RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block Team Nasty Force!

So, how to begin?

They always say you should start at the beginning. So that's what I'll do.


It was lunchtime. I was hungry. . .


The line outside of the neighborhood Strippers & Waffles (TM) snaked out around the building and into the parking lot. Inside, at the head of the line stood Brute Force, digging into his jacket pockets in desperation. His costume dirty and tattered. His face unshaven. The cashier was not impressed. Neither was anyone else.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but as I told you before, we don't take Mandelovian D'Goonmarks as payment. Nor we do take La Perditan currency, if there even is such a thing."

BF continued diggin in his pockets. "Wait, wait, here we go! My Vanguard International card. You know, "Don't leave it at home" right?" BF smiled as the cashier swiped his card.

"Sir, your card has been declined."

"What?! But I'm a hero! I fought in the liberation of New York and Mandelovia! I saved a big high ranking goverment official all by myself! I'm also a member of the Strikeforce!"

"Sir, we're not allowed to accept Strikeforce cards since the maple syrup incident."

"Oh." BF frowned, remembering what he'd done to ACK's last suit of armor.

"Hey!" BF snapped his fingers. "I just found this awesome pic of me and my cousin at the Van Halen concert from the early 80's!"

"Sir, that's not a legitimate form of payment."

"Oh. Uh, you do know we're talking Van Halen here and not Van Hagar, right?" BF leaned in and looked at the cashier as someone in the back groaned.

**********************************

Balls Nasty pulled into the Strippers & Waffles parking lot. His custom made hot rod/monster truck still looked like it was tearing ass around the parking lot even when sitting still. He deemed it good.

Then he saw the line. "Balls Nasty doesn't like waiting for his waffles." Nasty began to walk towards the entrance. "Hey, you have to wait in line, jerkass." A man with a hat with the initials DRC said.

"Balls Nasty doesn't wait in line." Nasty grabbed the man by his shirt and stuffed him in a garbage can. Nasty then pushed and elbowed his way towards the front. Finally, he made his way to the front where BF still stood, arguing with the cashier.

"Hey, fruitcake! Hurry up and pay for your All-Star Lapdance combo and go wash your tights! Balls Nasty is hungry!"


Time seemed to freeze as Brute Force turned and looked at his antagonist. Everyone was quiet. Brute Force stared at Balls Nasty. Nasty stepped up to Brute Force.

"Well, what's it gonna be?"

"That voice. I've heard that voice somewhere before. . ." Brute Force questioned, forgetting his previous situation, yet still looking at the man in front of him. "Holy shit! Your mullet!"

"Balls Nasty's spent years growing it! The ladies love to run their hands through the mighty mullet."

Brute Force held up the photo of the two kids at the Van Halen concert. He pulled off his mask. One of the kids had a very prominent mullet and wore a Lynyrd Skynyrd wifebeater. "Don't you recognize me? It's Ben. Your cousin who moved to Florida years ago!"

The crowd that had gathered gasped at this shocking and improbable reunion.

bruteforce User 25+ posts 7 seconds ago Reading a post
Forum: Writer's Block
Thread: Team Nasty Force!

Balls Nasty gunned the hot rod monster truck down the road as he munched away at his chicken wing and waffle platter with his free hand.

"So, munchcrunchsmack," Nasty began, "Remember that chick you liked who we met at the concert and how I took her home that night? Haw haw haw! That was a great night, wasn't it?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, could I just get a-" Nasty slapped BF's hand away from the box of food and continued eating and talking.

"Remember that time at recess when I pulled down your pants in front of all your friends? Wotta laugh!"

Yeah, great, could I just get-" Nasty slapped BF's hand away again and continued his activities.

"So, what have you been up to lately?" Nasty finally asked after finishing the food off and dumping the box outside the window, nailing a sign that read "Fine for littering $200".

"Well, I'm kind of a superhero, I was in Vanguard for a while there. . ."

"You're one of them?!" Balls slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt and causing a three car pileup behind them.

"Well, I was, but I left after we freed Mandelovia. Then I was in Strikeforce for a while, but after the maple syrup thing they kinda kicked me out. . ."

Nasty started up the truck again, oblivious to the litany of cursing wrecked drivers he left in his wake.

"So you're freelancing these days?"

"Uh, kinda yeah. . ."

"Balls Nasty just had a great idea!"

"Do you always refer to yourself in the third person?"

"Well, yeah, it adds to my character. But anyways, We should team up! We could show those losers in Vanguard how it's really done! Two badass, wild eyed Southern folk heroes ready to rock out to some bitchin tunes!"

"And get lots of chicks?"

"Hells yeah!"

our first fan letter!

Six months later. . .


BF sat on the couch, holding the remote and flicking through the channels.


". . .that's when I realized I had a problem. I was addicted to smoking cigarettes through my butt. . ."

Click!

". . .goes together like a nerd and a computer!"

Click!

"RIIIIIIIIICOOOOOOOLLLLLAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Click!

"Ball Smacker! Tell your friends!"

Click!

"In a world. . ."

Click!

Balls Nasty entered the room and plopped down on the couch. "So, any idea what our first mission should be?"

Brute Force stared impassively at the television set.

"Kill the jackasses who approve these crappy tv shows?"

Click!

"Now back to Hell's Chef!"

"Balls Nasty occasionally likes to watch cooking shows. They help Balls Nasty to expand his culinary horizons."

"Now we're back with our special audience guest chef. . .What is your name, sir?"

A short, black man in a yellow luchadore mask stood in front of the microphone. "Uh, Danny. . .Uh, I mean. . .can we start again? The Luchadore. Yeah, I'm the mighty Luchadore. El Lucha Libre! AWWWAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The luchadore began to run around the set before Chef Junior tripped him, causing him to the drop to the floor much to the delight of the audience.

"Now, if you'll just join me in our cooking area, I'll relate some war stories while I show you how to prepare our Duck Confit. Do you know what Duck Confit means?"

"Uhhh. . .the Luchadore looked around dizzily at the prepared kitchen area. "Torn up duck?"

The audience laughed as the Luchadore smiled and held up his two thumbs for the cameras.

"Isn't that cute? BUT IT'S WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!" Chef Junior smacked the table, causing the Luchadore to jump up to the ceiling.

"Duck Confit merely means it's been cooked in it's own fat and juices. Now, did I ever tell you folks how I had Saddam in my sights and couldn't get the kill order?"

Brute Force and Balls Nasty stared at the television set. "There's something wrong here." BF stated.

"I know. That audience guest has no right anywhere near a kitchen." Nasty replied.

"No, no, no. I mean, this show is not entertaining. It's not funny in the least. This guy hasn't even prepared a bit of food in twenty minutes! Yet we can't turn away and the audience is in hysterics!"

"Balls Nasty sees what you mean! It's train wreck tv!"

"And it's our first case! Team Force Nasty is going down to Hell's Chef!"

You mean Team Nasty Force!"

"To the Nasty Mobile!" Balls yelled out as he ran out the door.

Four hours later

"Don't tell my heart. My achy breaky heart." Nasty kicked out his feet as he line danced with a middle aged biker chick covered with faded tattoos and a nineteen year-old waitress pregnant with her third kid.

Bruteforce sat at a bar with a laptop in front of him, tapping away. "This is great. Most places like this don't have wi-fi."

"We don't either," the bartender responded.

"Then what have I been typing into?"

The bartender swung the laptop around to get a look at the monitor. "McAfee," he answered as he turned it back around. "Looks like you got some serious viruses on there too."

A perplexed Bruteforce reached for his beer when a hand slapped his away. Balls Nasty siezed the beer. "You know you can't drink. You're the designated driver." Nasty turned up the mug and engulfed the beer inside.

BF turned his attention back to the computer. "There seems to be something wrong with the Team Force Nasty..."

"... Team Nasty Force..."

"... crime computer. First and foremost, I can't find Jewel Quest anymore. Secondly, we seem to have a lot of viruses. It looks like a lot of malware from porn sites."

"Yeah, about that," Nasty spoke after downing three shots. "I was doing some... ah... research for... ah... sting operation that I was planning on. By the way, don't delete my bookmarks."

"Look!" Bruteforce yelled out way too loudly while pointing at the TV above the bar. "It's Hell's Chef again! They're re-running tonight's episode." He looked around the bar to see everyone's eyes glued to the set. "Why are people in a sports bar watching a cooking show?"

"Yeah! The Mud Racin' Invitational should be on ESPN 23 right now." Nasty downed a few more shots he made himself while the bartender wasn't looking.

"This is worse than we thought," BF mused out loud.

"What is?"

"We can't dileberate any longer. We must act! To the Nasty Mobile. Give me the keys."

"Hell no!" Balls objected.

"But... I'm the designated driver."

"Aww, hell. That's just a figurehead position. Like President of the United States."

"What?"

Balls Nasty looked around real quick before moving in closer and whispering, "Shadow government. Mole men invasion. But I may have said too much already." Slowly, he raised himself back up. "Fuck it, man! Let's go!"

Bruteforce began to run for the door when he turned around and noticed Balls Nasty wasn't behind him. "The door's over here!"

"I know," Nasty said from the back of the bar as he was prying a neon Budweiser sign from the wall. "This son of a bitch is going to look fucking awesome in my living room."

"Go start the car! I'll handle this!" BF reached up, flexing his muscles and ripped the sign from the wall as Nasty headed for the parking lot. BF tossed a handful of D'Goonmarks on the bar top and followed. He ran for the Nasty Mobile tossing the sign in the back and jumping in behind it, barely making it in as Nasty hauled ass out of the parking lot.

Fifteen minutes later, after BF had been tossed all over the back of the Nasty Mobile, he dizzily staggered out and over the side. Looking up, he saw Balls, flanked by the biker chick and the waitress.

"This here," Nasty said, motioning towards the biker, "is Wombat. and this," he motioned towards the waitress, "is Jenny Sue. Which one do you want?"

********************************

BF woke the next morning in his room, completely naked except for his mask. The room was in shambles. His genitals were in severe pain. "Owwwww. . ."

"I see you're up finally." He saw Wombat preparing to walk out the door. "Here," she set a slip of paper down on the table. "That's my doctor's number. If you get any growths on your pecker or it burns when you take a leak, give him a call." She walked out the door.

Twenty minutes later, BF staggered out into the kitchen.

"Ohhhh, I'm no angel. . ." Balls Nasty jauntily entered the kitchen tying his dirty robe shut. "Hey, there, man! I hear Wombat left you her doc's phone number! I think she likes you." Nasty rummaged around in the fridge, pulling out a six pack of beers. "I tell you, y'all made a lot of noise last night! I could barely hear me and Jenny Sue! She is quite a little horny toad."

"For Gob's sake, Balls!" BF snapped. "She's pregnant! Tell me you didn't-"

"Hey hey hey! What sort of scumbag do you think Balls Nasty is! Balls Nasty is a gentleman!"

"That's a relief!" BF fell back into a kitchen chair.

"Balls Nasty went in the back way." He polished off the six pack, slapping away BF's hand again.

Much, much later. . .in the karaoke bar. . .of justice. . .Brute Force scribbles away in a Hello Kitty journal. . .of justice. . .


Brute Force's War Journal entry # 634, 892. . .uhhh. . . yeah. . .

Team Force Nasty, excuse me, Team Nasty Force, I've just been reminded have trailed the audience members of Hell's Chef to a local karaoke bar on a recon mission. This show has some real weirdoes in it's fanclub, I'll tell you.

FIrst of, there's a big, fat, purple skinned guy in a leather vest and pants with the worst Russian accent I've ever heard. . .

"Mela ko nekkee na honka. . .is being what you are saying, comrades!" Blackwulf continued mangling a song as the audience mostly ignored him.

using the Team Nasty Force special code, we've designated this one "Purple Jerkass."

BF reached for a hot wing just as Balls Nasty danced by with an aged blonde woman in a cowboy hat. Nasty slapped his hand away and danced off with the hot wings.

The next weirdo audience member we've termed as "Hairy Dipshit." He keeps looking around and talking to his backpack. Must have some sort of high tech communication device stored in there.

Johnny Bates attempted to get a waitress' attention and order a drink, but instead, shot off a fire ball that ricocheted around the bar. BF failed to notice this and kept writing, despite the singes on his hair and journal.

The next freak was the special audience guest chef who we've dubbed "Gimp in the Yellow Mask."

The Luchadore sat at the far end of the bar, trying to hit on one of the ugliest women BF had ever seen. Balls Nasty and the old cowgirl plopped down next to BF, their faces covered in hot wing sauce. Balls saw the Luchadore and began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" BF asked.

"That," Nasty nodded towards where the Luchadore sat. "Is not a woman. That's a dude."

"How do you do know?" BF asked.

"Balls Nasty was drunk and lonely here one night. Balls Nasty doesn't want to talk about it. MORE HOT WINGS OVER HERE!!!!!!" Balls and his date continued making out.

"You getting bored of this?" BF asked.

"Not in the least! Balls Nasty hasn't seen this much action since he was a pro wrestler! Hey, baby, did I tell you how I beat Flex Flannagan? Or about the time I won the DCMBs Championship?"

BF returned to his journal entry.

Finally, there's the one we call "Monkey Boy."

Across the bar, Dr. Jody Huerta sat scribbling away at his own notes. Simultaneously, BF and Huerta raised their heads and looked across at each other. Both noticed the other, then quickly returned to what they were doing.

"He's spying on us! He knows we're on to their plan!" BF mused. "Must think of a distraction!"

BF picked up a salt shaker and hurled the contents into his own face. "GAHHHHHH!!!!! Why the hell did I do that?" BF attempted to wipe the salt away, as he finally did so, he saw Jody Huerta standing over him.

BF slammed his journal shut.

"Nice Hello Kitty journal." Dr. Huerta offered.

"It's my Team Nasty Force War Journal. Though it is a clever disguise." BF countered.

"Oh, of course. May I join you?" Huerta sat down.

"Look buddy, just because I have a tight fitting costume. . ."

"No, no, no. You've got me all wrong. I know what you are. You see. . ." Huerta attempted to explain.

"That's it! Team Nasty Force. . .NASTYFORCEANIZE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BF jumped up and attempted to twist Huerta's hand, but the psychologist used his natural agility to go with it and countered the move, flipping BF over and onto the table!

"Comrades, we are having problem!" Blackwulf leapt off of the stage and onto Nasty's back as Johnny spun around the bar, spilling drinks and various condiments. The Luchadore and his "date" remained oblivious.

Brute Force and Balls Nasty stood face to face with the B Teamers as Johnny spun around the bar in a whirlwind, shooting out fireballs randomly. The jukebox continued to play as the bar patrons hurried out into the parking lot.

"Finally!" A dark figure declared in a far too overcrowded vehicle. "It is time to set my plans of vengeance into motion!"

Back in the bar, Nasty hurled an empty mug at Blackwulf, whose mouth expanded to devour the glass whole. "Ulp! Is being much tasty, comrade!" BF swung at Huerta, who dodged the punch and leapt around to the side.

"You've got this all wrong! I just want to help you!" Huerta offered as BF picked up a chair and swung, missing again. The chair shattered on a table top as Huerta scrambled under the table. "I'm a psychiatrist!"

"That's even worse!" Brute Force responded throwing the table aside. "You bury the hopes and fears of the hard working common people under your psychobabble! You're in league with Hell's Chef! Admit it!"

"No! We're just fans of the show!" Huerta exclaimed. "We won free tickets!"

An explosion caused the bar to shudder as one of the side walls was instantly vaporized and several costumed figures walked in through the spot where the wall formerly existed.

"Now it is time!" Lord Blast strode to the front of the bar, followed by Ouchman, Download, Psycho-X-Teammate, and several othere D list wannabe villains. "For Lord Blast's Personhood of Badness to reveal ourselves and take over the world!"