(no subject)
... So here's the NEXT awesome five apps. (There was agonizing. Alcohol. Acetaminophen. Fudge brownies.)
We WILL BE TRYING to finish weeding by tonight.
A: Useful, active, creative, functional JOB.
B: No format errors.
C: Canons are not too long. Strikeout jokes aren't overused, image links aren't overpowering, the format is not overbearing - basically, things we know can get an app voted out all by themselves.
D: Funny, in-character, nicely creative camp introductio- oh wait more than fifty are like that. Refer to A-C.
E: Of note: Time of submission of the application absolutely does not matter.
Remember!
- Applicants, respond anonymously.
- If you're going to do the whole "ask me if I voted you out!" thing, please state who you voted out.
Now VOTE. CLOSED~
Character: God
Series: Law of Ueki
Age: Unknown, but most likely pretty old for like, God.
Job: Prohibition Enforcer! Making sure kids under 15 18 don't drink.
Canon: In the retarded shounen anime Law of Ueki, God is bored with his job and wants to retire. So what does he do? Make a tournament that chooses a new God candidate by pitting children against each other with absolutely no regard for their well being. He thinks it's awesome.
God appears as eccentric and selfish; he loves to party, drink, usually has a small harem of ladies accompanying him pet journal?, and has a fondness for Hawaiian shirts and meat.
Is also infamous for his pelvic thrusts. Hustle, baby.
Heh, and they say the gods must be crazy! Instead of watching middle schoolers beat the hell out of each other Behold my puns! I get to watch a camp full of humans beat on the unliving damned! Now I could easily just watch all this senseless abuse of underaged mortals from above, living in Heaven and all, but this Director made a deal that even I could not refuse. Violence and booze?
God approves.
Hm, but what is this! Do I sense some non-believers? You doubt that I, God, am not God? You doubt the word of the one and only almighty being?!
I COULD TURN YOU ALL INTO EGGPLANTS WITH ONE SLAP ON MY LADY'S NUBILE THIGH. UNF.
...Buuut that'd be boring! What good are you humans if you're reduced to immobile farm produce, eh? Now gather around and Uncle God will tell you mortals about a story, a true story, about three greek gods named Achilles, Apollo, and Athena, picked to live in the Parthenon and have their lives taped...oh wait, THEY DON'T REALLY EXIST. HAHA. Pour me another Bloody Mary.
Well now don't just stand around looking stupid, kiddies! Let's have some entertainment! Dance for me, poens, dance!
...
For the record, thou shalt not correct God's spelling.
Poll Vote!
Character: Crowley
Series: Good Omens
Age: In reality, at least six thousand years. Appears young-ish, assumed around thirty.
Job: Chauffeur
Canon: A.J. Crowley (the A stands for Anthony) is a demon, or rather, as the book's list of Dramatis Personae would describe him, "An Angel who did not so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards." In fact, he never meant to Fall in the first place, he just hung out with the wrong crowd. Crowley has been on Earth since the beginning: he was the serpent in the Garden of Eden, and has stuck around ever since, tempting people, tying up phonelines to annoy the populace, and being generally demonic. On the surface, he is everything you would expect a demon to be: selfish, sarcastic, greedy, and rather fond of causing mayhem and making life difficult for people (it is, after all, his job). However, six thousand years of living on Earth, as well as his friendship with the angel Aziraphale, have made him more human than he would care to admit -- and he has become genuinely fond of the world, and people.
Crowley appears to be a young man without any particularly demonic features, aside from the ability to do "really weird things with his tongue" and a tendency to hiss. He dresses stylishly, keeps up with modern fads and fashion, and wears sunglasses even when he doesn't need to. In his spare time, he can be found terrorizing pedestrians in his 1926 Bentley, threatening his houseplants into growing for him, and feeding ducks with Aziraphale. Favorite personal achievements include value-added tax, game-shows, the M25 London Orbital Motorway, and Manchester.
[Private]
If there's one thing I like about my job, it's getting other people to do it for me.
Got a message from Below the other day. CROWLEY, they said, GREAT JOB AT THAT SUMMER CAMP IN LOUISIANA. THE DEAD RETURNING TO LIFE AND PREYING ON THE LIVING, OBSCENITIES AGAINST GOD AND MAN, EXCELLENT WORK -- AND THE BIT WITH TURNING UNFULFILLED LUSTFUL URGES INTO DEMONIC ENERGY TO POWER THE BARRIER WAS CREATIVE. WE NEED MORE THINKERS LIKE YOU DOWN HERE.
I was honored, to say the least. I would have been more honored if I'd had anything to do with it, but I wasn't about to pass up credit for something like this.
But I was shocked at what I found when I came to see "my work" firsthand. "Camp Fuck You Die," is it? Right. Well. It doesn't look like I'll be being overworked here. What can I possibly tempt these people to do that they haven't already done, and (hard as it is to admit) probably better than I could have suggested? Children shooting each other, stabbing each other, dying in horribly tragic and messy ways... it's...
It's unfair, that's what it is. Why should I have to go through stacks of paperwork whenever I bite the dust, if these kids just pop right back like it's nothing? I'm not leaving until I get to the bottom of all this, and when I do, I'm going to have a few words with the guys in that department.
Bloody bureaucracy.
[/Private]
I have to admit, whoever's in charge of this place is good.
The technology in this place is truly amazing -- really, getting machines to torment their users is hardly a first (you can thank Bill Gates for that, and you can thank me for Bill Gates), but the computers here have really refined the art of being completely impossible to use. It took fourteen tries to "prove I'm human" before I could persuade this thing to let me log in (it's a pity I had to make an example of a perfectly good coffee machine to do it).
Moving on...
I'm Crowley, your new camp counselor.
Apparently your wonderful Director has a sense of humor, because the position I was handed when I signed up for a job here (no rest for the wicked, as they say) was "chauffeur." Now, I don't know how big this place is, but you strapping youths certainly aren't in need of anyone to drive you around. And to put it as straightforwardly as possible for the less perceptive of you out there -- and I'm not looking at anyone in particular, but you, back there, by the stump, I see the look on your face -- if any of you so much as put a scratch on this vehicle, there will be consequences.
As you've been so eager to prove time and time again, you kids are expendable.
The Bentley is not.
I trust you'll act accordingly.
Poll Vote!
Character: Jay
Series: The ViewAskewniverse, (Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy, Dogma, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back)
Age: Unspecified. Assumed here to be late twenties
Job: Drug Dealer Head of Contraban
Canon: Jay is a reccurring character in movies written and directed by one Kevin Smith. He is a smoked-himself-stupid, loud-mouthed, over-sexed, foul-languaged jackass and half of the Ambiguously Straight Duo, Jay and Silent Bob (Silent Bob being his "hetero life-partner"). All he wants in life is to smoke some weed, make some cash and get laid. Formerly a drug dealer from New Jersey, he has taken to saving the world from gay renegade angels and sticking it to the man in various ways, though he has no particular skills other than random bouts of deus ex machina-like bad-assery and the Devil's own luck. Aside from a bout of internalized homophobia that would make any member of your high school football team jealous, he's mostly harmless.
Yo, yo, yo Fuck You Die fuckers and fuckerettes. My name is Jay, and I'm your new mothafuckin' counselooooooooooooooooor! I'll be comin' around to inspect for contraban' and shit. I ain't gonna get mad or nothin' that you little punks brought some "fun" with you, but you gots to hand it over to Counselor Jay now, natch. In fact, I'ma be a little pissed if yall's don't have nothin' to turn over. The fuck kind of summer camp is this where the kids don't sneak in a little weed?
Shit, not like it don't look like yall's could relax a bit. With that shit in the lake? Fuck man, I watched a porn like that once, with them nice big Japanime titties and the chicks getting all wet everywhere... "Oooh, iyaan, oooh oooooooh"... but fuck man, that shit ain't right in a summer camp. Aren't you little fuckers supposed to be ridin' ponies, makin' macrame and fucking yourselves with flutes or something?
Looks like you kids have one hell of a meth problem, though. All those pasty-ass cock-smokers stumblin' around, moanin' 'bout brains and shit? Dis-fuckin'-gusting. But don't worry, just as soon as I find my partner, Counselor Jay'll start busting some tweaker ass. Schnoogins.
Speaking of which, I can't seem to find my little buddy anywhere. If any y'alls see a tubby-ass motherfucker with an ugly hat answers to "Silent Bob", you tell him that he needs to get his fat ass over to me right the fuck now.
Poll Vote!
Character: Yuri Hyuga
Series: Shadow Hearts
Age: 24
Job: Lifeguard
Canon: Before Camp Fuck U Die combined Lovecraft, unresolved sexual tension, completely messed up timelines, magic and zombies, there was a series that did all of this and more -- Shadow Hearts. The main character is one Yuri Hyuga, a brash, sarcastic and perpetually horny man whose main goals in life are to score with a chick (preferably Alice, the other lead, but he's not that picky), extract revenge upon the people who killed his parents, not hearing weird voices in his head telling him to do stuff, pissing people off with smart alec remarks and killing monsters. Really, he's just a shounen retard all grown up. (Doesn't that scare you a little?)
Yuri is a Harmonixer, meaning that he has the ability to absorb the souls of those he kills and once he collects enough souls of a certain "type", he can trade them in for a change of appearance and some new abilities. It's like when you have alternate costumes for characters, only it drives him insane. No, really, it does.
I should also mention that in Yuri's canon, there's a document that can bring back the dead -- sorta. Called the Emigre Manuscript, it doesn't work too well. For anyone who's played the games, I'm taking Yuri from the "good" ending of Shadow Hearts: Covenant, and all that entails.
So this Director lady -- complete babe -- asked me to take on the role of being a lifeguard for you lot at a summer camp...whatever that is. Anyway, can definitely see you have a monster problem here -- there's all these kids with weird hair colours doing all kinds of crazy shit...you're the campers? Bullshit! You're all crazy, y'know that?
Just so I know who to beat up, which one of you was responsible for the utter abomination of sin that lives in your lake? I keep telling people, bringing people back from the dead is a Bad Idea. Tends to result in too many arms and legs, and being evil. Come on, own up -- I won't kill ya. I'll leave that to the horny monster in the lake. It's a bit pissed off, 'cause I cut off one of its tentacles after it got a little frisky. This is why you wear leather in my line of work as any number of creatures want in your pants -- zombies, spies, giant ninja frogs, acupuncturists, souls trapped in lava, twin tailors, my future mother... Added bonus -- the ladies love a man in leather.
Now, this lifesaving gig. This is how it goes: you don't go near the lake, I won't have to rescue you, everyone's happy and then this Director lady can be all appreciative and "Thank you Mr Yuri!" and SMOOCH! Ladies, by all means, I am open for your appreciation at any time if you know what I mean. Rules are made to be broken and this no-sex rule is ridiculous. How the hell is any broad supposed to enforce that? I'm willing to try it if anyone else is, and monster killing gets me all tingly.
Anyone up for calamari?
Poll Vote!
Character: C-3PO
Series: Star Wars
Age: 36 [since being built, if my calculations are
correct. Age is somewhat irrelevant since he was a prissy middle-aged
butler when he was built and will be until he is programmed otherwise]
Job: Communications expert
Canon: DA DA DA DA DAAAAAAAAA DA DA DA DA DA DA DA DA DUM A
long time ago in a galaxy far far away, Anakin Skywalker built a
droid. Its name was C-3PO. He's a prissy, fussy translator droid who
likes to complain and be the straight man to a tin can that beeps. Oh
Threepio, you so wacky. Threepio and the tin can--R2-D2--appear in
all six Star Wars films and the EU, but since I don't know much of the
EU and try to repress the first three films, this Threepio is taken
from the end of Return of the Jedi. Also because suck it camp
timeline. Threepio's basically useless, except as a translator, and
spends most of the trilogy worrying, complaining, arguing with Han, or
in several pieces and strapped to Chewbaca's back. He is, in fact,
fluent in over six million forms of communication. This does not make
him any less of a tool.
R2-D2, where are you? When Master Luke said he had a new assignment
for me, I assumed you would be coming along with me. Very well, I
don't need you. I am perfectly capable of performing whatever
function Mistress Director has assigned me to without your aide. Good
riddance.
Attention inhabitions of Camp Fuck You Die. My name is C-3PO,
human-cyborg relations. I have been brought here by Mistress Director
in order to serve as a liason between the resident wildlife and the
campers. The toucans inform me that you should call me "The Lorax,"
as it is the title Mistress Director has selected for my position.
Still, C-3PO is more than acceptable. I am after all merely a simple
protocol droid. As I understand from the toucans--who speak a
fascinating dialect of ancient Ryl that I do not believe has been used
since before the days of the Old Republic--there have been quite some
number of communications difficulties. For example, the creatures
which you have been calling "zombies" are properly called "cuddly
wumpkins"--translated from the Selkath it means "the dead arisen."
They assure me that if you change to this form of address and hug them
when you see them--it is the standard cuddly wumpkin greeting--then
your relations should be much smoother from this point forward.
I hope to be able to be of service to all of--Oh, hello, cuddly
wumpkins. I believe you desire a hug. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have
not entirely mastered your dialect, although I am fluent in over six
million forms of communication. Was that the "braaaaaaaaaains" of the
Huttese or the more gutteral Rodese variety?
Please, this is no cause for alarm, I'm sure we'll be able to--my good
sir please remove your arm from my arm at once! No, I did not mean
for you to remove my arm--oh! Oh! Good heavens! Artoo where are
you?
...
We're doomed.
Poll Vote!
We WILL BE TRYING to finish weeding by tonight.
A: Useful, active, creative, functional JOB.
B: No format errors.
C: Canons are not too long. Strikeout jokes aren't overused, image links aren't overpowering, the format is not overbearing - basically, things we know can get an app voted out all by themselves.
D: Funny, in-character, nicely creative camp introductio- oh wait more than fifty are like that. Refer to A-C.
E: Of note: Time of submission of the application absolutely does not matter.
Remember!
- Applicants, respond anonymously.
- If you're going to do the whole "ask me if I voted you out!" thing, please state who you voted out.
Now VOTE. CLOSED~
Character: God
Series: Law of Ueki
Age: Unknown, but most likely pretty old for like, God.
Job: Prohibition Enforcer! Making sure kids under 15 18 don't drink.
Canon: In the retarded shounen anime Law of Ueki, God is bored with his job and wants to retire. So what does he do? Make a tournament that chooses a new God candidate by pitting children against each other with absolutely no regard for their well being. He thinks it's awesome.
God appears as eccentric and selfish; he loves to party, drink, usually has a small harem of ladies accompanying him pet journal?, and has a fondness for Hawaiian shirts and meat.
Is also infamous for his pelvic thrusts. Hustle, baby.
Heh, and they say the gods must be crazy! Instead of watching middle schoolers beat the hell out of each other Behold my puns! I get to watch a camp full of humans beat on the unliving damned! Now I could easily just watch all this senseless abuse of underaged mortals from above, living in Heaven and all, but this Director made a deal that even I could not refuse. Violence and booze?
God approves.
Hm, but what is this! Do I sense some non-believers? You doubt that I, God, am not God? You doubt the word of the one and only almighty being?!
I COULD TURN YOU ALL INTO EGGPLANTS WITH ONE SLAP ON MY LADY'S NUBILE THIGH. UNF.
...Buuut that'd be boring! What good are you humans if you're reduced to immobile farm produce, eh? Now gather around and Uncle God will tell you mortals about a story, a true story, about three greek gods named Achilles, Apollo, and Athena, picked to live in the Parthenon and have their lives taped...oh wait, THEY DON'T REALLY EXIST. HAHA. Pour me another Bloody Mary.
Well now don't just stand around looking stupid, kiddies! Let's have some entertainment! Dance for me, poens, dance!
...
For the record, thou shalt not correct God's spelling.
Poll Vote!
Character: Crowley
Series: Good Omens
Age: In reality, at least six thousand years. Appears young-ish, assumed around thirty.
Job: Chauffeur
Canon: A.J. Crowley (the A stands for Anthony) is a demon, or rather, as the book's list of Dramatis Personae would describe him, "An Angel who did not so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards." In fact, he never meant to Fall in the first place, he just hung out with the wrong crowd. Crowley has been on Earth since the beginning: he was the serpent in the Garden of Eden, and has stuck around ever since, tempting people, tying up phonelines to annoy the populace, and being generally demonic. On the surface, he is everything you would expect a demon to be: selfish, sarcastic, greedy, and rather fond of causing mayhem and making life difficult for people (it is, after all, his job). However, six thousand years of living on Earth, as well as his friendship with the angel Aziraphale, have made him more human than he would care to admit -- and he has become genuinely fond of the world, and people.
Crowley appears to be a young man without any particularly demonic features, aside from the ability to do "really weird things with his tongue" and a tendency to hiss. He dresses stylishly, keeps up with modern fads and fashion, and wears sunglasses even when he doesn't need to. In his spare time, he can be found terrorizing pedestrians in his 1926 Bentley, threatening his houseplants into growing for him, and feeding ducks with Aziraphale. Favorite personal achievements include value-added tax, game-shows, the M25 London Orbital Motorway, and Manchester.
[Private]
If there's one thing I like about my job, it's getting other people to do it for me.
Got a message from Below the other day. CROWLEY, they said, GREAT JOB AT THAT SUMMER CAMP IN LOUISIANA. THE DEAD RETURNING TO LIFE AND PREYING ON THE LIVING, OBSCENITIES AGAINST GOD AND MAN, EXCELLENT WORK -- AND THE BIT WITH TURNING UNFULFILLED LUSTFUL URGES INTO DEMONIC ENERGY TO POWER THE BARRIER WAS CREATIVE. WE NEED MORE THINKERS LIKE YOU DOWN HERE.
I was honored, to say the least. I would have been more honored if I'd had anything to do with it, but I wasn't about to pass up credit for something like this.
But I was shocked at what I found when I came to see "my work" firsthand. "Camp Fuck You Die," is it? Right. Well. It doesn't look like I'll be being overworked here. What can I possibly tempt these people to do that they haven't already done, and (hard as it is to admit) probably better than I could have suggested? Children shooting each other, stabbing each other, dying in horribly tragic and messy ways... it's...
It's unfair, that's what it is. Why should I have to go through stacks of paperwork whenever I bite the dust, if these kids just pop right back like it's nothing? I'm not leaving until I get to the bottom of all this, and when I do, I'm going to have a few words with the guys in that department.
Bloody bureaucracy.
[/Private]
I have to admit, whoever's in charge of this place is good.
The technology in this place is truly amazing -- really, getting machines to torment their users is hardly a first (you can thank Bill Gates for that, and you can thank me for Bill Gates), but the computers here have really refined the art of being completely impossible to use. It took fourteen tries to "prove I'm human" before I could persuade this thing to let me log in (it's a pity I had to make an example of a perfectly good coffee machine to do it).
Moving on...
I'm Crowley, your new camp counselor.
Apparently your wonderful Director has a sense of humor, because the position I was handed when I signed up for a job here (no rest for the wicked, as they say) was "chauffeur." Now, I don't know how big this place is, but you strapping youths certainly aren't in need of anyone to drive you around. And to put it as straightforwardly as possible for the less perceptive of you out there -- and I'm not looking at anyone in particular, but you, back there, by the stump, I see the look on your face -- if any of you so much as put a scratch on this vehicle, there will be consequences.
As you've been so eager to prove time and time again, you kids are expendable.
The Bentley is not.
I trust you'll act accordingly.
Poll Vote!
Character: Jay
Series: The ViewAskewniverse, (Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy, Dogma, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back)
Age: Unspecified. Assumed here to be late twenties
Job: Drug Dealer Head of Contraban
Canon: Jay is a reccurring character in movies written and directed by one Kevin Smith. He is a smoked-himself-stupid, loud-mouthed, over-sexed, foul-languaged jackass and half of the Ambiguously Straight Duo, Jay and Silent Bob (Silent Bob being his "hetero life-partner"). All he wants in life is to smoke some weed, make some cash and get laid. Formerly a drug dealer from New Jersey, he has taken to saving the world from gay renegade angels and sticking it to the man in various ways, though he has no particular skills other than random bouts of deus ex machina-like bad-assery and the Devil's own luck. Aside from a bout of internalized homophobia that would make any member of your high school football team jealous, he's mostly harmless.
Yo, yo, yo Fuck You Die fuckers and fuckerettes. My name is Jay, and I'm your new mothafuckin' counselooooooooooooooooor! I'll be comin' around to inspect for contraban' and shit. I ain't gonna get mad or nothin' that you little punks brought some "fun" with you, but you gots to hand it over to Counselor Jay now, natch. In fact, I'ma be a little pissed if yall's don't have nothin' to turn over. The fuck kind of summer camp is this where the kids don't sneak in a little weed?
Shit, not like it don't look like yall's could relax a bit. With that shit in the lake? Fuck man, I watched a porn like that once, with them nice big Japanime titties and the chicks getting all wet everywhere... "Oooh, iyaan, oooh oooooooh"... but fuck man, that shit ain't right in a summer camp. Aren't you little fuckers supposed to be ridin' ponies, makin' macrame and fucking yourselves with flutes or something?
Looks like you kids have one hell of a meth problem, though. All those pasty-ass cock-smokers stumblin' around, moanin' 'bout brains and shit? Dis-fuckin'-gusting. But don't worry, just as soon as I find my partner, Counselor Jay'll start busting some tweaker ass. Schnoogins.
Speaking of which, I can't seem to find my little buddy anywhere. If any y'alls see a tubby-ass motherfucker with an ugly hat answers to "Silent Bob", you tell him that he needs to get his fat ass over to me right the fuck now.
Poll Vote!
Character: Yuri Hyuga
Series: Shadow Hearts
Age: 24
Job: Lifeguard
Canon: Before Camp Fuck U Die combined Lovecraft, unresolved sexual tension, completely messed up timelines, magic and zombies, there was a series that did all of this and more -- Shadow Hearts. The main character is one Yuri Hyuga, a brash, sarcastic and perpetually horny man whose main goals in life are to score with a chick (preferably Alice, the other lead, but he's not that picky), extract revenge upon the people who killed his parents, not hearing weird voices in his head telling him to do stuff, pissing people off with smart alec remarks and killing monsters. Really, he's just a shounen retard all grown up. (Doesn't that scare you a little?)
Yuri is a Harmonixer, meaning that he has the ability to absorb the souls of those he kills and once he collects enough souls of a certain "type", he can trade them in for a change of appearance and some new abilities. It's like when you have alternate costumes for characters, only it drives him insane. No, really, it does.
I should also mention that in Yuri's canon, there's a document that can bring back the dead -- sorta. Called the Emigre Manuscript, it doesn't work too well. For anyone who's played the games, I'm taking Yuri from the "good" ending of Shadow Hearts: Covenant, and all that entails.
So this Director lady -- complete babe -- asked me to take on the role of being a lifeguard for you lot at a summer camp...whatever that is. Anyway, can definitely see you have a monster problem here -- there's all these kids with weird hair colours doing all kinds of crazy shit...you're the campers? Bullshit! You're all crazy, y'know that?
Just so I know who to beat up, which one of you was responsible for the utter abomination of sin that lives in your lake? I keep telling people, bringing people back from the dead is a Bad Idea. Tends to result in too many arms and legs, and being evil. Come on, own up -- I won't kill ya. I'll leave that to the horny monster in the lake. It's a bit pissed off, 'cause I cut off one of its tentacles after it got a little frisky. This is why you wear leather in my line of work as any number of creatures want in your pants -- zombies, spies, giant ninja frogs, acupuncturists, souls trapped in lava, twin tailors, my future mother... Added bonus -- the ladies love a man in leather.
Now, this lifesaving gig. This is how it goes: you don't go near the lake, I won't have to rescue you, everyone's happy and then this Director lady can be all appreciative and "Thank you Mr Yuri!" and SMOOCH! Ladies, by all means, I am open for your appreciation at any time if you know what I mean. Rules are made to be broken and this no-sex rule is ridiculous. How the hell is any broad supposed to enforce that? I'm willing to try it if anyone else is, and monster killing gets me all tingly.
Anyone up for calamari?
Poll Vote!
Character: C-3PO
Series: Star Wars
Age: 36 [since being built, if my calculations are
correct. Age is somewhat irrelevant since he was a prissy middle-aged
butler when he was built and will be until he is programmed otherwise]
Job: Communications expert
Canon: DA DA DA DA DAAAAAAAAA DA DA DA DA DA DA DA DA DUM A
long time ago in a galaxy far far away, Anakin Skywalker built a
droid. Its name was C-3PO. He's a prissy, fussy translator droid who
likes to complain and be the straight man to a tin can that beeps. Oh
Threepio, you so wacky. Threepio and the tin can--R2-D2--appear in
all six Star Wars films and the EU, but since I don't know much of the
EU and try to repress the first three films, this Threepio is taken
from the end of Return of the Jedi. Also because suck it camp
timeline. Threepio's basically useless, except as a translator, and
spends most of the trilogy worrying, complaining, arguing with Han, or
in several pieces and strapped to Chewbaca's back. He is, in fact,
fluent in over six million forms of communication. This does not make
him any less of a tool.
R2-D2, where are you? When Master Luke said he had a new assignment
for me, I assumed you would be coming along with me. Very well, I
don't need you. I am perfectly capable of performing whatever
function Mistress Director has assigned me to without your aide. Good
riddance.
Attention inhabitions of Camp Fuck You Die. My name is C-3PO,
human-cyborg relations. I have been brought here by Mistress Director
in order to serve as a liason between the resident wildlife and the
campers. The toucans inform me that you should call me "The Lorax,"
as it is the title Mistress Director has selected for my position.
Still, C-3PO is more than acceptable. I am after all merely a simple
protocol droid. As I understand from the toucans--who speak a
fascinating dialect of ancient Ryl that I do not believe has been used
since before the days of the Old Republic--there have been quite some
number of communications difficulties. For example, the creatures
which you have been calling "zombies" are properly called "cuddly
wumpkins"--translated from the Selkath it means "the dead arisen."
They assure me that if you change to this form of address and hug them
when you see them--it is the standard cuddly wumpkin greeting--then
your relations should be much smoother from this point forward.
I hope to be able to be of service to all of--Oh, hello, cuddly
wumpkins. I believe you desire a hug. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have
not entirely mastered your dialect, although I am fluent in over six
million forms of communication. Was that the "braaaaaaaaaains" of the
Huttese or the more gutteral Rodese variety?
Please, this is no cause for alarm, I'm sure we'll be able to--my good
sir please remove your arm from my arm at once! No, I did not mean
for you to remove my arm--oh! Oh! Good heavens! Artoo where are
you?
...
We're doomed.
Poll Vote!