Post by The Mighty Mjaeder! on Dec 18, 2010 2:51:33 GMT -5
“Please consume the beverage now.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice!”
“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”
The first voice belonged to a small, mousy looking man in his late 40s, severely thinning hair in a dismal comb over, horn rimmed glasses pushed up tight against gray eyes, lab coat and clip board labeling him as the quintessential science geek.
The second voice belonged to everyone’s favorite smashed superhero, the one, the only Slosh.
The third voice, or rather, collection of voices, belonged to the crowd of spectators that had gathered to witness the day’s experiment.
The Sloshman was standing in the middle of an open field, surrounded by a variety of high tech scanning equipment, electrodes affixed to key portions of his anatomy. The mousy scientist and his team stood to the side, observing, the eager audience several paces further back were behind a security barricade. Next to the Sloshter was a rather large funnel into which some variety of sweet, sweet boozamohol was being pumped. Slosh twisted the switch at the funnel’s aperture and the nectar of the gods flowed into his waiting gullet, where it was swallowed eagerly.
Almost immediately, Slosh began to grow, shooting from his standard just shy of 6 feet up to easily 8, and more than doubling in weight. The science nerd consulted his equipment.
“Fascinating,” he happily shouted, “Absolutely fascinating! The alcohol fuels radioactive organelles in your cellular structure reminiscent of mitochondria, leading to an amazing energetic output! The massive influx of energy keys the activation of otherwise dormant mutated genes, triggering mitosis at an exponential rate, leading to the seemingly inexplicable increase in dimensions!”
“Yeah…” Slosh said, blinking slowly, “That’s pretty much what I figured was happening…”
“Please!” the scientist nearly begged, “the strength test!”
“Sure thing, Paco…”
Slosh reached down to the ground by his feet, where a pair of bar bells, each easily 500 pounds, rested. Grabbing one in each massive hand, the Sloshman hoisted both into the air, showing some strain, but managing not only to get the weight vertical, but to execute one (piss poor formed) curl before dropping them to the ground.
“Absolutely remarkable…” the scientist beamed,, “Now, you’ll please forgive me for the next test…”
The scientist nodded to an assistant, who flipped a switch, and Slosh was immediately struck by numerous riot control rubber bullets, bringing immediate bruises up wherever they struck.
“WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FUCKING DOUCHEBAG!”
“Please, Slosh, another drink…”
“Oh… well, in that case…”
Slosh hit the funnel once more, and as he did, the bruises faded in record time.
“Truly astounding,” the scientist shook his head, “the alcohol fueled mutant mitochondria are able to prompt cellular regeneration at an incredible rate… You, sir, are a marvel of modern science!”
“Sweet,” a slightly blitzed Slosh replied, “But I was wondering if you could explain one thing for me….”
“By all means!” the eager scientist replied.
Slosh looked around, spotting Sweetness (his Singapore cane) lying by his side. He grabbed the bamboo stick in one hand, then the funnel in the other, tearing free the hose and chugging straight from the source. As he imbibed, the Sloshman quickly grew, from 8 feet up to 10, 12, 16... Somehow, Sweetness grew with him, matching him in proportion. Slosh belched loudly, then held the cane forward for inspection.
“Well?”
The scientist was silent for a long moment, blinking repeatedly before finally offering an answer, of sorts…
“… I have no fucking idea…”
“You don’t have to tell me twice!”
“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”
The first voice belonged to a small, mousy looking man in his late 40s, severely thinning hair in a dismal comb over, horn rimmed glasses pushed up tight against gray eyes, lab coat and clip board labeling him as the quintessential science geek.
The second voice belonged to everyone’s favorite smashed superhero, the one, the only Slosh.
The third voice, or rather, collection of voices, belonged to the crowd of spectators that had gathered to witness the day’s experiment.
The Sloshman was standing in the middle of an open field, surrounded by a variety of high tech scanning equipment, electrodes affixed to key portions of his anatomy. The mousy scientist and his team stood to the side, observing, the eager audience several paces further back were behind a security barricade. Next to the Sloshter was a rather large funnel into which some variety of sweet, sweet boozamohol was being pumped. Slosh twisted the switch at the funnel’s aperture and the nectar of the gods flowed into his waiting gullet, where it was swallowed eagerly.
Almost immediately, Slosh began to grow, shooting from his standard just shy of 6 feet up to easily 8, and more than doubling in weight. The science nerd consulted his equipment.
“Fascinating,” he happily shouted, “Absolutely fascinating! The alcohol fuels radioactive organelles in your cellular structure reminiscent of mitochondria, leading to an amazing energetic output! The massive influx of energy keys the activation of otherwise dormant mutated genes, triggering mitosis at an exponential rate, leading to the seemingly inexplicable increase in dimensions!”
“Yeah…” Slosh said, blinking slowly, “That’s pretty much what I figured was happening…”
“Please!” the scientist nearly begged, “the strength test!”
“Sure thing, Paco…”
Slosh reached down to the ground by his feet, where a pair of bar bells, each easily 500 pounds, rested. Grabbing one in each massive hand, the Sloshman hoisted both into the air, showing some strain, but managing not only to get the weight vertical, but to execute one (piss poor formed) curl before dropping them to the ground.
“Absolutely remarkable…” the scientist beamed,, “Now, you’ll please forgive me for the next test…”
The scientist nodded to an assistant, who flipped a switch, and Slosh was immediately struck by numerous riot control rubber bullets, bringing immediate bruises up wherever they struck.
“WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FUCKING DOUCHEBAG!”
“Please, Slosh, another drink…”
“Oh… well, in that case…”
Slosh hit the funnel once more, and as he did, the bruises faded in record time.
“Truly astounding,” the scientist shook his head, “the alcohol fueled mutant mitochondria are able to prompt cellular regeneration at an incredible rate… You, sir, are a marvel of modern science!”
“Sweet,” a slightly blitzed Slosh replied, “But I was wondering if you could explain one thing for me….”
“By all means!” the eager scientist replied.
Slosh looked around, spotting Sweetness (his Singapore cane) lying by his side. He grabbed the bamboo stick in one hand, then the funnel in the other, tearing free the hose and chugging straight from the source. As he imbibed, the Sloshman quickly grew, from 8 feet up to 10, 12, 16... Somehow, Sweetness grew with him, matching him in proportion. Slosh belched loudly, then held the cane forward for inspection.
“Well?”
The scientist was silent for a long moment, blinking repeatedly before finally offering an answer, of sorts…
“… I have no fucking idea…”
