Warren G. Report

Warren G: This story begins at Fejj’s and Nej’s house where one evening, Nej accidentally dropped a pencil onto the floor.

Nej: Oh no, Fejj, could you get the pencil for me?

Fejj: Oh, sure!  I’ll get it for you!  I see exactly where it fell on the floor!

Nej: Get it, Fejj!  Get it!

Fejj: Here it goes!

Fejj bends over to pick up the pencil, but he pulls his back.  Fejj winces and yowls in pain.

Fejj: My back!

Warren G: And so then Nej took Fejj to the hospital in an ambulance to find out what was wrong and what could be done.

Doctor: Excuse me, Mr. Fejj, I’m the doctor.  We’ve taken a lumbar puncture from your back and I’m afraid we’ve found some disturbing finds.

Fejj: [Anxious] What are you talking about?!  What’s going on in there?!

Doctor: Mr. Fejj, I’m afraid that what’s going on in your back is noodles.  There’s noodles all over the place.

Fejj: [Interested] Dinner noodles?

Doctor: I’m afraid so, Mr. Fejj, so you’re going to have to take it easy on your back – no more bending over, picking up pencils, you’re just going to have to leave them be.

Fejj: [Frightened, Defiant] I don’t know if I can do that, doctor!

Doctor: Well, Mr. Fejj, I hope for your sake you find a way.

Warren G: And so Fejj and Nej went home with a back brace. Well, not Nej – just Fejj.  So when Fejj and Nej finally reached home, their cat greeted them at the door with a meow.  [Cat meows.]  And of course, Fejj’s petting instinct kicked in.

Fejj bends over to pet his cat, but the noodles give way.  Fejj yowls again.

Fejj: My back!

Warren G: Suffice to say, the cat was none too amused.

Warren G: Today, the Warren G. Report has the distinct honor to interview The Champion of Charades. So, B’hab, how did you get to be so good at Charades?

B’hab: Oh, I’ll tell you something, Warren G. – When everyone else was looking around and doing things, I was practicing my Charades.

Warren G: You have a passion for Charades, clearly!

B’hab: More than anything else, Charades runs in my veins.

Warren G: Even more than blood?

B’hab: Well, when you’ve got Charades, who needs blood?

Warren G: Are you telling me that the Charades delivers oxygen and nutrients to the various parts of your body?

B’hab: Yesterday, I fell on a sharp thing and Charades came out!

Warren G: How do you clean up a pool of Charades, anyhow?

B’hab: I don’t know – I kind of just threw a towel over it.  [B'hab points over toward the mess.]  Uh, you see that over there?

Warren G [Disgusted]: Uh, jeez!

B’hab’s Wife [Playing Charades]: Okay, B’hab, what am I doing now?

B’hab [Didn't even break a sweat]: That’s a lisping monkey inferno!

Warren G: Wow, that’s very good!

B’hab’s Wife: And now?

B’hab: Fluffy cloud insomniac!

Warren G [Speechless]: I’m speechless!

B’hab’s Wife: Last one!

B’hab [Proudly]: Derailed rollercoaster bumper car death!

Warren G: That’s the worst kind of bumper car death!

B’hab’s Wife: And how!

Warren G: Well, B’hab, I’ve got to hand it to you, I don’t know who would want to play against you!

B’hab: Neither do I, Warren G.  Neither do I.

Warren G: Well, there you go, folks, that’s The Champion of Charades.

B’hab’s Wife [Curiously]: Hey, what’s under this towel over here?

The Warren G. Report has identified this duo, these “Mahatma Brothers.”  Our policy here at the WGR has always been to name names, and so we shall name the names of these Starving Siblings.  Their names are B’hab the Backhanded and Sir Smuglas the Smug.

Take great care as you proceed through any of the halls surrounding the Jerk Lab, for it will be quite difficult to spot a Mahatma Brother before smashing into him (or through him, given the consistency of the meat on their bones).  On the other hand, if you listen carefully, you’ll hear the growlings of neglected, terrorized, and green-leaf-dissolving stomachs, crying out for passable sustenance.  “I’m dying inside of this Mahatma Brother!” they’ll roar to no avail. “Halp! … Halp! … H-*cough* *cough* *cough*!”

They are an infectious bunch, this Brotherhood of the Mahatmas, as others have been tempted to join their ranks.  A single one-ounce fruit cup and a spoonful of low-fat granola is the order of the day.  And it is that meager meal that the Mahatma Brothers hope to share not simply amongst themselves, but with hopefully a third or fourth brother!

The Mahatma Bros. have tiredly spread their good word.  “Throw out your steaks!  Throw out your steaks!  Eat a ply off your napkin!” bellowed B’hab, as best as he could with whatever energy he had left in him to force some guttural utterings up and out of his windpipe.  Sir Smuglas tried the same as his brother, but passed out and crumpled over while making the effort.  That, sadly, made B’hab  jealous of his brother, for it showed plainly for all to see that his brother was more committed to the Brotherhood of the Mahatmas than was he.  His cheeks took on the hue of the maraschino cherry sliver that he gobbled down moments before at “lunch.”

Please, please, please! The Warren G. Report implores you: steer clear of the Mahatma Brothers!  Sure, you might save a lot on groceries, but at what cost?

Ah, it’s almost February – the most treacherous month for travel is also the month where the least mercy is shown to the commuting workers that work in Prison Town. Every company/organization/whatever has their own crack team of Morning Deciders who have it in their power to determine whether or not their company or organization or whatever will be closed for the morning or for the day, all depending on how dangerous it might be for their workers to attempt the commute. Well, the Jerk Lab has always been at the mercy of their own crack team of Morning Deciders, and today is no exception! Let’s follow one plea for help that went unheard this morning.

Jim Harmurker is a hard worker, though this morning he ran into a bit of a snag as far as getting to work is concerned. Before opening the front door of his house, Mr. Harmurker noticed a bear rummaging about on his front lawn. Certainly, he thought to himself, the Morning Deciders would be sympathetic to this kind of situation! Jim Harmurker called up the Morning Deciders at the reins of it all to inform them of his sudden new spell of trouble.

“Good morning, Morning Deciders!” Jim exclaimed, hopeful for some modicum of mercy.

“Hello, Jim. Shouldn’t you be heading in this morning? There are no volcanoes that have already erupted; there is no lava flowing down both lanes of each street! Where are you, Jim?” Decider One asked Jim.

“Well, heh, that’s the thing, Decider One – I can’t leave my house!” Jim cried.

“What?! Why, are you ill?”

“No, Decider One, I cannot leave my house because the travel would mean a certain end for myself, and probably everyone else in my home, should I not be able to close the door in time!” Jim continued with his plea.

“And why not?” Decider One piped in, aggressively.

“There is a bear outside of my house. He’s milling about, and he knows I’m due to leave for work any second!” Jim continued even further. Jim put the phone to the window, “You can even hear his hungry and expectant growls!”

“He’s worried about a bear!” Decider One said mockingly to Decider Two.

“I will be growling in a short moment if you do not pull yourself together and disembark for work, Mr. Harmurker! We’ve seen folks come to work in far worse conditions than this, and you’re trapped in your house? – By a bear?” Decider One exploded in demeaning laughter.

“Shame! Shame! Shame!” both Morning Deciders cackled.

“All right, I’m going! Maybe I can give the bear the slip!” Jim Harmurker stated.

And so Jim Harmurker creaked open his front door.

“I’m going for it!” Jim cried as he bolted out and off the front steps, bounding toward his vehicle. That’s when the bear’s head whipped ’round and caught sight of the poor worker.

“Aaaaaaarrrggh! It’s got my leg!”

Decider One shook his head. “Have you got no drive in you, man? Dispatch with the bear already and head to work!”

“I – argh! – I can’t! It’s hanging on really, really tight! I don’t think the bear is going to change his mind!” Jim shrieked.

“Listen, responsibility shirker, I want to hear that engine humming and pealing out of the driveway in ten seconds, or you’re finished! Do you hear me?!” Decider One threatened.

“I’m done for!” wailed Jim Harmurker.

“I’ll say! – You’re fired!”

“Aaaagh!”

“You can get your things on Monday; they’ll be close to the curb in a box marked: ‘Please don’t steal me, please,’” said Decider One.  “Good-bye.”

You can attend Jim Harmurker’s funeral service on next Tuesday, which is when the bear informed us he’d be kind enough to return the body.  Thank you and have a good night!

Geometry Wars: Retro Evolved 2 is a game that came out for the Xbox 360 gaming console on July 30th, 2008. From that day, Benenate, B’hab, and myself played all six gaming modes furiously to capture the top spot. Not long after that, Mike Warbucks the Travel Monkey joined in the fray. Month after month, we wrestled for the top spot and cursed each other bitterly.

Then came the upset. Fejj, who had once refused to join in on the Geometry Wars competition, thrust himself into the fray last night and in what seemed like only twenty minutes managed to best B’hab, Benenate, and Mike Warbucks in several categories – particularly in the most prized, Pacifism. He even came damn near close to my own scores! How could someone in twenty minutes accomplish what none of us could for countless months, hour after hour?

Our experts at the Warren G. Report came up with some possible explanations:

1. Fejj is a magical cyborg. They play pretty good with the slightest effort expended.
2. Fejj hired a professional Geometry Wars player to play the game for him. He flew the professional player in from whatever country he might have originated from and sat him down in front of his Xbox.
3. Fejj interfaced directly with the Xbox, bypassing the clunky controller.
4. Upon request, the devil himself cast a “Slow Time” spell upon Fejj, giving him ample time to react to a game he had barely even taken in a glimpse of before.
5. Fejj had “the goods” on a certain Microsoft Xbox Live employee and blackmailed him.

“Mike Warbucks, how do you feel about the upset?” I asked Mike Warbucks in an interview.

“Ennhhhhh,” replied Warbucks, shrugging.

“B’hab, your take?” I asked.

“I’m gonna shoot up the place!” B’hab burst out.

“No, wait until you get home before you do that! And Benenate?”

“He flew in a professional!” cried Benenate.

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” Fejj laughed, knowing all too well.

“Yes, we’re mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore!” everyone shouted defiantly.

So which direction does the Arrow of Truth point? The Warren G. Report will find out!

And so Fejj and Kob set out for lunch at Moe’s!

Kob [Adamant]: Now remember Fejj, don’t embarrass us this time!

Fejj [Defensive]: I’m not embarrasing anyone! I just want to eat!

Kob: All right, all right; calm down.

Moe’s Sandwich Maker: Welcome to Moes! Can I take your order?

Kob: Yes, I’ll take the “Joey Bag of Donuts.”

Sandwich Maker: And you, sir?

Fejj [Out-of-breathedly]: I’ll take the Queso!

Sandwich Maker: Just Queso?

Fejj: The Queso!

Sandwich Maker: So that’ll be one “Joey Bag of Donuts” and one “The Queso!”

And then one minute passed.

Sandwich Maker: Here’s your Joey Bag of Donuts, sir!

Kob: Thank you!

Sandwich Maker: Now I just gotta pour the Queso!

[Sandwich Maker proceeds to pour the Queso.]

Fejj: Ooooh! That’s it! Pour it slower! Slower!

Sandwich Maker: Here you go, sir!

Fejj [Drawn-out] Quuuuuueeesoooo!!!

And then Fejj, so anxious to get the Queso, accidentally knocked it onto the floor.

Sandwich Maker [apologetically]: Oh, hold on, sir. I’ll get you another one.

Fejj [Determined] That won’t be necessary!

[Fejj does the unthinkable.]

Kob: No Fejj, no! Noooo! Why, Fejj; why?!