BLOODY CRAZY: WHAT DO YOU WANT ON YOUR TOMBSTONE?

By Justin "Damn He's an Annoying Bastard Isn't He" Fraser and Brian
"Power Pants Panorama of Penis"Clark

PART BLOODY ONE

And here is the next epic adventure involving androids, Nameks, Saiyans,
and a singing stoplight:


     They thought he was dead.  And he was.
     But he didn't go to hell.  Instead, he went to a place where he
could gain the power to destroy the Z-warriors *and* their socks.
     "Is it finished, *Dahctah Weelo*?"
     Doctor Willow devoured a panther by the dark of moonlight.  Which
isn't dark.  Come to think of it, it *is* sunlight, not the moon.
Unless you count that flashlight it swallowed...
     ...Anyway: "Yes.  He is complete, and his body is even more
powerful now.  I was able to draw immense power from the
center of this wretched land.  We may be trapped here, but we
will have our revenge!  Cats."
     His assistant looked at him lopsided.  Then realization dawned. 
"Oh, yes, I took care of it this morning."  A moment of  confusion
crossed between two cockroaches who had been watching from the distant
planet of Zorgshmantzelesky.  They gave each other estranged looks.  The
elder of the two didn't approve of this and spit a guitar pick in the
other's fucking eye!
     They both looked up, even though Doctor Willow didn't have any
eyes.  He did have a sudden craving for radishes, but that's not the
point.  Inside the large glass tube was a green android.  The censors
forced us to put the serial label over its genital area, so we'll skip
that part of description.  Oh, and the arms; they made us censor those
too.  Damned if we know why...
     It opened its eyes.
	"Oh.  It's time, then?"
	Doctor Willow nodded.  His assistant, Tasslehoff the Great and Powerful
Cleric, did a double-take as he tried to figure out how a large brain
could accomplish a feat that was so desperately in need of cranial
components and a neck.  After a moments cogitation, he decided to deny
that it had happened and went back  to healing his maps.
	"Does that mean I have to leave the tube?"  The android looked down in
dismay as the giant brain-thingy (who'd refused to give his name to
anything green) held a "HELL YES!  OTHER PEOPLE NEED TO USE IT!" sign up
to him.
	"Oh...just five more minutes?  Please?"
	After six hours bickering back and forth, Tas and the doctor managed
drag his ass outta there and place him in the eject pod.
	Before Doctor Willow  could fasten the android to his seat, Tas leapt
down from the clearance deck and pulled the launch lever.
	"Wooooooooooooooo-hooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!" the android yelled at
the top of his lungs.
     And, that very night, Cell spawned from Brian's pants, with a gleam
in his eye that practically yelled, "Cabooya!"


     "Dammit!  I's tellin' you, it was van Unterschpelan!"   Piccolo
took his tequila in one sloppy swig and pounded his glass on the table.
Then he eyed it sheepishly, picked it up and pounded ten more times.
     The bar was manky, with stale air and the smell of green clouding
the small amount oflight that was able to penetrate the fish-head
encrusted windows.  There was no floor, but most of the people here were
drunk, so they didn't notice.  A small dishwasher flew slowly across the
room, complaining about the projects that its teacher, Mr. Figurski,
always had him do that got in the way of his DAMN WRITING AND WAS
REALLY BEGINNING TO PISS HIM OFF!!!!!!
     You understand this is completely fictional, right?  No, honestly,
the name Figurski just popped into my head...
     Gokou licked the table and listened to the music in the
background.  His favorite band was here; Majin Presley and the Majin
Band.
     It was quite a little small-time set-up.  The lead singer, Majin
Presley, was really going places, they said.  When further pressed,
people often said, "Probably Hawaii."
     The other members undoubtedly would follow.  They were, after all,
familly.  There was Majin Marv on the drums, Majin Buuie, who could
really whip the notes out on the guitar, the bass player, Majin Boot,
and Cari-Buu on the ashtray.  They believed strongly that families
should stick together, since they were Majin Buuddhists.
     "Woo-hoohoo, woo-hoohoo," sang Majin Presley, trying to keep hold
of the microphone, since he would not have his oven mitts removed.  
They were traditional.  Okay, he'd lost the diaper, because flashy
bellbottoms and a glossy white jacket were what *all* whacked-out, noisy
folk-singers wore.  He'd kept his cape, too, but only because it was
purple.  And in a stroke of originality, he slicked the antenna-like
thing on his head forward.
     "Careful with that, Piccolo.  Those drinks'll kill ya' if you
aren't careful.  I hear where they pop out of manholes with machetes and
slice people's feet off  n steal their boots," Krillan said to Vegeta's
hair.  He was drunk, and Gohan's head had drawn a face on it, because
his hair was so loaded down with gel he could knock down buildings with
it.
     Suddenly, Vegeta became enraged and tore a ragged chunk from the
lighting fixtures with his mouth.  Since Trunks had been swinging
happily from the chandeliers, he took a sizeable portion of his son's
leg, too.
     Piccolo generated another leg for him, because he wasn't about to
have another "Gohan Incident".  Trunks didn't mind, rather attracted to
the idea of having a Namekian leg.  'Course, it was twice as  long as
his other one, because Piccolo couldn't stop being so FUCKING BIG!
	As if reading the author's mind, the  Mutant Roshi began banging on
Piccolo's leg, shouting, "HEY!  YOU'RE TOO BIG!!!!!!"  in  what had to
be the funniest, most vibrant voice in the universe.
     There was a boom, and the entire building shook.  "Open up!"
bellowed a voice from outside.  The barman, Yamucha, nervously walked
over to the door and opened it.  Then he shut it again, really fast.
     "Oh, dear," he whispered.  He motioned for the others to look his
way.  Somehow, it worked, even though they hadn't seen him do it.
     "It's Shen-lon," he said, whispering and pointing at the door with
a sense of urgency.  He wiped his forehead with his ear and went back to
work.  Shen-lon wormed his way in.  He got stuck about halfway and, with
a few mutters of "Blast, pardon me," he decided that he would have to
elephant in the rest of the way.
     "I AM HERE," he boomed, "TO GRANT A WISH MADE WITH THE MAGICAL
COTTONBALLS!  I, THE GREAT SWAB SHEN-LON, HAVE BEEN SUMMONED TO GIVE
GOHAN BACK HIS BODY, AND BRING HIS BOOTS TO THE ONE WHOM REQUESTED
SO AND WHOSE NAME I CANNOT MENTION FOR LEGAL REASONS!"
     "It was Vegeta, wasn't it?" Krillan said, folding his arms and
peering at Vegeta from the corner of his eye.  Vegeta slid sheepishly
underneath the table.
     "Yes," Shen-lon admitted, lowering his head.
     "Hey!" cried Piccolo, "That means he'll be normal* again!"
     (*Normal by Bloody Crazy standards.)
     "SAYONA..."
     "Shut the fuck up!" everyone yelled, simultaneously.
     "Sorry...It's just that, you know, it gets a bit, well...bred into
you when you've been in this line of work for so--"
	"--HEY!!!  WHAT THE HELL DID WE JUST SAY!!???  SHUTUP OR I'LL THROW
STUFF AT YA!!!!!!!!!"
     Gohan shook his head.  He looked down at his hands and said,
"Whoa!  That was some wacky camera action!"
	"AND NOW," the dragon bellowed in Yamucha's ear, which accounted for
his blindness in life later, "I MUST BE OFF.  I HAVE...IMPORTANT
BUSINESS...TO ATTEND TO...YEAH..."
	"I'LL *KILL* YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Roshi hollered at the top of his
lungs.  "GET YER HEAD OUTTA YER ASS!!!!!"
	Yamucha stuck his finger in his ear.  This would probably make his foot
pains play up on him to no end.
     Shen-lon disappeared, muttering (I heard "Figurski" in there
somewhere), and in the corner, Roshi drank a frothy mug of water,
smacked his lips, and yelled, "THAT'S SOME GOOD PISS!" in a loud,
scratchy voice.


     "It's like Grand Central Station around here!" said a voice that
was never heard, nor ever will be.  I had an idea with a worm, but it
just wasn't as uninteresting.  You know what?  If *YOU'RE* so fucking
good at this, then why don't  you haul your ass down here and write
this?  Huh?  You wanna antagonize me?  Antogonize me, mother fucker!! 
Get in the ring, mother fucker, and I'll kick your bitchy little ass!
	Punk!
	"UHHHH..."  Roshi looked at the writer in concern.
     Vegeta waved Calamari-on-a-Stick in the air and started to dance. 
Once the thunderstorm was able to calm him down, he regained his potency
and spelled "FERRET" in the sand.  A cold wind drank, and Vegeta took a
blow from his glass to keep warm.  He walked across the beach and
reached down to pull Trunks' head out of the ground.
     "Very tasty!" Trunks whistled, smacking his lips.  He looked around
smartly, and smacked Vegeta as well.
     Gohan and Pants, Trunks' seal, were eating sandwiches at a bench. 
Actually, Pants was *eating* the bench, but that was okay.  They were in
season.
     Mating season.
     Any-who-haw...Back to Vegeta.  As he nibbled on his son's left
turnip, he asked, "Are you ready to begin your training in the Way of
the Mallet?"
     To Vegeta, it appeared that Trunks had nodded, but in fact, he'd
been trying to knee himself in the eyeball.  He did it, too, after
Vegeta had turned around.
     Vegeta reached into his pants and produced a mallet, size
"HAMSTER", and swung it a few times to get the feel of it.  Trunks, too,
pulled a mallet from his Pants and checked it for seagulls.  They're
nasty buggers.
     Pants watched as the waves rushed up around their noses.  Vegeta
was showing him the deadly technique of *Raising the Mallet above the
Cranium, Like so...No, Higher, You Ingrate...And Squashing Your
Opponent's Skull into a White, Mashy Pulp*.  It was one of the
lesser-known, more potent attacks in Mallet Buuddhism.  After a while,
Vegeta nodded to him, and Pants saw him point up the beach to where
Gohan and himself were sitting.  Pants has more fingers than Gohan.  He
observed Trunks casually as he marched up the beach *nun*chalantly,
raised the mallet above his cranium...just a bit higher now...and
brought it down on Gohan's head, turning his head into a white, mashy
pulp.  He raised the hammer and brought it down again and again and
again.  Soon, Vegeta came rushing in with *his* mallet raised, and
starting smashing Gohan's lifeless body.  Pants looked back and forth
between Vegeta and Trunks before pulling out his *own* mallet and
getting in on the action.
     After about an hour, Winston Churchill fell screaming from the sky,
also sporting a mallet, and proceeded to turn Gohan into oatmeal.


	"Aooww, shit!" yelled Goku, "Fucking shit!"
	Piccolo looked at his  watch for about  five minutes before realizing
he wasn't  wearing a watch.  He looked sternly at Vegeta and said, "That
was  bad.  Go  sit over there...*You* need a time-out."
	Vegeta hung his  head  low.  He walked over to a corner of  the room
(the fact that they weren't *in* a room didn't seem  to  halt this) and
promptly banged his head into the wall until he became unconscious.
	Not just anyone could become unconscious.  You had to be a special kind
of person; someone who would go that extra mile to actually *earn*
unconsciousness.  And then there were the forms  to  be filled out
before you could receive your Consciencelessness Certificate of
Certified Certification.  Add that to the fact that they made you untie
your  shoes when you handed in the paperwork and it  wasn't too easy a
process.
	All in all, becoming unconscious could be a real bitch.  Ain't  that a
bitch, eh?  Hell, I'll tell ya  one thing, yeah that's the last time I
lose my head again.  I'll keep my mouth shut!
	Anyway, when Vegeta came to, it was to see Piccolo staring down at him
with "intent" written  all over his face.  No, it was  actually written
on his face, see?  In red pen.  (The red pen was currently sticking  out
of his  eye.)
	Trunks  was the only other one around.  Vegeta noticed that they  were
now on top of a skyscraper (which was a machine built to take stains
off  of  unsightly clouds),  and that birds were throwing things at
them  telling them to shutup.
	Piccolo spake Thus.  Then he spake German.  "Vegeta he said," he said,
"He said.  You and Trunks remember what you were supposed to do if Gohan
ever died?"
	Vegeta scratched his head.
	"Laugh?" he tried.  Piccolo did his trademark stare, and Vegeta
suddenly remembered.  "Oh, you mean with the Dragon Balls?"
	Piccolo nodded. "Yes, and...Ow!  Damn birds!  Ah...right then!" 
Piccolo lifted Trunks up, which meant lifting his own leg
up, because it was in his mouth.  "Trunks, eat those birds!"
	Trunks poked one in the eye and started devouring it.  Penpen scampered
across the fretboard, but no one payed him much attention.  More birds
came, blocking out the sun.
	"Shit!  There's too many of them!  We can't fight this many!"
	"We need the man in black!" said Inigo Montoya.
	An egg hit one of the seagulls (I told you they were nasty buggers)
that was pecking at Vegeta's hair and knocked it to the ground  in a
gruesome pile of yolk and eggshell.  A spanish guitar strummed out a
dark theme.  Somewhere in the distance, a chicken clucked.  The clucking
grew louder, and there was increased sound of a biplane.  Vegeta looked
up in time to see a chicken in a tuxedo and a top hat fly overhead in
(guess what?) a biplane, the propellors making 
every kind of poultry soup save chicken, and leaving behind a flowing
white tail of feathers of all varieties, save bunk beds.
	The chicken clucked  a few times, looked around confusedly, and flew
away.  Vegeta put his hand to his forehead, more so he could see his
palm than to block out the sun, and  squinted.  It was a rather good
palm.  Tasted nice.
	"Who was that masked man?  I wanted to thank him."
	"*That*," said Piccolo, "was Tuxedo Chicken.  And  he wasn't wearing a
mask."
	"I know..." Vegeta said, innocently.
	Penpen strummed a G cord.
	The G cord is the Grand Central Station cord.
	It makes telephones ring uncontrollably.


	Zunama is  cool.  More later.

	Slight FUCKING delay.  Coming soon:
	Part Bloody Two and a FUCKING Dragonlance Bloody Crazy.
	FUCKING.