Uh, uh-uh, ooooh
Welcome to paradise
Now, leave all your worries and
other TV shows behind baby
It's time for Aqua TV Show Show
Aqua TV Show Show
Aqua TV Show Show
Aqua TV Show Show
I said Aqua TV Show Show
Aqua TV Show Show
Aqua TV Show Show
Aqua TV Show Show
I said Master Shake, Frylock, my little homie Meatwad
Lotus on the beats, yeah we heavy in the streets
Yeah we got the whole planet in the palm of our hands though
So give thumbs up for the Aqua TV *scratch*
Ha ha haaaa
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Aqua Pony Show Show
Pronlog: Fargate 69
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The day was dayful, as the South Jersey Shore sun beat down upon its lovely patrons. The general populace was enjoying the lovely Saturday afternoon. Well, perhaps some more than others…
*Click-click* Oooh! *Click* Ah! *Click, click*
“Aw yeah, be sure ta get tha musted in dere, too.” Carl said lustfully, as he sat naked at his computer desk, furiously clicking his mouse. “Normally I wouldn’t be, uh, too inclined to eat a hot dog dat’s been in a girl’s, uh, ‘buttocks region’, hehehe. But, for you, my deah,” he lifted his leg to retrieve a hot dog that he had been sitting on to act as an imitation “I’ll make an exception.” He grabbed the nearby mustard and covered the vile dog. He shoved it in his mouth, and promptly spat it out. “Ugh!” Simultaneously, a knock hailed from his front door. “Dammit!” He rushed to put on the least stained pair of underwear he could find, and answered the door. “What?!”
His floating neighbor responded with a smile, holding up a helmet with his fry ligament. “Hey Carl, look what I-”
“WHO YA GONNA CALL?!?” His neighbor’s roommate appeared out of nowhere, blatantly interrupting his friend. They both looked at the black t-shirt he wore, bearing a striking resemblance to an 80s movie logo, but with the ghost mooning the front of the shirt. An awkward silence fell upon the trio.
When he felt it was appropriate to resume his conversation, he continued. “I made this helm-”
“GHOSTBLASTERS!!” his cup-shaped roommate yelled, purposefully slapping the helmet out of his friend’s fry.
“Dammit, Shake!” He scolded his roommate for possibly ruining the surprise he made for his neighbor.
As he bent over to pick it up, Carl took the opportunity to speak. “So, you mind tellin’ me why ya on mah propehty or should I cut out da middle man an’ just call the police right now?”
“Yes, arrest him,” Shake began, “for he has told me of his diabolical plan to kill you with his magic stupid thing! That’s why we must destroy it!” He once more knocked the helmet out of his friend’s fry, and started mercilessly beating it with a baseball bat.
“Shake, cut it out!” His friend was starting to lose his patience. “It took me weeks to make this one!”
“Weeks?! Weeks are for freaks!” He threw the bat to the side, only to have it explode spontaneously. “Now, week-ends, they’re for…” he shifted his eyes to and fro, hoping to find poetic inspiration. He looked to his lower right, noticing his other roommate near his base, smiling at him cheerfully. “…losers. It that how you want to be remembered?”
“I made you this new helmet.” He ignored his roommate’s pointless babble. “It should be able to take you to any point in time that you wish to go. Imagine the possi-”
“Yeah yeah, ‘possibility, possiblanca’—we’ve all heard your stupid speech about a hundred times now!” Shake interrupted, beginning to grow irritated.
“I told you that was practice for when I show it to Carl!” he retorted.
“Nah, ya know what? Jus’ go ahead and shove it right back up ya ass dere, Fryman. I’m in tha middle of tha dog contest right now.” He jerked his head in the direction of his living room.
“Shoot, Carl,” the small roommate began “I didn’t know you were into hot dog eatin’ contests!”
“Well, dey’re not so much ‘eatin’’ ‘em… so much as… what is that, a bedpan?” He had completely forgotten about his neighbor’s gift.
“I made you a helmet that ca-”
“What do you mean ‘you’? I believe you mean ‘we’. Have you completely forgotten the upgrades that I so humbly gifted it, not five minutes ago?” Shake asked with a singe of betrayal.
“What, the stickers?” He lifted the helmet to reveal several glittery rainbow/unicorn stickers plastered over the outside.
“Hey boy, those were mah birthday stickers!” The small one jumped a few times to try and retrieve his stickers.
“Yeah, well… ya know what?” He reached into the meatball’s head and made poor-quality robotic noises. “I just erased your birthday from your system.” The small one slowly began to bawl. “Yeah, how do you like them apples? You mess with the cobra, his venom will enter your system, and paralyze you within seconds.” The meatball cried even harder, as Frylock shot the chuckling Shake an evil glare. “Look, he’s disappearing. …What? I watch the learning shows. They serve as an intermission between pro wrestling and Big Sister.”
“The show really has gained in net value since they added the new host.” The meatball suddenly stopped crying to bounce his thoughts off his roommates.
“And the women? Rawr! Talk about top-notch.” Shake ignored the distain he held for his small roommate to converse with him about their favorite show. “I would hit them… with my genitals.”
“Yeah, boy!” Silence fell upon them once more. “How would you go about doin’ that, though? I’m not seein’ any… ‘hitting’ material.” The camera zoomed in on Shake’s lack of male organs.
“Well, that’s because I just got a tummy-tuck, over in Hollywood. They say that celebrities like myself need to stay in shape, and what better way to do that than to cut out the guilty pleasures in life?” Shake responded, rubbing his body in a vain fashion.
“You ain’t never had no ‘guilty pleasures’, boy!”
“Because I’m always running from ‘em! I don’t have time to heed to their beck and call, because my agent already has enough trouble getting me to do the TV spots he books! You should be grateful that I spend my free time with the likes of you!”
“You don’t have an agent!” Frylock said.
“Y-… bu-… I’m going to your room! Do not enter for the next half-hour, and expect to clean up afterwards, as punishment for your insolence!” Shake said, as he shuffled away.
“Clean up what? All you ever do is look at the lingerie ads!” Frylock retorted.
“I AM THE MASTER!” Shake yelled as he slammed the door shut.
“Y’know what? I’m beginnin’ ta think he doesn’t have an agent.” Meatwad thought out loud.
“So, are we done here?” Carl asked. “Kinda got 20 minutes left before this shampoo… y’know, ‘loses effect’.” He began to scratch his genitals.
“I made you this he-”
“Probably hasn’t been to Hollywood, either.” Frylock shot Meatwad a glare, as his patience was completely lost.
“HERE! A F*squeak*IN’ HELMET THAT TRAVELS THROUGH TIME! DAMMIT!” He shoved the helmet into Carl’s chest and floated off.
“Geez, what’s up his ass?” Carl chuckled.
“I dunno, man. He doesn’t really leave the house much nowadays.”
“Could’ve at least, y’know, painted it or somethin’.”
“Shake and I beginnin’ ta think he’s one o’ them shut-ins.”
“Y’know, like a deep blue wit a red stripe? Pay homage to the big, blue wreckin’ crew.”
“He’s been tryin’ e-datin’. I don’t think it’s workin’, ‘cause they can see yo face on there.”
“Maybe put like a, uh, a nice ‘NY’ on tha side. None o’ dat ‘GIANTS’ sh*squeak*, though. Dat ship has sailed.”
A brief pause allowed Meatwad to forget the topic of conversation. “…Ay, wha’s that?” he asked, pointing at Carl’s gift.
“Uh, I think he said somethin’ about… ‘space travel’, or somethin’. Eh, I wasn’t payin’, uh, too much attention. You, uh… you need somethin’?” Carl asked, hoping to return to his “private matters”.
“Just wanted to make sure you were still on for our Earth Day brunch tomorrow. We gon’ plant a tree in honor o’ Motha Earth’s bount-… uh, bootyful, uh… booty? Yeah, her booty.” He raised the bush in question.
“Yeah, I thought my yahd was lookin’ a little lopsided. So what, you came by ta steal more o’ my Azaleas?”
“Shake says, ‘It ain’t stealin’ if the person knows you did it.’ …Wait, or was it ‘if they know where it is’? Somethin’ about ‘knowin’’… My brain hurts.” Meatwad squinted, trying to make sense of his own thought patterns.
“So I uh… put it on, or somethin’?” Carl asked as he skeptically eyed the helmet.
“Yeah, he said somethin’ ‘bout, ‘crafting to your DNA’, or somethin’. Dat’s why it’s got those drills.”
“‘Drills’?” Carl flipped the helmet over to reveal numerous whirring drills jutting from its interior. “Oh… yeah, no, we not doin’ that.” He tossed the helmet carelessly into the living room. “You, uh… need anything else?”
“I was thinkin’ ‘bout startin-” was all Meatwad could state before the door slammed. He happily rolled back to his residence.
<><><><><><><><>
“So Meatwad…” Frylock began cheerfully, but quickly turned discreet, “did he put on the helmet?”
“Huh uh. I told him ‘bout those drills and he threw it away.”
“Dammit, Meatwad! How many times did I tell you not to mention the drills?”
“Hmm, four, five… uh… two… what comes after two?”
Frylock sighed heavily. “Meatwad, we went over this; I even gave you a note.”
“A note?” Meatwad asked. He searched around in his body until he revealed a piece of paper, and scanned it for the aforementioned evasive topic.
“Uhh… wha’s dat word?” he pointed the word out to Frylock, only for him to facefry.
“‘Drills’, Meatwad!”
Shake aggressively shuffled into the room. “Has anyone seen my PDA? I need to have it on my humbled person in case the constable calls!”
“You probably just misplaced it.” Frylock responded.
“Well maybe you are gonna misplace your face… wh-… when my fist… it sounded much more authoritative in my head! This is why my memos are always dictated—where’s my stenographer?!” Shake asked frantically. From behind him rolled Meatwad with a green visor and his two-button laptop, trailing the emerging steno paper with his hand.
“How far back you want me to read?”
“Uh, start from when I came back inside, please.”
“Ok… ‘Shake enters house, enters Frylock’s room to look at the nudie-women. Frylock enters house; Shake panics at lack of genitalia, quickly grabs Dewey from nearby and pretends it’s his wee-wee. Frylock enters room.
Shake: Oh, didn’t see you there; guess you came to see the show—unfortunately, dudes have to pay.
Frylock: What ‘show’? You’re not fooling anyone.
Shake: Look, I got the goods. They’re just embarrassed to be associated with such archaic technology.
Begins hitting computer with Dewey. Frylock punches Shake.
Shake: Assault, assault! You are unfit to be a parent, and I’m calling CPS on you.
Frylock: With what? You haven’t paid the phone bill in months.
Shake: I don’t have time for this. I’m expecting a very important phone call from the constable. Where’s my PDA?
Frylock: Try checking out back.
Shake exits house to search for PDA in backyard. Meatwad enters house.
Frylock: So Meatwad, did he put on the helmet?
Meatwad: Huh uh, I told him about those drills and he threw it away.
Frylock: Dammit, Meatwad. How many times did I tell you not to mention the drills?
Meatwad: Hmm, four, five, two, what comes after two?
Frylock: Meatwad, we’ve been over this; I even gave you a note.
Meatwad: A note?
Meatwad pulls out Shake’s PDA to reveal a note pertaining to the avoidance of the helmet’s drills.
Meatwad: What’s that word?
Frylock: ‘Drills’, Meatwad.
Shake enters room.
Shake: Has anyone seen my PDA? I need to have it on my humbled person in case the constable calls.
Frylock: You probably just misplaced it.
Shake: Well maybe you are going to misplace your face when my fist—it sounded much more authoritative in my head. This is why my memos are always dictated—where’s my stenographer?
Meatwad: How far back do you want me to read?
Shake: Start from when I came back inside, please.
Meatwad: Ok, Shake enters house, enters Frylock’s room to look at the nudie-women. Frylock enters house; Shake panics at lack of gen-'”
“Wait!” Shake exclaimed, hearing something in Meatwad’s soliloquy that caught his attention. The air was thick with tension until he finally spoke. “THREE comes after two!”
Meatwad waited a moment before responding. “Hey, hey,” he began pulling on Frylock’s beard, “you know what? I think he’s right.”
“I remember it from the vampire movie marathon! Dracula would always count his victims before they met their demise!”
“‘Count them’? You sure that wasn’t just Sesa-*George Lowe saying “lawsuit”*-eet?”
“Hell no! Dude just likes to count! I remember them saying that on one of his documentaries.”
“But he didn’t… actually kill anybody, did he?” Frylock deadpanned.
“Y-… well…” Shake, in a quick fit of rage, threw the chair at the TV, causing a massive explosion. “Stupid f-*squeak* censorship! You know they start with my shows, and soon they’ll be blockin’ everyone’s window to imagination! Where’s my PDA? I need to set a reminder to send an angry letter to Hollywood!”
“Alright, Plan B, Meatwad:” Frylock began, “give Carl a call and tell him there’ll be beer at the party.”
“O~h no, that beer is mine, and I need it for the wet T-shirt contest!” Shake argued.
“Shake, we don’t even have any beer!”
“You know water dun’t get the job done!” Shake responded, wielding a spray bottle. He began spritzing Meatwad, now wearing a white ‘Girl Quest 20~~07~~ 12’ T-shirt, but it only managed to reveal a small portion of his lumpy figure. “We need top notch Irish draught, and the girls and I will settle for nothing less!” He threw the bottle to the ground, followed by a small explosion.
“What girls? The only one coming over is Carl!”
The arguing continued all through the night, as a montage brought forth the celebration the following day.
<><><><><><><><>
On the house now bore a banner reading “HAPPY EA~~STE~~RTH DAY!” and our four heroes were relaxing in the springtime sun.
“Man, this is some party, huh?” Frylock asked sarcastically to Shake, who was grilling a single hot dog on their George Washington grill.
“Up-up-up, do not touch the grill-master, he is busy sculpting!” Shake said, attempting to shoo away his roommate.
“That thing is charred, you know.” Frylock began, noticing only black on the surface of the frank. “No one’s gonna want any of it.”
Shake scoffed. “I’m sorry, did you think you were gonna enjoy the fruits of my labor? No chance, chump! I’m the one who cooked it, I’m the one who obtained it… while the convenience store manager wasn’t looking, and I’m the one who’s gonna eat it!”
“Eat what?” Shake looked at the grill, only to find Meatwad chewing on something.
“Y-… unacceptable! You have eaten the offering to Mother Earth! Her wrath shall be slow and excruciating, so now we must feed you to her instead!” Shake announced, placing a handful of parsley around his roommate.
“H-… he’s just joking… right, Frylock?” Meatwad asked with glazed eyes.
“Shake, cut it out.” Frylock said. Shake had now placed several candles around him and started speaking in tongues, with various English peppered in as well.
“With this deadly vessel,” Shake revealed a baby garden snake “please, oh spiteful and merciless Mother Earth, destroy this non-believer for his insolence!” He threw the snake with much force. It flew three feet and hit Meatwad directly in the forehead. Meatwad began bawling, as Shake laughed maniacally.
“Do~n’t, don’t be so hahd on ‘im, Shakema~n.” Carl said, wobbling back and forth. “He just, u~h, role… mod-uh, he jus’ needs a bettah role model.” He started chuckling drunkenly. “Get it? ‘Role’? ‘Cause he rolls around?”
“Hey Carl, see you got through that 12-pack, huh?” Frylock asked, noticing his yard covered in empty beer cans.
“Yeah man, HAPPY LABAH DAY!” he screamed.
“Yeah… oh look, a Foreigner helmet!” Frylock feigned surprise as he revealed his time-travel helmet with a duct tape “F” on either side.
“Foreigner? Yeah, I saw them in ’85, it was a killah show! Dere was dis, uh, a uh, broad… wit a ‘Wingah’ shirt. I remembah she was givin’ out, uh, ‘jobs’, if ya know what ah mean!” He chuckled once more. “Jobs o’ the, uh, ‘hand’ variety, hehehe!”
“I can do jobs with mah hands!” Meatwad exclaimed, entering the conversation. “I do puppet shows, and takin’ out trash, and makin’ shadow puppets, and string puppets, and puppet cartoons, and-”
“Nah Meatman, when de-uh… when de adults havin’ a good time, dey, uh, dey get to huggin’ and de-”
“I can do hugs! I watch the Dr. Dilly’s Fun Time Rehabilitation show all the time! C’mon Carl, we jus’ gotta hug it out.” Meatwad hugged his neighbor’s legs as Shake shuffled over, wearing a shaman mask.
“WHAT are you doing? You know we’re only halfway through the ceremony!”
“I’m givin’ Carl a big ol’ bear hug, jus’ like the master, Dr. Dill-”
“No doctor is competent for anything! I am the hug master! Check it out.” He went to Carl’s other side and attempted to hug him with his stubby hands.
“Yeah guys, bri~ng it in!” Carl announced, hugging his two neighbors. Frylock had had enough.
“Oh f*squeak* it.” He shoved the helmet on Carl’s head. The helmet began to shake, both from the drills entering Carl’s head and the electricity that shot out from its surface. All four were suddenly engulfed in electricity, and just as quickly disappeared, leaving a charred shadow on the pavement.
<><><><><><><><>
“Ngh,” Frylock moaned as he came to, “my head.” He rubbed his head with his hoof.
…
‘Hoof’?
“What the hell?” He lifted off the ground and as he did, he heard an audible flapping behind him. He craned his neck to see he now had wings. “What the hell happened?” He looked around to see his comrades coming to as well.
“Ugh, wha happened?” Carl asked he looked at his hands, only to see that they were replaced with stubby claws.
“Somethin’ dun’t feel right.” Meatwad said, as his small earth pony body attempted to do a forward somersault. He merely flopped over on his side.
“W-… where the hell is my straw?!” Shake asked, feeling around on his head. All he could find was something stubby protruding from his skull. However, as quickly as he mentioned it, a straw magically appeared in front of him. He grasped it in his hooves. “Huh? Where is my PDA?! I need to mark this under ‘Stupid Things I Need to Punish Frydork for Causing!’”
Frylock flew over to the nearby lake and examined himself. “Oh my GOD!”
“Here we go again with the ‘oh my god’ nonsense! You know, the world doesn’t revolve around you; that’s why you’re not nominated for the Humanitarian award this year!” Shake reached from behind, expecting to pull out a loose-leaf sheet, with the words “Humanitarian/Coolest Dude of the Year ~~Nonamey~~ Nominee” scribbled on it, but revealed nothing. “What the hell?”
“Dang boy, I done got me a perm!” Meatwad exclaimed, examining himself while fluffing his mane.
“Horses? We all horses now?” Carl asked drunkenly, waddling over. “Oh! Am I one o’ dose, uh, thoroughbreds? A nice, uh, Clydesdale? Maybe a, uh…” He looked at his reflection, bearing nothing close to a horse. Only a blue lizard of sorts, with black spines and a white stomach. “Aw, come on! How come dey got ta be horses?”
“Where are we, Frylock?” Meatwad asked.
“I have no idea.” He looked around, noticing a town with many cottage-like homes in the distance. “But I have a feeling we’re gonna find out.”
To Be Contorballed...
Author's Note
Figure I'd add another member to my Island of Unfinished Stories!
