Hideki Ryuzaki yawned as he landed on Utopia. He really needed to learn IT. A bit more sneaky and dramatic. Not bothering to glimpse at his radar, he trodded off into the shadows of Nutopia. He pulled out a silver metal stick from the bottom of his bottomless, new satchel. He studied it intently, deciding that silver and blue weren't his colours. He blinked several times as it changed to a black stick with orange trim. "Hmm. Ooh, I like it." He flourished it and wondered just want in the hell it was. The diode at the end glowed orange. And several bits of data appeared in his head. It was the composition of the atmosphere. Also, there was a dragonball. He grabbed it and walked closer to the wall of void dark. He shrugged and pointed the screwdriver at it. "Hmm," Ryuzaki muttered, "Still there, are you?" This came out clearly, more of a shout. "Well. Come and get me!" The shadows moved closer to him, inching in, as a giant beam of ki sliced through the darkness. Ryuzaki looked where it had come from, pleased to see guard towers housing vigilant mercaniarial fighters. "Good. The advert was a success. Oh, a dragonball." Ryuzaki was satisfied by these new measures, and walked away. He decided to screw around for five hundred more pages, before Makoto shows up.
He read a book.
'And so the story says that there was a mighty dragon. The dragon lived in a shiny castle. Why was it shiny? He put lube all over it. I dunno! The dragon had all the riches in the world, but there was one thing he always wanted--- to be shipped with John Watson. Why? It was a pervert. And very envious of that one Smaug guy. Everyone shipped him with John Watson.'
'Harrold the origami walrus was a very proud piece of paper. Until one day, when he became soaked in piss. Then Harrold became Harrold the Piss-Poored Pissed-Upon Piece of Paper. World War III was an inside job! Kill Oswald! Free Fromme! KILL THE JEWS! WORKERS OF THE WORLD UNITE! REQUISCAT EN PACHE. YARGH. KILL IT. KILL IT ALL. BURN ROME. MURDER ALEXANDER VI. MUST KILL LINCOLN.'
Rick decided to stop reading for mow and never pick the dangerous habit up again. It was dirty. Dirty, dirty. And deadly. Lethal. To Jews. Where the hell did that come from? THREE HUNDRED WORDS MOTHERFUHRER.
Ryuzaki dug a hole in the ground. He took a nap.
James May was walking down the Vegas Strip, holding Zabuza's Bigass Sword. He bit the head off of Ichigo, screeching at Bill O'Reilly. "NIXON TRIED TO DEPORT LENNON IN THE SEVENTIES, NOT THE SIXTIES. LEARN HISTORY, YOU SANCTIMONIOUS MOTHERFUCKER."
James May pulled a man out of a car, shouting, "FOOL, I NEED YO' RIDE!" May began to fly around in it all about Los Santos, jumping out and parachuting into Mario's World, landing on a motorcycle, running over mushrooms and Koopas. "Yeeeeaaaaahhhh!!!" James May used the coins he collected to pay Gandalf the White to resurrect Princess Di. He and Elton John and Di all danced about in a garden of yellow flowers, cursing the French and sipping tea. Very British. "Yaaay."
They all skipped to a café, wherein they ate livers and fish and chips and onions and overly stale bread and potatoes and whiskey. Still British.
Ryuzaki awoke with a start. He noticed at once that there was no such thing as Grand Theft Captain Slow. Which was slightly depressing. Someone make that a mod for GTA V. Please?
ONE HUNDRED WORDS, BIYATCH. Nearly there! Ryuzaki forgot he was on the moon, and decided to test something....
John and Yoko led Rick to the coach. "I should have known it wasn't made out of cheese," Rick muttered.
Ryuzaki ran away and thought of what he learned on the show tonight, Craig. Absolutely nothing except that James Mays needs to be the next protagonist of the series. Or just do an entire Top Gear crossover game. "He's not the Stig," Jeremy'd say, "He's the Stig's Gangster Cousin!"
The Stig would be extremely racist, but you couldn't tell, since he doesn't talk.
DONE.
((704))
