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And they all go marching down, into the ground


Captain Enema
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[b]45,000 feet, rapidly descending..[/b]


"Well ain't this some @#$@!" the young Robert Denard Jr. exclaims as he hurtles to his mortal doom. Well it might be his mortal doom if the skydiving instructor that is strapped to his back forgets to pull the ripcord, but Robert is fairly certain that the man will do his job, or at least he hopes so. Ending up a large smear of raspberry jam-like substance on the tundra wouldn't be the best way to embrace the challenge laid down by the departed Mad Dog Bob Denard.

In respect to his father's wishes that he continue the world tour the two of them had set out upon he had done so in grand style. He joined a band of roving gypsies and proceeded to embark on a mini-crime spree of France and Central Europe. Crime in the sense that it was the gypsies who were the ones making his pocket significantly less full each and everyday as they repeatedly scammed him over and over again until he learned through the school of hard knocks how not to be such a sucker.

Once he was free from his childish notions of how the world works his stay with the gypsies got a bit more interesting. It started with a bit of pick pocketing and before he knew it he was assisting them in scamming suckers out their entire paychecks with the old leaky roof scam. A few flying wombat hustles later and he quickly vaulted into the big leagues of gypsy hustles with the notorious B.I.G. scam involving an "up and coming" rapper and his mad tracks that were nothing more than a few beats kludged together on some 14 year old gypsy's delinquent's laptop. All good things must come to an end and young Denard's stay with the roving hustlers, thieves, pimps, and prostitutes came late one night when he was discovered coming out of the back of a high gypsy Prince's caravan after having a bit of a rough session of hot steam [censored] with the Prince's under-aged daughter.

Once he left the gypsy band he went on the prowl and did a bit of freelance work in the Kingdom of Cochin. While there he did a few blog posts on the Spartan assault on Bangalore. A bit of internet fame and notoriety swung his way and the bobble.com adsense revenues left him with cash in his pocket just needing to be spent. Rather than waste the money on wine, women, or song he opted to head to Marscurian Siberia to go skydiving.

Well it seemed like a good idea at the time.

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Cruising down the gravel road in her [url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G3DjZetEqK8/SXELJhAhWRI/AAAAAAAADNw/HCIvEhEevlA/s400/1994-1995-1996-1997-1998-ford-mustang-15.jpg"]Masibau Mk 4 Cavalier convertible[/url] with the top down, Princess Anastasia was tracking the parachute as it opened several thousand feet above her head. Never mind the fact that it was several degrees below 0 and she was bundled up more than she would want to be, she needed to make the rendezvous. "Left, left, straight, straight, RIGHT! MOTHER$%&@ING RIGHT," she yelled, swerving and fishtailing on the ice as she kept moving her eyes between the road and the sky. Watching the wind keep moving the Denard the Younger and his gypsy guide around in the air as they fell, Anastasia almost hit a tree, a bear, and an obese child (who was never seen again, while a bear was seen returning to hibernation after an easy-to-catch meal). As Denard kept falling, he was heading into the trees that filled he hills in that part of the country.

"Not in the trees, not in the trees, not in the trees, $%&@. He landed in the trees," Anastasia said, parking her car on the side of the road before trekking into the woods to find the lost men. About 500 yards in, she found them dangling from a branch of a pine tree, gently swinging in the breeze. Dangling about 5 feet above the ground, it wouldn't be a painful fall if she got them lose. All that mattered was that the branch didn't fall on them when she got them down. Pulling out the .357 magnums that she always had at her hip, she took careful aim at the main wires holding the parachute to the backpack. PEW PEW PEW PEW With two of the wires shot clean through, the two men swung down so that they were only a foot or so off the ground, but still stuck in the tree. "Hiya," Anastasia said, walking right up so that she was face to face with Denard Jr.

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All the way down Denard screams, "MY BALLS ARE SO COLD! ALLAH WHY HAVE THOU FORSAKEN ME????"

The skydiving instructor, no doubt fueled with the warmth brought on by freshly distilled Marscurian Siberian turnip vodka right out of a radiator, spent most of the drop in a passed out stupor. Finally, as the altimeter ticks over, the man is jolted awake as the chute deploys bring the hapless tandem duo into an abrupt upwards motion that dug the bottom straps into both of their very cold testicles. "DAH MIS Gottens herr meese bittens!" the drunk old skydiving instructor screams as Denard trembles in terror and from being half frozen to death.

"Shouldn't we not be steering towards those trees?" Denard asks in a loud quavering scream.

"ONWARD Christian SOOOOLDIERS!" the instructor screams back or at least that is about what it sounds like to Denard.


"THIS IS SO NOT WHAT THE BROCHURE PROMISED!" Denard screams in outrage, fear, and with a loud clattering noise coming from his teeth that are hammering together faster than a death metal drummer on speed hammering on his drums.

"MEIN &#$@ A DOODLE DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" the instructor howls as he turns his head and vomits everywhere. By doing so the instructor sends the nasty expulsion into his face and all over the place, but thankfully none of it comes to a rest on Denard due to the upwards movement of wind.

"YOU SON OF A...." Denard screams before he too lets loose with a massive eruption of vomit of his own just as the two men come to rest in a large tree. Once they come to a stop, Denard hits the quick release buckle, and proceeds to take a rather undignified tumble down through a snow laden tree. After coming to a rest on the ground, in a snow bank of course, he counts his body parts to ensure all are present and accounted for. As he does so he marvels at the skydiving instructor who just sorts of hangs there and as he waits for rescue fishes a flask out of his pocket and continues with his drinking.

About then Denard notices the Princess, who despite all her efforts, couldn't do much to assist the descending duo from getting snared in a massive tree with her pew pew pew action. Still, Denard is enthralled, more so by the idea that her car might have a heater than her large breasts. Of course, the fact that she is armed does play a role in the young Denard's sudden idolization of the Princess. "Ma'am pleased to meet you, might I borrow one of your guns?"

Edited by Tidy Bowl Man
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"Here you go hun," Anastasia said, handing him the gun by the handle and gracing his fingers with her thumb. Anastasia was always the black sheep of the the royal family, and one of her faults was hitting on foreigners [i]relentlessly[/i]. This was because foreigner usually meant rich, at least in Marscurian terms. Watching the young Denard shoot out the lines himself and then fall face first to the ground, she rushed over to help push the drunken instructor off the young man. Unclipping the two, she helped Danard up to his frozen feet. "Shall we go back to my car," she said, "it's quite warm in their once the heater gets going." Taking a few steps out of the forest, she turned back to take a look at the unconscious diving instructor. "We can't leave him like this," she signed. Walking over, she put his mittens on and turned him on his side so that he wouldn't drown in his own vomit. "There we go," she said cheerfully, skipping back to Denard before moving on to her car. Pulling the roof up, she started the radio that was playing the famed Marsurian Siberian opera [i]Die Brokve[/i]. "We'll, that certainly won't do," Anastasia said, fooling around with the radio buttons. When the temperature sensor started to rise, she put the car into drive and cranked the radio to the hit songs section. "OH EM GEE! I LOVE THIS SONG," Anastasia yelled, hitting the gas and starting to sing along, "SO I PUT MY HANDS UP, THEY'RE PLAYING MY SONG, THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY! NODDING MY HEAD LIKE YEAH! MOVING MY HIPS LIKE YEAH!" The sounds of Miley Cyrus flowed through the countryside as the two sped off.

"So tell me Mr. Denard," the princess said, "what do you wanna do next."

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Young Denard takes the pistol from the Princess and watches her wander around in a manner he describes as semi-insane. He's not sure why she's fondling a pile of snow in a manner that can best be described as lavacious, but none the less she did give him a pistol. He points it up at the skydiving instructor who is dangling from the tree branches and he carefully squeezes the trigger and lets loose with a hefty .357 round. He finds it pleasing to himself that the bullet not only dislodged the instructor from the tree but also a large piece of his left arse cheek as well.

"Seems a fair exchange," Denard grumbles to himself as he drags the instructor into a sitting position, bandages his bleeding butt, and leaves him flask in hand as he hops into the car with the Princess. He keeps the pistol for now just in case he spots anymore skydiving instructors. As they drive away he finds his ears assaulted with something that he suspects might be several large pandas being tortured with whips that is being recorded and sold as music.

"Oh god, why?" he asks himself as he listens to the terrible stuff blaring out of the car's speakers.

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Whether she didn't hear Denard, or he just didn't answer, Anastasia knew exactly where they were going. "Buckle up," she yelled to Denard, as she switched the car to sport mode (always a good idea on icy roads), and turned the radio from pop hits to slightly older pop hits. "AWWW YEAH, here we go," she said, instantly recognizing the song. Waving her head back and forth and constantly letting go of the wheel, Anastasia sang along to the radio and most likely had Denard praying nonstop. "THE TRUTH IS OUT, THE GIG IS UP, THEY'RE COMING TO FIND ME!" Needless to say, roadtrips with the princess were a !@#$%*.

Heading into Pyotrgrad, the vile hive of scum and villainy in Marscurian Siberia, they had to slow to a crawl to avoid hitting the criminals that roamed the streets. "Windows up, doors locked," she yelled, very seriously. After moving for ten minutes down the twisting streets, they came to a windowless building with a big neon sign above it.

опасные кривых

"We're here," Anastasia said, "be a dear and take the big stack of rubles out of the glove box. We'll need them." Walking into the building, the princess ran up and sat in front of the main stage. "MOMMA'S HOME," she yelled.

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Denard pensively follows the Princess into the building with the big stack of roubles in hand. He's somewhat happy he remember to stick the heavy .357 pistol down into the back of his pants in the event their is an emergency. No telling what could be in the building given the bizarre behavior of this Princess.

"Anything from a whipping zoo for small children to a S&M bar is my guess," Denard mumbles quietly to himself as he keeps his eye peeled for police, secret police, pimps, men with knives, men with potatoes, and anything else remotely danger.

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"Dear god I love Friday," Anastasia sighed, staring up at a topless construction worker. This warranted a bit of an explanation. The building they were in was Dangerous Curves, voted top strip club in the nation, and Fridays were theme day. After tucking a big stack of bills into the cleavage of another stripper in fatigues, she pulled down on the pants. "You're out of uniform, soldier," the princess said. "Hey boyo," Anastasia yelled at Denard, throwing him a few rubles, "if you're not going to enjoy the show, go get me some chicken wings, medium spicy." "WOOOOOO," she yelled, turning back to the stage, "bring on the policemen!"

Yes, Anastasia was a bro. A girl bro.

Edited by KaiserMelech Mikhail
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Denard feels something inside of him die. The hope for humanity, the last very hope in him, melted beyond all repair. Nothing can bring him back from the edge sheer awful abyss he's been shoved towards. His life flashes before him in little flashing glimpses of sequins, tassels, long tanned legs, and heaving sweaty breasts. In a span of time that seems like an eternity, which in fact was 3.2 seconds, his entire course of his existence is forever altered. Numbly, he takes the roubles and places the order the Princess has requested, once completed he's free to carry out his own desires fueled by the raging torrent of testosterone inside of him.

"BABY YOU CAN'T HURT ME!" escapes young Denard's lips as he gyrates his way to the stage. A dip, a bow, and a twirl later he's evaded the three bouncers and he is eyeball to eyeball with a stripper named as Candi Cane. He notices her assets are quite considerable given the large wad of roubles sticking out of her garter belt. "BABY YOU CAN'T HURT ME NO MORE!" he sings as he claps his hands like an aroused flamenco dancer on crack.

"THIS IS MY STAGE!" Candi Cane roars back in defiance.

"YOU CAN'T HURT ME NO MORE!" Denard sings back as he begins to swivel his hips and makes his way towards the pole.

"I VILL VESTROY YOU!" shouts Candi Cane.

"CAN'T HURT ME.... ARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHH MY BALLS!" Denard screams as Candi Cane's foot comes to an abrupt stop between his testicles.

"GET OFF MY STAGE!" Candi Cane orders as she rolls Denard onto the floor and goes back to doing things so erotically fantastic that the mere mention of them would invite the wrath of the admin and his holy smiting along with it.

"YOU HURT ME! WHAT THE HELL! I JUST WANT TO DANCE!" Denard moans.

Edited by Tidy Bowl Man
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Looking at Denard on the floor, Anastasia took a ruble and stuffed it into his underpants, deep into his underpants. "I thought you did a wonderful job," she said to the man who looked like he would start coughing blood any moment. Putting on her serious face, Anastasia then pulled out her gun and pointed it at the red and white striped stripper. "I came here for theme night, and you are ruining my night," she yelled at the stripper, who currently had one leg above her head, "now I demand that you apologize for my friend."

"Who are you to tell me what to do," Candi yelled, still keeping her leg above her head, "I'm the number one stripper in all of Pyotrgrad!"

"I am Princess Anastasia, second daughter of the Prime Minister and cousin to the Khan," Anastasia yelled, pulling the hammer back on her gun, "ROYAL AUTHORITY $%^&@#, DO YOU SPEAK IT?" Instantly, everyone in the club let out a massive moan. [i]Pulp Fiction[/i] had recently arrived in Marscurian Siberia the previous week, and the streets were packed with throngs of people asking $%^&@#s if they spoke different languages and asking each other what various sandwiches were called in France. Frankly, everyone was getting sick of it. "Now, are you going to give this fine gentleman an apologetic lap dance, or I am going to have to..." Anastasia paused while putting on a pair of sunglasses, "make Candi Cane need a cane." She walked over to help Denard up and directed him to the nearest cushy chair. "Go on sweetie, Miss Cane will be with you shortly."

Edited by KaiserMelech Mikhail
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  • 3 weeks later...

Jeb Denard holds his aching balls and takes a seat. He feels a buzzing in his pants and at first he's not quite sure what the source of it is. Could it be some sort of pain induced erotic response or could it be his cellphone? Given the logical facts that he was just kneed directly in the junk he's pretty sure that he's not pitching any tents in his pants anytime soon. In fact, the very idea of getting a lap-dance from Candi Cane makes him want to vomit all over his 3 dollar t-shirt that he stole out of a charity box near an orphanage.

Rather than blow his cookies all over the place, in more ways than one given the venue, he fishes his cellphone out of his pocket and checks his messages. It reads, "Potato Factory." No sooner does he read this he goes completely pale and looks like he wants to dance a jig and breakdown crying at the same time. Not that he can dance, his nuts still feel like they are trapped in a vice. Despite the pain, it is a time for action, and judging by the jiggling approach of Candi Cane it's probably not the sort of action he has in mind, but there are somethings a person can put on hold for a few minutes longer.

Including fleeing for his life due to the mysterious reappearance of his supposedly dead father.

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  • 10 months later...

[b]Six Months Later[/b]

[quote]Dear Princess,

Care to have lunch later? I finished that business I had to sort out. Sorry about leaving you in a strip club with a stripper named Candi Cane, but the business that comes to a clogger can not be held back. Truthfully put, I clogged, clogged, and clogged some more. I've done so much clogging in the last six months I don't even want to clog anymore.

Ta Ta,
Jebbidiah Edward Denard[/quote]

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My dearest Jebbidiah,
I cannot begin to tell you how much joy your latest letter has given me during this horrid war betwixt the states. We are camped outside of Atlanta and General Sherman says that we shall assault the city on the morrow, and with it begin to bring this conflict to an end. I pray that I can only return to your tender embrace soon. It is cold here, ever so cold, but thoughts of you keep me warm at night. My compatriot, Walter Sanderson, as received news of the birth of his first son, and I pray that we may begin a family of our own. I will write to you as soon as I can to let you know of my survival of the coming tempest. Until then, you have all my love.

Dutifully yours,
Corporal Anastasia Stein
69th New York Infantry

PS.
Sure, lunch sounds good

PPS.
When you say clogging, do you mean filling a toilet with poop or dancing with wooden shoes that originated in the Netherlands? I'll have you know that I find both acts disgusting.

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[quote]My Dearest Anastasia;

I can't help but count the days until your return to my loving embrace. The fact you are off fighting for the freedom of others just brings tears to my eyes. Yes I mean clogging as in the dancing with wooden shoes. Would you like me to nip on down Atlanta way with a pot of clam chowder? Conversely, my grandfather is quite the friend of the wife of General Sherman, I'm certain I can get you released on a weekend pass, but I suspect going into Atlanta would be out of the question given it's surrounded by the entirety of Sherman's army that is intent on burning down the entire South.

With Fondest Regards,
Your Little Poopsie Woopsie,
Jebbidiah Edward Denard[/quote]

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My Dearest Jebbidiah,

The rebels are becoming more desperate by the day, relentlessly assaulting our lines with hopes of escaping their doomed city, but each attack is quickly repulsed without major loss of life on our side. I killed a man today, but he was far too young to be involved in this terrible affair. He could not have been much older than the Smith boy down the street. We have scoured the countryside for all the available food, and supplies are running thin. We are told there is a large cache of supplies in the city, and many men are chomping at the bit to begin the final assault. Moral is high, but wavering among the lower ranks. My love, I know that you cannot be with me in person, but I feel you always in the emotions of my heart and in the gifts that you send to me and my comrades. We are short on many things, so any spare bits of food and soft-core pornography that you can deliver would be most appreciated. As always, I pray for a speedy end to this war so that we may be together again.

All my love,
Corporal Anastasia Stein
69th New York Infantry

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[quote]Dear Anastasia,

Oh those rebels in trouble now. My nana is going to come down to Atlanta herself and give those rebels a good piece of her mind. I don't relish the man or woman who dare to suffer the wrath of Mama Denard's vicious tongue. I once saw her strip the chrome off a bumper over a matter of 2 dollars. Well I think it might have been two dollars, but it could have either been 40 acres or a mule. Once I saw her knock a mysterious flying machine from the heavens with a complaint about amount of butter on her toast. Take heart my love, Nana will have this war wrapped up so quickly we won't even know reconstruction will have ended by the time you get back to my loving arms.

Yours Truly,
Jebbidiah Edward Denard[/quote]

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