"How do you get MS Paint to save as JPG??"-Carnelien
"stare it down" -SlingsNArrows
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| Sven's Three | | | Author: | | | IP: | s0.dial1XXXX | | Date: | 02/06/02 05:02 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 6, Min: 6
Lifetime Rating for Dragonsven: 5.6000 |  |
*Disclaimer*
This story is meant to be an amusing (I hope) parody of Ocean’s Eleven and the situation of spammers on battlereports.com. Anyone who takes offense to this report was probably meant to. If you find yourself in that group, go fuck yourself. As for the description of Bob_the_Newt, no matter how funny he is, I think he’s earned it over the years. Enjoy.
Sven walked into the room as if he owned it. That is because he did. Burgundy rugs covered the expansive hard wood floor while a huge fireplace was roaring with flames across from the door. The walls were covered with bookshelves which were in turn covered with hundreds of dusty volumes, some thousands years of old. Sven sat heavily into the only chair in the room and stared off into space, obviously contemplating matters of some weight.
Loud footsteps at the door were not enough to break Sven from his reverie. A horizontally proficient (he’s fat) man filled the doorway. Seeing Sven, the man rumbled with laughter. The skinny, tallow looking Sven looked up slowly, not amused. His hand went self-consciously to his purple suspenders which he snapped quickly with a flick of his thumbs. With a huff, Sven got up and extended his hand to the man but then pulled back abruptly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his pale green pants. “Too slow, Yugtaf!”
Yugtaf poked the nose piece of Sven’s large, thick, black glasses with his index finger and laughed again. “Thinking about Jessica?”
“No. I’m not straight anymore. Where’s Dick?”
“He’s coming. Stupid bloke got his knickers caught in the car door again.”
Sven sat heavily back into his chair and launched back into deep contemplation. A few minutes later Yugtaf turned to the door to greet the newly arrived Dick. Dick was a sharp contrast to Yugtaf. Yugtaf was forced to wear a huge red dress reserved for fat, bearded ladies because of his enormous mass. Dick was incredibly muscular and wore a tight fitting black body suit along with black wind pants. His blond hair was slicked back with wax. When Dick spoke his voice was high pitched whereas Yugtaf rumbled and his beard trembled with each word. Dick greeted Sven, “Hi Svenny!”
Looking up eagerly, Sven said, “Hello there, Dick. Please do sit down, both of you.”
Both men looked around curiously at the empty room and then back at Sven, who was in the only chair. Yugtaf shrugged and remained standing while Dick pranced over to sit at the foot of Sven’s chair. “What’s the job, Svenny poo?”
“Well, Dick, I assume you’ve been to battlereports.com.”
Dick’s face colored. Under his alias “Crunchymaker”, Dick had spent countless hours writing reports which were vastly unappreciated by the community there. They even had the audacity to call him a “newb”. As if playing BGH, writing reports without punctuation, and being an overall asshole in the comment section was that bad. Yugtaf looked just as angry. Under his alias “Crunchymaniac”, he had also surfed battlereports.com for the many hours when he was not entertaining female guests at his no-bedroom apartment (he was on br.com all day).
Yugtaf growled out, “What’s your plan, Sven?”
“We’re going to hack battlereports.com.”
There were gasps all around. Hack battlereports.com? Impossible! Dick voiced his doubts tremulously, “Haack br.com? Are you crazy? Mark4 might whip us! Oh wait...”
Dick went off into a day dream where Mark4 was “punishing” him while Sven continued to speak. “You’re right. This will be our hardest mission yet. Even harder than getting pictures of naked people, otherwise known as “porn”. We all know how long that took us. Kudos to Dick for figuring out we had to click on the “Yes” button on that disclaimer thing. You go Dick!”
Dick blushed. “Oh stop it! So how are we going to do this?”
“Well Dick, first we’ll need an admin password, which we won’t have, a valid IP address, which we can’t fake, Internet Explorer, which we can’t afford to buy, and a keyboard without the entire top row of characters missing, which we can’t steal.”
“Sounds impossible.” Yugtaf said.
“Oh yeah, and we’ll also need to create a new account with br.com’s File Manager, which isn’t working.”
Dick looked up at Sven like a puppy. “So what’s your plan, Svenny?”
“Grab a bag of doriotos, break open a game of DND, and pray to God.”
Dick looked horrified. “Really?”
“No. I was just “playin’”. You guys are so gullible.”
Laughter. “You’re really funny Sven.” Yugtaf said.
“I know, I know. So, the real plan: “Operation TIME is not on YOUR SIDE”. Yugtaf, you’re going to pretend you’re really not a moronic newb and make fun of |]agomar to distract attention away from the “View Reports” section. Dick, you’re going to pose as the gosu reporter “TIME is not on YOUR SIDE”. You’re going to report an awesome game on BGH called “7vs1 comp: The Day I Got Owned”. While the br.com’ers are distracted by Yugtaf’s forum post I will sneak on br.com as Necrosausage! and give your report a 10! When the poor bastards realized how bad they’ve been owned and how justice has finally brought down their fragile house of cards, they’ll scatter to the winds. Battlereports.com will be ours!”
Yugtaf raised his hand slowly. “I thought you said we won’t have the admin password?”
“Oh yeah...shit! Looks like Plan B. We’ll get an admin password from Bob_the_Newt. Dick, you’re going to offer Bob free butt sex which I’m sure he won’t be able to refuse. I know I couldn’t.” Sven winked.
“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” Yugtaf proclaimed.
“We can’t fail. Let’s go to it.”
***
Bob_the_Newt’s doorbell rang at approximately 2:00 am. It took Bob a few minutes to figure out how to unrecline his reclining chair but he got to the door as quickly as his huge beer belly would allow him. It seemed that sitting on his rickety porch, drinking cheap beer, spitting tobacco, and calling people niggers was not a one way ticket to a hot bod’. Bob opened the door and fairly drooled at what he saw. Dick stood decked out in the tightest orange body suit he owned. Bob gasped out, “Hey baby, looking hot! Come give Daddy a hug.”
Dick jumped into Bob’s arms with arms flung backward coquettishly. “Oh Bobby! I’ve waited so long to meet you!”
“The wait’s over hot momma. Come give daddy some lovin’, sweater meat!”
“Okay!”
Four hours later Dick walked out of Bob’s house bowlegged. He was heard to mutter as he got in his car, “It was all good until he couldn’t get it up and had to whip out his “better”. Stupid 3 inch dildos.”
Back at HQ, Sven and Yugtaf were hard at work. “I can’t get the computers to turn on Sven.”
“Hm, let me take a look.”
Sven looked around. The monitors were hooked to the towers. The towers were hooked to the printers. The phone lines were connected to the phone jacks. The computer plugs were plugged into the power strip. “You fucking moron. How many times do I have to tell you not to plug the power strip into itself? Sweet jesus!”
“Sorry Sven.”
Sven plugged the power strip intot he wall outlet. Yugtaf hit the power button on all three 133 mghz, Pentium II processor, 640 MB hard drive, 32 RAM, 14.4 k modem, round roller mouse, purple Compaqs. A soft blue glow filled Sven’s study. “They’re alive! Now what?” Yugtaf proclaimed.
“According to the manual we have about 3 hours before the computers finish loading. Let’s go grab an apple juice and a lean pocket.”
“Sweet.”
***
Three hours, forty two minutes, and nine seconds later, Sven ,Yugtaf, and Dick were online at battlereports.com. “Okay, Operation TIME is not on YOUR SIDE begins now. Yugtaf, go post your |]agomar spam on the Forum. I suggest a message along the lines of ‘|]agomar, you’re a sucky reporter and deserve to have your heart ripped out with a dull spoon.’ Emphasize the dull spoon. Go on with ‘I’m a much better reporter than you and can also beat you at Magic: The Gathering with my White deck with both hands tied behind my back.’ Got that?”
“Gotcha, boss.”
Yugtaf typed away slowly at his keyboard, the tip of his tongue sticking out as he frowned in concentration. The message was ready in no time but it took twice as long to send it (30 minutes) over the 14.4 k modem. Dick noted, “Wow, now this is real speed! Much better than my 7.2 k at home!”
Sven added, “I know. Who needs cable anyway? This thing can download a 20 KB file in 15 minutes! Okay, on with the Plan. Dicky poo, time for you to post your BR as TIME is not on YOUR SIDE. Make it good!”
Dick plugged away at his keyboard, one finger at a time. Sven looked over it quickly and murmured appreciatively. “Wow, this is pure OWN! I love how you mentioned your 20 row photon cannon strategy. That’ll take battle.net by storm! Okay, let’s send it!”
A few hours later the BR hit battlereports.com. Sven sat in the corner reading Michael Jackson’s autobiography, Yugtaf was sitting in the middle of the room trying to hump Sven’s cat. Dick was at his computer hitting refresh every ten seconds looking for the first comment on their BR. Unfortunately, Operation: TIME is not on YOUR SIDE had failed. The password Bob_the_Newt gave them, “buttsex”, did not seem to work. They would have to depend on God’s justice and the altruistic empathy of the Earth’s populace to get a good rating (they’re fucking screwed).
Suddenly, Dick gasped. “Our first comment!”
Sven jumped up, throwing the autobiography lovingly into it’s purple case. “Let’s see it.”
Dick clicked on “1” and the comments screen appeared before their eyes...slowly. When the screen finally finished loading they read the comment from Sovereign, “You are the biggest fucking newb I have ever seen. This was a piece of shit that deserves nothing more than to be used as a piece of toilet paper (which is an oxymoron within itself). This useless waste of valuable bandwidth is enough to get you all arrested for cruel and unusual punishment of the citizens of the United States. Fuck you.”
There was a moment of silence and then all of a sudden all three leaped up and clapped. There was a frenzy of hugging and crying. “Our best comment yet! I think they like us. Yeah!” Sven cried.
All that day the good comments kept poring in. After a very satisfying day of having their mothers threatened with their lives, a big round of fuck you’s, cries of “ban”, and a warning never to report at br.com again, all three men went to bed content. All except Yugtaf, who never did get the chance to hump Sven’s cat. The End.
***
This has been a Dragonsven Production. |
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