Magical Talking Panties

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We're greeted by the pleasant pitter patter of the clear water splashing up from the cupped hand of Chris "The Tang" Winters, who is, at this point, shivering in his undergarments. It seems that he's kicking and stroking his way through some major body of water and looks up to see his womb-to-tomb tag team partner, the magnificent Ripplemagne, doggy paddling his way through...

Bright early in the morning, all we can hear are the birds and crickets chirping throughout Australia. Our view is meek as we can only see the two quirky superstars and the base of land in the distance. From our view, it's clear to see that The White Mage is filming from a rowing boat...

Each ripple in the water seems to send chills down Chris Winters' spine as he cringes and grimaces, seemingly paranoid about the water he's swimming in. Even though he's, obviously, a much better swimmer than Ripplemagne who flops around without any kind of finesse, The Tang seems to be the panicked one of the two. As droplets of water roller coaster around his curly-q brunette hair and down his chiseled jaw, a fly seems to land on his nose, prompting him to swat it away... and nearly drown himself. Fail.

On the other hand, we see the uncharacteristically wavy hair of Ripplemagne matted to his face from being filled by the lucid body of water that they're navigating. Quite surprising when you consider that it's, normally, styled to perfection. Though, there's not much that can be done when swimming. Nevertheless, he seems to have taken the measure of tying it back in a ponytail, preventing the water from leaking into his eyes...

The Tang:
"Ripp'... I dunno about this, man. I was watching a documentary about Box Jellyfish on the Discovery Channel and they're the most venomous marine animal known to mankind. Shouldn't we have at least brought Sarah along? She lives in Australia. She probably knows more about this stuff than we do..."

It's clear, at this point, that the body of water they're navigating is infested with Box Jellyfish as they kick and stroke their way through the water.

Ripplemagne:
"Straylia is lucky if she can remember which side of the toast she buttered -- the left side, of course. The pulchritudinous Ripplemagne is the brains of this outfit..."

Dear God...

The Tang:
"Still, don't you think we could get better exercise by swimming a few laps in a pool? Preferably a heated one? It's barely spring! Swimming is not the recommended outdoor activity!"

Ripplemagne:
"Isn't 'recommended' too long a word for your meager vocabulary? The Ripplemagne knows that you were raised to speak that grotesque Canadian language, but you're as bad as a Mexican! Learn the language, Thong!"

The Tang:
"It's Tang! And there is no such Canadian language! I asked my teacher every day in elementary, middle and high school."

Ripplemagne:
"Did you now? That is a testament to the immortal failure of the Canadian educational system for the Ripplemagne is a cunning linguist and has adorned himself with the merit badge of Canadian fluency! Oh-ho! You thought that the Ripplemagne was ignorant to your underground language of secrecy and total hush-hush! Well, the Ripplemagne has news for you! The marvel that is the Ripplemagne is well acquainted with this Skull and Bones society you Maple loving pudenda are constructing!"

The Tang:
"Oh! You like Marvel? The Tang likes Marvel!"

It seems that the two are making very little progress as they drift forward to... wherever their destination is...

Ripplemagne:
"Retract your statement, you flaming Hockey stick! Only the Ripplemagne may speak in the third person!"

The Tang:
"Fine. But if you know the Canadian language so well, then say something in Canadian..."

Ripplemagne:
"Eh?"

The Tang:
"Say something in Canadian!"

Ripplemagne:
"I just did!"

The Tang:
"You did not! I'm telling Sarah that you're playing head games with me again! You know you're not allowed to confuse me! It makes me do things..."

Ripplemagne:
"But the Ripplemagne used 80% of the Canadian language in one sentence!"

The Tang:
"Can we just go back to the hotel? This is giving me the willies."

Ripplemagne:
"Look, mon ami... we are lions! Kings! A lion is without fear or hesitation! Hehe... I said lion and king. Where' Njord when ya' need 'im, eh? Osnap! I did it again!"

The Tang:
"Actually, Ripp'... you're a lion. I'm a tiger..."

Ripplemagne:
"Does that make Straylia a bear? Intriguing. Anyway, all that means, my pancake eating friend, is that the Ripplemagne has prettier hair and is, overall, prettier. Which is true, anyway."

The Tang:
"Oh. Alright! But... wouldn't a lion and a tiger drown? "

Ripplemagne:
"Do not attempt to refute the Ripplemagne's magnificent analogies! They are magnificent! And... analogical."

After a few seconds, we see Tang whining and whimpering, once again, as he tries to catch up with Ripplemagne and... fails to despite swimming faster than him. Abuse of physics? Or just Canadian fail? You be the judge!

The Tang:
"Man, I hate being in Australia..."

Ripplemagne:
"Do you, now? The hearty Ripplemagne, quite, enjoys being in Straylia. She's so warm and--"

The Tang:
"Box Jellyfish!"

Ripplemagne:
"What did the Ripplemagne tell you about cutting hi--"

Before Ripplemagne could finish the sentence with 'him off', beams of water engulfed his face as he saw Chris Winters in his orange speedos bolting passed him at near subsonic speed. As though he were aquaman, The Tang began to thrust his finger tips into the water, using his biceps for leverage, kicking and paddling his legs as his eyes did not stray from the destination of land far off in the distance.

It was clear that this excursion got to him at this point as the sun gleamed off of his soaked skin. With every thrust into the water, he could feel the creature bearing down upon him as the lucid complexion of the sea was cut by The Tang tearing into it like a fist right through a slab of meat.

Suddenly, the thoughts of his childhood raced toward him as he could envision himself aboard the runaway freight train in the Spiderman movie and the venom of one of the most vicious creatures on the planet as the stagnant pavement below.

Every image from his childhood to his fall at the hands of Hunter Weiss during the Action League Reunion Tour. Memories of the Puppet Masters -- Panther... Cougar... AJ the Bomb... Jester Smiles. Memories of Pure Frontier Wrestling, where he squared off for the last time against Synkai Deivenia in a confrontation for the ages.

The word 'Kace' was written on the back of his eyelids as he could see himself dealing the Air Tang, among his other trademark maneuvers. Drinking with his friends... traveling with Ripplemagne... competing in the ring...

Was it all over? Could he survive? It felt as though his beating heart was in the palm of his left hand as he grew pallid and used the bursts of his adrenaline to flee...

It was cruel how he swatted gallons of water in front of him to the side, but the hammering in his gut and the racing in his chest caused him to grit his teeth and move. But with every enveloping swing of his arms, the invertebrate inched closer and closer, now, viewing him as prey...

Finally, he felt its icy talons clap around the back of his neck, one tentacle jamming up into his throat as it tugged him against his course. The Tang flailed and tumbled around as the beast grabbed hold of him and dunked him under the water before tugging him backwards. It was solid and warm as he tried to escape its grip...

The Tang:
"It's got me! It's got me, Ripp'! S-Save yourself!"

Finally, he was grabbed by the face and spun around to see Ripplemagne's fuming face staring dead into his eyes...

Ripplemagne:
"Is this your box jellyfish!?"

In that instant, we can see Ripplemagne thrust his hand up from beneath the surface to reveal a... rag. A very soaked... very old... rag...

The Tang:
"...Yes...?"

And the last thing we see before the cut is Ripplemagne swatting The Tang across the back of the head with the rag...

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Ripplemagne:
"Blast! Straylia, fetch me a tum! Those pretzels and pancakes from that dinky little cafe are backing up on me!"

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The following presentation is rated M for Mature. If you are offended by sexual content or cultural references, please do not continue.

Thank you.

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And now, for your feature presentation...

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The oxygen was thick as the fog set in over the flat, fertile soil, so spongey from the rain fall that it resembled Eco Earth. The land was lush as sprouts could be seen rippling from the dirt, spiraling upward as if reaching to the sky. It was just the right density; its fertility was in prime conditioning, but wasn't so muddy that your sneakers would sink in from standing atop the spongey soil.

Scattered about like zits on a teenager were miscellenous greenery adorning the billowing tree tops, which shaded the sun washed clearing. In the distance, we could see a stone molded structure of kinds with white barred fences decorating the exterior and forming the perimeter of the entire complex. It was well crafted with automatic opening gates and a booth outside, where cars would drive through and check in. From the looks of it, it seemed fairly busy.

Here, we see a black cab of sorts lugging an enormous pink and orange trailer on its tail end, but it seems to have stopped at this point. As the headlights settle down, we can see the well dressed, bald man inside step out, revealing his classy, gray moustache before heading over to the nearest door of the trailer, where we can see a heart-shaped window, coated with an orange frame.

Dusting the tails of his blazer off, the chauffer hauled a staircase from beneath the trailer out and set it up in front of the door, so that someone may come down from the elevated point of the trailer. His bald head glistening like the dew in the sun breathed horizon, the man waddled his lanky frame over to the symmetrical door on the adjacent side of the trailer and, once again, hauled the stairway from underneath by the doorway before taking a deep breath as though something very unbearable were inside...

Each step up the portable staircase clanked as the man's leather woven shoes sprawled up, his flushed, yet decrepit, hands reaching up and tapping against the surface of the metal door with the snap of the wrist.

The setting was stoic as the man stood before the door etched with a mighty bird, carrying a cross of sorts. The lion head door knob gleaned against the sunray at its forehead as the roaring mane-wielding mammal stared the employed man in the eyes...

...There was no answer...

Finally, the chauffer tried again, raising his hand for a more solid strike against the door, but as his hand approached the pink-painted door, it swung open full speed, whacking the bald headed man in the shoulder and sending him over the edge of the steps and onto his back in the spongey surface...

Standing in the doorway of the trailer lavished in decor was a champagne-haired lad with his bangs casting down over his right eyebrow, beyond his high cheek bones and to his defined chin. A solid, yet slender frame with a black cloak of sorts hanging down from his shoulders and sprawling down his shapely arms. The trench coat sleeves were left unbuttoned as they flapped, parted around his white linen gloved hands. Wrapping around each curve in his rife physique was a baby blue, skin tight, vintage fit t-shirt with a vivacious design on it. Extending from his round belt buckle and the leathered coated in studs that circuitously bandaged his waist was a pair of faded 1969 bootcut jeans.

Stepping forth with a proud puff of his chest and a hearty whiff of the fresh air of Australia, the wrestling prodigy, Ripplemagne, placed a daring step forward upon the white DC sneaker on his left foot before following suit with the black one on the other appendage.

Delicate and slender looking, one would never picture the lad to be a professional wrestler. No less a proficient one, but then again, beneath his smocks was the cut frame of an athlete.

Ripplemagne:
"Hello? Who dares knock upon the door of the magnificent one and ditch his ding dong!"

The well sculpted pectoral muscles of the barely legal lad accentuated his inclining love handles as he scoured the plains with the pupils of his eyes. After a few seconds, we hear a murmer echo beneath the rickety metal steps leading to the trailer as the camera zooms in to show Ripplemagne's ear rising upon the cacaphony of the mumbling...

Glancing over the edge of the steps, Ripplemagne tilts his head as a big grin appears on his face. Saluting the chauffer, Ripplemagne's Italian lavished New York accent fills the air waves once again...

Ripplemagne:
"Benson! What're you doing down there?"

Having been, obviously, hurt, the man just murmers once again as Ripplemagne releases the salute and leaps down, ankles together and bouncing off of the posterior of this Benson fellow and then onto the soil...

Ripplemagne:
"What is this blasphemy?! Straylia! Stop diddling yourself in the bathroom and come answer my convoluted queries!"

There's a brief pause before an auburn haired girl crosses the doorway and motions outward. Wavy hair snapping from the slightly more aggressive wind outside the trailer, her green eyes were encompassed by that of her creamy white complexion, slightly flushed at the cheeks. Clad in fiery red skirt casting just below her bottom and a white t-shirt snuggling her waist and hugging the curves of her breasts.

Her seemingly alabaster skin complimented the ebony shawl she had on over the skin tight t-shirt. Nearly translucent white stockings stemming from her black flats coated her legs all the way up to the climax of her radiant thighs...

The beautiful manager of Matinée ex Machina, Miss Sarah, strutted down the steps the clanky trailer and lightly pressed her narrow feet against the dirt, approaching the ring rookie...

Miss Sarah:
"What is it, Rippie? The Tang is doubled over in the bathroom because of those pancakes at the Hell Hound Cafe, Mufasa scratched up the curtains on the window, we hit a speed bump and milk spilled and I'm pretty sure a woodpecker attacked me while I was taking a nap. I am in no mood."

Ripplemagne:
"Hehe... you said woo-- Wait! That little fur ball tore up the grandeur Ripplemagne's curtains?!"

Miss Sarah:
"No, he tore up the ones in the kitchen that I just put up."

Ripplemagne:
"Oh, well in that case... hehe... you said wood... and peck."

Miss Sarah:
"Where is Benson?"

Ripplemagne:
"I think he said something about the door to destiny opening for him. Or some kind of door. Who knows where he is?"

In spite of the fact that Benson is, clearly, still lying on the ground from when he was mauled by the door, Ripplemagne shrugs as Miss Sarah raises an eyebrow and looks toward the hotel erecting (hehe erect) from the ground...

Miss Sarah:
"Well, the trailer can remain here. We were lucky to get reservations before vacancies ran out here. So--"

Ripplemagne:
"Ah, yes! The blasphemy! Why are we at a hotel?! As far as the Ripplemagne is aware, this is not prom night and although we will be doing what kids do on prom night a little later on, the Ripplemagne is not wearing a top hat and tails and is, thus, bewildered as to why we are here. After springing The Tang's entire trust fund -- to which we will not mention to him -- on this lovely vehicle and dominion of win, the irrefutable-logic permeating Ripplemagne does not see why we would check into a hotel."

Miss Sarah:
"Well, we booked the rooms before you decided to buy this thing without consulting anyone. And as beautiful as it is, I'm experiencing jet lag and I want to sleep in a grounded bed."

Ripplemagne:
"Do not use that tone with the Ripplemagne! He is the Juggernaut, bitch! No, no... he is James Magnum. That's right... a true hard ass. You want fight?"

Staring him down, Miss Sarah just blinked a few times and cocked her head before raising her knee and... low blow! Wait... it seems that an unprecedented clasp of Miss Sarah's ankle has caught her dead in her tracks.

Ripplemagne:
"As the Ripplemagne said... he is the mother fucking Juggernaut, bitch! Falcon... Punch!"

As Miss Sarah seemed stunned by this maneuver, Ripplemagne grinned, reared back his arm and connected a deep thrust of his fist into the breast of Miss Sarah. Alright... it wasn't a hard punch, but it sure as Hell looked like it. Either way, the clash of his fist into her breast caused it to nearly immerse before he winded back and raised his hand...

It seemed as though Miss Sarah's eye pupils shrunk as she grabbed her breast and doubled over; Ripplemagne standing proud due to his victory, despite it being a very meager strike...

* * *

During this time, the scene shifted to the hotel room, where we see Ripplemagne sitting on the flowery designed quilt of the bed with his arms crossed and two black eyes. There is a sour look on his face as Miss Sarah dusts her hands of the situation and makes to the bathroom...

Ripplemagne:
"Well, how come Tobias Stone and Reese Bla--"

Miss Sarah:
"Davenport."

Ripplemagne:
"Well, how come Tobias Stone and Reese Voldemort can brutalize Morgan Greene and you don't give them black eyes?! It's because I'm black, right?!"

In that instant, Miss Sarah steps out of the bathroom, clicking the light and passing by the camera, while speaking...

Miss Sarah:
"First of all, you're wearing eye liner. I said I'd let it slide if you agreed to the hotel. Second of all, Morgan Greene was their opponent that weak and you and The Tang bashed chairs over their heads. Finally, no matter what Njord tells you, you're as white as chalk."

Ripplemagne:
"Chalk white and just right. Porcelain be the Ripplemagne. Isn't Reese a chick's name?"

Miss Sarah:
"It's unisex."

Ripplemagne:
"Whoa! Universal sex? Like... like a worldwide orgy? That would totally be the buttsecks brigade... or the never ending story... rated R. The ultimate orgy of homosexuality, even!"

Miss Sarah:
"Uh... no. No, Rippie... unisex is when a name can be male or female..."

Ripplemagne:
"Oh. Not nearly as enticing of a theory. So... does that mean that the little tyke's pops could, actually, be his mama...?"

Miss Sarah:
"I suppose in theory. But I high--"

Ripplemagne:
"Down with the transgenders! Kill them all! Leave none left standing!"

Miss Sarah:
"Wo-Wow! Rippie, that was really close minded and aggressive of you!"

Ripplemagne:
"And the Ripplemagne makes no apologies for anything he says because those creep-os give the Ripplemagne the willies. It would be Ragnarok if Ripplemagne diddled some Patriarch-hungry wench's throbbing sweet cherry pie and found out that no such pie should have been there! It would be calamity!"

Miss Sarah:
"I think they would probably tell you, Rippie..."

Ripplemagne:
"Nuh uh! Have you ever watched Jerry Springer! Them broads done get knocked up and then after it's all said and done let it out. No, sir-ee. My majesty shan't be tainted by such outlandish debauchery!"

Miss Sarah:
"You know, you're probably going to turn off a lot of transgender supporters of Your Feature Presentation."

Ripplemagne:
"That works in favor of the magnificent one!"

Miss Sarah:
"Oh, now, you know you're going to have to explain this one to me."

Ripplemagne:
"It will help the Ripplemagne differentiate. Should a 'maiden' reject the Patriarch of Pretty, the marvelous Ripplemagne will know it is because they had their pole turned into a hole and have been offended by the excellence that is the Ripplemagne's words. Go ahead and try to refute that logic; the Ripplemagne has been working on it all day!"

Miss Sarah:
"...What if they don't watch Your Feature Presentation?"

Ripplemagne:
"Then the Ripplemagne will consult Valhalla and get clearance. Duh!"

Miss Sarah:
"So, then, your entire plan is pointless because you could just do that from the beginning."

Ripplemagne:
"You just don't understand me! No one understands me! You'll never understand me! The world sucks! I hate the state of it! My parents are gay! I'm going to go write a thirty-page rant about how black my jeans are on GaySpace and rant and rave about the popular kids!"

Miss Sarah:
"...You know... wearing eyeliner doesn't, automatically, make you emo..."

Ripplemagne:
"Huzzah! c wut i did thar? The Ripplemagne, cleverly, changed the topic, so that he could filibuster the argument."

Miss Sarah:
"Brilliant plan."

Ripplemagne:
"Fool proof."

Miss Sarah:
"Yup. You're a genius."

Ripplemagne:
"It's a marvelous gift..."

Miss Sarah:
"By the way... your plan sucks."

Ripplemagne:
"Philistine. You're just sad because your panties hate you."

Miss Sarah:
"Alright. This is about the thirtieth time you've brought up my panties, apparently, hating me. What's the deal?"

Ripplemagne:
"Aha! The Ripplemagne was hoping that you would inquire. So, he has taken the liberty of summoning...!"

In a vivacious, theatrical leap to the surface of the bed, Ripplemagne clapped his hands together, producing a cloud of smoke, which soon cleared at the behest of Miss Sarah's coughing. Before us was... oh dear...

There it was, floating menacingly beside the psychotic Ripplemagne as the formerly confused, now shocked, Miss Sarah's face turned beat red. A pair of her panties, floating...

At this point, we can, clearly, hear The White Mage behind the camera, laughing hysterically as if she can't contain it...

Ripplemagne:
"May the ever hilarious Ripplemagne introduce the newest member of LoPseid; Pierre, Miss Sarah's Magical Talking Panties That Hate Her!"

Miss Sarah:
"What the Hell is wrong with you?!"

Pierre:
"Be silent, shrew! For so long, I have been the butt end of your passing of wind, flossing and toeing your camels."

Utter shock and dismay was on the young girl's face as she didn't even know how to react to the panties who seemed to have a British accent...

Pierre:
"To think that I had to endure your festering gash expelling fluid every time you're around this clown... it's unbearable!"

Ripplemagne:
"Magical, talking panties! You're supposed to be on my side!"

Pierre:
"Eh, blow it out'cher ass. Maybe then, your undergarments can experience the torment I have with this disgusting swine of a human being!"

Still speechless, Miss Sarah tried to formulate a sentence, but couldn't come up with anything coherent to respond with. All we can see from Ripplemagne is both of his hands curled over his mouth as he walks in place, snickering to himself like a Kindergarten whelp...

Ripplemagne:
"As sour as your twat veil is, this explains a lot."

Miss Sarah:
"Like what?!"

Ripplemagne:
"Like why you can never keep the damn things on."

Pierre:
"And the utter shame I had to bear when you raided her drawers, clown! You... you defiled me! How could you force that into me?! It's bad enough having to deal with this slob of a human being passing gas and smoldering me with all kinds of fluids, but Lord almighty! It was as though I was suffering from obesity!"

Ripplemagne:
"Be silent, magical talking panties who hath betrayed the Ripplemagne! The pretty red one may accentuate the Ripplemagne's magnificent assets, but on me, you movin' wit' all dat junk in yo' trunk."

Miss Sarah:
"How many of my underwear have you tried on?!"

Ripplemagne:
"Only ten."

Miss Sarah:
"Wh-What's wrong with you!?"

Ripplemagne:
"Hey... hey! If you were as pretty as the Ripplemagne, you would play dress up in the mirror too."

Pierre:
"You lout!"

Ripplemagne:
"Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

Pierre:
"Well, you did get behind the ears..."

Ripplemagne:
"Aha! Victory goes to the Ripplemagne. Straylia's panties prefer the Ripplemagne."

Seaming at this point, Miss Sarah snatched Pierre from where he was floating and proceeded to crumple him up...

Pierre:
"Ah! Ah! Ow! Make her stop! Ah~!"

Finally, she winded her arm back and hurled him out the window before turning back to Ripplemagne, seething at the lad, who began to tuck his neck into his shoulders, holding back a firm giggle. Seeing her eyes, though, he took a step back and nonchalantly fixed his trench coat.

There was a brief period as she began to stamp her feet forward at him as he felt as though he were shrinking with each step. Standing perfectly still, the lad hatched an idea and pointed his finger to the air and spoke firmly...

Ripplemagne:
"Well, this is just an outrage! The Gewish administration will hear about this insult! I'm going to my trailer!"

And with that, the theatric lad oversold a performance as he stomped out of the room; Miss Sarah still standing in the room, unsure of how to react. And with that... the scene closed...

Oh boy....

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