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created Saturday, January 4, 2003 at 6:07 PM
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Superclipium XI: In loving memory of Nostradamus...
a dramatic interpretation by Jonathan, David, Ben, and Bob the Squirrel
(originally published October 28, 2001)
We begin our saga with Superclipium, who is sitting quietly at home watching the latest news and snacking.
Superclipium: Hmmm-mmmmmm...How I *love* walnuts! One walnut....two walnuts.... three walnuts....Now if only I had a mouth.... *munch* *munch*
Now wait a minute! This walnut is wearing a miniscule beret!!! (insert dramatic chord)
(The walnut laughs maniacally.)
The Walnut: Lo, beware two fortnights hence,
For the beavers shall arise from the ocean of despair,
Waltzing on the orange-pineapple-banana juice.
Woe to all ye who dare to bite the beaver,
For he is rabid and not very tasty.
The sky will run with black blood
And the turnips will triumph over The Penguin!
Superclipium: (shocked) Nostradamus, is that you?!?!?!!!
Nostradamus/Walnut: You think you can kill me again, fool? (insert frightened rodent noise)
Superclipium: I feel a flashback coming on.
Nostradamus: Dang it, I hate waddling through spacetime.
Superclipium and Nostradamus waddle through the icy blackness of spacetime. Superclipium has donned a crimson cape and Nostradamus now resembles a trombone, but he is still wearing his beret. Nostradamus sings "Fire in the Sky with Death" to the tune of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" while Superclipium merely whistles the tune to "Yellow Submarine" at an insane tempo.
Nostradamus spontaneously combusts as Superclipium notices Richard Nixon and Elvis waddling along while playing a game of chess in the middle of spacetime. Elvis waves as the stage morphs into a mountaintop surrounded by flashes of lightning and a gigantic floating beaver head; a hopscotch thingy is carved into the rock midstage. Nostradamus reappears in human form.
Suddenly, a masked, caped figure jumps out from behind the curtain, knocks the floating beaver head into oblivion, and exits skyward. The flashback has finally begun.
Superclipium: (flabbergasted) HOW DARE YOU INFER MY MOTHER WAS A WOODCHUCK! I bet you can't even play hopscotch!
Nostradamus: (greatly offended) Can't play hopscotch, eh?
Superclipium: (smirking) Yes. And you smell like a plum too!
Nostradamus: Oh yeah? Well...I challenge you to a duel...of full contact...synchronized...HOPSCOTCH!!!
Superclipium: Excellent. If you win, you get my soul. And if I win.....Hmm.....If I win, you must spend the rest of your life in random humiliating and/or tasty forms!
Nostradamus: I accept. (He throws down a pebble, pauses, then begins hopping enthusiastically.) One, two, three...
The flashback comes to a close. The narrator, a wise old bearded man, jumps down to the stage from the roof, munching on some potato chips, and begins speaking. Meanwhile Nostradamus and Superclipium return to the present through spacetime, this time hopping like bunny rabbits and screaming like French toast.
Narrator: Yes, that is how it all began. With hopscotch: a simple game really, and one that has stood the test of time ever since its origins in Roman military training camps. But yet, this simple, seemingly meaningless game, a game dearly loved by annoying little children and grown adults alike, this game became the start of a terrible, awful cycle...at least for Nostradamus.
(The narrator explodes in a fit of cackling, leaving the stage as we first encountered it: with Superclipium and his walnuts.)
Superclipium: (grinning) Yes, I remember. You certainly did make a cute little rabid woodchuck...
Nostradamus (in walnut form again): (bitterly, glaring at Superclipium) But that was only the beginning! Since then I've been metamorphosized by your cohorts more times than at which you could shake a bald monkey!
Superclipium: (dubiously) Are you sure? I have a pretty durable bald monkey.
Nostradamus: Your mom's a pretty durable bald monkey.
Superclipium: Oh, yeah? We'll see about that... (*munch* *munch*) (He eats the Nostradamus-walnut.)
(in a prophesying voice coming from inside Superclipium)
Doom and despair will fall from the sky,
And after that we all will die.
Stay away from pumpkin pie,
This is what I prophesy;
You know me, I would not lie,
Because I'm making really bad rhyme(s).
(pause)
Mmmmmmmmmm, how I love walnuts. Ooh, look! This one has a top hat!!! (another dramatic, albeit diminished, chord) Is that you, Abe Lincoln?
(blackout) |
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