John's Injury Story Contest!

[Ed Evans]

As many of you may have already heard ATF's own John McLaren recently fell and broke some bones in hand...

So in the interest of helping our injuried comrade we are sponsoring the...

GIVE JOHN A BETTER INJURY STORY CONTEST!

Falling at home is a pretty lame story and since he'll be wearing his cast for several weeks we'll have loads of time to experiment with different stories to see which one best fits John's personality!

So pull out all the stops! 
(I suggest battles with undead ninja monkey warriors but that's just me.)

Dina & I will be the soul judges of this humble contest so no story can be too embarassing. 
(It has already been suggested that his hand was broken when he was punched in the nose...old joke, folks.)

The winner gets to sign John's cast!

Let the games begin!!!
-Ed

[BigFiber]

The way I heard it, John was away on one of his annual missions trips to the Central African Repulic (CAR) helping to build hospitals, churches and schools for blind autistic children. On a particularly hot day (it was like a 110 degrees out) John was on his lunch break helping a donkey give birth when he slipped in a pile of donkey leavings. In an effort to not crush an autistic blind child, John did a one handed reverse hand stand and held it for 5 minutes because not only was the autistic child blind but he was deaf as well so he could not hear John politely asking him to move out of the way.  Needless to say, John's wrist snapped. But he managed to hold it for another 2 minutes after it snapped! Just because he could!!

At least, that's how I heard it.

[Katrie]

Well, considering he was actually in his alter-ego form of ToteMan, we can't say what *really* happened, but the official story is that he was catching a box of figures so they wouldn't hit Dina in the head, and it just hit his hand wrong.   

[antihero]

"It's magic, we don't need to explain it." 

[Vam]

The way I heard it, John was away on one of his annual missions trips to the Central African Repulic (CAR) helping to build hospitals, churches and schools for blind autistic children. On a particularly hot day (it was like a 110 degrees out) John was on his lunch break helping a donkey give birth when he slipped in a pile of donkey leavings. In an effort to not crush an autistic blind child, John did a one handed reverse hand stand and held it for 5 minutes because not only was the autistic child blind but he was deaf as well so he could not hear John politely asking him to move out of the way.  Needless to say, John's wrist snapped. But he managed to hold it for another 2 minutes after it snapped! Just because he could!!

At least, that's how I heard it.

  Winner! hehe hand standz,,,

[GlennWalker]

Way I heard it he was approached by a Sinestro power ring and when John tried to put it on, Ed broke his arm. 

Bwahahaha 

[batmatt]

Way I heard it he was approached by a Sinestro power ring and when John tried to put it on, Ed broke his arm. 

Bwahahaha 

Not what I heard...
I heard it was because he was skrull( & you should know Glenn) and that when he activated his power it was so intense it broke his arm, at least thats what she said.

Of course, I also heard from that travelling gnome guy from travelocity that John broke it while trying to re-enact a scene from the classic film "Over the Top"

My peeps who keep it real, tell me that they heard from this guy, who knows this other guy, who lives in John's hood, that what really happened was that John's neighborhood is overrun by a roadrunner. John being John, set up an ACME brand trap, which of course, misfired breaking his arm, on the plus side, it came with a FLUXX card.

However, satellite photos revealed that John sat on a carefully placed Hero CLix figure, that was set-up in a proctology-friendly position, and that when he went to retrieve it, (then no doubt wash it, it is, after all, collectable) his arm snapped, due to his rectal tightness. (This fact was confirmed from an anonymous VS player, who shall remain nameless)

[Ed Evans]

his arm snapped, due to his rectal tightness.

I think I just went blind.
-Ed

[GlennWalker]

However, satellite photos revealed that John sat on a carefully placed Hero CLix figure, that was set-up in a proctology-friendly position, and that when he went to retrieve it, (then no doubt wash it, it is, after all, collectable) his arm snapped, due to his rectal tightness. (This fact was confirmed from an anonymous VS player, who shall remain nameless)

As long as it wasn't a Galactus HeroClix, or a Dark Phoenix, or a Spectre, or a... *ouch* Starro...     

[Zombie_Dad]

Ok, there are a lot of stories floating about as to how John broke his arm, but none of them are true. This is how it really happened...

[Camera zoomed out on the All Things Fun parking lot; quick zoom to front of store; quick zoom to front door. We see John's back as he fishes for the key to unlock the front doors. Cue Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon" covered by Disturbed. A shadowy reflection appears in the door's glass front.]

   "We meet again John...or should I say, ToteMan."
   John turns to face the speaker. Sunlight glints off of the key that hangs from the chain around his neck. He tucks it back into his shirt and smiles.
   "We meet again, Ms. Spears."
   "The key please," she sneers. "I will have the artifact that lies within. Not even you can stop me this time."
   John folds his arms across his chest and strikes a dramatic pose. There is a full minute of uncomfortable silence as a few tumbleweeds roll through the lot and the New Jersey Association of Clown Mimes reenacts George A. Romero's "Night of the Living Dead".
   "No Britney, I am afraid you are wrong. Dead wrong."
   John draws his black steel vorpal katana from some hidden scabbard on his back.
   Britney snaps her fingers.
   "Ninjas! To me!"
   From nowhere and seemingly everywhere (does this make sense? No, but just go with it) a hundred and one robot zombie ninjas surround our hero.
   "Now John, be reasonable. Give me the key and you live. Refuse me and...and, well, let us say that your fate will be worse than what I've become!"
   John shudders but squares his shoulders and arrogantly lifts his chin.
   "Do your worst!"
   "This is madness!" she hisses.
   "This...is...All Things Fun!" John roars.
   And with that, a hundred and one robotic zombie ninjas set upon John and his wildly dancing blade.
   John summons the spirit of Chuck Norriss to power his inner Chi, and with the rabid monkey technique of the Wu Tang Clan, the battle is over quickly.
   John, surrounded by the sparking, twitching, oozing bodies of his robotic zombie ninja assailants points his blade at Britney Spears.
   "It is over," he says. "Just like your career."
   She smiles pulls her deep crimson cowl over her head.
   "So it seems."
   Squealing tires cut through the parking lot and a Ferrari skids to a stop inches from John and Britney. The door is thrown open smashing John's wrist and throwing him through the front glass of the store. John grabs his wrist, biting back the pain from the vicious attack and watches as Magnum P.I. steps through the smoke of the tires and exhaust.
   "Another time ToteMan. Another time."
   Britney jumps in and the Ferrari peels off onto Route 73, fishtailing through traffic and finally blasting off into the air and off into the morning sky.
   John gathers himself up and punches in for another day at All Things Fun.

[Brain Waster]

I heard he broke it fighting the weasel.

[Zombie_Dad]

 "The key please," she sneers. "I will have the artifact that lies within. Not even you can stop me this time."
 

Ok, subcontest...sponsored by.. Nobody in particular....what IS the artifact that lies within ATF??

[GlennWalker]

"The key please," she sneers. "I will have the artifact that lies within. Not even you can stop me this time."
 

Ok, subcontest...sponsored by.. Nobody in particular....what IS the artifact that lies within ATF??

Zombie Dad knows the secret... that inside one of those unsold Zombie Colonel America action figure packages is one of the Infinity Gems...

Glenn

[Zombie_Dad]

"The key please," she sneers. "I will have the artifact that lies within. Not even you can stop me this time."
 

Ok, subcontest...sponsored by.. Nobody in particular....what IS the artifact that lies within ATF??

Zombie Dad knows the secret... that inside one of those unsold Zombie Colonel America action figure packages is one of the Infinity Gems...

Glenn

You know too much!! Now I must unleash the flying monkeys!! (Actually, I've been waiting for a reason, any reason, to unleash them. So, don't feel bad. It's true...ask anyone. Just chomping at the bit to release the monkeys, so in a way...thankyou!)
-Zombie Dad

[Dr. L. Loki]

If you feel you can handle the truth, I will gladly enlighten you.  I have taken the liberty to review all the declassified documents concerning the incident involving John and the breaking of his hand.  No matter how unflattering the facts may be for some people, I have included them for the sake of complete disclosure.  If this offends, or even frightens some readers, I apologize, but often the truth is brutal and cuts true. 

**********

The rays of the setting sun reach and stretch across the graying pavement of the well traveled Route Seventy-Three. The light moves between the various open spaces between the numerous stores.  Finally stabbing past the closed ice cream shop, the vanishing sunlight rests upon the doors of All Things Fun.  With this fleeting light, the sun sets upon this bastion of entertainment, revealing the shadowy truth from within.

A lone man stands at the gates to this fabled place.  His stare cuts through the shadows crafted by the departing sun.  Thump-Thump, Thump-Thump.  John McLaren looks to the horizon.  Thump-Thump, Thump-Thump.  A large brown leaf hops across the empty parking lot, its destination unknown.  Thump-Thump, Thump-Thump.  It swirls up in front of the stoic figure.  Thump-Thump, Thump-Thump.  McLaren plucks the leaf from the air with a snap of his wrist, his movement barely seen.  Thump-Thump, Thump-Thump.  In a silent rage he crumbles it.  Thump-Thump, Thump-Thump.

“They are late,” McLaren mumbles under his breath.  This mission needed to be initiated before they lost daylight.  That means they only have about an hour.

The Sikorsky UH-60L assault helicopter slowly descends upon the empty lot.  The steel bird, commonly called a Black Hawk, is McLaren’s copter of choice.  Its versatility is second to none.  He is disappointed; they had not engaged the 1560 horsepower engines into silent mode.  Two T-700-GE-701C free-turbine turbo-shafts, though quieter than most, will wake up the neighbors if not engaged properly.  These were conversations this mercenary did not want to have.  If General Big “E” is able to hear the beating of the blades, somebody will be going home in a body bag.  Even John did not yet know the potential extent of the general’s rage.

The Black Hawk helicopter touches down gently on the pavement, the fifty-three and a half foot blades as steady as a heartbeat.  Johnson was always the best pilot; he was still going to pay for coming in loud.  Out stepped a man with more scars than a trauma ward from the belly of the eight ton beast. 

“Commander, the crew is briefed and prepared.”

McLaren can barely hear the captain over the roaring engines. Jack Spade is the type of man you want at your side in the thick of things, but he isn’t winning on Jeopardy anytime soon.  If they were briefed and ready, they would be waiting for him, ten ex-leathernecks, fully armed and ready to earn their keep.  The commander moves across the pavement as the wind throws everything about.   

John climbs into the steel cargo bay, looks around and notices the suit.  Ten soldiers and one man in a tie sit waiting for him.  The finely groomed man extends his well manicured hand, “Commander McLaren, pleasure to meet you.”

Instantly he forgets his anger concerning the noise.  The mercenary takes the hand, shakes it firmly, testing the spook.  He knows that this man is from the CIA, or FBI, or some other three letter combination agency.  They all look the same.  It could only mean one thing, the mission parameters have changed again. 

McLaren’s Eight Ballers are a proud band of mercenaries hired by the feds when they didn’t want to get their hands dirty.  Ever since the Andorra outbreak three years ago, there has been more than enough cleanup work.  Business has been good.  Two more years from now McLaren should have enough stowed away to retire to some small third world country.  It might even have a beach.  The only downside of this arrangement is that plans change all the time.

“If you’re here, then something has changed in the mission specs.”

“My name is Tyler Stevens.  I’m from the State Department.  Now John…,” began the suit.

“Commander McLaren,” he says plainly, as if correcting a child.  “Only my mother calls me John, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t her.  And I doubt you are from the State Department, most likely the CIA.”

”Commander,” firmly continues the finely dressed man.  “If you have a seat we can be underway.”  The copter is already lifting out of the parking lot.  As the government official continues, McLaren starts to gear up.  He starts with the modular tactical vest, and continues with his other equipment.

“There have been some updates since our com this morning.”

“What has changed in nine hours?” asks McLaren has he straps on his light weight helmet, nicknamed K-Pot.

“Surveillance has revealed that the nest is larger than we first thought.  It is at least three dozen hostiles.  Now we have already set up a parameter around the old YMCA building.  Three hours ago, two Black Hawks saturated the surrounding area with their VOLCANO systems.  We have quarantined the area to prevent any potential collateral damage.  The mines will detonate after five more hours.  That means get in, accomplish the mission and get out.”

The spook pulls out a circular device, places it on the floor, and presses a series of buttons.  A three dimensional image of the YMCA building forms over the device.  Slowly, the green lit image rotates.

“Now, as you can see from the display we have encircled the perimeter with anti-personnel mines.  They will be deactivated if you are successful within the specified time frame.  Nothing will be allowed to walk out of the facility.  We could, of course, just destroy the building, but we have discovered a potential flaw in that plan.”

“And that is where we come in,” smiles Spade, always pointing out the obvious.  The Commander McLaren tests the loading system of his Belgium crafted P-90 USG.  He loads the 50 round magazines, not quite enough for the day.  He will need to check his pack.

“Exactly.  There is a sewer main that runs under the building.  If they gain access to it, they could be in the Trenton underground network of tunnels.  From there they would spread and we may have another San Antonio on our hands.  And that is a mess I will not have in my territory.  Now we don’t believe they are aware of our plans.  Satellite imagining from the NRO over the past twenty four hours has shown no change in their number. “

Pointing to a place on the floating map, he continues, “This is where there is an access port to the sewer main.  That will be your foot hold.  From there, clear the building room by room until we are confident everything has been exterminated.   You will gain access via the roof here.”

“You give us the objective, we devise the game plan,” reminds McLaren.

“ETA 2 minutes!” yells Johnson from the cockpit.

“Everyone strap in, we will be going low and fast!” commands Spade.

“It seems that there is no plan to use but mine.  We are paying you more than a fair compensation for what you have to do.”

The Black Hawk descends from the northwest of the target.  It cruises quickly from the corner of the Trenton Freeway and South Broad Street to the old YMCA building.  They move quickly over the empty streets.

The ex-marines finish their final check of their gear.  A look of anticipation and professionalism cover the faces of the eleven men in the team, including McLaren.  This is not their first time into a diseased nest.  In fact, this is most likely not their last either.  The jobs pay well since the life expectancy of a man in this kind of raid was about four point two minutes.  The crew begins to attach their lines to make the jump.

“Good luck, I look forward to the debrief,” yells the pressed suit.

The side doors open.  A rush of cold air bites and stabs throughout the cabin, the time has come to test their metal for the next five minutes.  That should be all they need to take control of the first room.  There is only time for one wave to jump from the copter, so this will be an eleven man jump.  McLaren smiles and takes that first step. 

To be continued…

**********

As more and more of the documents are released I shall post more information.  Due to the lack of government response to my requests, it will likely take some time.