It is my specious pleasure to be addressing you in the fullness of time. My name is Zombie Orwell. You will be hearing a lot from me in the coming months as we ratchet up the intensity of our Zombie Rights Revolution.
I wish all of you safe human-hunting. Please message me (ZOMBIEORWELL@GMAIL.COM) if you have questions or free tacos.
The office was abuzz with excitement. Everyone had turned up. All of Dtoid's staff members were in attendance, as were and most of the prominent commenters and cbloggers They were all chatting away, waiting for Niero.
“Yeah, yeah. I understand all that,” said PhilKenSebben, “but why do we have to be here in person? I just don't get why this couldn't be handled with a couple fucking emails or Skype sessions. I mean, I love you guys, but I have shit to do back home.”
“I was told we'd all be thanking God for me. That's why we're here.” Jim Sterling was licking his giant purple Saints Row dildo. Phil looked skeptical, but Jim insisted. “Niero specifically told me 'Yo, tubular bro-fist of doom! I'm loving the Jim's Quisition thing! Come on up here to Chi City so we can all thank god for you in person!'”
“Dearest dearest dearest,” mumbled Zombie Orwell, who shambled in circles by himself. “Prescient and Orwellian... Filthy pervert readers.” Just outside the entrance, Sephzilla was clearly drunk.
“So Occam,” he said, “how many bands are you actually in? Cuz, ya know... you like to say 'blah blah blah is the name of my blah blah band.' You some kind of fuckin' music geek?”
“Some Kind Of Music Geek is the title of my PhD thesis examining the parallels between classical music and Metallica's once-fresh brand of angry speed metal. Also, cocks.” Occam heard a whine behind him. He turned around and saw Niero riding up on a Segway painted gold.
“Yo bros!” said Niero. “I have a radical, spastic, stellar surprise in the Dzord hangar. Let's go!” They followed him inside, where Niero addressed everyone. “Yo bros and bro-ettes!! Cool shit is gonna happen in the hangar! Let's go!” They all all filtered into the hangar. Niero spoke again.
“Let's get started, you silly chicken butts. As you all know, Dtoid has officially gotten its millionth Huge Member! And I decided it would be totally rad to celebrate. But check it, yo. This ain't just any ol' celebration. This. Is. Fucking. HUGE!! Just like the name of the membership! That's rad-o-rooney!!”
“Oh, cool! Do we all get a 3DS painted like a Pikmin?” asked Jonathan.
“Even better!” Niero directed their attention to the massive tarp behind him.
“For anyone new to Dtoid, let me quickly explain something. We have Dtoid and a Dzord. Dtoid is our website, whereas the Dzord is the mech we use to protect the world from evil publishers and inferior gaming websites. At the moment, every legitimate gaming website on the globe knows of the existence of the Destructzord. Worse yet, dudes, so do a number of rogue publications. They are all working on deploying their own Destructzord to compete with our site's radical blogging capability. Games journalism is about to see a swarm of these inferior Dzord derivatives, ya dig?
“We initiated development of the Huge Membership as a counter measure to these pirated Dzords. The only thing that can stand up to a Destructzord is, of course, another Destructzord. With the Huge Membership, the dozens, of not hundreds of Dzord copies that may soon exist all over the awesome-sauce world are no longer a threat to games journalism. The blind rush to Destructzord proliferation will be contained. It will be Dtoid and our newly reconstructed Zord that will accomplish this.
“There you have it, friends. With this Dzord we will save all of games journalism, probably. And now, with the added bonus of a million Huge Members, I have taken it upon myself to mod the Dzord, giving it the ability to fuck the entire world! Through the totally tubular process of science, I've developed a way to convert a small part of the soul of each Huge Member into actual,” Niero raised his arms and looked skyward.
“Huge,” four columns of flames shot up behind him.
“Metallic,” doves were released from cages. Several of them flew into the fire and came plopping down on the concrete floor.
“MEMBERS!” The tarp fell. Behind Niero stood the Destructzord outfitted with one million large metal phalli.
“He's talkin' about penises!” said Jim.
“YES!” shouted Niero. “I'm talking about penises. Gigantic, indestructable penises!”
Mr. Andy Dixon gasped. No, Andy! Stay your idle hand. Do not bring more shame upon House Dixon.
“Can't we just talk about videogames, you guys?” asked Jonathan.
“NO!” shouted everyone in unison. They all stared in amazement at the enormous, glistening Destructzord.
“Oh, man. I was really hoping you'd give us all a Pikmin 3DS. I don't like giant robots. You guys already know that violence isn't my thing. And the sex stuff makes me frown. We're a videogame website, and Pikmin is so great. You're a cute little alien guy. But it's also horrifying. It's definitely my favorite survival horror game.”
“A million Huge Members have been converted into a million huge members adorning our sick-gnarly mech. A million huge members, yo!”
“A million huge members!” they all repeated, except Jonathan.
“A MILLION HUGE MEMBERS!!” screamed Niero.
“Videogames,” implored Jonathan. “Please.”
“HE'S TALKING ABOUT PENISES!!” shrieked Jim.
“Cookie's goin' in the oven,” said Jonathan.
“First one to the top gets to pilot the Dzord for two hours!” yelled Niero as he grabbed a large metallic phallus and started climbing. Everyone else rushed forward, eager to begin the ascent; everyone except Jonathan Holmes, who had now become his alter ego, The Silent Cookie. He pouted and sat on the floor, arms and legs crossed, immune to the gleeful cries of his coworkers.
“This is the greatest moment of my life!” yelled Jim, who had reached the Dzord's torso. Everyone climbed. Up and up they went, and still further up, using the million huge members as hand and foot holds. Down near the knees, OpiumHerz, Strider, and Elsa made steady progress. PhillKenSebben, Occam's Electric Toothbrush, Smurfee Mcgee, and Hamza were right behind them.
Narrator X – They were so happy.
Only two were left on the ground. The Silent Cookie continued to pout, while Zombie Orwell could only look up and curse his decomposing body. All this excitement has infused my powerful cerebellum with an even more powerful hunger, he thought. I must needs feast forthwithly upon the flesh of man. He watched the humans clamber up his beloved Destructzord.
I shall starve before I capture one of them. He saw Mr. Andy Dixon and Sir Tobii struggling to knock each other off. They had both chosen to climb up the green metal buttocks. The path less taken.
The Silent Cookie sniffled. Zombie Orwell heard him and turned around.Brains, he though.
“Brains,” he said. Brains. He shambled toward Cookie, who had opened his diamond-studded briefcase and was fishing for his 3DS. Cookie found it and started playing. He was immersed in a bright, colorful, cheery game about animals or cute monsters or something, completely unaware of the prescient figure shambling towards him.
“Ghrarghshrgh,” gurgled the zombie. Unlike Mick Jagger, I shall soon have satisfaction. Every step brought him closer to sating his thirst for flesh.
In his game, Cookie was talking to the mayor of Raccoon Town - or something equally pleasant - when he felt a sinister (yet Orwellian) presence approaching. He looked up and Zombie Orwell was on him, all gnashing teeth and groping hands. Cookie tried to scream, but remembered that he was no longer Jonathan. He could not speak until he had cleansed the spirit of a Dtoider with soap and foam.
Zombie Orwell's hands were very busy touching inappropriate places. Worse yet, his teeth had locked onto Cookie's shoulder. Oh no, thought Cookie. I need to shout, but I haven't sudsed anyone up yet! He frowned and tried to push Zombie Orwell off of him. If only I weren't so weak. But I'm just a cookie, I wish I was some kind of tough mob boss with a diamond-studded briefcase as a pistol on... Wait! I AM!!
For just a second Cookie remembered his life before the oven. He reached for the pistol on his calf and put a bullet in the zombie's temple. Little fuckstick. A second later, after Zombie Orwell's corpse slid off him and hit the ground, Jonathan felt The Silent Cookie overtake him again. He picked up his 3DS and kept playing.
Back on top of the Dzord, Mr. Andy Dixon was immeasurably proud. He had reached the head first. House Dixon shall be remembered forever. They shall write songs about this day. He felt a beat in his stomach and a groove in his rib cage. He looked up.
Nile Rodgers was playing the groove Andy felt. It was the purest groove he'd ever heard. Two robots were providing bass and drums. An unimpressive falsetto voice was urging him to dance, so he did. Right there on top of the Destructzord he lost himself in the music. More people joined him, but he didn't notice; he was too busy bringing glory to House Dixon with his righteous moves. Jordan Devore and Hamza paired up and started swing dancing. Occam's Electric Toothbrush and Elsa were lindying, but Occam kept tossing Elsa so high that she spent most of her time in the air. Jim, of course, had torn off his clothing and was foaming at the mouth, all gyrations and spastic flopping. Below them, Cookie played his 3DS, smiling at the happy animals on the screen.
The only person not dancing was Niero. He was sitting on the mech's shoulder, watching the happy dancing fools. He knew what would happen next, and it filled him with dread. They need this moment. Soon they will be on a trail of blood and vengeance. He let them enjoy what he knew would be their last few minutes of happiness in a long time. Everything will change when we open the hatch. What on Earth have I agreed to?