2013.07.25 - Tea Party

"I'd like to thank you all for meeting me here," Deadpool says, adjusting his glasses. What are the glasses for? They make us look clever! "We're here to discuss the social definition of being a gestalt entity of what is for now being called TickJokerDeadpoolVorpal, who is with us in spirit and being spoofed by Hulkling." Deadpool removes his glasses. "Nope, we were right, the glasses do make us look more clever," Deadpool says, putting them back on.
For some reason, everyone's seated at a fair-sized office conference table in the middle of Gotham. There's a nice fruit basket set out. Aside from the traffic weaving around them and people blaring on the horns and the fact that they're in Jersey, which ruins everything forever, it's a nice day out. "Now, I don't know about /you/ guys, but I accidentally drank an entire bottle of a psychotropic drug. I'm not sure if you're part of my regularly scheduled hallucination, but we're having fun, so yay! Imaginary besties!" Deadpool coughs into his hand, assuming a business like tone again. "So when we're done here, I move that we as a group hallucination adjourn to the Playboy Mansion."
Gabby Malone goes to: Bludhaven.
"Based on OOC statements from The Tick, I move that this is our first official hallucinatory group therapy session," Deadpool says. "All opposed, eat a bullet?" he offers, waving a gun at everyone.
The Joker takes the gun, opens the chamber and promptly swallows the bullet. Literally. "That being done, I would like to make a motion to nominate Vorpal as our moral compass?"
Vorpal crosses his arms. For some reason, his uniform is more brightly colored than usual. "Moral compass? I can't even find my way through the supermaket. And in any case, I propose nixing the Playboy mansion and going for the Playgirl mansion inste---" pause "There is one, right?" he reaches for the gun and looks into the barrrel "What, no banana-flavored ones? This session sucks!"
The Tick fell through the roof approximately twenty minutes ago. Shoddy craftsmanship, rotted boards, the fact that the Tick weighs as much as a hippo after a hot dog eating contest? Who knows? What kind of crime was he pursuing here? Come to think of it, what's he doing in Gotham anyway? Only his undercover alter ego, Juan Valdez Mexicano knows and, because Tick lost the sombrero during the fall, he himself can't quite remember at the moment. THe other people at the table seem like a trustworthy lot, though. I mean, there's the cuddly talking cat that helped him with the Cottontails, and Mr. Pool, that fellow with all the spicy wieners. Tick doesn't know the other guy, but he's smiling a lot, and Tick knows you can trust a guy who smiles. At the discussion of a compass, Tick chimes in, "Y'know, I always wanted to be in Scouts. Making tents, sewing badges, rubbing our sticks together, warming each other by our big, flaming logs...wait, I'm sorry, what were we talking about? COMPASSES, yes. WEll, let's see, I can never remember which side the moss is supposd to grow on. Are we lost? I think we're lost..." he says, looking around
"Very well then, this will be our /second/ official hallucinatory group session," Deadpool says. He shoots his gun into the air. "The motion carries velocity! Also, the Deadpool seconds that Vorpal is the moral center of the group. Addendum, Deadpool seconds motion that we visit the Playgirl mansion as studs, or to sample the wares depending on if Chris Hemsworth is there (siiiiiigh). I nominate my self as the Id, JokerFace as the SuperEgo, and Tick as the Ego, because someone needs to be nice sometimes and I get bored when I get distracted and wait, who wants tacos?" We do! "First ticket on the docket, is it anyone's birthday or unbirthday?" he asks, slapping a Mad Hatter hat onto Tick. "If it is, keep your mouth shut because we only celebrate on days that end with a 'Y' or a 'Z'."
"Also, you can all stop pretending you aren't on Wikipedia right now."
The Joker pipes up, "And even then, only on the 44th of the month. Now, what's that? I'm a Superhero? FANTASSSTIC! I finally get to show that Bat bastard up at his own game! I'll save people just so I can kill 'em!"
"Don't you know anything about anything?" Vorpal says, exhasperatedly at Tick, "Compasses don't grow on moss, they grow on Kate Moss. You have to be very, very careful when taking them out or she'll beat you over the head with herself as a crowbar... NO BIRTHDAYS, no talk on that ever since Harley decided she had run out of births. NEXT ITEM! Motion passes!" he stops "...what was the moti--- oh, who cares? PASS!"
The Tick adjust the Mad Hatter hat on his head, "If we're doing group time, Dr. Limon always made sure we had skittles. EVERYONE LOVES HOW RAINBOWS TASTE!" he says, putting his hands flat on the table, "And I"m not just nice sometimes, I'm nice all the time. Even when I'm punching Evil right in the face. In fact, especially then, because there's nothing that says nice like bad having a flat spot right where...wait, did the smiley guy just say someting about killing people? Because I'm officially against that, always, especially if it's done by superheroes. And I don't know what a bat has to do with it, but baseball is the American pastime, and there's nothing wrong with all american ingenuity playing a part in our superheroing exploits, no sirree bucko! I'm not sure they should keep hiring blind umpires, though, it seems like a bad idea..."
"The moral compass will refrain from questioning the knowledge of the designated Ego! The Ego's position does not require knowledge of /things/, just knowledge of /stuff/! And the Tick's FULL of stuff! And pudding! But mostly stuffing!" Deadpool shoots his gun into the table again. "The Id moves that we order pizza for lunch, with extra anchovies! Motion carries, motion passes, motion laterals again into DEEP CENTER FIELD AND HE IS RUNNING DOWN THE CENTER AND IT IS GOOD! MOTION SCORES, THE ANGELS WIN THE PENNANT!" Deadpool cups his hands over his mouth and goes 'aaaaahhhh!' 'aaaaaahhhhh'
"Also, Superego! You're the brains around here, get on the Skittles issue, vis a vis, getting and acquriing them in a mattter that the Ego won't notice and the Moral Center won't find Centrally Objectable!" Deadpool consults the chart. "The Moral Center being True Neutral, you may move /one/ step along the alignment chart, in any direction. Need a d10 to make your Roll for Morality?" he says, offering Joker a die.
The Joker gives a mock Salute. "I will obtain the skittles. They won't be the skittles we need, but the skittles we DESERVE!" he then disappears out of sight. He returns driving a skittles truck. Honking the horn, he hangs his head out the door, "WE DESERVE A LOT OF SKITTLES!"
"The moral compass needs food, so perhaps the ID could get off its tuckus and actually DO something. At least the Ego knows where it's at. Buried. Out in the middle of nowhere. With no witnesses. NO. WITNESSES." Vorpal looks around the table, and scowls. "He can't take the moral roll, he hasn't started his character sheet. But I have mine..." he picks it up and shows it "I went with Ernest Borgnine."
The Tick frowns, 'I am NOT full of pudding. I only ate four of them, and they were the regular snack sized. Four snacks is not enough to make a meal. Even the SUrgeon General would agree. The Skittles truck prompts Tick's eyes to go wide, as does the discussion of Ernest Borgnine, "Wow. This is...very...complicated." The simple truth is that, while utterly mad, the Tick's essentially a very large child, with a black and white view of the world, and all this moral fuzziness and surreal behavior is mostly making him confused. His knees are slowly, slowly creeping up towards his chest, his thumb sneaking ever closer to his mouth for comforting suckling. The end of this equation is one of two things: full fetal, which involves Tick rocking to himself and singing the "Teddy Bears Picnic" song. Or maniacal lashing out, which would involved using strength capable of levelling an entire warehouse and using it to...well, level an entire warehouse, except with a lot more screaming and occasional eating of wood. He's a comfort eater, what?
Deadpool reaches across the table and Gibbs slaps Vorpal/Hulkling. "That's what you get for mouthing off OOCly! The Ego's in charge here, that's how it's gonna be! I'm the prettiest /and/ the funniest and OH MY GOD SKITTLES!"
Deadpool dives into the truck and emerges with BAGS OF PRECIOUS SKITTLES! "Taste the FREAKIN RAINBOW BOYS!" he shouts, hurling Skittle packages at the team like tiny but delicious ninja stars. "The Ego is satisfied! Tick! You're in charge of pudding from now on! Joker! Skittles detail! Vorpal! Where are we on the pizza?" Deadpool demands. A car weaves dangerously close to the table, sending napkins a fluttering. "Hey! Crazy driver!" Deadpool says, shaking his fist. "I'm hallucinatin' here!" he roars.
The Joker himself enjoys skittles. "So, let's figure this out. The yellow skittles are klonopin, the purple ones xanax, the orange ones..mm..those taste of lithium..."
Deadpool looks up from a third mouthful of skittles. "Waitwhat?"
Vorpal grabs a helping of Ativan Skittles and pops a few. He stands up and salutes, "REPORT on the Pizza moral situation. There are way too many issuues to really cleave. In a sense, the posttextual paradigm of context states that the collective is part of the dialectic of truth, given that sexuality is interchangeable with language. The characteristic theme of trattoria narrative is the fatal flaw, and eventually the defining characteristic, of deconstructivist pizza identity. VERY COMPLICATED. 'Pizza is fundamentally a legal fiction,' says Derrida; however, according to la Tournier , it is not so much society that is fundamentally a legal fiction, but rather the economy, and some would say the dialectic, of society." He crosses his arms, looking at every member of the session, and then says "Therefore, the verdict can only be but one thing."
"Spoons."
The Tick has his thumb popped into his mouth at this point, rocking back and forth, "I'm a a bumblebee and I'm okaaaaaay, I buzz all night and I bee all day, I float on flowers, I rise and dip, I make a lovely hive..." he says. THe tune is familiar, but hte lyrics are definitely off. At Vorpal's stream-of-consciousness, which may actually have been about stream-of-consciouness, or maybe that's meta, although the only meta the Tick knows about is an old lady who used to live downstairs and let him pet her dog and now that he thinks about it, her name was Netta, so this is probably completely unrelated to that. Rock. Suckle. Stare. "You are mu sunshiiiiiiiiiine, my only sunshiiiiiiiiiine...you make me happy...when...wait...wait, what was that you said?"
"Did you say...spoons?"
"I think you said spoons."
Chair pushed back. Thumb popped out. Mouth slowly breaks into a grin, "Great Dumbledore's Muff, you've done it, Cuddles! I don't have to give a diddly crap about any of this nonsense. Because I believe in the one thing that matters more than any of this...Justice. Justice is the sweet, sweet syrup on top of my toasted waffle. It is the schmear of cream cheese on my bagel. It is the fa la la in my falafel. Does Justice make sense? NEVER. Justice is blind, deaf, dumb, crazy and prone to occasional outbursts of property damage!" He slams his hands down on the table, breaking it into splinters and sending Skittlepills in every direction. "So prepare for the sweet taste of justice, buckos. Because I...am the Tick. And the Tick stands for Justice. And Justice can be summed up with one single, solitary word.
"SPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!"
Deadpool gives Vorpal a standing ovation. "That, sir, was a masterpiece of bullsh- bullhockey. I've not seen such eloquently driven bullshi- hockey in all my days. Even my writer is taken aback at your masterful display of insight and bullshi- hockey."
Deadpool sits down.
"Poop."
"I don't think that's how you spell Justice. Or spoon," Deadpool remarks rather calmly, popping more Skikkles into his mouth. He ignores the chunk of table that goes flying across the street and smashing two cars into compacts. And one compact into a golf cart. "Also, if that's what you stand for, what will you /sit/ for?"
The Joker posits calmly after rolling his eyes, "More importantly, what WILL he do for a Klondike bar?"
"Please... The issue in and of itself is not whether or not we are standing, sitting, reclining or even lounging /for/ Klondike Justice, or even whether we are treating Justice within the pos-cognitive framework of a postmodern epistemology, but rather whether or not we can even understand what it is that one seeks to achieve with an application of epistemology. Teleological impositions need to be swept aside- if solely for the purpose of avoiding running afoul of Sontag and Kierkegaard. if we must finally come to terms with the proper application of..." he pauses, looking at Joker "... I'm sorry, I ran out of juice." He reaches over and takes more 'skittles'. Soon, he starts seeing fairies "...oh wow, I could totally write a post-doctoral thesis on this! I WILL do anything for a Klondike!"
Vorpal did that. Indeed, he did.
Deadpool glances at Vorpal's sheet. "Heeeh. He has a power called 'Floater'. Hehe." Deadpool then shoots Vorpal in the foot. "I'm bored. You're boring me."
The Joker applauds, "That's the spirit! Dance, Vorpal! Dance!" he pulls out a ridiculously large gun and likewise shoots at Vorpal's feet.
Hulkling screams! Then grabs the Tick, with a rose clenched in his teeth, and seethes "YOU HEARD THE CLOWN! TAKE ME TO THE CASBAH! DANCE!"
Vorpal did that too. Hulkling always tries to elbow in on his action. Sometimes he even buttocks in.
The Tick blinks, antennae flicking as he reaches out and squishes Joker's gun with his hand, twisting it slowly into a pretzel. "I. Don't. Joke. About. Justice." he says, "I"m gonna give you buckos to the count of..." he pauses for a second, "I'm gonna give you guys as long as it takes to get your clowny, pouchy, gun-filled butts out of here. Group therapy is no place for violence, that was always IN THE RULES!" he says, stomping firmly. "But that also means no shooting. No guns. No hurting. So, I suggest that you two naughty pants types start running real quick. Because the only kind of dance the Tick knows is the Justice Tango...and lemme tell ya, fellas, I always lead!"
"HEY." Deadpool tangoes past Vorpal and Tick with the Joker, pausing to eye point me-you-me at Tick. "What did Doctor Limon say about breaking other kids toys?" he demands of Big Blue. "Huh? Huh? I think there are STRICT RULES about breaking toys, aren't there, Doctor?" he asks Joker, switching to a big-band style lindy hop.
The Joker nods, adopting a stuffy Brit acccent, "Oh yes, indoubtibly there are rules against breaking the objects and opinions and therefore, bodies of others and while you might do the Justice Tango, and oftentimes lead, you can't do the two step of violence and not walk away without a limp."
"Bazinga," Deadpool chimes in.
"You are forgetting, I am the moral compass, and the moral compass is pointing to NOPE" Vorpal grins, clenching the rose in his teeth, and clings to the Tick. Because Moral Compass had pointed the way, and now Ego had to follow. "... and you can't play Bazinga. it's not out yet."
"This is boring, and I'm tired, and it's nothing to do with you guys all being way crazier than I am, which is bothering me on several levels I don't want to think too much about," Deadpool informs the group. "Don't worry- I'll see myself out." He puts a pistol under his chin and pulls the trigger. It's a bit messy. Deadpool, exeunt stage left.
Category:Log