...And so it was, man and cephalopod had forged alliances and RAZZLE BLASTER had grown two more heads. Not to mention a few thousand more tentacles, some lobster-pincers, and an insatiable hunger for raw cactus pods that would make "DANDRUFF DAD'S Whole Sale Gilla Monster Outlet" look like a local little league snack shack fiasco.

Somewhere on the barren wasteland that is the dorsal side of the mighty RAZZLE BLASTER protrudes a hairy lump of gelatin that kind of tastes like hawaiian punch. Meet Bassist Drew Scott (Doc Holiday, Oneirion). The brain matter placement of this unique specimen seemed to have had a nail sticking right through it because it was, infact, hit right on the head. And boy could he operate a Bronchiosaur.

Sticking out of the slimey underbelly of the RAZZLE BLASTER there had grown a ball of spikes that shrieked and sparked everytime they got too close to a passing planet. Meet vocalist Flanders Bayliss (The Mod Flanders Conspiracy). He may feel inclined to scarf on your insides or maybe even stroke his trunk at you. But he's okay. I also hear he gives a good "007 Golden Eye" 64 styley whoopin' to anybody who tries to touch his proton pack. And then they were 4...

Armored in the finest Hi-Liter pink tunics and skin daddy platinum whites that Aphids could buy, our brave new pilots spewed forth onto the Los Angeles music scene as most gigantic cans of heavily digitalized whipping cream often do... in the most gracious of fashions. Homosexually charged scrap-trap banter and thoughtfully placed dinosaur movie theme songs made these early shows a complete and total sensual assault on the hordes of freshly strangled 2 year olds who were lucky enough to have actually witnessed the literal horror that is a RAZZLE BLASTER Demonstration. They had proved to the masses that they weren't just another glazed and smitten rice kick. Crapitalizing on the wrinkled teeth of tyranny, RAZZLE BLASTER finds itself in need of another chronicling.

(The second rule of order: Document, Divide.)

Back into the studio with Mr. Jon Cox... psychopath, sexual sadist, and RAZZLE BLASTER tolerator extraordinaire, Mr. Cox fell victim to irreparable emotional and psychological damage over the course of just 3 weeks. His brain had actually deteriorated into a bucket of blue sludge... "goo", if you will. Don't get mad though. These things should be expected to happen when working with members of RAZZLE BLASTER. Heck, these things should even be expected to happen to members of RAZZLE BLASTER.

Remember Drew and Flanders from Chapter 2? Well those two just simply zapped away one day leaving a putrid rotting sore along the surface of the TONSIL BOUTIQUE sector. We think it had something to do with the sudden shortage of scrap trap handlers in the Mid-West. A quick fix though. And now that "Perfect Pink" had been tracked, RAZZLE BLASTER had a product on their grubby paws but insufficient pilot power to keep it travelling across the cosmos at any sort of significant speed. This called for an emergency landing.
Another world, another time, in an age of wonder... our gooped-up heroes now find themselves in the heart of Ancient Egypt.

"Infinite sand and stacking of stone. Smote off it's head, the child unknown... Having a tiny headless cadaver in such primo condition on your hands can be very frustrating. Ya know?" -Rusty the Magnificent, (Around 2000 B.C.)

When Tommy the "Tea Cup" Meehan and Greg the "Skinny G" Atria first arrived in the little city by the Nile, they never could have expected to find a replacement Elephant Grumbler twisted enough to slide directly into the port of the TUMBLE CONE so quickly after such a violent Screwdriver implosion. But that's exactly what happened when they crossed paths with Ancient Egypts' very own self proclaimed Gall Bladder Inspector and only documented necropedophile.

He was calm, confident, he too had the Bronchiosaur handling capabilities of a seasoned pro... and what a dreamy smile. But it was that very smile which helped him in satiating his most depraved desires. The younglings of Cairo loved him. And he loved there splattered brains. And if it hadn't been for RAZZLE BLASTER he most surely would have killed off his supply of plump little stickball players and been left with nothing but old grannies and fruit bats. So, RAZZLE BLASTER was actually rescuing him from the tiny and limited killing field that is but a jail cell, in terms of killing fields, that is known as Ancient Egypt. New to the team, he pledged his allegiance with a brief but thorough instruction in dead child molestation.

"First, you've gotta saw off the limbs... Saw off the limbs, penetrate the stumps, ravage the torso... whatevs." Rusty was always so casual when he talked about his "Softball History Lessons", as he had liked to call them.

With their newly acquired skills, the newly formed trio decided it was time to re-enter their newly buffed TUMBLE CONE into one of the not so newly created infinite number of hyper riff worm holes del yester-year. Where they would explore next was up to the Almighty Dandruff Dad.

Chapter 5: "The Revenge of Dandruff Dad & the Rainbow (flavored) Cobras"

Component A: Off the Ball

Once the mighty RAZZLE BLASTER had begun their decent in the TUMBLE CONE, the anti-gravity and shaving cream-flavored milkshakes began to take their toll. Greg "On the Ball" Atria and Rusty, in an attempt to free the great BLASTER from its prison of polystyrene bell bottoms, inadvertently self cannibalized while propelling their lifeless carcasses into the air with a volcanic mix of fecal sculptures, fine china, and back issues of Mad Magazine. This left young Sir Thomas "Lunchbox" Meehan in a long, cold, silent, and somber hibernation, where he was accompanied only by his wits and a semi-literate colony of chimpanzee cyborgs. Here, he discovered the true meaning and path of the mighty RAZZLE BLASTER, and learned the truth: the squishiest adventure of all was yet to come.

After consulting the all knowing, all mystery meat-museum operating, all breakdancing Dandruff Dad (and devouring all plankton pops in his way), Mr. Meehan once again sought out the assistance of Drew Scott (now of Bernard's Millions) in the TONSIL BOUTIQUE. Though still disoriented from his long transformation/metamorph from Squid Squisher to festering boil to investment banker to amoeba and back again, he was willing to assist Meehan and the RAZZLE BLASTER once more to find the last remaining components needed to bring the BLASTER to full operational capacity.

Component B: Koala Slices, Granite Salad & Crustacean Butter (Epic Snacks)

After what seemed like millennia of sifting through the resumes of lizard strippers, Broccoli-nauts, & early Manson family rejects alike, the 2 remaining RAZZLE pilots stumbled upon the proverbial prosthetic tendrils needed to ravage the ears and nail clippings of all who questioned the gland-melting power of Dandruff Dad and his ever-growing army of pudding monsters. One of which, Acey Riot, was quickly absorbed by the BLASTER after it had learned of his skills in the fields of Goo Sculpting and Squirrel Voice-box Installation. The second, Nathaniel Prophet (Danger Invites Rescue), was led to the RAZZLE'S path by a trail of sparkling slug mucus and/or wicker baskets. He quickly demonstrated a knack for crushing walnuts & shaving jungle cats, so naturally he was assigned to the crow's nest of the TUMBLE CONE. Now, closer than ever to complete functionality and auto-erotic world domination, the 4 glitter-clad RAZZLE BLASTER pilots set out to locate a new Bronchiosaur wrangler; one capable of churning crustacean butter and carving amoebas in ways never even imagined by Dandruff Dad himself.

TO BE CONTINUED...