Why don't I have a custom title by now?!
I figured that such an awesome mod couldn't be without its own backstory, now, could it? Well Here goes: (edit: now with MP3 "talk tape" to listen to along!)
Doomguy's FORCED and PAINFUL Chocolate Shotgun - the Story
The Man of Doom, also known as Doomguy, was in a desperate situation. There were finally DEMONS in the base which he had been expecting now for years, and yet he was caught unprepared. When the invasion of the UAC military base on Phobos started, he was -quite unheroically- trying to take a dump in one of the officers-only stalls because Doomguy always considered this distinction ridiculous. Who had ever thought of segregating toilets by rank? What did those "officers" have that he didn't, anyway? How could some 22-yo Louie that just got off some candy-ass "military academy" compare to him and all those years of service? And yet he had to click his heels and stand attention whenever he saw one... that was one injustice Doomguy could never understand. That is why, whenever some "officer" asked him to bring him a cup of coffee, he always did bring the pampered "superior" his coffee...only that it had been ENRICHED with NATURAL FLAVOURS of Doomguy's OWN PRODUCTION, on the specifics of which we will not dwelve for decency's sake!
The days on Phobos were really boring, ever since his unfavourable transfer here. He was merely pretending to be "base security", while in reality he had really nothing to do all day but sleep, wake up, do some menial spit'n polish stuff to please the bastard Sergeant Kelly who "inspected" their bunks every day, walking his post from flank to flank and taking no shit off any rank....well he would like to give off some shit in that particular occasion, but he always found the trooper's toilets to be always dirty, filled with enormous mega-turds (case in point, the toilets in Doom 3), and generally unsatisfactory, while he even had to carry his own damn toilet paper. He hated putting his ass on those dirty seats, and when he took a dump he wanted to be able to relax and read some porn magazine, dammit, instead of worrying about someone else's grime and bacteria invading his ass. Worst of all, he hated having to fend off those giant cockroaches with the shitter-cleaning brush!
The officers' toilets felt like heaven in comparison. They were spotless, and even had bidets of fine pink marble with talc powder and eau-de-cologne, not to mention a seemingly endless supply of 4-ply, perfumed toilet paper. Only the best for the officers' delicate, pampered asses, it seems! Unfortunateluy, no matter how idilliac the toilet was, Doomguy was badly constipated on this particular occasion. He, who would otherwise be confident about his abundant, loud, manly, military dumps which were renowned in UAC facilities and USMC boot camps all around the Solar System, was now struggling to pass even a single turd. Nothing to do, he was cramping from the need to take a shit, and yet he felt like he had to pass a hardened blob of reinforced concrete, and he really couldn't do nothing about it. That was a bad combination at the time, as he really didn't want to be caught in the officers' toilet, in which he had sneaked in and tried to secretly accomplish his mission.
"Dammit, I wish I had some of that good boot camp chow with me now!" he thought. In fact, during boot camp, they often received the order to simply not poop for 2 days before an official inspection was due -usually some high brass would prod around their stuff and admire them as if they were bulls for sale. It was unnatural, it was dehumanizing, but as he was told, the Army begins where reason ends. To make the obedience to said order even more stoic, the troops were issued the special tactical chow composed of baked beans, lentilles, chickpeas,escolar, concentrated prune juice, whole dried prunes (with seeds), concentrated fig extract and an evil combination of castor and ricin oil, aptly nicknamed "Whirlwind of the Gods" or "Gut Shrapnel". And they weren't. Fucking. Kidding. Inspired by this promising mental image, he was just about to give it one last try, when he heard some commotion outside.
"Oh shit", he thought "...yeah, I wish! I'm probably gonna get busted here!", while trying to put his pants on in a hurry. In doing so, his favourite porn magazine fell in the toilet's hole. "Oh no!" he thought, I gotta recover that! I stole it from the bunk near mine, and I can't let that jarhead discover that it's missing or, worse, ruined!". Little did he know that while he was fucking around with such trite matters, the invasion of the UAC facilities by the Hordes of Hell had started. The toilet's door was being clawed and clobbered by angry demons who wanted to tear Doomguy a new one, as they were overrunning the base's corridors and killing everyone. The door wouldn't hold much longer. Doomguy couldn't see the demons, but he knew they were here, and they meant business! It had all started without him, and he had allowed himself to be caught unarmed, constipated, and with his pants only halfway up.
He tried to think rationally, and decided that since he was unarmed, he couldn't blast his way out of the door. He looked up, and suddenly he realized what he had to do. With one athletic jump (well, not really, more like a pityful climb using the toilet tank as a step) he knocked one of the ceiling's panels off, and strenuously managed to pull himself up the false ceiling, where the monsters -hopefully- wouldn't be able to find him. Damn, that physical effort had nearly exhausted him. "Regulamentary minimum of 3 pull-ups my ass! I gotta lose some weight before the next scheduled Physical comes....dammit!" he thought. Crawling upon the false ceilings' tiles, he eventually reached the ceiling of a storage room. Thinking that he would find some supplies and weapons in there, he removed the grilled panel, and tried to make a quiet descent. The storage room appeared locked, and while he could hear the monsters roaming outside, maybe if he kept quiet enough, they wouldn't detect him.
But, oh woe, the ceiling was too high for him to drop silently (and he was too out of shape to hold on long enough to stretch and attempt a stealthy descent) and instead he just fell on his butt, with the noise attracting nearby monsters who started gathering outside the door. He was trapped, and in horror he realized, from a quick look around, that this was just a general storage room. There were brooms, cleaning products, some jugs of drinking water, and some cardboard boxes with various supplies, but no weaponry. "Dammit Marine!" he thought "What were you thinking? Ammo and weapons aren't just kept in janitor closets like this one...I'm fucked!". And in the meantime the monsters outside were getting super-pissed and banging and scratching on the door.
In the vain hope that he could find some tool or improvised weapon to use in this moment of dire need, he started ripping boxes open. Bandages, medikits, emergency rations and some survival gear was all that he could find, but no weapons, not even a bloody knife. And all this while he was constipated and had also started cramping. Then, all of a sudden, he thought of the unholy "Whirlwind of the Gods" chow, and how he could use a portion or two right now....then it occured to him: among the supplies, he had seen some of the capsules they used to prepare this unholy chow.
He had the (mis)fortune to see once how that chow was prepared. The Army was practical: instead of hauling truckloads of beans and other crap and then boiling it for hours in giant kettles, they somehow managed to dehydrate and concentrate the ingredients for 100 portions of chow in a single 100 gr. capsule, which looked like a golf-ball sized pill. Little was known about how they actually managed to squeeze all that stuff in there, the fact was, that a single capsule, in contact with water, violently transformed into the unholy chow. So much energy was released during this process, that water didn't even need to be boiled, and the pill was so concentrated, that somehow WHOLE PRUNE SEEDS (and a shitload of them) were found in the chow. It was truly a sight to behold.
Doomguy had heard some hazing stories about how newbies were sometimes forced to eat part of such a pill, with immediate and disastrous effect on their GI systems, and some even more absurd war stories about how an improvised weapon could be made with those pills, but he dismissed them as some veteran's wild goose chase. "Well", he thought, "the very least I found a way to liberate myself! Here is as good a place as any other, and then I will be able to think more clearly about how to escape from this shithole". Saying that, he cracked one of the unholy chow capsules, trying to get some of the content out. He figured that a dose as small as a pea would be enough for one man, and washed it down with some water from the jugs.
Dear Mother Of God, the stuff started to boil inside his guts almost immediately, with an energy comparable only to the creation of the universe or something equally epic. A whole Universe of laxative unholiness was in fact exerting its Big Bang against Doomguy's weak GI tract. He immediately started cramping and fell on the floor in a fetal position, unable to breathe or comprehend the immense pain that was going through him, with his behind raised and aimed towards the door. At the same time, the monsters busted the door open, and started swarming the small room. "What the hell was I thinking...now I will die a miserable, shitty, cramping death! I only wanted to take a dump....not commit suicide! I can't even breathe!". Suddenly, a white flash of pain passed through him
BANG BANG BANG BANG
and them silence. Absolution. Nirvana.
Doomguy was now feeling completely liberated. He no longer was constipated, and for a few seconds that seemed like an infinity, he was feeling completely purified and worry-free. And then reality kicked in, and so did the pain. He was feeling exhausted, he felt like he was tasered in every possible spot of his body, and his muscles were sore and cramping from the shock. He had cracked several ribs from the strain, and when he weakly managed to stand up on his trembling feet, he saw that the walls near the door (and those BEHIND the door outside the hall) were caked with a disgusting brown substance, mixed with blood and remnants of soluble dietary fiber. The place smelled like an abbatoire, his standard-issue pants were ripped from behind, stained with blood and the same disgusting remains found on the wall. What was more amazing though, was that the monsters were dead. They were peppered with prune seeds, and some were even ripped to pieces by the brown Tsunami that was unleashed upon them.
Then, suddenly, as dirty as the room was, Doomguy's thought was clear. He knew what had to be done. He grabbed some of the -still usable- medikits, a handful of unholy chow pills and a jug of water. There was an entire UAC base to clear....
Last edited by Maes on Nov 4 2011 at 00:39