Something I first posted on Vault 13. Due to the fact that they're closing down, I decided to move here. Enjoy.
Introduction To Destruction or Why We Have No Ozone Layer
War, war never changes. The end of the world happened pretty much as we expected it to - big fires and death, gloom and radiation, etc. etc.
The world survived pretty much unscathed - except for that horrible radiation blanketing part, and that other nasty one where we had all our groundwater poisoned. Let's face it - surfing at Hawaii was pretty much something of the past.
Luckily, before Apocalypse Now hit the fan, some people got to big underground vaults called Vaults. Someone in the government had probably been feeling very creative when he thought that name up. Anyhow, those lucky people sat around in the vaults' rooms, twiddling their thumbs and having all sorts of interesting conversations such as: "Nice background radiation today...", and "I hear there's a 40% chance of fallout today.". Suffice it to say that general celebration and happy days ensued when the all clear started beeping. Which brings us to another story...
...In a vault that had had no numerical designation (the builders ran out of paint), some time after the Big War Of Great Explosions And General Hullabaloo, a light blinked on a console. Technicians were staring at it asking each other what was going on. After getting half the colony in uproar about a power generator implosion (trust me, you don't want to be close when it happens), one technician remembered that it meant everybody could go outside to fry their brains out with radiation. He was shot for taking so long to remember, and the vault's inhabitants went – no, stampeded – outside and fried themselves with radiation. Unfortunately for them, the government had failed to send them a copy of "Leaving The Vault". Instead, they had received an exceptionally large cargo of Cheesy Poofs. The government had made several such muck-ups (see Vault 13).
After everybody had finished crawled out of their respective holes, they crawled right into their respective gutters (except for those bigots in Vault City - they went straight into the bog). They established homes for themselves on top of the cities that were more or less standing, or at least lying on their sides (now that's something interesting to see). All sorts of interesting and fun places such as New Reno and The Boneyard became inhabited by all sorts of interesting and fun people such as drug dealers, prostitutes, brain-damaged boxers, and so forth.
One of these interesting (give or take) people was Dongo Weener. Sad choice of name aside, he was one of the inhabitants of the wastes, rough 'n' ready and all that nonsense. We shall now commence following his story as he sets out to change the future of the wastes... well, maybe not, but he's sure as hell going to do something interesting!
Dongo Weener
Chapter 1: Hangin' 'round or Imitating Jerky
Lots of people in the wastes have strange attributes called traits. These are characteristics which have pros and cons. Dongo Weener could be described as being Jinxed. Things usually went wrong, and spectacularly. Also, he managed to convey this power to those around him. Suffice it to say he didn't have many friends.
Another trait Dongo had at this point was Bloody Mess. Usually, Bloody Mess is when by some cruel twist of fate, people die violently when you're around. In this case, however, we're talking about the Bloody Mess you have after receiving severe head trauma inflicted by unfriendly gangers armed with lead pipes and sharp, pointy things. After adding a few more alterations to the shape of Dongo's skull, the ganger managed to first decaptiate his fellow with the pipe and then broke his own back by shoving the pipe down his throat. At least being jinxed is good for something.
Dongo staggered around a bit and figured that his head was hurting a lot, and promptly made the problem go away by losing consciousness.
He awoke weeks later fairly certain that he had arrived at this Point B from Point A via Rotgut Express. For those that do not know, drinking Rotgut is equivalent to drinking a good measureful of drain cleaning fluid, mixing in a large amount of H2SO4 and finally topping it off with a bit of methylated spirits. The result is that you poison your entire system, clean your innards, remove a good deal of your intestines and finally you go blind and die. Unfortunately, Rotgut has a curious property where you are resurrected so that you can feel the effects of the Rotgut hangover. The Rotgut hangover is not very different from being hit in the groin repeatedly by a sledgehammer and having the pain waves radiate to your head, and is very popular in certain masochist circles.
Luckily for him, he did not have a Rotgut hangover. Unluckily for him, he was nailed to a brick wall by his shirt, or what was left of it. Dongo assessed the situation briefly, and figured that things were about to go downhill. He got that impression from the mass of people in front of him wearing purple robes and brandishing sharper, pointier things than the gangers did. Briefly he wondered whether he had been hauled into The Human Body 101 of the Purple Cultist University. His suspicions were confirmed when he noticed the orgy proceeding at the back of the crowd.
The Cultists were a group of somewhat frustrated people (hence the purple) who enjoyed the odd spot of indecent exposure (hence the robes) and the occasional dissection of living organisms (hence the sharp, pointy things). Things were looking black for Dongo, or more accurately, purple.
As the mob advanced with their dissection/combat tools, Dongo prepared to say goodbye to this cruel world. Unfortunately for him and everybody else who happens to be around him, he was destined to stay here a bit longer. The wall crumbled, cultists gasped, the orgy cheered (they figured it was more people that just arrived late), and Dongo... well, he just dangled around a bit more. A man bounded into the room through the door he had just made with that convenient rocket launcher in his hand. Did I mention he had multiple weapons (read: military storehouse) strapped to his well-muscled figure? He did.
"Fear not! I, the Picked Guy have come to kill you bad cultists - to gain experience, increase my Karma and receive the Cultist Killer perk!", said the Picked Guy, brandishing weapons from his arsenal and waving them around at threatening angles.
The Cultists hesitated a moment. Should they attack this behemoth and hope to overcome him by sheer numbers, or should they run? Their hesitation, though, was perceived by the Picked Guy as a sign of impending hostility. He opened fire and the Cultists were transformed into piles of biological goo looking very similiar to your vomit after drinking too much Rotgut.
Dongo, meanwhile, was getting nervous. In the absence of the ability to fidget, he tried looking very, very worried instead. When the Picked Guy was pretty sure that everybody was dead, he advanced slowly to Dongo. He looked him straight in the eye for what seemed like ages. When finally he muttered: "Oh damn. You're a good guy. I guess I'll have to set you free now. I had better get lots of xp's...". He unsheathed a knife, cut Dongo down from where he was hanging and bounded out of the building again. Well, that's what he meant to do. What really happened was that by some freak accident of nature (namely Dongo Weener), he bashed his head against a brick and dropped, unconscious, to the ground.
Dongo took advantage of this and borrowed a Desert Eagle and a few clips for an indeterminable amount of time (Dongo's dad had told him not to call it stealing - that made it sound like a bad thing to do). On an impulse he borrowed a set of keys in pretty much the same way as he did the weapon. He stepped outside and took a look around.
A Chrysalis Highwayman was parked a short distance from the improvised door. Dongo thought for a bit and figured the keys probably fit the car, so he jumped in and fired her up. "I'll give it back to him... someday... maybe... ah screw it, just cross the border!"
And off drove Dongo into the sunset. What will happen next? Will a ill-tempered mutated sea bass attack him? Will a sperm whale and a bowl of petunias drop on the car? Probably not, but it keeps the conclusion of this chapter interesting!
Ahhh... Intermission...
In a secret laboratory, at a secret location, secret things were happening. They're so secret, nobody really knows what's happening. Luckily for you, I do. That's because I am an omniscient third-person narrator, and I am damn proud of it, if I may say so. I may.
Not content to just disappear, the dreaded FEV virus has emerged again to rear its ugly head. A group of military scientists, deep within the ancient military complex, conduct experiments with FEV to try to produce another Frank Horrigan - a strong and mindlessly obedient killing machine. They think that they are nearing their goal...
Lots of people in the wastes have strange attributes called traits. These are characteristics which have pros and cons. Dongo Weener could be described as being Jinxed. Things usually went wrong, and spectacularly. Also, he managed to convey this power to those around him. Suffice it to say he didn't have many friends.
Another trait Dongo had at this point was Bloody Mess. Usually, Bloody Mess is when by some cruel twist of fate, people die violently when you're around. In this case, however, we're talking about the Bloody Mess you have after receiving severe head trauma inflicted by unfriendly gangers armed with lead pipes and sharp, pointy things. After adding a few more alterations to the shape of Dongo's skull, the ganger managed to first decaptiate his fellow with the pipe and then broke his own back by shoving the pipe down his throat. At least being jinxed is good for something.
Dongo staggered around a bit and figured that his head was hurting a lot, and promptly made the problem go away by losing consciousness.
He awoke weeks later fairly certain that he had arrived at this Point B from Point A via Rotgut Express. For those that do not know, drinking Rotgut is equivalent to drinking a good measureful of drain cleaning fluid, mixing in a large amount of H2SO4 and finally topping it off with a bit of methylated spirits. The result is that you poison your entire system, clean your innards, remove a good deal of your intestines and finally you go blind and die. Unfortunately, Rotgut has a curious property where you are resurrected so that you can feel the effects of the Rotgut hangover. The Rotgut hangover is not very different from being hit in the groin repeatedly by a sledgehammer and having the pain waves radiate to your head, and is very popular in certain masochist circles.
Luckily for him, he did not have a Rotgut hangover. Unluckily for him, he was nailed to a brick wall by his shirt, or what was left of it. Dongo assessed the situation briefly, and figured that things were about to go downhill. He got that impression from the mass of people in front of him wearing purple robes and brandishing sharper, pointier things than the gangers did. Briefly he wondered whether he had been hauled into The Human Body 101 of the Purple Cultist University. His suspicions were confirmed when he noticed the orgy proceeding at the back of the crowd.
The Cultists were a group of somewhat frustrated people (hence the purple) who enjoyed the odd spot of indecent exposure (hence the robes) and the occasional dissection of living organisms (hence the sharp, pointy things). Things were looking black for Dongo, or more accurately, purple.
As the mob advanced with their dissection/combat tools, Dongo prepared to say goodbye to this cruel world. Unfortunately for him and everybody else who happens to be around him, he was destined to stay here a bit longer. The wall crumbled, cultists gasped, the orgy cheered (they figured it was more people that just arrived late), and Dongo... well, he just dangled around a bit more. A man bounded into the room through the door he had just made with that convenient rocket launcher in his hand. Did I mention he had multiple weapons (read: military storehouse) strapped to his well-muscled figure? He did.
"Fear not! I, the Picked Guy have come to kill you bad cultists - to gain experience, increase my Karma and receive the Cultist Killer perk!", said the Picked Guy, brandishing weapons from his arsenal and waving them around at threatening angles.
The Cultists hesitated a moment. Should they attack this behemoth and hope to overcome him by sheer numbers, or should they run? Their hesitation, though, was perceived by the Picked Guy as a sign of impending hostility. He opened fire and the Cultists were transformed into piles of biological goo looking very similiar to your vomit after drinking too much Rotgut.
Dongo, meanwhile, was getting nervous. In the absence of the ability to fidget, he tried looking very, very worried instead. When the Picked Guy was pretty sure that everybody was dead, he advanced slowly to Dongo. He looked him straight in the eye for what seemed like ages. When finally he muttered: "Oh damn. You're a good guy. I guess I'll have to set you free now. I had better get lots of xp's...". He unsheathed a knife, cut Dongo down from where he was hanging and bounded out of the building again. Well, that's what he meant to do. What really happened was that by some freak accident of nature (namely Dongo Weener), he bashed his head against a brick and dropped, unconscious, to the ground.
Dongo took advantage of this and borrowed a Desert Eagle and a few clips for an indeterminable amount of time (Dongo's dad had told him not to call it stealing - that made it sound like a bad thing to do). On an impulse he borrowed a set of keys in pretty much the same way as he did the weapon. He stepped outside and took a look around.
A Chrysalis Highwayman was parked a short distance from the improvised door. Dongo thought for a bit and figured the keys probably fit the car, so he jumped in and fired her up. "I'll give it back to him... someday... maybe... ah screw it, just cross the border!"
And off drove Dongo into the sunset. What will happen next? Will a ill-tempered mutated sea bass attack him? Will a sperm whale and a bowl of petunias drop on the car? Probably not, but it keeps the conclusion of this chapter interesting!
Ahhh... Intermission...
In a secret laboratory, at a secret location, secret things were happening. They're so secret, nobody really knows what's happening. Luckily for you, I do. That's because I am an omniscient third-person narrator, and I am damn proud of it, if I may say so. I may.
Not content to just disappear, the dreaded FEV virus has emerged again to rear its ugly head. A group of military scientists, deep within the ancient military complex, conduct experiments with FEV to try to produce another Frank Horrigan - a strong and mindlessly obedient killing machine. They think that they are nearing their goal...
Chapter 2: Iguanas Abound or Assplugs Explained
A large dust cloud was approaching the iguana. Briefly it wondered what was going on, but decided that basking in the sun would be a much nicer prospect than investigating the cloud. It closed its eyes and relaxed. Vaguely it became aware of a thunderous rumbling vibrating through the ground. It ignored the sound. The sound became louder, and an eye flicked open. What it saw left it speechless – er, surprised then. A huge, shining (on spots) thing was approaching it at speeds in excess of 150kph! Its last thought before it went under the wheels of the Chrysalis Highwayman was... well, nobody knows, really. Nobody really cares, either.
Dongo was hungry. Except for numerous Cat's Paw magazines, including the one with the article on Energy Weapons, another arsenal of weapons Dongo would just manage to screw up with, and a lighter that for some reason wouldn't work, there was absolutely nothing in the car. Dongo briefly wondered how the hell that Picked Guy managed to survive with no food, but put the thought out of his mind when he drove past a sign reading: "Dustbag, 5 miles - Population 5000". The 5000 had been scratched out numerous times, each time the new number was getting smaller. Thinking that some food may be found in Dustbag, he drove in the general direction in which the sign had pointed.
Dustbag is a lovely, thriving and peaceful community. Meaning there are riots only three out of seven days in a week. Dongo cruised past ramshackle buildings and burnt-out shells, in search of someplace to get munchies. Salvation was at hand in the form of a sign proclaiming boldly "MegaMunchies MegaMall!". The title was misleading and a poor attempt at alliteration, at best. The "MegaMall" was a small white (yellow, then) building with a couple of guys with long hair and leather jackets leaning against the wall. Chawin' thar tabaccaho. And cleaning their H&K 9mm SMGs. And eyeing the car. Suspiciously.
All of which Dongo missed while goggling at the whores in front of the Titty Twister across the road from the MegaMunchies MegaMall. Hunger (the kind your stomach tells you about) immediately forgotten, he double-parked and hopped out, tripping over his feet in his haste to get some boo-tay, and shouldering a man out of the way who was shouting really loud about all the booty you could get at the Titty Twister.
... Time passed... A bit more passed... He's enjoying himself, isn't he?
Finally, Dongo emerged from the Titty Twister, opened his... er... borrowed car's door and climbed in. That's when he discovered that he had climbed right into thin air.
He glanced about wildly, missing the MegaMunchies MegaMall again, but alas, the Highwayman had been hijacked by highwaymen. Glancing about again, less wildy this time, he finally noticed the MegaMunchies MegaMall, now without the highwaymen, and remembered that he was hungry.
The entripid explorer (yes, I do mean Dongo) stepped inside the unknown reaches of the MegaMall, in search of the elusive Cheesy Poofs. Cheesy Poofs are and extremely rare species of the munchius deliciousius family. They are often to be found in secluded areas such as pre-war vaults, half-buried ruins and in caves beneath radioactive settlements, where giant albino rats hatch their sinister plots. Cheesy Poofs should be approached with extreme caution, as some mutations of the species have displayed aggressive tendencies, causing severe intestinal pains and letting you lose some of your innards when the Cheesy Poofs pop out to say hi. Many people who possess large amounts of this rare foodstuff, claim that trying to use the box "does nothing". This phenomenon has yet to be investigated.
To cut things short, Dongo emerged from the MegaMall, armed with vittles such as Cheesy Poofs, mutated apples and an Iguana-on-a-Stick. Contemplating the IoaS, the lizard bit his nose. To Dongo's surprise, the IoaS then spoke!
"Hey, doc! You want to help me here? You do? Good! THEN PULL THIS STICK OUT OF MY ASS!"
Dumbstruck, Dongo complied, enduring the iguana's unnaturally literate grunts and curses. Finally, the stick was pulled free and discarded.
The Iguana-not-on-a-Stick wiggled its rear end a bit to restore circulation. "Thanks doc. Ugh, I'm going to be constipated for a month... Say, doc... where you headed?"
Dongo scratched his ass (that's where his mom always said his brain was), and replied that he had no particular destination in mind.
"Hey, you want to see Reno? I hear it's great there."
Dongo said that he wasn't too keen, he had heard that bad things go on around there.
"There's lots of booty, drugs and booze. Did I mention booty?"
Dongo said that he could learn to overlook the bad things.
And so, Dongo and his new friend, Harold the Mentats Iguana, set out to see Reno - the city of lights, whores, drugs, whores, booze, whores, gambling, people with gold teeth who smile a lot, and gang leaders who get killed but still manage to have children.
"I'm never shopping at MegaMunchies again..."
A large dust cloud was approaching the iguana. Briefly it wondered what was going on, but decided that basking in the sun would be a much nicer prospect than investigating the cloud. It closed its eyes and relaxed. Vaguely it became aware of a thunderous rumbling vibrating through the ground. It ignored the sound. The sound became louder, and an eye flicked open. What it saw left it speechless – er, surprised then. A huge, shining (on spots) thing was approaching it at speeds in excess of 150kph! Its last thought before it went under the wheels of the Chrysalis Highwayman was... well, nobody knows, really. Nobody really cares, either.
Dongo was hungry. Except for numerous Cat's Paw magazines, including the one with the article on Energy Weapons, another arsenal of weapons Dongo would just manage to screw up with, and a lighter that for some reason wouldn't work, there was absolutely nothing in the car. Dongo briefly wondered how the hell that Picked Guy managed to survive with no food, but put the thought out of his mind when he drove past a sign reading: "Dustbag, 5 miles - Population 5000". The 5000 had been scratched out numerous times, each time the new number was getting smaller. Thinking that some food may be found in Dustbag, he drove in the general direction in which the sign had pointed.
Dustbag is a lovely, thriving and peaceful community. Meaning there are riots only three out of seven days in a week. Dongo cruised past ramshackle buildings and burnt-out shells, in search of someplace to get munchies. Salvation was at hand in the form of a sign proclaiming boldly "MegaMunchies MegaMall!". The title was misleading and a poor attempt at alliteration, at best. The "MegaMall" was a small white (yellow, then) building with a couple of guys with long hair and leather jackets leaning against the wall. Chawin' thar tabaccaho. And cleaning their H&K 9mm SMGs. And eyeing the car. Suspiciously.
All of which Dongo missed while goggling at the whores in front of the Titty Twister across the road from the MegaMunchies MegaMall. Hunger (the kind your stomach tells you about) immediately forgotten, he double-parked and hopped out, tripping over his feet in his haste to get some boo-tay, and shouldering a man out of the way who was shouting really loud about all the booty you could get at the Titty Twister.
... Time passed... A bit more passed... He's enjoying himself, isn't he?
Finally, Dongo emerged from the Titty Twister, opened his... er... borrowed car's door and climbed in. That's when he discovered that he had climbed right into thin air.
He glanced about wildly, missing the MegaMunchies MegaMall again, but alas, the Highwayman had been hijacked by highwaymen. Glancing about again, less wildy this time, he finally noticed the MegaMunchies MegaMall, now without the highwaymen, and remembered that he was hungry.
The entripid explorer (yes, I do mean Dongo) stepped inside the unknown reaches of the MegaMall, in search of the elusive Cheesy Poofs. Cheesy Poofs are and extremely rare species of the munchius deliciousius family. They are often to be found in secluded areas such as pre-war vaults, half-buried ruins and in caves beneath radioactive settlements, where giant albino rats hatch their sinister plots. Cheesy Poofs should be approached with extreme caution, as some mutations of the species have displayed aggressive tendencies, causing severe intestinal pains and letting you lose some of your innards when the Cheesy Poofs pop out to say hi. Many people who possess large amounts of this rare foodstuff, claim that trying to use the box "does nothing". This phenomenon has yet to be investigated.
To cut things short, Dongo emerged from the MegaMall, armed with vittles such as Cheesy Poofs, mutated apples and an Iguana-on-a-Stick. Contemplating the IoaS, the lizard bit his nose. To Dongo's surprise, the IoaS then spoke!
"Hey, doc! You want to help me here? You do? Good! THEN PULL THIS STICK OUT OF MY ASS!"
Dumbstruck, Dongo complied, enduring the iguana's unnaturally literate grunts and curses. Finally, the stick was pulled free and discarded.
The Iguana-not-on-a-Stick wiggled its rear end a bit to restore circulation. "Thanks doc. Ugh, I'm going to be constipated for a month... Say, doc... where you headed?"
Dongo scratched his ass (that's where his mom always said his brain was), and replied that he had no particular destination in mind.
"Hey, you want to see Reno? I hear it's great there."
Dongo said that he wasn't too keen, he had heard that bad things go on around there.
"There's lots of booty, drugs and booze. Did I mention booty?"
Dongo said that he could learn to overlook the bad things.
And so, Dongo and his new friend, Harold the Mentats Iguana, set out to see Reno - the city of lights, whores, drugs, whores, booze, whores, gambling, people with gold teeth who smile a lot, and gang leaders who get killed but still manage to have children.
"I'm never shopping at MegaMunchies again..."
Chapter 3: Virgin Street or Whore Road
The Road To Reno is a hard road, and some roads are harder than the rest. For example, on the one side, you may just get radiated by mutated things until you can compete with Reno for lighting up the night sky. On the other side, you can get ripped to shreds by deathclaws. And then, of course, there are the gangs of yakuza and mobsters.
Dongo and Harold, as you might know if you bothered reading the last chapter, were last journeying from Dustbag to Reno. Nobody knows where Dustbag is, as it is what is known in upper circles as a "broken quest", so they didn't have any problems getting there, seeing as they weren't travelling from anywhere that actually existed. Nifty trick, that.
Finally they topped a rise and before them sprawled the Biggest Little City in The World. Ah, what a sight. Apart from the black cloud of decaying human, ghoul, brahmin or otherwise emanating from Golgotha due south of Reno, it was quite a sight. Ask yourself this, how often do you see a city where every person crossing the road is a whore? Hm, well... take a look out of your window, then.
If Satan walked the Earth, he'd probably make Reno his home town, although some of those Picked Guys/Chosen Ones/Selected People really come close! Coincidence or not, most of them like Reno as much as he would.
Drugs, booze, sex, gangs, gambling, boxing and Golden Globes. The things your mother would have warned you about, had she not been a gambling crack whore herself.
Dongo strolled down the road, leering at the prostitutes. First, he was going to get himself a drink down at the Shark Club. As he walked into the casino, several gamblers started cussing severely as their winning streaks were suddenly inverted. A man who fired his gun at a really bad comedian shot his own face off. The drug addict in the bathroom OD'd and died. Dongo was in town and performing, all right.
He turned to the bartender. "What's on tap?" ("So... uh... why did the radscorpion cross the road?")
"Beer, whiskey and rotgut." ("Cause the radscorpion... uh, it wanted to get away from the radioactive fallout particles...")
"Think I'll get a beer. Uh... Harold?" ("Uh, the joke, see, since it was already a mutant, it didn't need to cross the road, so... uh...")
"Beer, doc."
"Uh... yeah. You heard the man... uh... lizard, bartender!" ("Heh-heh. Gecko... ghouls, right? Ghouls... man, do they stink.")
The bartender pushed over the beers and Dongo forked over the cash. The bartender gestured to Harold. "Sure, but can you make him drink?" ("Uh... heh-heh... so, uh, ghouls right, they smell bad. So, like, uh...")
Dongo pondered. Not about the bartender's question, though. He was pondering, all right. Now, this is an extremely rare state to observe when dealing with this variety of homo sapidongian. He was pondering really hard, and the beer was only making it worse. ("Did I mention ghouls stink?")
"Harold, do you know what we need?" ("Um, so I find this ghoul, right, I ask, 'Are you guys envious that I don't stink?'")
Harold peered down his empty beer glass. "More beer." ("He goes, 'No. Uh, why do you ask?'")
"No, that's not it. We need... purpose... direction..." ("I said, because you're green.")
"Like I said, more beer." ("Uh... green with envy. Get it?")
"No, we need a... a... a plot! That's it! We need to search for a plot! Yes..."
"I seem to remember hearing this somewhere else from a cat I once knew..." ("Radscorpions?")
"...something to further the purpose of our being here on Eart-- what?" ("What's so rad about them?")
"...it didn't want to give me piggyback rides, though, so I left." ("Who are these people that think mutated scorpions...")
Dongo succeeded in entering his natural state of existence -- thorough, utterly complete confusion.
"Never mind, doc. Let's go find that plot you're looking for." ("Are so rad?")
"But where shall we begin this incredible journey, Harold?" ("Heh-heh. Did you hear the one about the tribal who wiped out the Enclave?")
"Arroyo, maybe. I heard about this really good plot that hatched there." ("The tribal was sooo stupid that, uh, the tribal, right... uh, blew up their rig.")
"But there's nothing interesting there!" ("BOOM!")
"Did I mention the scantily-clad females?" ("Did I mention the tribal was stupid?")
"Let's go."
"I'm not against that bone in your nose, ma'am, but it's kind of uncomfortably poking into my eye here..."
The Road To Reno is a hard road, and some roads are harder than the rest. For example, on the one side, you may just get radiated by mutated things until you can compete with Reno for lighting up the night sky. On the other side, you can get ripped to shreds by deathclaws. And then, of course, there are the gangs of yakuza and mobsters.
Dongo and Harold, as you might know if you bothered reading the last chapter, were last journeying from Dustbag to Reno. Nobody knows where Dustbag is, as it is what is known in upper circles as a "broken quest", so they didn't have any problems getting there, seeing as they weren't travelling from anywhere that actually existed. Nifty trick, that.
Finally they topped a rise and before them sprawled the Biggest Little City in The World. Ah, what a sight. Apart from the black cloud of decaying human, ghoul, brahmin or otherwise emanating from Golgotha due south of Reno, it was quite a sight. Ask yourself this, how often do you see a city where every person crossing the road is a whore? Hm, well... take a look out of your window, then.
If Satan walked the Earth, he'd probably make Reno his home town, although some of those Picked Guys/Chosen Ones/Selected People really come close! Coincidence or not, most of them like Reno as much as he would.
Drugs, booze, sex, gangs, gambling, boxing and Golden Globes. The things your mother would have warned you about, had she not been a gambling crack whore herself.
Dongo strolled down the road, leering at the prostitutes. First, he was going to get himself a drink down at the Shark Club. As he walked into the casino, several gamblers started cussing severely as their winning streaks were suddenly inverted. A man who fired his gun at a really bad comedian shot his own face off. The drug addict in the bathroom OD'd and died. Dongo was in town and performing, all right.
He turned to the bartender. "What's on tap?" ("So... uh... why did the radscorpion cross the road?")
"Beer, whiskey and rotgut." ("Cause the radscorpion... uh, it wanted to get away from the radioactive fallout particles...")
"Think I'll get a beer. Uh... Harold?" ("Uh, the joke, see, since it was already a mutant, it didn't need to cross the road, so... uh...")
"Beer, doc."
"Uh... yeah. You heard the man... uh... lizard, bartender!" ("Heh-heh. Gecko... ghouls, right? Ghouls... man, do they stink.")
The bartender pushed over the beers and Dongo forked over the cash. The bartender gestured to Harold. "Sure, but can you make him drink?" ("Uh... heh-heh... so, uh, ghouls right, they smell bad. So, like, uh...")
Dongo pondered. Not about the bartender's question, though. He was pondering, all right. Now, this is an extremely rare state to observe when dealing with this variety of homo sapidongian. He was pondering really hard, and the beer was only making it worse. ("Did I mention ghouls stink?")
"Harold, do you know what we need?" ("Um, so I find this ghoul, right, I ask, 'Are you guys envious that I don't stink?'")
Harold peered down his empty beer glass. "More beer." ("He goes, 'No. Uh, why do you ask?'")
"No, that's not it. We need... purpose... direction..." ("I said, because you're green.")
"Like I said, more beer." ("Uh... green with envy. Get it?")
"No, we need a... a... a plot! That's it! We need to search for a plot! Yes..."
"I seem to remember hearing this somewhere else from a cat I once knew..." ("Radscorpions?")
"...something to further the purpose of our being here on Eart-- what?" ("What's so rad about them?")
"...it didn't want to give me piggyback rides, though, so I left." ("Who are these people that think mutated scorpions...")
Dongo succeeded in entering his natural state of existence -- thorough, utterly complete confusion.
"Never mind, doc. Let's go find that plot you're looking for." ("Are so rad?")
"But where shall we begin this incredible journey, Harold?" ("Heh-heh. Did you hear the one about the tribal who wiped out the Enclave?")
"Arroyo, maybe. I heard about this really good plot that hatched there." ("The tribal was sooo stupid that, uh, the tribal, right... uh, blew up their rig.")
"But there's nothing interesting there!" ("BOOM!")
"Did I mention the scantily-clad females?" ("Did I mention the tribal was stupid?")
"Let's go."
"I'm not against that bone in your nose, ma'am, but it's kind of uncomfortably poking into my eye here..."
Tits.
Chapter 4: Going Native or The Boned Head Capitol of America
Ah, the great outdoor life of the tribal community - you get lots of sun, fresh food from the land, clean and healthy air, and contempt from any of the more "civilized" inhabitants of the wastes. But they don't know all the joys of brahmin and/or geckos on cold, lonesome nights, now do they? Not that... er... I do... but... um... I... on with the story!
Now Arroyo is the tribal village to be at. It's not often that you're descended from a bunch of Vault Dwellers who decided that going native would be a really fun idea. It's also not often that your Chosen One blows up an oil rig filled with nasty government types. A grand plot it was, with plenty of easter eggs along the way. Which is why Dongo and Harold were busy travelling to Arroyo, to see if there was any plots to be had, seeing that Dongo needed to find the reason he was on Earth, making everybody's life miserable.
Round about lunch, Dongo and Harold arrived at the Great Bridge to The Wastes (you know how tribals can get about naming things). As they stepped onto the bridge, a tribal with a big spear came running towards them and introduced himself.
"Me Narg! You no cross! Me hurt you with pointy stick!"
"Yes, that's... er... nice, Narg. But you see, we really need to find a pl--", began Dongo, his usual charismatic self.
"Stupid!", rich, coming from Narg, "You deaf? Ears for ornaments, eh? You - no - cross!"
"Yes, yes, Narg. We heard you the first time. But we're lo--"
Getting mighty peeved with this stupid city dweller, Narg stamped his foot on the bridge - and broke a hole through one of the wooden boards of the bridge that had begun to rot thanks to some tribal's drunken pissing spree. Gravity being, as usual, a big pain in the ass, began tugging really hard at Narg, who introduced himself to the canyon's floor after a short while of screaming and flailing about quite uselessly. Conclusive experiments prove that the thickness of tribal skulls only go so far, and Narg had just proven that theory.
While Dongo and Harold were contemplating the remains of Narg at the bottom of the canyon, they became aware of a robed mongoose running towards them, shouting obscenities and behaving very unmongooselike. When the mongoose came close enough, they saw that it was in fact Arroyo's shaman and drug dealer (same thing, different name), Shmakunin. The result of a brief affair between Hakunin and the Elder before Hakunin got shot by those nastie Enclave chaps, Shmakunin had inherited the best traits of both the involved parties, i.e. he tripped a lot using 'erbal methods, and he had a temper to boot. Not a pretty combination, which is why most folk steered clear of Shmakunin, except when they needed "medicine", and then they had to go weed his damn garden too, with those irritating "plants of dark soul" who seem more interested in biting off your fingers than sucking up all your garden's water.
"The gods rain down obscenities upon your head, fool! I see a vision of you being gutted and feasted upon by carrion! I...", and so Shamkunin ranted at Dongo and Harold. Dongo looked at Harold. Harold looked at Dongo. They exchanged glances. They shared meaningful looks. Then they whacked Shmakunin on the head to get the idiot to shut the hell up.
Catching him before he became another result in Tribal Skull Studies 101, the pair hauled the shaman into a mostly uncomfortable sprawling position and proceeded into the village. Which brought them to the Elder's tent, in front of the Hole of Holy Water (tribal speak for the well), and before the terrifying visage of the Elder. I mean, how do you manage to get so wrinkly when you get old? And that eye! Monstrosities aside, Dongo introduced himself and Harold.
"Greetings, Elder of Arroyo. I am Dongo Weener, and this is my companion Harold. Together, we are known as... Dongo and Harold."
The Elder looked at them, not looking really impressed with them - at all.
Not to be bested, Dongo continued. "The reason why we have visited your... uh... wonderful village is that we are seeking a greater purpose in life," Dongo puffed up his chest, "and we feel that we can find just that right here! And maybe some booty, if it's not too much of a hassle..."
"Find Vic in Klamath...", the Elder began to mumble.
Dongo pulled out his Vault-Tec Notepad (copyright, patent pending, etc. etc.) . "Right... Vic... Klamath... got it... then what?"
"More... I do not know..." The Elder then subsided into mumbling incoherently and rocking herself.
Once again, Dongo looked at Harold. Harold looked at Dongo. They exchanged glances. They shared meaningful looks.
"It's wrong to hit a lady on the head, Harold, no matter how ugly and man-like she might look."
Harold sighed. "Another opportunity shall arise, I'm sure.", he mused philosophically.
Suddenly, the Elder perked up again. "Take this flask..." She proffered a blue flask with a big, yellow one-three emblazoned upon it, which reeked a bit much of Rotgut. When Dongo took the Rotgut-corroded flask, the Elder subsided into rocking herself again.
Dongo looked at Harold. "Off to Klamath, then?"
Harold looked speculatively at the flask. "We could stop by at the Bathhouse, maybe.", he sniffed at Dongo, "I'd say you're needing it."
Dongo looked hurt. "Well, now that was mean.". He sighed a deep sigh, filled with longing and regret. Longing for booty, and regret that it seemed that they weren't going to get any in Arroyo. "Let's go, then."
And off they went to journey to Klamath, a journey marked by sullen silence because Harold wouldn't stop mentioning how Dongo needed a bath.
"I do not smell! No, I don't know why there are no flies on me! And it's not because I stink worse than year-old carrion! Which I don't!"
Ah, the great outdoor life of the tribal community - you get lots of sun, fresh food from the land, clean and healthy air, and contempt from any of the more "civilized" inhabitants of the wastes. But they don't know all the joys of brahmin and/or geckos on cold, lonesome nights, now do they? Not that... er... I do... but... um... I... on with the story!
Now Arroyo is the tribal village to be at. It's not often that you're descended from a bunch of Vault Dwellers who decided that going native would be a really fun idea. It's also not often that your Chosen One blows up an oil rig filled with nasty government types. A grand plot it was, with plenty of easter eggs along the way. Which is why Dongo and Harold were busy travelling to Arroyo, to see if there was any plots to be had, seeing that Dongo needed to find the reason he was on Earth, making everybody's life miserable.
Round about lunch, Dongo and Harold arrived at the Great Bridge to The Wastes (you know how tribals can get about naming things). As they stepped onto the bridge, a tribal with a big spear came running towards them and introduced himself.
"Me Narg! You no cross! Me hurt you with pointy stick!"
"Yes, that's... er... nice, Narg. But you see, we really need to find a pl--", began Dongo, his usual charismatic self.
"Stupid!", rich, coming from Narg, "You deaf? Ears for ornaments, eh? You - no - cross!"
"Yes, yes, Narg. We heard you the first time. But we're lo--"
Getting mighty peeved with this stupid city dweller, Narg stamped his foot on the bridge - and broke a hole through one of the wooden boards of the bridge that had begun to rot thanks to some tribal's drunken pissing spree. Gravity being, as usual, a big pain in the ass, began tugging really hard at Narg, who introduced himself to the canyon's floor after a short while of screaming and flailing about quite uselessly. Conclusive experiments prove that the thickness of tribal skulls only go so far, and Narg had just proven that theory.
While Dongo and Harold were contemplating the remains of Narg at the bottom of the canyon, they became aware of a robed mongoose running towards them, shouting obscenities and behaving very unmongooselike. When the mongoose came close enough, they saw that it was in fact Arroyo's shaman and drug dealer (same thing, different name), Shmakunin. The result of a brief affair between Hakunin and the Elder before Hakunin got shot by those nastie Enclave chaps, Shmakunin had inherited the best traits of both the involved parties, i.e. he tripped a lot using 'erbal methods, and he had a temper to boot. Not a pretty combination, which is why most folk steered clear of Shmakunin, except when they needed "medicine", and then they had to go weed his damn garden too, with those irritating "plants of dark soul" who seem more interested in biting off your fingers than sucking up all your garden's water.
"The gods rain down obscenities upon your head, fool! I see a vision of you being gutted and feasted upon by carrion! I...", and so Shamkunin ranted at Dongo and Harold. Dongo looked at Harold. Harold looked at Dongo. They exchanged glances. They shared meaningful looks. Then they whacked Shmakunin on the head to get the idiot to shut the hell up.
Catching him before he became another result in Tribal Skull Studies 101, the pair hauled the shaman into a mostly uncomfortable sprawling position and proceeded into the village. Which brought them to the Elder's tent, in front of the Hole of Holy Water (tribal speak for the well), and before the terrifying visage of the Elder. I mean, how do you manage to get so wrinkly when you get old? And that eye! Monstrosities aside, Dongo introduced himself and Harold.
"Greetings, Elder of Arroyo. I am Dongo Weener, and this is my companion Harold. Together, we are known as... Dongo and Harold."
The Elder looked at them, not looking really impressed with them - at all.
Not to be bested, Dongo continued. "The reason why we have visited your... uh... wonderful village is that we are seeking a greater purpose in life," Dongo puffed up his chest, "and we feel that we can find just that right here! And maybe some booty, if it's not too much of a hassle..."
"Find Vic in Klamath...", the Elder began to mumble.
Dongo pulled out his Vault-Tec Notepad (copyright, patent pending, etc. etc.) . "Right... Vic... Klamath... got it... then what?"
"More... I do not know..." The Elder then subsided into mumbling incoherently and rocking herself.
Once again, Dongo looked at Harold. Harold looked at Dongo. They exchanged glances. They shared meaningful looks.
"It's wrong to hit a lady on the head, Harold, no matter how ugly and man-like she might look."
Harold sighed. "Another opportunity shall arise, I'm sure.", he mused philosophically.
Suddenly, the Elder perked up again. "Take this flask..." She proffered a blue flask with a big, yellow one-three emblazoned upon it, which reeked a bit much of Rotgut. When Dongo took the Rotgut-corroded flask, the Elder subsided into rocking herself again.
Dongo looked at Harold. "Off to Klamath, then?"
Harold looked speculatively at the flask. "We could stop by at the Bathhouse, maybe.", he sniffed at Dongo, "I'd say you're needing it."
Dongo looked hurt. "Well, now that was mean.". He sighed a deep sigh, filled with longing and regret. Longing for booty, and regret that it seemed that they weren't going to get any in Arroyo. "Let's go, then."
And off they went to journey to Klamath, a journey marked by sullen silence because Harold wouldn't stop mentioning how Dongo needed a bath.
"I do not smell! No, I don't know why there are no flies on me! And it's not because I stink worse than year-old carrion! Which I don't!"
Tits.
Says it all-
The Shrike
- Respected
- Posts: 87
- Joined: Fri Apr 19, 2002 10:37 am
- Location: A big smoking hole in the ground
- Contact:
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Slave_Master
- Strider Elite
- Posts: 990
- Joined: Sun Jun 02, 2002 7:28 am
- Location: On the dark side of the moon
Or I''l really be :mad: Hurry!
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Lianora Beró
- Regular
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Hoho i know that feeling
Im having the same prob as you but writing a story takes time. 
Good luck with your story. Humor is always good in Fallout stories 8)
Good luck with your story. Humor is always good in Fallout stories 8)Knight Commander Lianora Beró: BOS Special Night Ops.
===================
War, war never changes, untill she changed it.
===================
"That takes a fourteen shot clip
You expecting an army?"
"No...just a division"
===================
War, war never changes, untill she changed it.
===================
"That takes a fourteen shot clip
You expecting an army?"
"No...just a division"
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DJ Slamák
- Vault Elite
- Posts: 393
- Joined: Fri Apr 19, 2002 11:17 pm
- Location: Prague, Czech Republic
- Contact:
Which chapter are you struggling to finish now? I'm suffering from a nasty case of withdrawl.Sykotik wrote:Argh. I struggle to finish the next chapter.
:: raises a banner that reads "SYKOTIK 4 PREZIDNET" ::
We Want Dongo! We Want Dongo!
C'mon everybody! We Want Dongo! We want ...
:: fade to black ::
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The Shrike
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OK... I'm not all happy with the way the current chapter is going, and quite frankly - I can't think of another idea for the main body right now. So - if you guys can find the time and/or inspiration, could you please maybe think of a main idea for Chapter 5 I can mangle to fit my perverse desires? 
It would be much appreciated, you'd get a warm fuzzy feeling inside and you get a new Dongo chapter!!!
...Please?
It would be much appreciated, you'd get a warm fuzzy feeling inside
and you get a new Dongo chapter!!!...Please?
Tits.
I can give you idea... I can give you dozens of ideas. May be they are not so great but what a hell, at least I tried. I'd like to read more of this story. 8) It is really good.
So... idea... er... let's see. Use some kind of comp game - at least some use of them. BG - Dongo is god and is going to find out it by catching several bullets(accidently)... Torment - Dongo is immortal, who lost his memory... hm, does he remember the past? Er, no matter... So, what else do we have. FO - what was it's main idea? Saving of people... Oh, Now Dongo will be great savior of some town - yeah I see it great. Bloody mess of raiders and Dongo is ahead as bright hero of the wastes. Hail, Dongo!
So... idea... er... let's see. Use some kind of comp game - at least some use of them. BG - Dongo is god and is going to find out it by catching several bullets(accidently)... Torment - Dongo is immortal, who lost his memory... hm, does he remember the past? Er, no matter... So, what else do we have. FO - what was it's main idea? Saving of people... Oh, Now Dongo will be great savior of some town - yeah I see it great. Bloody mess of raiders and Dongo is ahead as bright hero of the wastes. Hail, Dongo!
World of FO is coming... too fast for my liking
It's here! Rejoice! Rejoice! 
Special thanks to DJ Slam.
Chapter 5: The Hunt For Red-Eyed Vic or Rotgut Sunrise, Bloodshot Eyes
Dongo had reached his ultimate destination, well, at least until another shiny thing caught his attention. The triumphant trio (one of his potatoes had grown limbs and became really life-like after Dongo had dropped it into a toxic waste pool) had trekked from Arroyo to Klamath, pissing off the local tribals and pissing on the local spore plants. Now, they were standing in the Klamath Bathhouse, and Dongo was getting ready for his bath.
"Is that a gecko in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Jenny inquired.
Dongo looked down, reached in and pulled Harold out of his pants.
Harold pulled faces that made him look as if he was constipated or something. "It seems our friend Dongo got the notion of 'Dongo stuff you down pants!' in his head and tried it out on me. Come on Mr. Potato Man, let's go get wasted at Sojag's."
A while later, Dongo emerged from the Bathhouse after adding a few more stains to the bed's description and trotted down to Sojag to catch up with Harold and Mr. Potato Man.
"Wench! Bring me ale!"
"Yea, verily! This search for the Holy Hand Grenade is making me thirsty!"
These shouts came from a group of armoured men sitting in the corner of the bar, quaffing their ale and swapping stories of interesting things they've slashed to pieces with their swords. Dongo spared them a glance, and headed over to where Harold and Mr. Potato Man were downing shots of Roentgen Rum.
Aside from drinking radioactive booze, Mr. Potato Man was impressing the chicks by re-arranging his body parts. Strangely enough, it worked. He disappeared for quite a while in one of Sojag's rooms. Which left Dongo and Harold to drink and philosophise.
"You reckon we're closer to finding your big purpose in life, Dongo?"
Dongo took a swig from his brew. He stared long and hard at the Vault of The Future poster on the wall, smacked his lips and shrugged. "Nope. Don't think so. Still need to find what's-his-face... Vic."
"You reckon we should probably get started on looking?"
Dongo took another swig. "Probably. Get Mr. Potato Man - we've got a Vic to find."
A while later, they were standing outside Sojag's, waiting for Mr. Potato Man to attach all his... er... parts to himself again. Apparently the girls had been a bit rough. In any event, they trudged down to the run-down shack with the big "Vic's" sign on. Inside, it was empty, save for a whole lot of Cat's Paw magazines and a screwed up radio.
As the trio stepped on a piece of planking covering the floor, said planking suddenly splintered and they fell through a big hole. Right on top of a pile of bones.
After numerous curses, shoves and pushes, they finally got disentangled, patched up Mr. Potato Man's body parts again, and took their bearings. They were in a big tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel there was a light.
"You think we're dead?" Dongo asked.
For an answer, Harold smacked his head. "Gee, Toto, I dunno. Let's skip down this freakin' golden road! Stop being such a dumbass, Dongo."
And so, they set off down the tunnel. As they stepped into the light, they stood still a bit in the sudden light, so that their eyes could adjust. After a while, they became aware of a deep growling noise.
"What the hell is that?!"
Suddenly two red slits appeared in the gloom, and one hell of a big, hairy thing came into view.
"Crap! It's a molerat! Run!"
Dongo flung out a arm to stop mass stampeding actions. "Wait a minute, something's not right here. That kinda sounded like..." He pursed his lips thoughtfully and stepped closer to the thing.
"Hey, you go right ahead. If it snaps off your arm, don't expect us to come running."
Harold and Mr. Potato Man edged closer to the exit of the cavern while Dongo approached the thing. It was covered in fur very similiar to a molerat, but the shape of the body was all wrong. It was big and fat, all right, but something was out of place.
A red eye flicked open and looked up at Dongo. Determined, unwavering in the face of Ugly, Dongo reached to the thing and parted some of the fur, exposing a old, white shirt with a name written on it.
"Guys... I think we've found Vic!"
Vic looked up at them with bloodshot eyes, belched forth a cloud of noxious fumes and puked on Dongo's feet.
"Now just look at my Nikes, dammit!"
Special thanks to DJ Slam.
Chapter 5: The Hunt For Red-Eyed Vic or Rotgut Sunrise, Bloodshot Eyes
Dongo had reached his ultimate destination, well, at least until another shiny thing caught his attention. The triumphant trio (one of his potatoes had grown limbs and became really life-like after Dongo had dropped it into a toxic waste pool) had trekked from Arroyo to Klamath, pissing off the local tribals and pissing on the local spore plants. Now, they were standing in the Klamath Bathhouse, and Dongo was getting ready for his bath.
"Is that a gecko in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Jenny inquired.
Dongo looked down, reached in and pulled Harold out of his pants.
Harold pulled faces that made him look as if he was constipated or something. "It seems our friend Dongo got the notion of 'Dongo stuff you down pants!' in his head and tried it out on me. Come on Mr. Potato Man, let's go get wasted at Sojag's."
A while later, Dongo emerged from the Bathhouse after adding a few more stains to the bed's description and trotted down to Sojag to catch up with Harold and Mr. Potato Man.
"Wench! Bring me ale!"
"Yea, verily! This search for the Holy Hand Grenade is making me thirsty!"
These shouts came from a group of armoured men sitting in the corner of the bar, quaffing their ale and swapping stories of interesting things they've slashed to pieces with their swords. Dongo spared them a glance, and headed over to where Harold and Mr. Potato Man were downing shots of Roentgen Rum.
Aside from drinking radioactive booze, Mr. Potato Man was impressing the chicks by re-arranging his body parts. Strangely enough, it worked. He disappeared for quite a while in one of Sojag's rooms. Which left Dongo and Harold to drink and philosophise.
"You reckon we're closer to finding your big purpose in life, Dongo?"
Dongo took a swig from his brew. He stared long and hard at the Vault of The Future poster on the wall, smacked his lips and shrugged. "Nope. Don't think so. Still need to find what's-his-face... Vic."
"You reckon we should probably get started on looking?"
Dongo took another swig. "Probably. Get Mr. Potato Man - we've got a Vic to find."
A while later, they were standing outside Sojag's, waiting for Mr. Potato Man to attach all his... er... parts to himself again. Apparently the girls had been a bit rough. In any event, they trudged down to the run-down shack with the big "Vic's" sign on. Inside, it was empty, save for a whole lot of Cat's Paw magazines and a screwed up radio.
As the trio stepped on a piece of planking covering the floor, said planking suddenly splintered and they fell through a big hole. Right on top of a pile of bones.
After numerous curses, shoves and pushes, they finally got disentangled, patched up Mr. Potato Man's body parts again, and took their bearings. They were in a big tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel there was a light.
"You think we're dead?" Dongo asked.
For an answer, Harold smacked his head. "Gee, Toto, I dunno. Let's skip down this freakin' golden road! Stop being such a dumbass, Dongo."
And so, they set off down the tunnel. As they stepped into the light, they stood still a bit in the sudden light, so that their eyes could adjust. After a while, they became aware of a deep growling noise.
"What the hell is that?!"
Suddenly two red slits appeared in the gloom, and one hell of a big, hairy thing came into view.
"Crap! It's a molerat! Run!"
Dongo flung out a arm to stop mass stampeding actions. "Wait a minute, something's not right here. That kinda sounded like..." He pursed his lips thoughtfully and stepped closer to the thing.
"Hey, you go right ahead. If it snaps off your arm, don't expect us to come running."
Harold and Mr. Potato Man edged closer to the exit of the cavern while Dongo approached the thing. It was covered in fur very similiar to a molerat, but the shape of the body was all wrong. It was big and fat, all right, but something was out of place.
A red eye flicked open and looked up at Dongo. Determined, unwavering in the face of Ugly, Dongo reached to the thing and parted some of the fur, exposing a old, white shirt with a name written on it.
"Guys... I think we've found Vic!"
Vic looked up at them with bloodshot eyes, belched forth a cloud of noxious fumes and puked on Dongo's feet.
"Now just look at my Nikes, dammit!"
Last edited by Sykotik on Sat Oct 12, 2002 8:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Tits.
-
DJ Slamák
- Vault Elite
- Posts: 393
- Joined: Fri Apr 19, 2002 11:17 pm
- Location: Prague, Czech Republic
- Contact:
:Dongo Weener Chapter 6!!!
Once again, mucho thanks to DJ Slam for the chapter idea
Chapter 6: Covert Ops or We Wuv Whymeat
All in all, life was beginning to look like a soap opera. The big fat drunkard has just puked on the respectable guy's shoes, the girl was pregnant and the evil doctor was extracting the liver from the unwitting patient. Unfortunately, Dongo wasn't destined for the leading role in The Bold and The Radiated just yet.
Now, if you thought Vic was ugly, fat and stupid before, man, you should see his star performance now. All that Rogut doesn't help to make a man chick-pulling. But all this is besides the point (pretty much like the rest of the rest of the story).
Dongo looked at his companions, who had finished their "inspection of the way out, just to make sure". "There's only one way to cure this... let's call it a man, alright?... man's sickness, guys. We shall have to go find a year's supply of Dunton Drymeat!"
Harold and Mr. Potato Man gasped in shocked unison. "No! Not... not... Dunton Drymeat!"
Dongo nodded gravely. "Yes, I'm afraid it's the only thing that will save this wretch," Here Dongo gestured in a vaguely dramatic manner at Vic, "But we have faced so many perils, and we shall survive this encounter as well! That and I need to go take another bath..."
So up the myriad of ladders they went, going "ooh" and "aah" at the different shapes of the rocks, bringing them to the front door of the Duntons' place.
Dongo looked sincerely at his companions. "OK, we'll have to blow this door. We've got to take them by surprise!"
Harold, who was painted with camoflauge, took out the C-4 from his backpack and fixed up the door. "Go go go!"
From a safe distance, Dongo triggered the bomb, and they oohed and aahed as was appropriate when destroying another person's private property with highly explosive materials. After waiting for the dust to die down, they moved in through the slightly (understatement of the year) enlarged front door and confronted the Duntons, who had been busy with a Cat's Paw magazine up to the point where their front porch had been largely destroyed.
"What in the name of hell you guys think you're doin'? I oughtta whip yo' ass outta here into the next goddamn town!"
Dongo help his hand up. "It's a medical emergency man! We've got someone who's in dire need of Dunton Drymeat!"
Even the Duntons were shocked. "You mean... you actually... but it's... hell, you know what really goes into... uh... I mean... well sure! That'll be..."
And from there on, conversation degraded into boring haggling, Mr Potato Man rearranging his body parts to make his point, Dongo glancing at the Cat's Paw and not paying attention to the Duntons whatsoever, and Harold examining the room for more spots to plant C-4.
Eventually, the triumphant trio emerged with bags full of Dunton Drymeat, having bought out the whole of the Duntons' stock, and they set out to the mall again to bring the Drymeat to Vic.
Back in the gloom and puke of Vic's cavern, they dragged the bags on top of each other.
"Now Vic," Dongo addressed him, "This is your cure. It'll take all your problems away."
Vic looked up, and a faint glimmer of hopeful interest shone in his still bloodshot eyes.
"Yes, that's right, fella! A year's supply of Dunton Drymeat!"
At this, Dongo flung his arms out expansively, Vic cringed and wriggled, Harold sniffed in one of the bags and vomited, and Mr Potato Man rearranged his body parts. And then the fun part began where they force-fed a year's supply of Dunton Drymeat into Vic.
With the arduous task complete, they sat back for a while, watching Vic, who was looking decidedly green.
"You think that's envy?"
"Nope."
Dongo stared at Vic a bit longer, when suddenly his eyes stretched.
"RUN! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!!"
Quick as lightning, they scrambled up and made a bee-line for the exit. They were not quick enough. A torrent of Rotgut/Dunton Drymeat emerged from Vic, threatening to flood the entire cave. Harold was the first to go under the raging flood, followed by Mr Potato Man. Dongo was a step in front of the raging flood when he felt his legs buckle.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!"
The last thing Dongo remembered before being enveloped by the flood was the sight of Vic belching, rolling over and snoring contentedly.
Chapter 6: Covert Ops or We Wuv Whymeat
All in all, life was beginning to look like a soap opera. The big fat drunkard has just puked on the respectable guy's shoes, the girl was pregnant and the evil doctor was extracting the liver from the unwitting patient. Unfortunately, Dongo wasn't destined for the leading role in The Bold and The Radiated just yet.
Now, if you thought Vic was ugly, fat and stupid before, man, you should see his star performance now. All that Rogut doesn't help to make a man chick-pulling. But all this is besides the point (pretty much like the rest of the rest of the story).
Dongo looked at his companions, who had finished their "inspection of the way out, just to make sure". "There's only one way to cure this... let's call it a man, alright?... man's sickness, guys. We shall have to go find a year's supply of Dunton Drymeat!"
Harold and Mr. Potato Man gasped in shocked unison. "No! Not... not... Dunton Drymeat!"
Dongo nodded gravely. "Yes, I'm afraid it's the only thing that will save this wretch," Here Dongo gestured in a vaguely dramatic manner at Vic, "But we have faced so many perils, and we shall survive this encounter as well! That and I need to go take another bath..."
So up the myriad of ladders they went, going "ooh" and "aah" at the different shapes of the rocks, bringing them to the front door of the Duntons' place.
Dongo looked sincerely at his companions. "OK, we'll have to blow this door. We've got to take them by surprise!"
Harold, who was painted with camoflauge, took out the C-4 from his backpack and fixed up the door. "Go go go!"
From a safe distance, Dongo triggered the bomb, and they oohed and aahed as was appropriate when destroying another person's private property with highly explosive materials. After waiting for the dust to die down, they moved in through the slightly (understatement of the year) enlarged front door and confronted the Duntons, who had been busy with a Cat's Paw magazine up to the point where their front porch had been largely destroyed.
"What in the name of hell you guys think you're doin'? I oughtta whip yo' ass outta here into the next goddamn town!"
Dongo help his hand up. "It's a medical emergency man! We've got someone who's in dire need of Dunton Drymeat!"
Even the Duntons were shocked. "You mean... you actually... but it's... hell, you know what really goes into... uh... I mean... well sure! That'll be..."
And from there on, conversation degraded into boring haggling, Mr Potato Man rearranging his body parts to make his point, Dongo glancing at the Cat's Paw and not paying attention to the Duntons whatsoever, and Harold examining the room for more spots to plant C-4.
Eventually, the triumphant trio emerged with bags full of Dunton Drymeat, having bought out the whole of the Duntons' stock, and they set out to the mall again to bring the Drymeat to Vic.
Back in the gloom and puke of Vic's cavern, they dragged the bags on top of each other.
"Now Vic," Dongo addressed him, "This is your cure. It'll take all your problems away."
Vic looked up, and a faint glimmer of hopeful interest shone in his still bloodshot eyes.
"Yes, that's right, fella! A year's supply of Dunton Drymeat!"
At this, Dongo flung his arms out expansively, Vic cringed and wriggled, Harold sniffed in one of the bags and vomited, and Mr Potato Man rearranged his body parts. And then the fun part began where they force-fed a year's supply of Dunton Drymeat into Vic.
With the arduous task complete, they sat back for a while, watching Vic, who was looking decidedly green.
"You think that's envy?"
"Nope."
Dongo stared at Vic a bit longer, when suddenly his eyes stretched.
"RUN! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!!"
Quick as lightning, they scrambled up and made a bee-line for the exit. They were not quick enough. A torrent of Rotgut/Dunton Drymeat emerged from Vic, threatening to flood the entire cave. Harold was the first to go under the raging flood, followed by Mr Potato Man. Dongo was a step in front of the raging flood when he felt his legs buckle.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!"
The last thing Dongo remembered before being enveloped by the flood was the sight of Vic belching, rolling over and snoring contentedly.
Tits.
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DJ Slamák
- Vault Elite
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- Joined: Fri Apr 19, 2002 11:17 pm
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