Total Annihilation ate my Balls!
The Core Commander paced nervously.. he had no idea how that jack-ass Arm commander had managed to power-up his D-Gun so soon after completing the energy-draining ball-storage facility. Obviously, the tenacity of the Arm in protecting their balls could in no way be underestimated. Operation "ball-snatch" had been a failure; what's worse, they had lost a valuable Slasher and a Raider, not a good portent on this resource-poor planet. There must be a way to lure the Arm away so that the structure could be destroyed.. the thought of the Arm recapturing their balls was unthinkable. Where would the Core be without the juicy, slightly tangy taste of Arm balls? The Core commander shuddered at the mere thought of ball deprivation. Suddenly, an idea came to him like a vision, a plan of such craftiness that he would not only be able to destroy the hateful ball-storage facility, but capture the Arm commander's balls, all in one fell swoop! Rubbing his nut-seeking hands together, the commander cut loose with a deep, mechanical laugh at the thought of the ball-feast to come.
Cleverly sequestering a small cache of balls behind some trees, the Core commander,
knowing the close proximity of the Arm, loudly vocalizes his "belief" that
the Arm will never discover this secretive ball-stash!
Unbeknownest to the Arm, the Core commander has craftily set up an ambush
just at the rim of the ball-stash! Barely concealing his triumphant snicker,
the commander informs his remaining troops to slaughter the Arm forces
while they're distracted by the balls!
After the initial onslaught, the Arm Commander was surprised when the
Core didn't return to try and finish the job. Sensing dirty work afoot, he carefully
began scoping out the surrounding terrain, searching to clues as to
the Core's whereabouts. Perhaps they'd gone off in search of
easier ball-pickins', but the Arm commander doubted it. Once a Core soldier
caught a whiff of balls, it was usually an all out battle, as the Core
attacked like the ball-crazed fiends that they were. Expanding their search grid, the
Arm commander suddenly stopped, and turned toward his PeeWee escort.
The smell of balls was in the air, and it was strong!
Following the smell, the Arm commander does a double take at what he
finds nestled snug between some trees... a whole hoard of BALLS!
The sight of so many balls overrode his meticulous training, and he
rushed forward to collect them, oblivious to anything but the
joys of ball-gathering. The PeeWee was likewise affected, picking up
huge handfulls of balls and giggling like a school girl, chanting
"Balls..... Balls!!!!" Needless to say, they did not notice the stealthy approach
of the Core forces.
Bursting out of the bushes like psychotic nut-chomping jackrabbits,
the Core launched their first wave of missiles. The PeeWee took a direct hit,
and exploded into bite-sized chunks. Howling in grief and rage, the Arm
commander turned to his aggressors, the anguish in his eyes even more
intense than the ball-lust in the Core's. The Core commander stopped several yards
in front of him. The Arm commander watched as the Slasher missile turrets swiveled
to pinpoint him. "The game's up, commnander. Give up the balls, and we might
let you live. Try and fight, and we'll kill you and take them anyway. No matter
how you flip this pancake, those balls are ours." At this the Core commander
glanced at the Arm commander's crotch and began licking his lips, obviously
relishing the thought of sampling the finest balls of them all, Arm commander
balls! The Arm commander gazed at the sky for a moment, drinking in the beauty
of the sun for what would be the last time. He had made his decision. What
kind of man could live with himself knowing that he had given up his balls
to another? Not this Arm commander, baby. Raising his D-Gun, he smiled faintly,
registering the almost comical circle of surprise that the Core commander's
mouth had become, and pulled the trigger.
And so it ended. Burnt metal and charred bits of balls flew through the air,
littering the landscape like confetti. The Arm's remaining forces, A Jethro,
a Hammer, and a couple of Construction Bots let out an anguished wail in unison
as a tremendous shockwave shook the leaves from the nearby trees. That mushroom
cloud meant the death of their leader, the death of their king. Aching with grief,
they at least could draw solace from the still-intact ball-storage facility,
a post-mortem testament to his wisdom and courage. How many commanders would
have the balls to build a ball-storage facility right under the nose
of those sperm-orb sucking demons, the Core? Not many, that's for damn sure.
And they could draw some small comfort in knowing that the Core commander
went to his grave not with the sweet taste of balls on his lips, but
rather, with the bitter taste of defeat.
Click here to read Chapter 1 of "For Balls, the bell tolls."
