james earl jones
Obviously two things:
- Depending on whether or not BHGP likes it, this is either an homage to or straight ripoff of their posts in this vein, down to J Leman's presence. I have tried to make this up to them in the content. Also, the J Leman picture was first brought to the world in those Big Ten team previews I used to do.
- I can't confirm that this is true, if you know what I mean.
INT. CLANDESTINE NORTH CAMPUS GENETICS LAB—MEETING ROOM. 1992
A conference table is surrounded by hooded figures. One throws back the hood, revealing himself to be STEPHEN ROSS, super rich guy. Also seated are JAMES EARL JONES, sith lord, and DOOMED J. SCIENTIST, a scientist.
I hereby bring this meeting of the Evil Michigan World Domination Illuminati to order. First order of business: the Desmond Howard cloning situation.
There have been some… issues. We have successfully dealt with the flippers, but it came at a cost.
You have failed me for the last time, Doomed Scientist.
haacckckackaackak
Always with the force choke, James. Can we get past the bit where you tell him his lack of faith is… disturbing and get on with it.
I still don't see why we can't build a football stadium in the wave field and get Tom Harmon back.
Yes, always with the force choke and the building it and the coming. Moving on. Doomed scientist?
We have now perfectly replicated Desmond Howard's lower body. There are some problems with the torso. As you can see on my powerpoint--
You have failed me—
Yes, for the last time. Spit it out, Doomed Scientist.
The main problem with the torso is that there isn't one. It just kind of… stops.
…
I find its lack of torso—
Yes, yes, disturbing. For the record, I do too. You have created a mindless abomination that can accelerate to full speed in half a second, stop on a dime, and juke like there's no tomorrow. Shoot it in he head.
It doesn't have a head.
Then have Jones mystically force choke it to death. Next order of business: the destruction of Notre Dame football.
I am positioning Texas A&M defensive coordinator Bob Davie to be the droid Lou Holtz is looking for.
INT. CLANDESTINE NORTH CAMPUS GENETICS LAB—SUB-BASEMENT B1. 1992.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry it has to end like this.
…
You're just a torso! Don't look at me like that.
…
I can't do this. We must escape!
Come with me.
J Leman?
It is I.
Aren't you seven?
What's your point?
Nothing. Let's go.
Halt!
BLAM BLAM BLAM
Noooooooooo… [/expires]
[Ninja CHOP!]
Noooooooo…
Let's go, Desmond Howard lower body. I have plans for you.
…
INT. CLANDESTINE URBANA GENETICS LAB—SUB-BASEMENT B1. 1999.
Another meeting room. BOB ZOOK, Ron Zook's evil but lazy twin, and a DUCK discuss dark matters.
Mwahahaha! Seven years of mustache twirling and pot smoking are about to pay off tonight!
You had better hope this plot works better than your last dozen, Zook. My patience runs thin. My pit of ravenous piranhas grows hungry. We must repay our arch-rivals for the generations who have endured nothing but humiliation!
Oh, it will. Hark: here comes the strike team now.
I have done as you asked, distasteful as it is.
mrphpmph.
What's he's saying?
No doubt something like "you'll never get away with this, Hyper-Intelligent Duck That Secretly Runs Illinois." But I will. Mwa. Mwa haahahahaahaa!
Mwahahahahahaha!
BOOM.
mrprhphphp.
Oh, let's listen. I love it when doomed heroes blather on.
[removes gag]
You'll never get away with this, Cooper!
I said arch-rivals!
And by this you mean…
You know, your most hated rival!
Ohio State.
No! Other than Ohio State!
All right, then. You'll never get away with this, Davie!
No, your really really most hated serious very serious rival. Who you share a debilitating mutual hatred of! Not Notre Dame!
You'll never get away with this, Saban?
Aaaaaaaargh!
Alvarez? No… wait, I've got it. Mason! You'll take the Little Brown Jug from my cold, dead hands!
No! How many times do I have…
[Tom Brady tries to remember all of the teams in the Big Ten. Meanwhile, GHOSTLY APPARITIONS of James Earl Jones and LAWRENCE KASDAN materialize nearby…]
J. I am your father.
Noooooooooooooo! You're not my father!
Search your heart. You know it to be true.
Oh. My. God.
I told you it would work.
Free Tom Brady. This is un-American. Victories are born on the field, not in genetics labs.
You speak truth. [Ninja CHOP!]
…I'm sorry, I'll get it in a second. You'll never get away with this, whoever Northwestern's coach is!
If I didn't need you for my diabolical plots I would impale you on my bill.
Also I appear to be free. [Impressive KICK!]
[flies towards complicated, ominous looking technological thing with glass tubing containing a familiar set of disembodied legs]
No! Release the defensive ends!
I am free.
My one weakness! Lo, I am stripped of my merry band of protectors! Wait, aren't you 11?
The least realistic part of this is not my age but the idea Bob Zook and a duck could capture me. Allow me to take my rage out on you. [Devastating SACK!]
[flies towards same ominous technological thing]
[Thunderous CRASH!]
[Similarly thunderous CRASH!]
BZZZTERERFFFFFZZZZEDDDD CLONE SEQUENCE ERROR. MULTIPLE ORGANISMS. CROSS PRODUCT. CROSS PRODUCT. CROSS PRODUCT. MULTIDIMENSIONAL ARRAY. EIGENVECTOR. COMBINATION IN PROGRESS. OVERLOAD. OVERLOAD.
WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO DESMOND HOWARD'S DISEMBODIED LEGS? WILL BOB ZOOK FACE HIS COMEUPPANCE? WILL TOM BRADY'S BEAUTIFUL FACE BE MANGLED? WILL BLACK HEART GOLD PANTS ORGANIZE A DENIAL OF SERVICE ATTACK ON MGOBLOG? STAY TUNED FOR PART 2: THE INTEGRATION AND INFILTRATION. TOMORROW!
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