Additive format. it starts like this:
"A man walks into a bar ...."
(then you add something)
Your mother is a saint, I guess you never ate your brussell sprouts, did you Marco? He started weeping softly to himself. You broke her heart, didn't you Marco, with your murderousness, and your villain mustache, and your devil may care ways, didn't you? His sobs were ever so slightly more palpable. You never did your chores, back on the hog farm, and the farm went under, didn't it? He was now putty in my hands.
So, your youthfull rebellion, and denial of guilt turned into 3rd world dictatorship, with a side of hot dog experimentation, didn't it? But that wasn't enough for you, you had to prove the hypothesis that the professors at hot dog university laughed at, didn't you? He was now completely disarmed. Ready for mother. Her subterranean homemade blue transport was just docking into the transport bay, when he looked at me and said: ....
I never liked yo Freebolt, I think you know that, but of all the underhanded lousy things I would have thought you capable of...I never thought you would have stooped so low as to tell my mother on me. That is as low as a person can sink in my book.
With that he turned and ran down the dock with both arms outstretched yelling "Mommmmmyyyyy" "It's so wonderful to see you" I noticed she was carrying a rolled up newspaper and a belt. I figured he would be tied up for a while which would buy me enough time to bring down the weiner abomination's this labrynth held. I believe if I could blow up one of the steam vents I saw earlier I could bring an end to this unholy hamlet, this horrendous hot dog haven from hell once and for all.
As I set out to procure the necessary equipment I needed to blow the joint to smithereens I was shocked at the scene in front of me. There stood a frankensteined out, zombiefied monster, pieced together with both body parts and toothed hot dogs protruding from every part of his body, like a fat porkupine. All the parasitic dogs were alive and snapping at me as he approached....it was Al Roker, not the corny morning show host but an evil Roker with bloodshot eyes, red drool and a shuffling gait. His glasses were melted to his face, one lens was stuck to his cheek.
All of a sudden a door behind Roker slammed open and Al spun around to see what the commotion was. As he turned his back to me, I seized the opportunity to high tail it around him. As I was passing him I noticed a kielbasa with a large set of canines blast out of his asshole and lunge at me. I jumped sideways and it extended itself out to bite and rip my jacket as I leapt past.
Once I cleared the the disaster that was once Roker I finally turned to see who opened the door,... Oh my god!!! Oh my fucking god!!!!. it was...
Mr. Peanut: diplomatic emissary of all foodkind. I'd heart that he began talking a few moths ago, but, seriously, he made Clinton look like a door to door vacuum salesman. Just what this Caveateria needed, a politician!
It was all bla bla bla we have our own laws we'll deal with him in our own way, etc etc. I says to him: "you're under the US of A you salty limey! So, You'll obey the intentions of the founding fathers, Jefferson, some other freemason guys, John Adams, Washington, Smith & Wesson". That last name had him nearly dropping his bottom peanut. Wesson ... Oil. Yes, The newly founded Corn Products guild owed me a favor. And that crack in the ceiling, why, I could see air wafting in. A plan was forming. I snuck over to the snack phone, and dialed an ouside line ....
"Hello, I would like to place a collect call to Earl Wesson at 444-330-3939" "One moment please" (on hold) ♫...a hundred men or more would ever dooo..."Go ahead" Earl!! it's Chad Freebolt!! Listen buddy , I have a huge favor to ask...I'm calling from a hot dog factory full of murderous genetically altered weiner/sausage beings that eat human flesh...I'm going to need a few agents from the cornfederations elite corn guild, subdivision of the highly secret cornfellows unit, a tanker full of highly combustibe corn fuel and if you don't mind, a large pizza to go, no anchovies..hello...hello??? Earl? are you there??........fuck".
Earl could be a douchebag like that sometimes, I probably shouldn't have added the pizza, oh well..This isn't the first time Chad Freebolt did a solo recon mission and iot won't be the last. Time for Plan B, Mr. Bigmouth Peanut man was still pontificating when I started wondering just how flammable he was..
Just then Mr. peanut began whipping up a storm, food rights etc. etc. He got so lost in his speil that he wandered out on to the street grill. Mmmm. Smelled like ... vengeance. Suddenly I found, that Mr. peanut was very flammable. Just then, the sky cracks started streaming oil. Wessen, you old guy who pretends not to be about to do stuff, then does it. In the distance, I saw my spelunking rope still dangling at the cave mouth. I non nonchalantly closed the door to the oscar meyer weinermobile, started it with a screwdriver, and high tailed it toward the exit. I gave a honk, slowed down, and let Marco's mother grab on to the rear view mirror. Her saintly hands grabbed the polished chrome, and her matronly shoes stepped up on the running boards. "That'll teach you Marco, perverting science with your friends,while your mother waits for you to call" she said, not batting an eye while the hot oil made a deep fat fryer out of the cavern.
For an octagenarian, she knew her way around climbing gear. She was clear, and I was halfway up when I saw ...
several stalagmites tip over on their hinges and out came the hot dog imperial army. There were mililons , no billions of them, some slithering like snakes others flying with wings and others large and pustulous. The one thing they all had in common were the teeth, those old lady ravaging, horrific, body boring teeth!! god deliver us!!.
Chad knew this meant big trouble, they had to be stopped!! he had to save the world and end it right here...right now. As Chad cleared the hole after Marcos mom climbed out (she had a dress on and he looked up once....only once) he noticed Mr. Peanut all whirling around slapping at himself, he was definetly overheating, the whole area smelled like roasted peanuts. He kept mindlessly whirling and slapping until he made it to the hole that Chad just came out of. Chad knew two things, one..if Mr. Peanut were allowed to recover, his political agenda might have us all surviving on zweiback, and I always hated zweiback!! and number two...the hot dog hordes needed a feeding to distract them long enough for Chad to effect his hot dog holocaust scheme.
The obvious choice was the feeding. Chad ran a shoulder first body blast into Mr. Peanut which sent him straight into the cavern. The dogs went for him immediately...each and every one of them. Mr. Peanut was totally covered and the writhing mass of hot dogs and peanut butter splash grew and grew. Chad had to work fast..he knew they would be occupied long enough for him to...
... Remember that one day in highschool chemistry. That first lab that made it seem like the whole rest of the class would be interesting. No, not that one where you put a penny in zinc and make it look like it's gold all over. Or that one where you crush a soda can by putting it in cold water. The one where you burn a potato chip to see how many calories it has. And potato chips these days are made with ... peanut oil! Not thinking twice, which would be a rare occurance anyway, Chad flipped out his trusty zippo, dumped most of the fuel on the writhing hot dog peanut mess, lit it and said a tearful good bye to the best friend his front right pocket ever had.
The peanut oil caught, which ignited the wesson oil. It was all screams and delicious aromas echoing through the cave like a ten nugent song. Not cat scratch fever, that other one. You know, that one with the screamin' guitar solo. Aw hell, let's just say it was cat scratch fever, I'm tired of trying to remember, and I just keep hearing do do do do - do do do.
So Chad and Marco's mom get out of the cave, by climbing and junk, and go out for a nice meal.
Got you twice