Hi, Kiddies! It's time for "Wacky Sciences!" And here's your host, the Mad Scientist, Dr. Shockwave! Dr. Shockwave: HEY! I'm not mad! I'm a good guy, really! Riiight. And joining him are his equally not-mad assistants, Yoshi and Toni. Yoshi: Ouchie. Toni: I ache. Dr. Shockwave: That's right. In any case, I would like to talk to the audience about dams. Picture Hoover Dam, holding back the raging flow of the river, placing moderation where there was once a flood of chaos. Yoshi: Puns. I like those. Dr. Shockwave: Don't interrupt me! NEVER INTERRUPT ME! Yoshi: Have mercy, o benevolent master! Dr. Shockwave: That's more like it. Anyway, now picture this. Think of the water behind the dam as a lifetime of suppressed emotions. And think of the dam as a wall of pure willpower. And think of this... as extreme stress. Yoshi: That isn't the real Hoover Dam, is it? Dr. Shockwave: Of course, it is! I'm trying to make an important point here! Yoshi: I... see. What point is that? Dr. Shockwave: I forgot. But whatever it was, it was, it was truly important. Maybe it will come to me later. I got it! Stay in school, kiddies! Because if you don't, I'll exterminate you! And that concludes "Wacky Sciences!" with all-around lunatic, Dr. Shockwave. Dr. Shockwave: HEY! But enough of this entertainment. It is now time for... */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Furniture Warriors PART TWENTY-THREE: A Call to Armchairs OR I Want to Know Where You Got Emotion (Formerly) A Spoof Chase Production NOW An ImproFanfic Production (http://pixelscapes.com/improfanfic) A Furniture Warriors ImproFanfic Created by Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne. This Episode by the venereal... er... the vehement... er... the veterinarian... aw, darnit! It's written by the somewhat nifty W4, the Mad Author. (All characters copyright Nihana-san, except for the original characters, which are Improfanfic property. I'm not making any money off of this, so litigation is futile. No dams were harmed in the making of this chapter.) */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Last time, on Furniture Warriors, -Ikea found himself in a Triple Threat match against Marlo "I Wish I Were The Rock" Semaj and the Dark Queen "I Want Ice Cream Now, Damn It" Irradiance. -Fifi and Rebecca searched for Dr. Shockwave. However, Fifi wants to play "Dress Up" with Rebecca, while Rebecca wants to play "Autopsy" with Fifi. -Dr. Shockwave, Yoshi and Toni regrouped and licked their wounds. Dr. Shockwave decided that the "good" thing to do would be to wipe out Marlo, Ikea, the Emperor and Dr. Fischer. 3 out of 4 ain't bad. -Shelly found herself in the trap-infested Not-A-Furniture-Vortex room with an insane Harry and a well-done Hugh, who promptly put Shelly to sleep with one of his patented Windbag Speeches(tm). -Dark Queen Irradiance summoned blacklight bulbs from the Kingdom of Radiance. Kids, don't try this at home. -Yarslov and Joanie continued to look for Shelly. Joanie go down the hoooooole, much to Yarslov's dismay. -Ikea's eyebrow twitched THREE TIMES. -Ikea used frustration to execute the "BLAZING CHAIR INFERNO", which engulfed the arena in flame. -The previous author predicted that I'd gratuitously use the word "dorkwad". What a dor... weenie. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* A single figure emerged from the smoke. One unsinged audience member squinted. "Well, I don't see any light bulbs, and that person isn't whining about ice cream, so it's not Dark Queen Irradiance," he concluded. Another figure squinted. "So is it Marlo? Or is it Ikea?" she asked with apprehension. The smoke cleared. Ikea stood before the audience, his eyebrows twitching uncontrollably. Never before had he let his emotions get the better of him like that. The Blazing Fire Inferno was fueled mostly by negative emotions. He knew it, and he executed it anyway. But he didn't feel remorse for betraying the code of the Tibetan Furniture Monks. Nor did he feel the intoxicating joy of turning to the dark side. He felt... a case of the giggles overtake him. "I..." Ikea chuckled, "...was... really angry back there." The giggles slowly evolved into full-blown laughs. The audience watched, dumbfounded. The calm, honorable warrior who was held his body language under tight control was now laughing like a John Kricfalusi character. "I knew he needed to lighten up," one guest admitted, "but I think he's snapped like a twig." Ikea's laughs increased in intensity. "I WAS REALLY PISSED! I mean, there was Marlo, and there was my sister, and..." Ikea turned to motion to the two vanquished fighters, only to discover that they were both missing. Ikea stopped laughing. A huge frown adorned his face. With tears in his eyes, he shouted, "ONEECHAN! I will find you! And I will take some ice cream, turn it sideways, and shove it in your mouth!" Ikea ran from the arena, sobbing. The audience bigsweated in unison. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Marlo, who was as well done as a Porterhouse steak, crawled across the floor of the castle, using a footstool to pull himself forward. He weakly muttered, "So, Ikea,... you set the... arena on... fire, ...like... that's supposed... ...to impress the... ...impress the Marlo?" Well, it WAS rather incredible, considering that Ikea was fighting a two-on-one match. Heck, it was ALMOST impressive how that spiky-haired jabroni could access Furniturespace in the first place, but Marlo was getting sidetracked. He attributed it to the pain caused by multiple burns, then continued moving. "Well," Marlo spat, "...when the Marlo gets his... hands... and refrigerators... and... ...and... other thingies on you, the Marlo is gonna..." A door swung open, smacking Marlo in the face and rendering him unconscious. Leonardo DiMario looked down at Marlo's burnt form and smirked ever-so-slightly. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Joanie unceremoniously landed, with a thud, on her fanny. "At least I landed on something soft," she thought to herself. "Get... off... me, you cow!" Hugh hissed. Joanie, who had steam shooting out of her ears, put Hugh in a headlock. "What did you say?" she snarled. Hugh's face turned blue. He was able to weakly cough, "I'm sorry!" Joanie stood up, maintaining her headlock. She then threw Hugh into the corner where Harry was bouncing up and down, making squeaking noises and wearing out the seat of his trousers. Having vindicated herself, Joanie looked around. There were Hugh and Harry, sprawled over each other and bordering on unconsciousness. An ice-cream machine stood a few feet away from her. Shelly was asleep, leaning against said machine. And there were... "Whoa. Back up," Joanie commanded herself. She rubbed her eyes, then took a few steps towards Shelly. She retracted her foot, however, when a saw blade shot down at her from the ceiling. "HOLY FRYING PANS!" Joanie shrieked. "What was that?" Shelly stirred slightly, then sat up, rubbing her eyes. She surveyed the room in a daze, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "G'mornin', Joanie," she mumbled. "Am I... still dreaming?" Joanie flustered for an answer. "If so, then you've got one twisted psyche," she replied. Shelly blinked. She blinked again. Her back and head were still sore, so this probably wasn't a dream. With a smile on her face, she yelled, "Joanie!" Shelly rushed towards Joanie, only to stop mid-step when a giant gloved hand dropped down from the ceiling. Joanie managed to pull Shelly towards her one split-second before the gloved hand flicked at the space where Shelly was standing. Joanie and Shelly both stared as the gloved hand retracted into the ceiling. "I don't like it here," Shelly confessed with a bigsweat. "Me neither," Joanie agreed. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Ikea, the noble Tibetan Furniture Warrior, was on his hands and knees, sobbing uncontrollably and lamenting to a grasshopper with a confused look on his face. "My... sister..." he sniffled, "...my very own hyperactive ball of lightbulb-tossing joy. She wants to harm me." The grasshopper chirped nervously. Ikea's head erupted (no, not literally) in a blast of pain. He grabbed it with both hands and wished that this headache would subside. His mind was overflowing with a cacophony of conflicting thoughts and unfulfilled urges. Unable to think of anything else, Ikea cried out, "WILL YOU ALL KNOCK IT OFF IN THERE?" The grasshopper didn't move. After what seemed like a minute, Ikea felt under control again. He felt calm, and his face and eyebrows seemed to be under control once more. He stood up, glancing once at the grasshopper, then down the hallway. "Now is not the time to give in," he thought to himself. "For Lumi-chan's sake, and for Yarslov's sake, and for the sake of all of my fellow Furniture Warriors, I must be strong. I must hang on, or my mind will snap..." As if on cue, the brutal pain overcame him again. A minute of agony passed. "The pain..." he thought weakly, "...so severe. But I must hang on. I must... I must..." Ikea began to shake. The grasshopper, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, hopped away at a steady clip. His eyes twitched, and his mouth twisted into a pained frown. "I must get my poor, yet evil, sister some ice cream!" he resumed sobbing. "I'm such a horrible brother! I should be shot out of a cannon! WAAAAAAAH!" */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Dr. Pfischer dragged a heavy burlap sack behind him. He regretted watching the match between Ikea, Marlo and Dark Queen Irradiance by himself (IF I MISS RED DWARF, YOU'LL MISS YOUR ARMS. he had commanded), especially since he was one of the audience members who were burned by Ikea's Blazing Chair Inferno. He hoped and prayed that the contents of the sack would make up for the fact that Ikea's psyche had crumbled to dust. The doctor carefully opened the door to the Emperor's room, careful not to disturb his television viewing. He cradled the burlap bag as if it were an infant, closed the door without a sound, then turned to tiptoe to the far corner of the room. Dr. Pfischer was halfway to the corner when he heard a loud snort. DID SOMEONE ORDER TAKEOUT? SOMETHING SMELLS REALLY TASTY! With a cough and a stagger, Dr. Pfischer sheepishly answered, "That would be me, my lord." ...I JUST LOST MY APPETITE. LUCKILY FOR YOU, DOCTOR, THIS STATION IS HAVING A PLEDGE-A-THON AND IS BREAKING "RED DWARF" UP INTO SEGMENTS. I WILL REFRAIN FROM DISFIGURING YOU FOR THE TIME BEING. NOW REPORT. Dr. Pfischer shuffled in place. "Well, Ikea and Marlo were fighting. First, Ikea had the lead, but then..." BOTTOM-LINE IT FOR ME. Dr. Pfischer gulped and fiddled with his fingers. "Ikea won," he replied. AND YOUR PLAN? Dr. Pfischer gulped, holding the burlap sack as a shield. "Well, er,... um..." he stuttered. LET ME GUESS. IT FAILED. IT BACKFIRED. IT DIDN'T WORK. IT HAD A SEGMENTATION FAULT. IT FELL DOWN AND WENT BOOM. IT COLLAPSED LIKE A HOUSE OF CARDS. The Emperor towered above Dr. Pfischer, his eyes red with rage. WHAT... HAPPENED? Dr. Pfischer described to the Emperor how Ikea used the Blazing Chair Inferno to defeat Marlo and Dark Queen Irradiance. He continued to narrate how the expression of Ikea's anger caused him mental instability and how he fled from the arena moments after victory. The Emperor let out a gargantuan sigh. I GUESS IT'S MY FAULT, REALLY. EVERY TIME YOU TRY TO TURN SOME NOBLE WARRIOR INTO AN EVIL SLAVE THAT OBEYS MY COMMAND ONLY, OUR TARGET TURNS AROUND AND BITES US IN THE PROVERBIAL ASS. AND YET, WHEN YOU CAME UP AND SAID, "LET'S TURN IKEA INTO AN EVIL SLAVE THAT OBEYS YOUR COMMAND ONLY", I NODDED LIKE A GIT. AND AS OUR REWARD, WE ARE COMPLETELY CUT OFF FROM FURNITURESPACE. UNLESS... Dr. Pfischer looked up, expectantly, at the contemplating Emperor. ...NOPE, WE'RE BONED. Dr. Pfischer facefaulted. The Emperor cracked his knuckles. WELL, DOCTOR, SINCE I CAN'T THINK OF A SINGLE REASON TO SPARE YOUR MISERABLE LIFE, IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO... "Wait!" Dr. Pfischer pleaded on his knees. "Before you destroy me, you must look at what I managed to remove from the arena!" THIS HAD BETTER BE GOOD. IF NOT, YOU'LL ONLY MAKE THINGS WORSE FOR YOURSELF. Dr. Pfischer used the last of his willpower to prevent wetting himself. It was just enough. He turned the burlap sack upside down and spilled the sack's contents onto the floor. DARK QUEEN IRRADIANCE? Dr. Pfischer nodded. "Since I was injured, no one gave me a second look," he explained. "After Ikea's departure, removing her from the arena was child's play. Now that we have her, we can brainwaAAACK!" The Emperor's hands clasped like a vise over Dr. Pfischer's neck. NO. NO. NEVER, EVER AGAIN. EVEN *THINK* ABOUT IT, AND I GUT YOU WITH A SPORK. Dr. Pfischer coughed and nodded his head. The Emperor let go of the doctor, who promptly passed out. The Emperor regarded the unconscious form of Dark Queen Irradiance and the previous matches in the tournament. Unholy inspiration struck. SHE WILL NOT BE OUR SLAVE. SHE WILL BE... OUR *FURNITURE*! Though the Evil Overlord Manifesto frowned upon such activities, the Emperor let out a long, deep, maniacal laugh. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Yarslov looked down the hole, fighting the urge to spit in it. After all, he might accidentally tag Joanie, who... "Whoa, back up," Yarslov said aloud, then shouted into the hole. "Yo, Joanie! Are down there?" He heard two women reply, "Yes!" "Dude, that's some weird echo you got goin' there, Joanie!" Yarslov commented with a laugh. "I'm not her echo, you scruffy-haired, perverted wretch!" Shelly bellowed. "Shelly!" Yarslov cried with glee, a wide smile on his face. "Hey, Joanie! You found Shelly! You're one froody chick!" There was a pause. Yarslov thought he heard two other voices, one chanting, "Squeak, Squeak!" and the other coldly asking Joanie if she was blushing. He figured that Dream-Yarslov would know what that nonsense was all about. Joanie shouted through the hole. "Yarslov, whatever you do, don't fall in! According to..." Another pause. "...according to Hugh, that hole is lined with traps." "Bummer," Yarslov cursed. "I guess we'll have to... back up a click. Did you say, 'Hugh'?" "Get me out of here, you Swedish meatball!" Hugh shouted. Yarslov put an open palm to his forehead. "Aw, man... this is way unfroody. I gotta get you girls out of there and fast!" he remarked to no one in particular. "I'm not a girl, you twit! I'm a woman!" Shelly seethed. "Squeak!" Harry added. "Squeak?" Yarslov added. "Squeak!" Harry confirmed. Yarslov let out a sigh. "This, like, sucks or something," he lamented to himself. He leaned against the wall, racking his brain for any ideas as to how to get his beloved Shelly and the froody Joanie out of that gaping hole of death. Normally, he'd fall asleep and let Dream-Yarslov give him some cool advice, but having Shelly and Joanie trapped in a pit with Hugh and some guy who shouted "Squeak!" was not an ideal naptime situation. He thought that it was tres lame that Dream-Yarslov and Mick didn't talk to him when he was awake. Right now, he could use a hint like "Pull the blue lever in the All-Monkeys room", "Never wear white after Labor Day," or... "LOOK TO YOUR RIGHT, MATE!" Mick's voice shouted in his mind. Yarslov leapt to his feet and turned to see... well, Yarslov didn't know what he saw. It looked like his rival and long-time bud, Ikea, but the Ikea that Yarslov knew didn't have a dark, overwhelming aura, a twitch in his left eye and a frightened grasshopper on his shoulder. "D... dude?" Yarslov asked nervously. Ikea sniffled, then raised his head. His sad expression turned into a wide smile. "WHOA!" he shouted, as if someone had just pinched him. "It's my Swedish meatball buddy, Yarslov! Gimme a bi-hig hu-hug, you wacky surf do-hoagie!" Before Yarslov could ask what was going on, he was being hugged by Ikea. "Totally... unfroody..." Yarslov noted to himself. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Marlo sat up, staring Leonardo DiMario in the eye. "The Marlo is a busy man, jabroni. What do you want!" Marlo demanded. Leonardo DiMario let out an arrogant laugh. "Busy? What, do you plan to avenge yourself on the one who so thoroughly defeated you about an hour ago?" Marlo tried to stand, but his legs were feeling uncooperative. "Listen here, wiseass," Marlo barked, pointing a shaky finger at Leonardo. "The Marlo didn't LOSE, okay? That Ikea fool thinks he's so special because he set the arena on fire! And now, you're treating the Marlo like he's some sort of kid, and you haven't even told the Marlo what your name is!" Leonardo DiMario cleared his throat. "I am Le-" "IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOUR NAME IS!" Marlo spat. Leonardo DiMario calmly and swiftly kicked Marlo's neck and held his foot there. "Oh, but it does, my violent young friend," Leonardo explained. "You see, I have a business proposition for you, and it just wouldn't do to proceed without proper introduction. Don't you agree?" Marlo vowed in his mind to rip out this arrogant aristocrat's spine and floss with it. However, his pride took a backseat to breathing in this instance, and he weakly nodded. Leonardo lifted his foot just enough to allow Marlo to breathe, but not enough to allow Marlo to escape. "I am Leonardo DiMario, and you have something I want. And I expect you to give it to me, especially now that you're in a... compromising position." Marlo bigsweated and gulped. "The Marlo... doesn't swing that way, bucko," he informed Leonardo. Leonardo DiMario let a chuckle escape him. "No, you misunderstand me. Since you have access to Furniturespace, I want you to grab my beds," he explained. Marlo blinked. "Like the Marlo said. The Marlo... doesn't..." Leonardo DiMario sighed as he dug his foot into Marlo's throat. "This could take a while," he cursed inwardly... */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* "Yarslov? Who's up there with you?" Joanie shouted with concern. Yarslov managed to reply, "It's Ikea. And he's... hugging me." Hugh and Shelly bigsweated. Joanie felt an ever-so-slight twinge of envy. Harry continued to scoot around on his butt, trying to dodge saw blades coursing along the floor. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Ikea attempted to rally all of his willpower. However, to an uninformed onlooker, it appeared that Ikea was attempting to give Yarslov a noogie. With a pained shout, Ikea released the headlock he had on Yarslov, staggering back while clutching his head. "Dude?" Yarslov asked, concerned. "What's wrong with your brain?" Ikea regained his facial emotionless as he gazed determinedly at Yarslov. "My friend," he began, "I have become... compromised. I have let my feelings overcome me. In so doing, I have dishonored my brothers, I have dishonored my sister, and I have dishonored you." Yarslov blinked. Ikea slowly sat down, knees forward, bowing deeply. "Please... disable me in honorable combat and end the shame." "Get up, dude," Yarslov commanded. Ikea stood. Yarslov cleared his throat and took the customary pre-speech deep breath. He spoke, "I'm not going to fight you, Ikea. That would be the unfroodiest of unfroody things to do. I think you're overreacting. All Furniture Warriors get happy and bummed. And, yeah, if you start losing your cool in battle, then you'll end up with Riot-of-the-Varnish or like that dorky Emperor dude. But you're one hip cat that knows where his towel is. And you got good buds to help you out!" Ikea felt waves of irrationality assault his personality. With gritted teeth, he eked out, "Darn it, you Swedish meatball! If you were a true friend, you'd kick my butt!" Yarslov took a step back. "Tell you what. How about we get the babes out of that pit first, and then we'll talk about kicking each other's butt?" he offered. Ikea grew red with rage. "CURSE YOU!" he shouted. "All I ask is one SIMPLE favor, which you choose to ignore!" With tears streaming down his cheeks, he lamented, "You don't like me! My sister doesn't like me! My pet hamster doesn't like me!" "Dude, you don't have a pet hamster," Yarslov interjected. Ikea laughed bitterly, then continued, "Not anymore! It ran away because it didn't like me!" Yarslov blinked as Ikea sank down to his knees. Ikea sighed and whined, "Ever since I left the dojo, everybody has been lying to me and using me like gum. Even my own sister turned against me. I thought that, somewhere, in this cold, lonely, furniture-less world, I would have one friend. GOSH DARN IT, YARSLOV! WHY CAN'T YOU BE A GOOD FRIEND AND PUMMEL ME SENSELESS FOR MY OWN GOOD, HUH?!?" Yarslov didn't know how to respond to that. Fortunately, he did know how to dodge the chair that Ikea thrust at his head. "Very unfroody," he commented as he morosely pulled a pool cue from Furniturespace. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* "HOLY FRYING PANS!" Joanie shouted. "My Yarslov's in trouble up there!" Hugh and Shelly turned at Joanie in unison and barked, "'Your' Yarslov?" Joanie's face turned beet-red. "How can you call that beach bum of a jerk 'Your Yarslov'? He's a complete nincompoop!" Shelly snarled, her face reddening with what, she told herself, was anger. Hugh added a few defamations of his own. "When we get out of this trap, I will destroy both Ikea and Yarslov! I suggest that you not get attached to either one, for I will see them suffer. Furthermore, when..." "JUST SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!" Joanie commanded. Hugh, Shelly, and even the sanity-challenged Harry gave Joanie the same wide-eyed look that a deer gives to an oncoming 18-wheeler. "If they beat each other senseless, then we could be stuck down here forever, wherever the heck 'here' is! Furthermore, with all the crazy jerks out there like Dr. Pfischer and Dr. Shockwave, we're going to need all the help we can get. So if we don't start working as a team, AND I MEAN RIGHT NOW, I'M GOING TO DO SOMETHING VERY NOT-NICE!" Joanie stood there, panting. Shelly gulped. Hugh and Harry wet themselves. "Ow! Dudette, can you keep it down in there?" Yarslov shouted. "I need to concentrate or I'll get my butt kicked here!" Joanie facepalmed. "Okay," she whispered. "We're going to work as a team, but quietly. Any suggestions?" */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* At long last, Leonardo DiMario managed to penetrate the seemingly impregnable wall of Marlo's stupidity and make a deal. "In exchange for access to my beds, I'll help you defeat Ikea," he recapped. Marlo nodded. "Normally, the Marlo wouldn't need any help. But with that Dark Queen Jabroni messing things up, this calls for... THE MARLO- DIMARIO CONNECTION!" Leonardo DiMario resisted the urge to gag. At least that name wasn't as offensive to him as "The Super Marlo Brothers". */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Author's notes: (D-Minor chord, 1st inversion) A note to other authors that have school, work, etc. Don't learn this lesson the hard way like I did. If you sign up for a part, and your weekend *POOF* vanishes, you're boned. Get someone to switch with you. I was hoping to... well, do more. Guess I'll have to rejoin the queue to redeem myself. A tip of the hat go to Kendra, Nickelodeon and the WWF. Thanks to Delfina and the splendiferous ravi for prereading help. Now that I think of it, ravi's preread or proofread all but one Improfanfic submission. I think I need to hire that guy. Send c&c, but no flames, to woofersan@home.com