--Planet AvP | Bob & Progg's World

Advertisement Bob is a sexy Alien. Progg is a kooky Predator. What kind of adventures could these two critters get into, anyway? May 09, 2007 - by SiL, The Oracle, and Shoot Me I'm Dumb "Notes: Team member Kirsten, posing as a thirteen year old, convinced ‘PavP_Member_Bob1354’, a captive xenomorph named ‘Bob’, to visit her for sex. Bob arrives on foot and opens the door. Further directions have been omitted: The following is words only. All alien dialogue has been translated." February 28, 2007 - by SiL, The Oracle, and Shoot Me I'm Dumb "Recently, while visiting the Hive Mother, some people from Obsidian Entertainment came over to interview us as part of their research for their new ‘computer game’, supposedly the best invention since ‘pron’ (which I greatly enjoyed browsing until first Weyland-Yutani, then GameSpy, started filtering my emails). So we talked, mostly about why we ruthlessly slaughtered those not of the Hive and stuff like that (they seemed surprised to find we thought people looked funny when our young popped out of their chests). It was a nice talk, went on quite a while, and when we were finished, the Obsidians stood up, held out their hands…and just as I was about to shake them, it hit me." January 01, 2007 - by SiL, The Oracle, and Shoot Me I'm Dumb "Bob here, folks. After all the nonsense with the kidnapping and rescuing, I was ready for a quiet Christmas--just the staff and I in the new shiny observation level eating dead people, looking at the tree and chilling." December 09, 2006 - by SiL, The Oracle, and Shoot Me I'm Dumb "Hey flesh-bags, sorry for not writing for so long, but you’ll never guess where I am! "I’m in my new room at my dad’s house! That’s right, my dad’s house. I never even knew I had a dad, much less that he had his own house! "For those of you still scratching your heads, here’s what happened:..." July 18, 2006 - by SiL and Shoot Me I'm Dumb "It seems that, recently, I and mine have taken the great leap from past-our-prime scary monsters to fan-girl-wet-dream. There are many who oppose this change in plan, but to them I say, 'Shut the hell up, bitch.' Or would, if most of them didn’t look like one muscular twitch would send their mass over me, ending in either smothering by flab or my disappearing between their rolls forever." June 06, 2006 - by SiL and Shoot Me I'm Dumb "Prior to writing this, Bob had overindulged himself on the old Tarzan movies of the 1930’s. As such, some of the “jokes” (if you can be kind enough to call them that) will not make sense. Heck, even I don’t know what half of them mean." November 29, 2005 - by SiL and Shoot Me I'm Dumb "The PlanetAvP Mess Hall is quite possibly the most depressing location in existence, and that’s coming from someone who grew up in a place made of bones and spit. Were it not for the fact the staff lounge was being fumigated after a rather shocking incident involving Victor the Possibly Closet Hermaphrodite Rabbit and a banana, we wouldn’t be here at all. It was so poorly maintained that the chairs and tables themselves actually supported the roof from collapsing." December 25, 2004 - by James LaFosse and Shoot Me I'm Dumb "I can’t understand you people, for the life of me, or the life of you, at least. I mean, I mess up one friggin’ day and you guys throw me down here in the cellar. Yeah, Ships, Beav’ - the whole lotta’ ya’. It's snowing outside and I’m in containment. Heh, well, I’m not the only one in containment… Ah, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. From the top then…" February 14, 2004 - by James LaFosse and Chris Beaver "Bob rested his chin in his hand and sighed. Again. The Planet AvP lounge was particularly empty this time of the day; pool tables unused, the inflatable bar deflated. He sat amongst three couches set up in a square shape with a single table in the center. Sprawled on the couch in front of him lay Beaver, resting up after pulling off another late night of artwork. Bob shifted his massive head and with a great heave, sighed. Beaver shifted on the sofa, facing away from Bob. 'Okay, if you do that one more time, I swear to God I’ll… do… something.' Bob scratched his cowl and shifted himself on the plastic covered cushion (because, apparently, he was bad for the furnishing). 'Look, Beaver, I needed to talk to you.' Running his hands through his hair stiffly, Beaver rolled over and sat up on the sofa. 'What is it, man?' 'It’s about this holiday you hosts celebrate.' Bob tilted his head. Beaver’s head slowly moved up to stare him in the face. 'What? Valentine’s Day?'" The Infamous Progg Thanksgiving Issue - by Chris Beaver "As it turns out, this was not an average week as I'd expected. It seems the American people have decided to channel all their accumulated thankfulness over the year into a single day in order to spend less time on prayer and more time on shopping or playing video games or whatever. Amazingly, this compression of prayer started with the Puritans of all people, who are more devout in their religion than just about any other of the Christian subclasses. That's not really how they intended for the holiday to be carried out, but it's quite interesting what 200 years and a little loose interpretation can do to an idea. Of course, I'm not here to rant about the philosophy of the holiday. I'm here to tell you about my Thanksgiving experience!" October 31, 2003 - by Guyver47 and Chris Beaver "Small children, dressed in an assortment of costumes, ran from yard to yard as Bob exited his hive, candy bag in hand. He had planned his dashing costume for months in anticipation of this human holiday - Halloween. Fashioned on his torso was a white dress shirt, partly unbuttoned; exposing his thin, skeletal chest. His brown pants were plain, and tucked into black boots raised up to his kneecap. A slanted sash belt hung around his almost nonexistent hips, holding a wooden sword. Upon his elongated head, he wore a black hat marked with a white skull emblem. And across the roundness of his face was an eye-patch. It had already become quite dark, because of daylight savings time. The two rows of houses in front of him cast shadows everywhere. The only light came from the decorations and porch lights. A faint scent of chimney smoke filled the air, carried by a crisp wind. High in the velvet sky shined a bleached white moon; perfectly round. July 08, 2003 - by LunaV and Chris Beaver "Hi, Bob fans! Did you miss us? After the whole space fiasco, it took us a while to get back to earth. After some complaints about the story (You wankers know who you are! I‘m coming for to take revenge on you! Later, of course...), a few cokes, and a rather relaxing sabbatical, we’re back and better than ever (at least, I hope so)! Besides, I’m sure you’re... trembling with anticipation." December 25, 2002 - by LunaV and Chris Beaver "Hey, Bob fans! Hope your holidays, be they Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, or any other holiday are as merry as ours are. If you want to be in a Bob issue or have an idea for one, send it in! Without further ado, here’s Bob!" November 28, 2002 - by LunaV and Chris Beaver "Hello, Bob affectianados! It's great to see you all here once more and yes, I have received all death threats, first born children and bribes. (P.S. The wanker who keeps sending 4+ MB files really should consider us backward dial-up users.)" September 17, 2002 - by LunaV and Chris Beaver "Hey, Bob fans! Sorry it took so long for me to write this, but the high school has kept me in its brick-covered clutches..." May 21, 2002 - by LunaV and Chris Beaver "Hello, fans! ^_^ Bet you've wondered where Bob and I have been. Oh, mostly here and there. We've been called back into the US, to take care of.. the President's Cousin's Grandmother's Parakeet. And as a birthday present, I figured I'd record this story. (I'm turning 16!) But now, here's Bob." March 02, 2002 - by LunaV and Chris Beaver "Sorry to keep you waiting, but the American schooling system has wiped me on the bottom of its shoe! We had to go to Japan to make sure Guyver wasn't assailed by any aliens flicking on light switches. And something about a game show involving Irving and Scorpions. Oh well. You want to see Bob, so here he is!" December 25, 2001 - by LunaV and Chris Beaver "Hey you guys! It's Christmas as I write this. And wow, we're being invaded by lovable little staff writers. (I'm afraid now *sniff*). Things are going well here in Boot Camp, because even McShipley likes Christmas! Actually, my wrist is killing me because Brian's forcing me to duel with him constantly (that, or I'm developing Carpal Tunnel Syndrome). Support Luna! Not Brian! And please, I am human. Not hamster/rodent." November 14, 2001 - by LunaV and Chris Beaver "Well, we had to make a hasty break from Mexico after our encounter with the hippies... well, that and McShipley had a few run-ins with the Mexican Mafia for smuggling women's underwear. But you know, the worst part was when they threw Chihuahuas and stale enchiladas at us... Oh! We’re going to go to Army boot camp for a day. Wait.. that’s not good is it!? Agh- *the sounds of combat boots and struggling is heard in the background)." June 26, 2001 - by LunaV and The_Ranger "Greetings. As you may remember from last issue, Bob's err.. Mr. Banana, well, his inner jaw was apparently shot or cut off. We scientists were successfully able to re-attach, and even put in a little metal skull piercing like he asked in it. Why, have I, Luna become a scientist? Well, let's just say kid chemistry sets, even the dinky ones shouldn't be played with after playing Counter Strike and 6 cokes. I'm working off my debts by helping out around, and fortunately, they convinced (actually, they said if I didn't, they'd make me work at an Indonesian Jail, janitor, y'know) me to join. I have been entrusted with Bob's care, and the writing of his thoughts. Unfortunately, I got the lamest assignment, reasearching the Mexican Tequila Bat, the most dangerous bar animal next to the angry middle aged drunk." April 03, 2001 - by David Shipley, Skull Reaver and The_Ranger "In 1972, the US Government deemed me too dangerous for society. Therefore, I was ordered to be cryogenically frozen, and moved to secret underground US facility in Yogyakarta, Indonesia. "In the middle of the 22nd century, an Alien species started attacking human settlements. The wimpy maggots in the USCMC fought like a bunch of girls, and in the end, they knew they need a real man to do their fighting. A real man! A man with a big hairy chest. A man who kept his hardware in his underwear, like he should. They needed a man, who when he got in the guts, he would say, "I deserved it!" They needed a man like..." February 20, 2001 - by Skull Reaver and The_Ranger "I've finally been allowed into the real world. After years of tests and probes I'm in the world.I've got to get myself a house, and a job. I'm actually a flat-mate to a 4ft computer dork who thinks it's fun to stare at scantilly clad women over his PC and rub his crotch in a strange way. It really worries me especially because he does it when I'm in the room. I'm also concerned about the strange sausage shaped appendage between his legs, but let's not talk about that I've only just got over the nightmares." January 11, 2001 - by Skull Reaver and The_Ranger "Now before I continue I must thank all the people who wrote in to me with suggestions over what I should have pierced, I know this doesn't sound much like your usual xenomorph would but it was such an enlightening experience I just had to make this statement. As for those who didn't............ shame on you! I'll be round your places delivering some good ol' fashioned head-bites next time!" December 19, 2000 - by Skull Reaver and The_Ranger "Sorry for me going AWOL, I've been on vacation. The scientists took me along on a trip to some beach moon. Obviously they don't trust me while they're away. But anyway, I'm back, back with someone new, this guy called Skull Reaver was waiting for me when I got back to the lab, he's this 6ft blonde who's gonna be putting my thoughts down for you guys out there." May 16, 2000 - by berno and Juan Golbez "Hi folks. After the fiasco at the YMCA, and my capture, I was dragged back to the facility and put in a maximum security cell… So, here I am. Not much to do. I sit and twiddle my thumbs all day…. no easy feat, since my thumbs are a few inches long. The scientists stopped letting me “surf the Net”, ever since they discovered I was talking to mercenaries-for-hire hitmen in Yahoo! Chat rooms, trying to convince them to come break me out. They also discovered my collection of Sigourney Weaver pictures. That was embarrassing! I had to explain how slime had gotten all over them, and believe me…. I was hard pressed for an explanation! They did let me use the computer to type this week’s submission, but I haven’t much to say. Go Yankees? If you can’t take the heat, stop eating lichen? This is an old favorite… Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers!" April 24, 2000 - by berno and Juan Golbez "Hi, folks! Boy, what a week! I had to hang up my G-string, after the club owner accused me of eating some patrons. It’s all hogwash! I didn’t eat anyone! A few of the more zealous patrons offered me “live prey”, saying it was in their pants. Well, of course I followed them outside and ate it! They started howling, and making all sorts of noise, and before I knew it I was fired! For doing some people a favor!" March 15, 2000 - by berno and Juan Golbez "Hey kids, sorry I'm late getting back to you, but I was dead tired. See, for the past week, after the scientists go home, I've been sneaking out. How do I escape, you ask? Good question. Well, the Weyland-Yutani Police Department has a lot of corpses on hand, and they've been giving them to the scientists to feed me. Luckily for me, I got one with a file sticking out of it's back, and after days of patiently undergoing anal probes (what are you guys trying to find out, anyway?) and running through mazes looking for bits of cheese, I managed to make the bars thin enough to squeeze out." February 28, 2000 - by berno and Juan Golbez "People assume that just because I and mine brutally slaughter or impregnate those not of the Hive, that we aren’t civilized. We are no better than animals, you say, instinct-driven, vicious and evil. Well, friends, the vicious and evil ones are you. How could you pass judgment on me and mine? It’s not my fault you can’t defy the Laws of Thermodynamics. I don’t recall asking anyone to make you soft-skinned, instead of having a wonderful exoskeleton that, curiously enough, doesn’t crush us under our own weight. Where was I when your evolution deemed that you could not defy gravity? Nowhere around, that’s for sure."