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Things take a turn for the worse

Friday, September 14 9:22 am: Dr. "Beng Beng" Bengsston had just completed his daily routine on the Up and At 'Em Machine when he heard stuttering yelps coming from down the hall. He ran to Whittlocke's office to see that Dr. Whittlocke had opened his office to set to work on his failing "Comedy Amoeba" experiment once again, only to find his entire office in a maelstrom. Rubber vomit, petri dishes, x-rays and bananas seemed to take on lives of their own, as they flew around in a circular vortex.

Cut it out, Mr. Woodchuck!

Whittlocke dragged his computer into the hall and sat there crosslegged for hours, dumbstruck at the one website his computer could still access: Dave Coulier's current comedic project, www.cutitout.net. No amount of cache refreshing could get him to any other domain. Mulling over the inane similarities between Dave Coulier and Jeff Daniels, Arthur mourned the loss of proving the existance of his amoeba, the living entity that is the root of all comedy. It struck him that the one article on Dave's 'In the Media' Page, suggested that Dave Coulier himself could not be responsible for all this; only the evil ghost of his deceased career, as Coulier was clearly too busy managing his "popular" comedy website to take the time and come trash our popular website.

These are the people in your neighborhood


The worst was yet to come though, as Dr. Gutenhosen was soon to find out. Upon taking the trash out (for once!), he stumbled across the most horrifying sight he could possibly imagine. Instead of Rick, the Monday garbageman, Willard saw a mangled form that could only be described as John Stamos' head somehow poorly grafted onto the frail body of an emaciated teenage boy. Willard froze in his tracks; for this was clearly not John Stamos himself, and Willard had (for the first time ever) actually hoped it could be.

The Stamos-beast appeared to make no notice of Gutenhosen, though, and continued in Rick's usual trash-collecting duties, until a moment before it reached the end of the block, it turned to face Willard, who had little choice but to made eye-contact with two fiery red eyes. Nothing short of the finale of Michael Jackson's Thriller could compare. The chilling glare sent Willard running back to the lab, seeking shelter in Pfaltzgraff's file cabinet, which was strangely Cronk-free...