Com-Central.net

TC we like your ideas the best! and its not moderately funny. ITS KICK ARSE FUNNY! i S! you

YO!

No one responding?? I need some ideas to finish the James Bond story.

Come on guy's, I know it's only moderately funny crap. But...sheeesh!!!

TC-

good work TC keep it up.

HEY!
How the hell did GirlBreeze get in there?
Geeze.
We close the zone to his sorry ass and now he gets into TC's C-C tales?
It ain't on, I tellz yaz.
This should be a nice relaxin' tale of espionage, sexy wimmin, kilting, n sexy (semi-naked) wimminz.
No gender-changers allowed!
This is James Bond fer goodness sakes.

Yo!

I thought a new TC's corner story was needed.

The name of this story is "Bond, James Bond"

This story will be in 2 parts. I have an ending for it, but.... Im not to happy with it. So, all my faithful, loyal readers can help me come up with a new ending for this thing.

Make your suggestions for an ending and I will re-write the ending for it.

TC-


Bond, James Bond

DOVER, ENGLAND
5 Royal Air Force Spitfires MKIX fighters were reported missing
yesterday immediately after they reported sighting a 'strange, very fast'
Unidentified flying object over the Straits of Dover. Observers on the ground
Claimed to have seen explosions and smoke trails that dove into the Channel,
And some debris of what appear to be charred aluminum paneling has been recovered by subsequent rescue teams. As of date, nobody knows the identity of the person, plane, thing, or perhaps, things, that were responsible for the destruction of these five Spitfire aeroplanes and we fear, the loss of their pilots' lives. Her Royal Majesty the Queen has turned the matter over to the renowned British Secret Service to track down and capture the ones responsible.

Commander James Bond, of the British Secret Service, dropped the newspaper on the large desk and looked up at the Board of Commissioners that sat before him.
"Most interesting," said Bond as he shuffled in his chair before the desk.
"Interesting indeed, 007," replied M as he opened a file. "In that newsprint was what the public has been
Told. We, however, as usual have gotten something more.� Here." M slid a photograph over the desk and Bond leaned over and picked it up.
"That," continued M, "is a photograph of what we are certain is the incredible aero craft that perpetrated this dastderly and fiendish deed.. We got this image earlier this month, when a Lancaster in a bomb run over Interlaken was attacked by that aeroplane. The Lancaster was shot down in a festering heap, but fortunately an escort in a Spitfire managed to take this photograph."
"That was very fortunate indeed," Bond surmised.
"Perhaps for us, 007, but not for the pilot," M said grimly. "He was one of the five that was shot down yesterday.
I take it you understand this was obviously no coincidence."
"Typical revenge, I should imagine.�Summized Bond
"Certainly was.� Said M. “How did this villain know who even took that photograph? Inside connection?� questioned Bond “
That is what I am afraid of, Bond. He has inside connections."
"Of course, sir. I take it you have an assignment for me?"
"Yes, Bond," said M, handing Bond a hefty file folder. "We have reason to believe our villainous
Aero borne friend, code named TIGERCAT, is now in America."
"Good. Then we should let the American CIA on the other side of the pond take care of him," snapped
Bond.
"Not quite so simple, 007. We know he is tracking a very indispensable man named 'Weedwakr.' Weedwakr alone possesses the knowledge of the workings of an amazing new technology that will make CFO obsolete and make TG2 look like some sort of cube puzzle. With this programme, code named SHADOW, CFS as we know it would be transformed. Whoever has this technology would control it, and thus control CFS, whether for good, or for evil."
"I see," sighed Bond, leaning back in his chair, studying a picture of Weedwakr. "He looks a sensible
Enough chap."
"He is, Bond, he is, and he alone knows the workings of this programme. You must get to him, Bond, without TIGERCAT’s knowledge, and convince him to give you the programme secrets and bring them back to us, before TIGERCAT reaches him. Otherwise, all is lost."
"A very subtle assignment, sir. I will schedule to take the next flight across the Atlantic. Tell me, where
Shall I find this, Weedwakr, sir?"
"Weedwakr is now in Los Angeles, 007. We have reason to believe so is TIGERCAT. It is only a matter of time before TIGERCAT finds him, perhaps only hours. With the SHADOW programme, TIGERCAT would create a massive fleet of his super aeroplanes, and the CFS world would be at his disposal. You will take this
Alias... a Mr. Rookie Doofus, from Cincinnati, a Bakery Ingredient Sales Representative, visiting Los
Angeles for an International Bagel and Donut Convention. Get the SHADOW programme from Weedwakr and get back here as soon as you can. Good luck, 007. And remember... TIGERCAT will stop at nothing to get the SHADOW program.

Bond stepped out of Los Angeles International Airport, secured his baggage, and hailed a taxi to the first-class Focke-Wulf Hotel. After arranging his room, he carefully checked his room for planted listening devices, holstered his Walther PPK, changed into an inconspicuous black tuxedo and tie, and strode out into the street.
Weedwakr, where could one find a Weedwakr? It was a large city, finding one man who would be lying low anyways would be rather a tough endeavor. Thought Bond.
He hailed a taxi, and gave the driver a vague destination (he had always wanted to visit the Hollywood Sign). Ever alert, Bond noticed another figure board a strange coloured vehicle. An older convertible with six tail-lights, and that car appeared to be following him.
"Driver," said Bond calmly, "forget taking me to the Hollywood Sign., take me somewhere, well, obscure and step on it."
Bonds taxi turned off the freeway and out onto a one way street in between concrete walls. The strange vehicle still followed them. Careful not to look directly behind him, Bond peered into the rear view mirror. The figure in the car behind them was holding something in his hand and was leaning out the window!
"Faster, driver!" ordered Bond, and the driver protested, some nonsensical rot about speed limits and other lawful things that British Secret Service agents can't be bothered with. Overcome with frustration, Bond leaped into the driver’s seat and pushed the taxi driver aside. Too late. The odd bald man in the car behind them hurled a green, glowing sock that shattered through the back windshield and exploded in the back seat of the taxi with a tremendous force!
The taxi filled with choking green fumes, and blinking through the green clouds Bond saw what he
Thought to be socks ... horrid, fume-belching socks, glowing with a green glow reserved only for
Maximized plutonium! Gasping and choking, the taxi careened into the wall, and the strange coloured car roared by them. Bond's eye caught the car's make as it sped past them ... Chevy ... a Chevy Impala. License plate that read... "KILTER"
Bond staggered from the taxi that now was spewing green fumes from the window and doors, and then quickly ran down the alley and into the nearest shop to hide
So, that was TIGERCAT! He knew he was in Los Angeles. And TIGERCAT thought he was now dead. A little closer and that green sock grenade would have done its job, but now Bond could only muse to himself.

Bond found Weedwaker later that afternoon. It was not nearly as difficult as he had originally planned. Who would have thought to check the Business Directory, look up Weedwakr, and discover he owned a company named Com Central.
A quick browse and his man was found; at a ComCentral black-tie dinner at the CrowFoot Indian Casino. Bond invited himself to the $1,500-a-plate dinner and arrived just as it was beginning.

Bond worked his way towards Weedwakr, and thought it curious that the guests at the dinner were, undoubtedly, all CFS luminary chat hero lunatics. He glanced at a few name tags... familiar fellows ... ColdBreeze, he's a character, been keeping the Yank Zone Cops on their toes for years... wonder what he's here for... oh there's a slippery one, Van_Mustang, typical Yank, with his "I-Love-P51's and La Habra" pin on his jacket ... here's Weedwakr himself.
"Excuse me," said 007 as he tapped Weedwakr on the shoulder. "I'll need a moment."
"And who are you?" replied Weedwakr.
"Bond, James Bond, British Secret Service to you to everyone else I'm Rookie Doofus, Bakery Ingredient Sale Rep. from Cincinnati. I was sent here to secure the knowledge of the programme SHADOW which--"
"Absolutely not," snapped Weedwakr. "My secret is mine alone, I will not share it."
"Mr. Weedwakr, should something happen to you, CFS would be domed to extinction.� explained Bond. "Happen to me?" Weedwakr was obviously intrigued. "Just what should happen to me?"
"You should not be surprised to know there are others after programme SHADOW. One such person is hot on my tail, and although he thinks I am now out of the way, that only makes him all the more anxious to go after you."
"So what if he does. He wants my secret, does he? He won't find it written down. It's in here, Mr. Bond," Said Weedwakr, tapping his head, "and he can't get it there."

“He has his ways of getting that programme , and I must say those ways are most unpleasant " replied Bond. Just then a waitress happened by. My dear, waitress, Mr. Weedwakr would like?". Asked Bond
"Ahh, oh yes, make it a double scotch on the rocks." replied the nervous Weedwakr.
"For me my dear, I would like a very dry martini, shaken not stirred." said James Bond in his smooth
British accent as he gave the waitress a wink.
"Right away sir." said the waitress.
''Now as 1 was saying Mr. Weedwakr this person will stop a nothing to get the secrets he wants. So that
Put’s your life at great risk. "
James Bond turned, for no particular reason, and noticed a conspicuous looking guest, loitering among the dinner tables, and occasionally snatching silverware from the tables and stuffing the sterling utensils into his black polyester leisure suit pocket when nobody was looking. Then the bald man looked up as he snatched a silver salt shaker, and met Bond's gaze. Suddenly, the short, fat bald man's stubby hand dropped to his pocket, and hurled a green glowing sock towards Bond and Weedwakr.
"Look out Weedwakr!" yelled Bond as both he and Weedwakr dove under the table and a terrible explosion rattled the surrounding area. Jumping to his feet, Bond pulled out his Walther PPK and through the green smoke fired at the fleeting man in the polyester suit. But the man had the head start, and he Raced through stunned crowds of people and through the exit door.
"Are you all right Mr.Weedwakr?" asked Bond
"Yes, yes,.. I'm ok. I guess your right Mr. Bond. I do need your help." said the exasperated Weedwakr.
"It also looks as though our surprise guest has made good his escape as well. He now also knows 1 have not yet met my demise. I'm sure we will met up again very soon." said James Bond as he holstered his Walther PPK and helped Weedwakr to his feet. "Now let's get you to safe keeping shall we?"
The shaken dinner guests were crowding around, loudly discussing the surprise attack by the sinister man, and Bond noticed a fragment of the green sock lying on the floor. On it was etched "007."

A while later TC pulls his 63' Chevy Impala in to his driveway and notices his neighbor Clint Eastwood out front practicing his golf stroke. Clint looks up and see' s TC approaching, Clint drops his putter and runs into the house. "Oh no, that reject from loserville is home," muttered Clint as he retreated indoors dragging his golf clubs. "I hope he don’t come over here and try to borrow anything."
"Wow, look at Clint run. He must have some place important to go to. Oh well, I ask him if I can barrow his chainsaw some other time." TC said to himself.
"Look Bruce, our punk neighbor TC just pulled up," said Dick Grayson, youthful ward, as he paused his lawn darts game with Bruce Wayne. Bruce began to walk over to Robin and observe their weird neighbor when he tripped over a TV cable that ran from TC's living room, across the lawn of Stately Wayne Manor, and into the mansion itself.
"Holy Internet Cable Batman! Are you all right?" asked Robin as helped the caped crusader to his feet.
"Why... that no good loser punk is stealing our internet cable Robin!" squealed Batman. "He is also
stealing all the bat secrets from the bat-computer. And that is also why we keep getting those e-mails from Tina's web cam." The two Superheroes shook their fists towards TC's house, unplugged the cable, and resumed their game of lawn darts.

"I wonder what’s up with those two ? Every time I look up there Bat…errr. Bruce trips over something in his yard. Must be those Bat-sprinkler-heads." said TC to himself as he unlocked his front door and enters his home. TC closed the door behind him and went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and pulled out a fresh diet Coke.
"Holy British Sports Cars, Batman!" shouted Dick Grayson, youthful ward, as he paused his lawn darts game again with Bruce Wayne in the front yard of Stately Wayne Manor, which was next door to TC's house. "Did you see that?"
"See what, Dick?" asked Batma ... errr ... Bruce as he walked towards Robin.
"This guy wearing a black tuxedo with a gun just walked into Tigercats house!" cried Dick Grayson,
Youthful ward. "He's probably going to rob Tigercat!"
"I see, Robin. And about half of Tigercat's things actually belong to us! Although I am a super hero, Dick, that loser Tigercat bum is one guy 1 wouldn't mind seeing get robbed. But then again, I don't want our belongings to end up being burgled. Come, Robin, we must stop this injustice! To Tigercat's house!"

James Bond exited his Astin-Martan and proceeded to wade through what at one time was a lawn, but has long sense turned into a jungle. After much super-human effort 007 made it to the front door. "Well I made it past that obstacle. Anything I encounter from here on out shall be a breeze compared to wading through that jungle and coming out alive. Obviously a well thought out trap." thought Bond to himself.

Bond tried the door knob. It was open. He quietly swung the door open, stepped inside, and closed it. So this was the inside of Tigercat's house. Bond having the ever observing eye of a trained and skilled British Secret Service agent, noticed something most odd about Tigercat house, strange place. Strangest he had ever been to. The imitation linoleum floors were covered with old issues of Rookie Kilter Magazine, empty bottles of some cheap aftershave, diet Coke cans, empty cartridge casings, and dozens of wallets, pistons, oil cans, and various other debris. Quietly stepping over what appeared to be a black imitation polyester leisure suit, Bond crept into the dining room. The table was set with fine table furnishing and cutlery, crystal goblets, fine china plates, and other settings all with what Bond thought to be 'Bat emblems' embossed on each piece.. Bond noticed the table was set for two. He wondered if Tigercat was entertaining a visitor ... whoever the fellow was. Then he observed Tigercat sitting at his computer.

TC helped himself to a fresh can of diet Coke, sloshed on a quarter bottle of Aqua Velva, and sat down
In front of his computer.
"Hmmm " thought TC to himself. "I wonder if ComCentral has replaced that lousy comedy writer
yet. That guy can only write moderately funny crap."
TC read for a while, chuckling occasionally. As TC finishes reading he says to himself "Ha ha, that pally sure does get himself into some funny fixes. Who would ever believe he lives next to Tom Cruise and Starsky and Hutch? What jerk would use Old Spice anyways? And how about that stupid car he drives? A 63' Rambler American? Come on...there ain't no pally named Shadow Treetrimr. Who would have a name like that?"
"I really wouldn't know," boomed a calm and steady British sounding voice from behind TC. Tigercat jumped in surprise and turned around in his imitation nagahyde swivel chair in front of his computer. Leaning in the doorway to the hall was none other than James Bond himself.
"I trust you've had a pleasant evening?" asked Bond, striding towards TC, who jumped up and backed away.
"Hey, pally, what’s all this? And who are you? Stuttered TC. "Ya know this is private property? You could get in trouble for this, pal. You know, unlawful entry, theft-
"The names Bond, James Bond of the British Secret Service. I do hope that stealing one's leisure suit jacket will not distress you." finished Bond as he snatched TC's black imitation polyester leisure suit from the coat rack and withdrew the fuming green sock from the pocket.
"How interesting. Someone has taken the time to have etched 'Weedwakr' on this amusing little green sock."
"Yo! Ain't that interesting, heh... heh," squirmed TC as his mind churned. "Someone must have stuck that in my pocket without me knowing earlier today...yeah, that's it..some punk put that in there... heh heh."
"Of course. Then I don't suppose you would mind if! Kept it?" asked Bond, smirking.
"Uh, geez, not at all, pally," stammered TC.
"Splendid. "
"You got that right, Bond pally!" shouted. TC as he pulled a vividly colored pistol from his back pocket.
"Don't move, pal, or you'll crawl back to the Queen dripping wet." Bond recognized the weapon in TC's stubby fist right away. The weapon 'Q' had warned him about. The Summer Fun Squirt Blaster Water Pistol, the world’s most powerful water gun . One spray from it and ... boom ... Bond shook the thought from his head.
"I pray I wasn't out of line by taking your coat," continued Bond slowly. "I merely intended this to be a
Social visit. If you wanted this back, you merely had to say so."
"That’s more like it, pally," barked TC. ''Now into the dining room. I was expecting you, Jimmy pal. Dinner is served, if ya want it pally, because I don't think you's gotten much to eat at you-know-where’s earlier today."
"I would be delighted," agreed Bond.

"Yeah, pal, now put that leisure suit down and get into the dining room."

Tiptoeing through the shrubbery, Batman and Robin peered into TC's dining room window.
"Holy table settings, Bruce!" cried Robin, "Tigercat isn't getting robbed! He's having dinner with that guy in the tuxedo! And look at the plates and glasses! Those are the missing Bat-Plates and Dishes! That punk Tigercat took them!
"I see that, Dick, and look on the counter. There's the missing Bat-Blender!" replied Batman. "Obviously these two are in cahoots together. They are probably are planning their next underhanded plot. ..
Just then a out of breath Clint Eastwood came up and crouched down next to the dynamic duo
"I darned near lost my life wading through that jungle that Tigercat calls a lawn. I also discovered a few skeletons of some poor souls who didn't make it out of that jungle." said Clint
"Hey, Bat partner isn't that your utility belt that Tigercat has around his fat waist." said Clint as he pointed at TC through the window.
"Holy utility belt Batman that is your belt." cried out the boy wonder.
"Why. Let me at that low life punk Robin! Just let me get my Bat gloves around his skinny little neck." yelled out Batman as Clint and Robin tried to hold back the angry super hero.
"Hey, come on now partner, calm down. There is probably a good explanation why Tigercat has your utility belt." said Dirty Harry.
"Holy golf clubs Clint." said Robin "Aren't those your golf clubs in the corner with the initials C.E. on the bag?"
"What!" exclaimed Clint "Let me at the low life cattle rustling, sage brush chewing, stage coach robbing, cactus breath smelling scrawny snake hide. I'll tear him limb from limb." said the angry screen star.
''Now calm down Clint. There is probably a good explanation why Tigercat has your golf clubs." said Batman
Don't hand me that crap about 'Good explanation'. That punk stole my golf clubs." said Clint in his typical Eastward fashion.
"Shhhhh!! Quiet, Clint! Tigercat's looking this way!"


"Say, Jimmy pally," said TC, carefully watching Bond for any fast moves, "do you, ah, by any chance, fly CFS?"
"James is my name, sir, not Jimmy." replied Bond, "and yes I have been known to occasionally fly for the Queen's RAF in CFS. I find it rather enjoyable, relaxing, improves my lightning fast reflexes. By the way Mr. Tigercat, you have two masked and caped peeping Toms outside your window."
"AH…. Never mind them two, they're just a couple of super-hero crime fighters that live next door."
Replied TC. "Ya don't say Big Jim pal so ya do fly CFS. Imp just a rookie myself.�
Would you want anything to drink?"
"Please, a very dry martini, shaken, not stirred," answers Bond politely.
"Hey! Beaver, butler pally!" shouted TC towards the kitchen. "Bring the drinks."
"Okay, Mister," replied Beaver Cleaver as he ran out carrying an ice chest. "Say, Mister, you gone pay
me this time?"
"Yeah, yeah, here's 25 cents," grumbled TC as he snatched the ice chest. "Here ya go, Jimmy."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Tigercat, this is a can of diet Coke."
"I'm kind stocked low today, pal," replied TC. ''Now onto the business at hand, pally. See, you's out to
get me, and I'm out to get you, see. I could. Blast your British punk hide into dripping wet shreds with this Summer Fun Squirt Blister here, see. But that wouldn't be as you Brit's say, very sporting of me, see. I've always wanted to go after 007, mono e mono, both of us, on fair grounds, see. In CFS. My Genuine Rookie Kilter against your stock Spitfire Mk I."
"Why should I accept this match? Asked Bond.
"Well pally, just take a look here in the garage." said TC as he motioned 007 to get up from the table and look in the garage.
"Weedwakr!, you have him!" said the startled Bond.
"That's right Bond pally. If ya don't play ball my way, It's curtains for Weedwakr see, and the Shadow
program is all mine Mauhahahahha!.. Said TC


"I see I have little choice in the matter but to accept," said Bond. "I must note, however, that I doubt your Genuine Rookie Kilter to be, as one says,� Stock."
"Hey, Jimmy pal, it's just a harmless repaint. And beside Bond pally , you don't have a choice in the matter. hehehe," TC said as he tipped back his glass of diet Coke. "Imp given' ya two hours, Jimmy pally, to meet me in the air over Sturmgruppe, no tricks now, or Weedwakr will go out... all the way out. If ya catches my drift Bond pally."
"You have my word of honor as a gentleman of the Queens secret service that I shall be there at the
Appointed time," replied James Bond. .

Two hours later we find PGTigercat at his computer ...

Now let’s see, what's in my e-mail..., an
Absolutely Last Notice Phone Bill' ….better throw that one away.
And... What have we hear a letter from Clint Eastwood my neighbor pally across the street. Hmm,
Something about 'you only borrowed my Karaoke machine for a weekend, TC you punk, it's been 3 months, now bring it back!' Sheesh! Talk about being impatient!"

"Oh ,oh I better hurry into CFS, I got a kilten waiting for me." mused TC to himself as he was loading up CFS.

<PGTigercat> YO! Pallys
<Shadow _ Treetrimr> Hiya TC! Say, when you gonna get your next comer to me?
<Exit> RCAF Wishhbone
<PGTigercat> Uh, geez trimr pally, I, ahhh…., was so busy writing the next comer I forgot to send it. And besides those pesky aliens abducted me again and I just escaped...yeah, that’s it.
<Enter> PG Toob
<Shadow_Treetrimr> Oh no not the alien story again..sheesh ok TC whatever.
<ColdBreeze> C 0 L D B R E E Z E
<+MarsSinger> Watch the caps, Breezy boy
<Enter> PG_Fair_Oh
<Exit> mercs_cmdr_wal
<The_Ghetto _Mouse> yeah that was a good floodin last night CB
<ColdBreeze> hey ghetto you loser commie flag wavin punk
<Exit> Van_Mustang
<The_Ghetto_Mouse> hey, can it CB
<ColdBreeze> Make me, commie punk loser
<Enter> PG _ Leetwo
<PGTigercat> say any Rookies out there that need to be Kilt?
<ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <PG _ Toob> Here we go again
<+MarsSinger> Cut the flooding CB
<ColdBreeze> Hey Toob, your mother wears combat boots...hehehhehe <Exit> PG _Maxamum


TO BE CONTINUED>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


TC-

glue always said meant "smelly arse"....

MERRY CHRISTMAS HM!!

Merry Christmas all you old git's...whatever that means lol.

Merry CHRISTmas!

another oldie but a goodie! merry christmas to all

TC's Christmas Special!

Yo! Well TC's Corner fans, its Christmas time again, and your old pal TC has a wonderful present for each and every one of my loyal fans. It's your very own Genuine Rookie Kilter (autographed model) in which you and your entire family will have many hours of fun shooting down those scrap-picking booger-eating butt-scratching scum rookies, together in the relaxing atmosphere of your own living room. Just think of the joy on little Johnny's face when he shoots down that punk Rookie_Doofus, or your 90 year old Granny laughing a toothless laugh as she is removing Shadow_Weedwakr from the session. The Kilter also comes with:

(1) Genuine Imitation Black Polyester Leisure Suit
(1) Bottle of Aqua Velva
(1) Pair of Italian Rookie Kilting Bowling Shoes
So ... have a very TChristmas! And watch your six, pally!


HOW THE TCGRINCH STOLE THE ROOKIES CHRISTMAS

Every Rookie down in Rookie-Ville liked Christmas a lot ...
But TCGrinch, who lived just north of Sturmgruppe did not!
TCGrinch hated Christmas! The whole darned Christmas season!
Now, pally, don't ask why, nobody quite knows the reason.

It could be that his bald head wasn't screwed on just right,
It could be that his Rookie Kilting Shoes were laced up too tight.
But I think the most likely reason of all,
Was that, pally, that his trigger finger was two sizes too small.

But Whatever the reason was, the finger or his Kiltin' shoes,
TCGrinch stood there on Christmas Eve hating those Rookie dudes!
Staring down from his Kilter Emporium with a sour TCGrinchy frown
At all the Stock scum Rookie houses below in their Stock town.
For TCGrinch know every Rookie down in Rookie-Vill will groan
Every time they are shot down in their stock Hawkers on the Zone.

"They will have all their joysticks!" TC snarled with a sneer.
"Tomorrow is Christmas, it's practically here!
"Those Scum Punk Rookies don't even like Aqua Velva!" TC would yell,
"Those Scum Punk Rookies just don't like the smell!"
Then TCGrinch grunted, with his fat stubby fingers nervously drumming,
"I MUST find a way to keep Christmas from coming!"
For tomorrow, TCGrinch knew ... all the Rookie girls and boys
Would wake up bright and early and open their Stock CFS toys!
They'd open up Rookie Rooms and make Noise! Noise!! NOISE!!!

Then the Rookies, the Punks, and the Scum, would sit down to a Stock CFS Feast,
And they would Feast, Feast! FEAST!!!
They would start on Rookie-Pudding and Rare Rookie Roast Beast,
Which was something TCGrinch couldn't stand in the least!

And then, they'd do something TCGrinch hated worst of all!
Every Rookie down in Rookie-Ville, and all the odd-balls
Would fly their Stock Hawkers until they'd fall like rocks
Thy'd fly stock, stock, stock, stock, all those scum rookies would fly
STOCK, STOCK, STOCK, STOCK!!!

And the more TCGrinch thought about the Rookie Hawker Christmas Stock,
The more TC thought "I must stop this whole Stock crock!
"Why, for 5 years I've put up with it now!
"I MUST stop the Rookie Christmas from coming ... but how?"

Then TCGrinch got an idea! An awful Idea! An Aqua Velva Awful idea!
TCGrinch got a black polyester Aqua Velva idea!

"I knows just what I'll do!" TCGrinch laughed as he splashed Aqua Valva on his throat
"I'll make me a black polyester Santy Claus flight cap and coat.
Then TCGrinch chuckled and clucked "What a great TCGrinchy trick!
"With this red polyester flight cap and coat I'll look just like Saint Nick!"

"All I need is a reindeer .. hmmm ..." TCGrinch thought as he looked around
But since reindeer are scarce in FurBall, there were none to be found..
Did that stop old fat TC? Heck, no way pally. TCGrinch simply said,
"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll mod me one instead!"
So TCGrinch called his dog, BlueMax.
And TC took some string and tied a big stock horn on the top of his head.

THEN ... TCGrinch loaded some bags and old empty sacks
Into the trunk of his '63 rainbow mother of pearl Chevy Impala ... and hitched up his dog BlueMax.

And TCGrinch said, "Giddyap!" and the Chevy Impala started down
The sides of Mt. Prop-Hit towards the Rookie Scums homes where the Rookies lay a-snooze in their town.

All the Rookie Windows were dark, and the smell of spent .50-cals filled the air.
All the Scum Rookies were dreaming of TC kilting them, what a Nightmare!
Then TCGrinch came to the first Rookie house in the square.

"This is the first Rookie to lose all his crap," the old TCGrinchy Clause hissed.
And the fat bald TC climbed up on the roof, empty sacks in his fat stubby fist.
Then fat TC slid down the chimney, a rather tight pinch,
But if fat Santa could do it, then so could TCGrinch.
TC with his blowing shoes got stuck only once, for a moment or two,
Then TCGrinch stuck his head from out the fireplace flue.

There all the Rookies stock Computers were setting all in a row.
"Those stock Comps," TC grinned, "are the first things to go!"

TC slithered and slunk, with a TC scowl must unpleasant.
TC went around the whole room, and took all the Rookies presents!
Then TC stuffed all the presents in bags, then TCGrinch, very nimbly,
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney!

Then TC slunk to the Rookies stock Refrigerator. He took the stock Rookie feast!
He took the stock Rookie-Pudding! He took the Rookies Stock Roast Beast!
TC cleaned out the Refrigerator fast for such a fat bald bloke.
"What a bunch of punks, no diet Cokes!"

TC then stuffed all the Rookies stock food up the chimney with glee.
"And now!" grinned TCGrinch, "I'll stuff up the stock P-51D!"
TC grabed the stock P-51D, and started to shove,
When TC heard a sound, like the coo of a dove.
TC turned around fast, and TC saw the well developed Rookie Sue Lou,
Who TC reckoned was about 22.

Rookie Sue Lou who was 22, stared and then said to old TC
"Santy Clause, why? Why are you taking our stock P-51D?"

But, you know, that old TCGrinch was so smart and so slick!
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"Well, my dear," the old fake Santy Claus lied,
"There's some RPM's on this plane that don't RPM on one side.
"I'll take it up to my Mod Shop, my dear.
"I'll Mod it up there, and then I'll bring it back here."

Well that lie fooled the shaply Rookie Sue Lou, and TC patted her chest ... err ... head,
And TC got her a margarita and sent that good looken' babe back to bed.
When Rookie Sue Lou had passed out from the margarita in the cup,
TC went to the chimney and stuffed the P-51D up!

Then the last thing that punk TC took was the stock log for the Rookies stock fire.
Then TC went up the chimney himself, the old bald fat liar!
On the Rookies stock computer desks TC left nothing but some old Stock cables and wire.

And the one drop of Aqua Velva that TC left in the house,
Was not even enough to splash on a Rookies mouse.
Then TCGrinch did the same to all the other Rookie houses
Not leaving enough Aqua Velva for any other of the Rookie mouses.

It was then a quarter past dawn, all the rookies still sleeping heavily,
All the Rookie Scum still a-snooze, when TC packed up his Chevy.
Ten thousand feet up! Up ... up ... up the side of Mt Prop-Hit!
Up TC drove, to the tip top to dump it!

"Muahahahaha!" said TC, ganoffing.
"Those scum Rookies are just finding no stock Christmas is coming.
"Their scum Rookie mouths will hang open for a minute or two,
"Then all hem scum Rookies in Rookie-Ville will cry BOO HOO HOO!"

"That's a noise," grinned TCGrinch, "That I simply MUST hear!"
So TC paused, and TCGrinch put his fat stubby hand to his ear.
TCGrinch did hear a sound that was not, not softer,
And TC heard a horrible sound, the sound of a Stock Hawker!

TCGrinch stared down at Rookie-Ville, with his tired blood-shot eyes,
Then TC shook! What TC saw was a horrible surprise!
Every Rookie down in Rookie-Ville, the bald, old, fat, and tall,
Was flying CFS! Without any computers at all!
TC hadn't stopped Christmas from coming! It came!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!

TCGrinch, wearing his bowling shoes with his feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling. "How could it, pal, be so?"
"It came without Stock Hawkers, computers, and headphones!
"I came without joysticks, RW, Brunhost, and the Zone!"
TC puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
Then TCGrinch thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," TC thought, "doesn't come from a Computer store.."
"Maybe Christmas, perhaps ... means a little bit more!"

Then, suddenly, TC's Chevy Impala started to slide down Mt Prop-hit's side!
TC grabbed hold of the rear bumper, but it slid no matter how hard he tried.

Down in Rookie-Ville they say, something happened to TC this way.
TC's trigger finger grew three sizes that day!
When it happened that TC's trigger finger grew,
Suddenly he had the strength of Ten TCGrinches, plus two!

TCGrinch pulled on the load that was so very heavy,
And he saved his beloved '63 rainbow mother of pearl Chevy!
But, sadly, ... hehehehe ... as luck would have it!
All the Stock Rookies crap fell down the side of Mt Prop-Hit!

What? WHAT? Hey, pally, you didn't actually expect those Scum Rookies were going to have a merry Christmas, did you? MUAHAHAHAHA!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!

--TCGrinch

I_R_NEKKED_ now thats a scarry though! EW_PooFlinga though i smelled something stinky comin from your direction shades.
+Wordless_Duke <---Shades at his finest lol

78th_Mantis.
Awesome pilot.
People who'd never flown against him used to talk about Mantis.
He'd moved on by the time I started CFS1 but I was given the opportunity to fly against him once before the end (he wanted to get back into it before it disappeared) and even 'rusty' he was still very good.

As for other names, I've had one or two:-

_Jim_Rockford_, _MeckleBonce_0, _Nanna_Of_Death, _ROAD_K1LL_, _Santa_Bare1, _Shades1_, _Sky_Hero_, _Slave_Master1, _Super_Skwizza_, _Vixs_Valentine, _Voodoo_2, _x_Shades_x_, _05_Nud_Bare1, _BAT_Shades, _DumAzBlunder, _F4rT1N_SheB, BADBARE_UK1, BIG_Gutty0, BoastfulMoth, BroaderCashew, Bubblegum_Coot, CKret_Skwirrell, CrAnk_PrAnKstEr, CuterUnMunkeez, Cutest_Bare, D_StRoYa, Da_Easta_Bunny, Death_2_F1K, Devil_Luvver1, DrRedSkwirrell1, ElderlyMonk, Elv1s_Skwirrell, Exemplo2 (sry Ex, hehehe), Faulty_Two, FidgetyChimp, FormalBeef, FunkyNeurotic, gaze_of_ny4, Godlike_DogFox, Greedy_Shades, GrinningCargo, Harry_Ayres, Hawnee_Ferret, I_R_Blonde, I_R_Leprechaun, I_R_NEKKED_, Ima_Seal, LuvzDaAngel, MinorDizturbanz, MoOnS_PrAnKstEr, MrRedSkwirrell1, Nekked_Ferret, Nervous_Puffin (sry +Arillus, hehehe), Neurotic_Ferret, NeuroticSkwizza, Noble_Thruster, OhhhhhhhhhSilky, P51_Ramrod, Page3_Da_Sun, PeppySquirrel, Polka_Skwirrell, PowerMadPlus1 (for the few childish and power-mad pluses who could upset a pleasant atmosphere just to massage their own egos), Psi_Phy, QC_RedSkwirrell, RacketyPilot, Raven_B0nkers, Raven_Death1, Red_Skwirrel, Red_Skwirrel1, Red_Skwirri1, Saddam_deramis, Santaz_Gift, Santaz_Thruster, Saxon_Phoenix, Saxon_Skwirrel, Shades908 (my original Zone nic), Shadey_Poo, Skarlet_Skwirel, Smooch_Hunter, SneeryFeline, SoapyMillipede, SoopaNova1, St_RedSkwirre11, Stocking_Filla, StTRiNiAnS_GuRL, SuvvernJessie, Toasty_Simian, UnWordless_Duke, Valiant_Ferret, Vampire_Skwizz, VM_Phaggro1, WizardTomb0, (and finally, my former + nic) +Wordless_Duke.

[edit: Forgot me EURO and 'monkey' nics. LOL:
EURO_Shades with various ranks, EW_BarbaryApe, EW_Bubbles_, EW_Gordo and of course, EW_PooFlinga. ]

I never used my multiple nics to hide behind, other than to observe potential EURO recruits (as Personnel Officer) before their acceptance. Thus trying to ensure that we avoided those people who did not believe in playing the game to our standards of humour, fairness and honour.


Slow, you shoulda persisted with the stall. In CFS1 it could be used it as a maneouver. Later games, it woulda prolly ripped the wings off though.
lolol

Whelp, anyone ever use any other monickers than the one you wear now?

On the zone I used to fly as Brutus_Blutarski... before the Hell Fighters...

I was one of those newbies you ole aces used to 'kilt',, I think it was 76th_Mantis (one of them 76th guys... if 76th is even right LOL ... give me back my memorui\ies someone please!) was trying to teach me how to turn a stang without stalling all the time (I really yanked and banked back then - lots of high speed/high angle of attack stalls) and I tried to remember his basic precept, a slowhand so Loving Clapton as I do and needing a reminder to pull gently, not yank... I became "slowhand".

But I still stall at high speed LOL...

Glue was Scottie????
Ohhhhhh that S.O.B.!
lolol