Rumbl-o-Rama: Year End Blow Out
"Dis is gonna be da bestest pahty evah," mangled a green fiend. Booze rolled off his sharp tongue and down his sharper fangs. "Tanks fer lettin' me 'ave m' New Yeah's bash he'e, bahkeep. Dis place is gonna be gettin' rowdy!" To initiate the crazy night, the freak began to bust moves from atop the bar stool. His talons shredded the already punctured cushion, and tail swept the bar clean of the piled peanut shells. For once, something made Bimblesnaff more unsightly.
"Aye, laddie, it's no problem," insisted the bartender as he winced from the display of unskill. "So, how many drinks is 'yer party' gonna be a'wanting? Seventeen? Sixteen? I can't remember if Sherold gave up the sauce."
"Dun be stupid, we'll be 'avin' twenty-eight," corrected the fright, shaking what his mama gave him. "Sherold fell off da wagon an' has lost time ta make up fer. But we ain't talkin' me or da folks in m' head. Real people is comin' ovah."
"Real people? Coming to a party? Hosted by you?" rapidly fired the owner. "That you know? And don't hate you?"
"Maybe," shrugged off the lunatic, now demonstrating his robot skills. "Aftah all, I did create dis robit an' I ain't know nuddin' 'bout robinomics."
"I am just a squirrel crammed into a toaster," it mysteriously explained.
"But," the maniac diverted attention, "just in case, I invited ev'ryone an' ev'ryt'in', or should I say Lord Winklebottom of Awesome Pahties invited dem." From a tattered sleeve, he produced one of the invitations. It was spelled largely to his unique and bewildering dialect, if right at all. Most of the letters were backwards when not numbers or pictures of things he thought started with it.
"Hey! These are printed on free drink coupons!" shouted the keeper of brews. "How many of these did you send out?"
"Hundreds!" His panic was not eased. Hundreds could mean two or thousands given the goblin's ability to count. In fact, he could only be certain it was not hundreds. "An' whadaya mean 'free drink'? Ya told me dey we'e pay double slips."
"They are," the tender ungeniusly covered up. "That's what I said." With a sigh, the imp handed over a wad of bills to the outstretched hand.
"So, what's wit' dis end year Liquor-dation ya 'avin'? I mean, ya nevah 'ave dese shindigs. Yer idea o' a ladies' night is 'avin' ev'ryone dress in drag."
"Well, if there's another type of ladies' night, then, blimey, I'd sure like to hear about it," defended the drink dispenser. "Anyhoo, the bar is closing in '08, so I need to get rid off all the booze. The damn health inspector is shutting me down." A wide-eyed stare shot to the keep as a mug hovered by the green lips. "Oh, don't worry. It's not for anything like that. They just feel that all the explosions as of late are a violation of public safety or some bull," he lied while pulling a rat tail out of a bottle. "Whew, that took a while. Now, to get the legs out."
"I'll take that job!" insisted the foul drunkard while snatching the flask. "Mmm, mousy."
"I ... didn't think there was any drink in there," uttered the tender in a fearful disgust before the business man in him pushed down his morals. "That'll be five bucks." After the bills were produced, he coughed and pointed to the 'coupon' still laying on the bar.
"Ah, dammit! Why do I e'en use dose?"
The door blew open as a cold chill entered with an even colder reception.
"Hey, everyone," huffed a frigid warrior, "I just heard some funky knight of a single initial say something about a magical cudgel used to slay zombie steeds. So, once again, I'm going on my own adventure!" So much concern was had for the announcement, crickets could be heard chirping until the blender was turned on to crush some ice. And, no, that wasn't it drowning out the sound. "... Nothing, huh?" asked the glacial gladiator. "Ouch."
"Which alphabet knight was it?" questioned the fiend. "Kool Krusadah K? I hate dat guy. He always butchahs words." Another long silence was had.
"So, no one cares about my adventure going?"
"'Tis a pretty old bit, frosty," shot Bimblesnaff. "Always wit' da, 'Own adventure, own adventure, I take showahs.' We get sick o' it."
"Actually," clarified the beerman, "we get sick from being around you since you don't show-"
"I t'ink I know what we all t'ink," falsely assumed the mental wreck. "Dat's why I got 'lected Most Favorited Rumblah." He produced his trophey of a beer bottle. If you were expecting anything else with it or comically glued to it, sorry.
"Well, that's all fine and good," the cold-shouldered man spoke up again, "but I think I'll quest for that dead horse beating stick."
"How 'bout dis, chilly Willie," suggested the goblin. "Sit down, shaddup, an' 'ave a drink."
"I have a name! Aisucard," he revealed before shamefully slinking into a seat, "Willie Aisucard."
"Yeah, I bet ya do, Ais," the monster chuckled. "I bet ya do."
The vile fiend sat licking his lips, waiting for the next of his party's victims to arrive. Currently, it was a depressing, lonely atmosphere in the bar, and that sort of experience should be shared on the holidays.
Just then, Rumbl-o-Rama's favorite child (as determined by the courts) burst through the door.
"Hi, everybody!" the Cyclops greeted and was then swiftly killed by the Ab-Omination, who earned his position as favorite by this very act.
"Ab-Omination? I thought you were dead!" mused the minty one -- the Rex Ranarum.
"Rex? When'd ya git he'e?"
"Pfft, I live here," the frog blew off, waving to a miniature shanty town in the back of the bar.
"Please let us free!" chirped one of the tiny hobos which fell victim to the toad's shrink ray.
"No!" the King of the Frogs boomed and proceeded to rampage through the model city in a King of the Monsters fashion.
"Erm, yes," stomach-face stammered, struggling and failing to find an appropriate segue from that. "Well, anyway, if you recall correctly, I never did actually die." The headless monster began to rub its chin, which was somewhere around its waist, in order to initiate a flashback sequence.
"I'm the real Ab-Omination!"
"No, I'm the real Ab-Omination!" declared a second one of the mutants.
The trusty six-shooter shook in the frog's flippered fingers. "I... I don't know which one to shoot," rebounded the Rex Ranarum between the identical targets, "first."
"Did this ever even happen?" asked a not-at-all out-of-place nine-eyed razor-bladed razor mole, who set a new level of absurdity in RoR by breaking the fourth-wall of a flashback. "What's going on here?"
"What's going on is Goeenon, which is my name!" announced a metallic raptor. "My name is ack!" it squawked as hot lead blew apart its body.
"Poor Goeenon," Rex remembered, rubbing a tear from his bulbous eye. "He died for the greater good. And for our amusement."
"Well, I guess dat makes sense an' all, but wasn't yer soul also destroyed?" posed the lunatic in a brief and very rare moment of lucidity.
"Oh, that," Ab-Omination waved off with a deep belly laugh, which all of his laughs were, anyway. "Well, you see, my soul was almost destroyed when..."
"I don't know which one to shoot!"
"Meh, good 'nough fer me," acquiesced the green fiend, "which isn't sayin' much. Look who's been keepin' me comp'ny!" With a swift talon to the back, the maniac half pushed, half stabbed the arctic loser to the floor with the rest of the bar's refuse. "Maybe dis pahty has some hope aftah all." His greedy eyes surveyed the two guests and one permanent resident who occupied the tavern. "What gives? Dis place is a total sausagefest!"
"No, that was Oktoberfest two months ago," corrected the bloodied blizzard warrior from the floor. "Remember? Kodiro was there."
"Gah! Dat's 'xactly why I di'n't wanna remembah!" Bimblesnaff lashed out, blindly reaching for the highest proof in arm's reach to reblock the memory. After all brightly colored thoughts were sufficiently banished to the appropriate corners of his little mind, the freak opened his eyes as though awaking from a very deep slumber. "Okay, dat was a sausagefest, but now, dis is just a borin' place without ladies, 'cept dat big hairy one back dere."
"I thought it was ladies' night."
"You're the bartender!" the toady tyrant stressed. "You get to decide what night is ladies' night!"
"And every night be ladies' night!"
"Anyway, women do exist in Ref," the Rex Ranarum tried to distract, "and I'm bringing one to this party tonight."
"What? How much are ya payin' a chick ta git wit' ya?" the Ghobling asked only half rhetorically.
"Please," began the blue clad vagrant with an air of disgust, "you don't have to pay for mail-order brides if you know the right places to look." Don't ask why I know this, although you can probably figure out that it's because I've looked into getting a mail-order bride. "She's a Ukranian beauty that should be arrivin' any second now." See? It isn't all based on my real life; I'm an Asiaphile.
Thankfully, a new guest arrived at the The Tavern to detract from the awkwardness of the situation; unfortunately, it was the mailman who just arrived to bring the King of the Frogs the only chance he stood with a girl. He flaunted an envelope to those embarrassed to be called his friend or even a distant acquaintance for that matter.
"Why was he receiving his mail here?" Aisucard thought aloud until he recalled "Oh, right, he lives here. Well, I'm sure she'll be very happy living in a tavern." This wasn't sarcasm; she's Ukranian. Send all hate-mail to MintMan.
"Stand back, everybody," commanded the slimy swamp lord. "All I need to do is add water, and I'll have just what I've always wanted -- a woman who had no better choice than me! And just in case this works like baby ducks, I wanna make sure I'm the first thing she sees." His eyes rolled over the twisted green, face-in-stomached, cross-dressed, and loserly lot. "Actually, there are probably a lot of reasons I should be the first thing she sees."
The frog eagerly tore away and emptied the contents of his bridelope into a nearby tankard. With the customary animal sacrifice of this unusual beast out of the way, the Rex Ranarum then opened the envelope containing his bride to-be-regretful. A puff of smoke shot up from the glass; when it cleared, a girl fitting of said-puff stood. Ukranian Carol, as the emptied package claimed, was a cheerful looking lass most likely due to the fact that, as the envelope also claimed, she did not understand English or the atrocities surrounding her. She was adorned in a yellow and blue traditional outfit, although which tradition was certainly debatable. Beneath the ruffles and layers of cloth trimmed in dozens of bells, however, an unmistakably Ukrainian garb covered her slight frame -- a gymnast leotard.
"Whoa!" the frog was left speechless. "That took the entire glass of booze!" Sure, this was his chance not to die alone and all, but where would the frog king ever get another pint in a tavern?
"I dunno, Rex," the vile and slightly jealous Bimblesnaff considered, "she looks pretty young. Ya sure she's legal?"
"Legal in the Ukraine."
"She's sixteen?" the fiend knew to no one's surprise. Don't ask how I know, though, although that too is probably obvious.
"Sixteen?!" repeated the Rex Ranarum. "... yes, sixteen."
"Ew, why's she glowing?" complained the rearranged mutant who was hardly one to be disgusted by anything.
"She's glowin' 'cause she's hot, baby!" the minty one defended. "'Hot' being the professional nuclear physicist slang for radioactive. She's heaps that, yo."
The amphibious overlord lead down his blushing bride -- at least he thought it was blushing -- from the bar top, bringing a tear to Bimblesnaff's eyes, mostly because they would no longer be able to look up her questionably ethnic dress.
"C'mon, Carol, there are a lot of people I don't want to introduce you to." Every head in the bar nodded in agreement.
And so the Rex Ranarum drifted into the back of the bar and tried to explain to the Carol of the bells with very loud speech and pointless gestures that he lived beneath a billiard table. The others felt slightly left out, desperately wishing that the King of the Frogs would for once explain to them why exactly he lived under there, but they needed neither him nor the only her in the joint. The lunatic was certain that more would show up, and all eyes went to the door. And away from Aisucard eating dirty and often regurgitated peanuts he found on the floor.
Now excuse me while I look through some online catalogs. This post made me realize that I've got some Christmas shopping to do for myself.
Just then, to everyone's amazement, the last person ever expected broke through the tavern doors.
"Gno Whun!" exclaimed the fiend, indicated by the exclamation point he held over his head, just one of the many party favors found at the rum-fueled romp. "I nevah expected ta see ya he'e, as priorly told by da narratah."
"Wait, what's going on here," questioned the frog king as he hoisted up a hammer in hand. "You two have some sort of sorted sorbet?"
"I'm afraid dis goes much deepah den da ice cream incident," hissed the freak as he stared down his nemesis. "None ya worry. Just keep demolishin'."
"But, I'm confused," needlessly informed the newly wed. However, his situation was made more perplexing since he, too, wore an exclamation point hat. "Wasn't Gno Whun-"
"Oh, dat's all explained," revealed the maniac, "in Rumbl-o-Rama IV, scheduled fer an early summah release... straight ta home VHS." A toll free number appeared below the shameless shill for ordering information.
"Oh... what about all the other holes to this entire event?" again posed the tyrant toad. With a swing of the sledge, he tore into a wall. "Like, where's Rumbl-o-Rama III?"
"Dose all get explained, too," repeated the goblin to a crowd of no one, "in RoR: In Vengeance, dis summah on home lasah disk, or illegal bit torrent downloads right now!"
"I downloaded it last week," related a real-life testimonial, "and it gave me the clap!"
"... da download or da torrent?"
"Both!" too gleefully told the customer. "It was a three-way."
"Fantastic... I guess?" shrugged off the imp. To lighten the awkward air, attention shifted back to the amphibian. "How's it comin' along?"
"I've gotten three so far," gleefully told the blue vagrant before continuing to tear down the fourth wall. "This will open up much more of the bar! We'll have a skeet ball lane yet!"
"Fantastic. Now ta see if da bah keep'll e'en let us do dis." Turning to the owner, who shook his head violently before getting in view, Bogg kept his neck craning around back until it was where it started. "Ya're on yer own." Cranking his neck a few more degrees past its logical biological limit, a stern stare was fixated on new arrival once more.
"So, are we getting on with it," questioned the bald man, "or do you have some more buffoonery to get through first?"
"Oh, I gots a box full o' assorted organs wit' tiny legs," enlightened the fool. "Dun ya fret ovah buffoonery. I'm more surprised dat Gno Whun showed up for dis pahty. I mean, Gno Whun? O' all da outcomes, Gno Whun comin' was da one I thought wouldn't be goin' down. I mean, wow, Gno Whun."
"Yeah, yeah, I think they all get the message," huffed the man, folding his arms across his chest. "Gno Whun came, a big shock there. It is Ref, Bim, and it is a party. You know that parties need that one thing. They all have..." Striking a dynamic pose, a set of pyrotechnics hurled an array of sparks into the air and spelled his name in red smoke.
"Gno Whun!" tuned a chorus of lovely ladies that appeared for the sole purpose of singing his name. As he strutted his stuff into the bar, his production team stayed outside until given permission to follow. Gno waved his hand over his shoulder, never looking back at his posse, to dismiss the crowd. He was done with them.
"Whoa, whoa, girls," hollered back the hairless player. "You know you ain't with them. You're with me, always." Giggling, one skipped to each of his arms, letting it be full well known that he had a surplus and still wasn't sharing.
"Pfft! You think you're something, eh?" grumbled Rex. "You got your girls by being sauve and dashing where as I got mine through a loosely legal monetary transaction! Who's better? Huh?" Having answered the question already, his accusatory finger passed from man to freak.
"Quickly, you fool! Cause a distraction bigger than a severed, talking finger jumping between folks. Also, return me to my hand!"
"Well, 'bout time," groaned the lunatic as he chomped down on what he thought was a blue french fry. A groan fell past his ears. Sure, it was the vagrant's sixth finger, but he wanted to eat it. Meanwhile, the freak made good on his promise and produced his perplexing parcel. "'Tis box time!" Shaking it up for good measure, its confusing contents were spilt onto the floor. All the while, the barkeep's head still gave its disapproving sway.
"Will someone help me! It won't stop doing this!"
To aid the ailing keeper, the massive mutant laid one enormous hand on the barkeep's broken neck -- functionally, not physically -- and proceeded to break it -- this time, physically.
"Thanks," the dress-wearing drink dispenser would have said had he not just been killed. Instead, he just sorta gurgled blood and made the usual sounds of death -- sounds which were like bells to Bimblesnaff, alerting him to a fresh corpse to loot.
"Ew, it's still warm," the goblin griped, slightly disgusted. On the bright side (for the lunatic, at least, considering how morbid this entire situation was), the parts that would no doubt end up on the black market or Chinese food menus would have a higher likelihood of actually functioning -- or in the latter case, of being nutritious.
"Ew," mimicked the frog, "Chinese people food?" He referenced the kind that was not Chinese-people food, which is food made out of Chinese people. Please see RoR:SR for that gag. "I sure hope my new wife doesn't cook like that."
"Why would she?" wondered Whun, who wasn't there when Rex wedded but was aware of all happenings with women. "Isn't she Ukrainian?"
"Get with the times, man! I said my new wife, not that old hag I rehydrated ten minutes ago. We've had so many problems already that I decided to get married again," the amphibian announced, "and I can only assume that I shall have none of the problems my first marriage had." He then turned ominously to the monitor and pointed an accusatory, flippered finger to the reader. "This is a mirror of your society!
"Anyway," he said, once again ignoring the whole twenty people who wasted their time with this story, "she'll be better as long as she has the same misunderstanding I did for the title of this story. Boy was I let down..."
"Two wives?" Gno was surprised. "I dunno, Mints. It sounds to me that you are objectifying women." Then five scantily-clad women fell out of his long coat.
"Who have you been listening to?" the frog king questioned. "Stable, sane people? Of course I objectify women!" He then turned to receive a nod of approval from Crazy Mai, who infiltrated the party thanks to her clever disguise consisting entirely of a sandwich board reading "Not Mai". Of course, not even the Rumblers were stupid enough to fall for it, but since she kept insisting that she wasn't Mai and that no one knew she was Mai (which contradicted her first statement), everyone just went along with it. It was pretty funny, after all.
If only it were meant to be.
"Gah, well, I guess dis pahty ain't gettin' any bettah, even wit' Gno Wuhn showin' up," the Ghobling complained, evilly eyeing his less-than-expected company.
"Hey, don't forget my new mail order," the Rex Ranarum reminded. A bicycle-riding youth, similar to a hapless lad found in a Gamera movie, rolled up to the frog with a small carton.
"You're not married yet, right?"
"No, she's in the carton, Kodiro," the toad tyrant clarified, rolling his bulging eyes into the blue brow.
"Gah! Why does dat guy keep showin' up when comically appropriate?" the lunatic lamented. "Guess dat means only one thin' left to do."
"Oh no, Gobbo," Aisucard feared and wet himself in a character-infringing manner. "You don't mean-"
"'Fraid so, my frozen friend who isn't really my friend," 'Snaff declared his intentions. "I'm gonna invite every one."
"But, you already invited everyone, and only Gno Wuhn came!"
"'Tis true, moron," the fiend told whoever it is said that since it really didn't matter to the mad one, "but dat's only 'cause most of 'em are dead. Time to open up the Hell Mouth!" Fortunately for this tavern, it was one of five in the area which actually featured a Hell Mouth. To no one's surprise, it also doubled as the men's room.
The horror... The horror...
"Open up, Helly," ordered the greenskin, only to be met with much resistance from the toothy, shut maw of the monstrous face on the wall. "Relax, I'm not gonna do dat. I just wanna let some friends out." Again, the living Hell Mouth refused. "No, not dem friends! Blutty you, Helly! I need ya to spit up some dam-ned souls. Y'know, typical Ref fair." Relieved that no one else was going to be, the Hell Mouth spat up the foulest, most disgusting refuse known to man. The defecation, it kept.
Unfortunately, the party was not any more lively. Of course, since they were from Ref, everyone was a zombie, so they didn't do much of anything at all. They did attempt to eat each others brains, but alas, none were to be found among them.
"Wow, the princess who's horny for anyone who'll save her!" Ab-Omination was amazed and frightening her. "We haven't seen you since the first installment! What were you doin' in the Hell Mouth?"
"She wasn't," groaned a grotesque and especially shabby-looking blue clad vagrant. "She's here because she just became my third wife." It could be argued that this fate was worse.
"You got married again, Rex?" questioned Aisucard. "Of all the problems I expected you to have, I can honestly say that this wasn't one of them!"
"I can't help it!" the multi-husband moaned. "After I got that Chinese one, I wanted to get married again a half hour later! I didn't even mean to marry the princess, either. I just gave her a coupon for half-off onion rings, and saving her money was apparently good enough!"
"Dem are some tasty onion rings," Ab-Omination admitted.
"True dat," the toad took time to say, "but now they keep on fighting, and I keep ordering more, and then they start fighting, and I don't even know over what 'cause it sure as Hel isn't me!"
"Ιd is ονεr νhεzhεr οr ηοd νε shουld κill jοο οr τοrτurε jοο firsd," Ukranian Carol rang out.
"Wow, she already learned English?"
"Not really," the slimy one sighed. "She can only berate and insult me. Y'know, the sorta thing you would expect someone to pick up on after being immersed in our culture for about, oh, five seconds."
"Heh, ya sure are messed up," disapproved the twisted degenerate. "Hey, I nevah went through da bahkeep's purse!" Bimblesnaff didn't get very far, however, as he quit once he saw the tampons.
"Oh yeah, I did murder him without any repercussions," the stomach-faced mutant modeled for all of the children reading at home to imitate. "Hey, are there any other sucky characters I could just mercilessly euthanize?"
"Are there any other kinds of characters?" Aisucard spoke from experience. And so, with his next target in view (or at least the midsection of his next target in view), Ab-Omination made his way over to the frozen fighter, who was saved by a random, slippery sanguine splatter.
"Whoa," the guy with his head in his stomach gasped from his prone position, which was the only way he could ever look up. "I thought these posts were s'posed to be a lot shorter for this story? How do you expect anyone else to add with a giant-sized post like this?" The song of crickets filled the air -- Hell Crickets, of course, returned from the earlier smoothification.
"Oh yeah, Rex," legitimately forgot the lone warrior, "there's a whole cricket smoothy back there for you."
"Cricket smoothy?" the vagrant spat out. "Please! What? Just 'cause I'm a frog? 'Oh, frogs like bugs, so he'll eat bugs! Hahahaha!' That's lame. Am I supposed to be a one-gag character like some of the soon-to-be-murdered blokes around here?"
"I'm a suppository!" the Eat-First Bake-Later Internal Oven, or Efblio, squeaked in its familiar voice.
"I'll take that!" Boyoc- I mean, Kodiro declared.
"Gotta tell ya, Carol," the Rex Ranarum said with a nudge and a wink and, um, words too, "you coulda done a lot worse than me." This, of course, was not true -- just different levels of the same amount of atrocity.
"Sο hοω εχαcdly cαη Ι diνοrcε jοο?" the glowing girl asked.
"Oh don't be silly, Carol," the vagrant made light of the situation. "You'd only be able to get a divorce if there were the slightest thing legal about this arrangement. I mean, c'mon! I'm a freakin' frog! How sick are you?"
"Αs sicκ αs α 'mαη' ωhο βοοghd α νifε srοugh zα mαil?" she answered.
"... no," the Rex Ranarum returned. "Slightly sicker."
"Dο jοο ναηd το fiηd ουd vwhαd mακεs mε glοω liκε zis?" the innocent-appearing and only appearing Carol threatened, raising two clutches brimming with hazardous, nuclear energy.
"... yes," the foolish frog failed to understand before falling victim to a barrage of radioactive beams. "Owwww! Ow! This doesn't have anything to do with the title, either!"
The ponderous polygamist was pounded to a pulp by his pack of brides, joined even by the second one who remained hidden behind the other two at all times during the fierce beating.
"Again," restated the battered bastard, "so not as good as it sounds."
"I really can't believe him," groaned Gno at the sight of the onslaught. "Such a terrible thing."
"What? The pathetic pummeling or the multi-marriage thing?" asked Ab-Omination, pulling himself back into people's attention.
"No, that anyone would get married once, let alone thrice," clarified the ladies' man. "And, secondly, don't you know my policy?" Pulling an arm free from his female flock, he pointed to a conveniently placed sign.
"You may not talk to Gno Whun unless you are cooler than this guy," read its text.
"Hey! I don't remember posing for that!" pouted the pictured freak of nature. "I'd be offended if I didn't agree with its truth."
"Damn straight," agreed the bald man. "As a matter of fact, this par-tay is dying faster than Bimblesnaff in the beginning of RoR: In Vengeance."
"Huh?"
"That being the case," ignored Gno, "I'm blowing this popsicle stand." Sliding out from the bar/frozen treat counter, the crimson coated man and a throng of worthy followers exited the tavern. All that remained were the rejects and the less cool reanimated rejects.
"Hey, whe'e'd da pahty go?" questioned the returning imp.
"What about where you went to?" interrogated the injured wanderer from the floor. His accusation came out of habit from taking the blame off himself, where it usually belonged.
"'Round back dealin' black mahket bus'ness."
"You didn't sell those organs yet?" raved Rex rising upright. "You missed out on some top dollar, under-the-table dealings! And I've learned a lot about those in the last few hours."
"Wasn't sellin' anyt'in'," the kobold returned before taking a chomp out of a carton of noodles. Honestly, the whole carton. "Mmm, cannibalistic," he drove the point further into the ground, "and some type of metal handle."
"Eating people and handles aside," dismissed the marshland monarch as though he had done it all too commonly, "Gno Whun coming really busted up your shindig. They're all gone."
"An' who busted ya up?"
"A group of girls." The toad pondered his statement in afterthought. "Is it too late to say that I stood in the way of everyone here and only their combined efforts were able to push me aside?"
"I dun really see why not," agreed the goblinoid, "since I ain't e'en payin' attention ta what yer sayin'." Wading through the carpet of discarded bottles and zombie parts, he made it back to his seat. One of the leftover undead coined up the juke box for another play of Zombie, stirring up another decedant dance contest. As Bimblesnaff watched them groove and fall to pieces, he sank down into the bar and gave a grieved grunt.
"What's wrong, gobbo-bobo?" put forth the frog man in a manner even he failed to understand. "You seem awfully blue for someone who's green, and that's coming from someone who actually is blue."
"Oh, I dunno, jerk-face," sighed the goblin. "I'm just... a bit disappointed."
"Don't see why you'd be glum," the party participant pondered. "I mean, there's drink, purchased companions, and all these people having a good time." His words were heard by all that were left due to the stunning silence that permeated the bar. "You should be having the time of your life."
"I guess," began the fool along with the new year countdown, "dat, fer once, I thought one o' dese crazy adventures would come ta some kinda end."
"Oh, trust me, li'l Bimmy, something tells me that it will," assured the azure amphibian, "it will." The countdown ball of assorted cheeses was hurled from its launching pad and sped to the concrete below. The festive but more so drunk stupid remnants cheered and anticipated its ceremonious splat, readying their mugs of nog.
"Three! ... Two! ... One-"
End.
Wait, no, actually not yet...
"With 'something' being that magic bean that lives in my ear who told me to put cyanide in alllllll the nogs."
"What?"
Okay, now it's over.
And so ends another wildly successful stint of the classic Rumbl-o-Rama series! But don't fret, there's much more crazy spin-offs to be expected in the new year. The writers' union may be on strike, but we're stickin' it to 'em! Be on the look out for these surefire miniseries throughout the year:
Rumbl-o-Rama: Plus/Minus
Bimblesnaff gets a gender change, but he only went in for a dentist check up. How unexpected! Can he cope with this off-the-wall happening or find a way to reverse it?
"'Twouldn't be so bad if dat quack put in da top pahts wit' it!"
That's waaay too much information, sicko. But, as a zany sideplot, what happened to his wang?
"Oh, yes-yes. This stylin' profile is going scary fast into my dope-fly collection, fo' sho', right next to my rack of differently arranged rainbow suspenders."
How expected!
Rumbl-o-Rama: After Taxes
While grinding out the figures for Mr. Taxman, the Rumblers find out that they fell far short of expected profits. To make up for it, they change their unique format to the most pandering and easily merchandized: a gritty, future world in which, for some reason, people are born with one of the "magics" at their command. Sound familiar? You bet, and it only gets more generic from there!
"You, Rex Ranarum, are no match for the warrior magic of Aisucard!"
"Oh, yeah? Let's see how your warrior skills match up to my summoning! Rex Ranarum, by which I mean me, Summon Spear!" the slimy, cyan skinned summoner greatly reiterated. Dropping back the top half of his head like a candy dispenser, a large metal tipped tool emerged from his throat.
"Is that a spear," questioned the frosty foe, "or a shovel?"
"Summon Spear summons a shovel," revealed the frog. "It was a marketing decision. I don't know how."
"Well, that's all fine and good," familiarly began the frigid fighter, "but I'm going to cast my own magic!" Reaching to his belt, he produced a stack of collectable Rumbl-o-Rama Magical Battle Collection Cards, available in toy stores everywhere this May, from his official Rumbl-o-Rama Magical Battle Collection Cards' Deluxe Leather Magical Battle Collection Card Carrier Case, available in toy stores this June with the release of Rumbl-o-Rama Magical Battle Collection Cards Series 2: More Powerful Cards Than Series One.
"Frost Finger!" finally invoked the glacial gladiator after a long pause for the shameless promotion. His card and finger began to glow simultaneously as the temperature around the digit dropped dramatically.
"Wait, you make your finger cold?"
"Well, I'm only a level one Magical Battler, according to my character sheet," the mortified magician told, "so I need to go on more of my own adventures before I am able to use more impressive spells."
"Then," wondered the warty wayfarer, "why not just not use the crappy spell and, say, punch me?"
"You can't battle without Battle Magic!" whined the corporate shill. "Then, we wouldn't have anything to market."
"Screw da lot o' ya," shouted a shrill voice from above as a purple clad punk crashed down in their midst. "I, Bimblesnaff, shall best y'all wit' m' spirit magic. Go," he began and then paused. Casting a handful of dice, he didn't even bother to check their faces before continuing. "Intoxicate Self!"
"I... don't quite think that's what was meant with 'spirit'."
"I know I'm jealous," stated the vagrant, dropping his disappointing digger in disgust.
"Hey... hey, ya guys... ya look familiah," belched the drunkard. "I tink we went ta school togethah or somethin'..."
Rumbl-o-Rama: Back In The Day
Amazingly, the cast of Rumblo met each other when still going through school. Strangely, none of this seems to come up in their present meetings, nor does all the teenage angst and conflicting events from then and now. However, there is greater market appeal with younger, dumber audiences who want the series to be more relatable. Really, how do you get more relatable than traveling with a blue froggy spearman or a diabolical mutant wearing violet rags? That's everyday life where I come from.
Rumbl-o-Rama: Venereal Dilemma
Why does it burn when I do that? It's suppose to be cool and refreshing!
"Now dat's too much info'mation."
"I don't even get how we or the termite colonies in our legs are involved in that one."
"It's not even a 'one' at all! I'm gonna have to go and make my own one!"
Rumbl-o-Rama: My Own Adventure
Not gonna happen, Chilly Willy.
"Aww..."
