "YOU GOT YOUR PINCERS FULL WITH THE FRIDGE ALREADY, DON'TCHA?" He picks up three crates of halfway-decent ice cream (rocky road that managed to survive the rocky road,) places it atop his head, and grumpily hops out of the truck. "Alright, where the fuck's the new truck?"
He carries his load over to the parking lot of the depot and nearly drops it all when he lays his eyes upon the most magnificent truck he's ever seen — it is in the shape of one gargantuan amp, with a cab on the front that looks like some kind of skull.
"Is this for me?" he asks, to nobody in particular. "No, fuck it, it's mine. The Motherfuckin' Crab Goddess has smiled upon me, woo boy!" He scuttles aboard like an excited child and loads the ice cream — careful not to disturb the enormous vacuum tubes that line the speaker-edge of the truck bed. Then, for some reason he loses interest in lifting and loading and scrambles up on top of the amp.
"Motherfucker... these knobs are the size of ME!" He shortly discovers, conversely, that the jack is still the correct size for his cord, and the rest of the crew discovers shortly after him, along with everyone in a 100-mile radius.