In the cold depths of the Pacific Ocean, only the simpliest of lifeforms live. They survive only on base instincts that drive their every moment with no display of intelligence. Just a life of action and reaction. And keeping the status quo inside of a large transparent dome is the newly formed team of Vanguard: Atlantis.
"Balls Nasty calls this meeting to order," the man in the wife beater t-shirt and sweat pants said as he pounded a chicken bone on the table. All around him is the scene of the ocean from the other side of the glass that made up their base. "Balls Nasty would like to welcome all of you to the first ever meeting of Vanguard: Atlantis. Balls Nasty has been assured that we will all receive our uniforms and complimentary Radio Shack gift certificates by the end of the week."
Gordon raised his cane with it's shiny grip. "Hold on just one minizzle. I was told there was a lot of cheddar involved in all this."
"I knew I forgot something!" Bob called out from his chair. "Appetizers!"
"No!" Gordon sighed in his expensive Italian suit. "Cheddar. You know? Benjamins."
"I'm Roscoe, not Benjamin," once man in blue coveralls said.
"And I'm Earl," the man in red coveralls next to him added. "I don't think there's anyone named Benjamin here."
"Listen, can we hurray this up? I've got a show to tape in an hour," the big fleshy block taking up a whole chair said.
"Woooo! And I gotta rock Cincinnati TONIGHT!" Oleg said, jumping up on the table and shredding on his Flying V guitar.
"Balls Nasty calls for order," the chicken bone slammed against the table again. "Now, Jay Leno's Chin, you'll have plenty of time to get back to Burbank for your taping."
"Good. Because.... ah... I'd hate to... you know... be late for work. Get it? Late for work? That's a funny joke." The fleshy lump jiggled itself from side to side in the seat.
"Balls Nasty thinks you need to get some new writers." He took a seat. "Now, I have been assured that this team will the first and foremost line of defense against sub... submer... submareen... underwater attacks. Like tsunamis or invasions by mutant crabs."
"I once knew a bitch with mutant crabs," Gordon said.
"Wait a second," Bob said as he threw his hand up in the air like a second grader. "Did you say Vanguard: Atlantis a while ago?"
"Yes, Balls Nasty did. What's your point?"
"But.... we're at the bottom of the Pacific."
"And?"
"Atlantis is supposed to be in the Atlantic Ocean."
"So?"
"Atlantis! Atlantic Ocean! They come from the same place. Shouldn't we be in the Atlantic Ocean if we're Vanguard: Atlantis?"
"Balls Nasty doesn't understand your point."
"Hey! Why do you talk like that?" Oleg said still on his knees in the center of the table with his guitar wrapped around his body.
"I think we're getting off an important subject here," Bob tried to interject.
"Balls Nasty is experimenting with speaking in the third person right now. Balls Nasty is always looking for more ways to individualize himself from others and create a unique and stand out personality. Much like the time Balls Nasty experimented with spelling his name with a z instead of a s."
"Back to the Atlantis thing," Bob kept saying despite the fact that no one was listening.
Gordon leaned forward onto his pimp cane. "So you went around as Ballz Nasty?"
"Actually," Nasty said as he pondered, "that sounds pretty good. I was trying Balls Nazty, but your way sounds better."
"Nasty? Can't you get a... uh.... cleaner name?" the chin quipped from his seat, still rocking from left to right. No one laughed. "Get it? Nasty. Dirty. Clean."
"We're in the wrong ocean, people," Bob tried to stress by raising his voice.
"Is there a coke machine in here somewhere?" Roscoe asked looking around.
"Brother," Earl answered, "there ain't nuthin' but these here tables and chairs down here."
Roscoe looked all around the dome. All he could see past the table and chairs was the glare from the transparent glass that surrounded them. "This sucks," Roscoe said.
"Balls Nasty has been assured that the rest of our equipment, including a full series of Star Wars collectible cut-outs, will soon be delivered. There has been a slight problem with the interior decorators."
"It makes no sense for us to use the Atlantis name if we're in the wrong body of water," Bob continued on.
"Like what?" Oleg asked Balls before playing his solo with his teeth.
"Well, as they were trying to bring the entertainment center down, they drowned."
"I was wondering why the seahorses were watching Flipper," Earl said as he looked back at the flickering image on the other side of the glass.
"AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO CARES ABOUT THE NAME?!" Bob shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Hey, there, Bob," the chin spoke. "Maybe you should just... uh... calm down. Hehehehehe."
"THAT'S IT! I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!" Bob leapt across the table and tackled the chin. They wrestled across the floor of the dome.
"Honestly, Balls Nasty was getting fed up with the chin's nonsense anecdotes and tired routines," the leader said before munching off the last piece of meat left on the chicken bone.
Bob picked up the chin and began to slam it down against the hard floor of the base over and over again. The chin stopped jiggling in resistance and laid still and bloody on the floor. "I guess this is.... uh... the end. Hehehhhhhhhhhhheee." The chin fell silent.
Bob turned to his teammates. His hair was mussed and his lip bleeding. "I'm.... I'm sorry guys. I'm usually not like this. Normally I'm very...." Jay Leno's leapt onto Bob's back. A knife was driven in and out of the man's back as his sweater that is long time girlfriend had given him just that morning before leaving for work as a social worker for disadvantaged midgets in third world nations with tall water fountains was soaked in blood.
Gordon pulled his gat (that's street slang for a gun) and began to fire away at the chin. The chin staggered back and collapsed in a pool of its own blood. Unfortunetly for the rest of the group, a stray bullet had struck the glass and cracked it. Water now flowed into the base.
"Holy crap!" Oleg yelled as his hands continued to rock the guitar behind the musician's head. "We need to escape!"
"Balls Nasty has some very bad news," the leader said as water began to rise up to his knees. "In order to keep initial costs down, all escape subs were put on lay-a-way. Sad thing, too. Balls Nasty was going to pay them off next month."
"But tomorrow's Monday!" Earl cried. "It's a heavy garbage day."
"Who's going to collect the trash if we don't show up for our shift?" Roscoe added.
"Dizzam! Now who's going to smack my bitches up?" Gordon lamented.
"And who's going to rock Cincinnatti... TONIGHT!?"
"Unless someone has a pocket full of bubble gum, Balls Nasty is going to call this meeting of Vanguard: Atlantis to a close."
Earl shivered as the water crept up over his wasted. "Brrrrrrrr.... It's so cold."
"Hey? What's that warm stream?" Roscoe asked.
"Balls Nasty apologizes."
"Shizz-nit!" Gordon sighed again.
"ROCK & ROLL WILL NEVER DIE!" Oleg said just moments before the salty sea water engulfed his head.
The End
