The story of Wild Bill and his space wrangler team of misfits!

[vampirefrog]

Wild Bill was chewing on his last gum. "They don't call me 'wild' for nuthin". He stashed his gum in his gum gun. That was wild. Wild as roses with machine guns. Machine guns that fire man teeth. Only a dentist would offer a lady such roses. Wild Bill was one of those dentists. He was a roaming dentist. Going from town to town, fixing everyone up. By fixing everyone up I mean repairing everyone up. Everybody got repaired. The opinions were shared. Some said Wild Bill was wild, some said he was bill. In the end, they all paid the bill, one way or another. Or was it the wild they paid? Just going out there in the tooth desert and throwing money at it. I suppose we all do that at some point in our lives. Wild Bill knew this. The shrew bastard. Also wild. And bill.

But a few summers ago, a strange thing happened. While roaming and fixing (by which I mean repairing, or perhaps it is drug-related slang? I am too high to be sure), a small man with a large hat approached him and said "Ah, yes. The Bill whom is to be Wild. Or perhaps is to be already wild is now bill whatlolanyway I would like to join your team of one person, thereby increasing its numeral numberhood by an approximate value of One Member. You may call me Member.". Wild Bill was bedazzled; gadfunked and garpoopled! His ghast had never been so flabbered! His chin would move while his mouth uttered words unutteringly. Then the words came home to him in a "louzy dead-end job. hi honey!" kind of way. "Why sure, Member! Welcome to the band!". Then they rocked out on bass and guitar and went and pulled a few teeth.

Ever since then, Wild Bill was never the same. Except in his redundant moods, in which he was always the same. They roamed and roamed. They also walked, ran, rode, drove, flew and slew. Kilometers. They slew kilometers with their bare feet. Yeah. That's what they did. And the kilometers were all like "Oh noes! We got slew'd! Now they will proceed in harvesting our advancement!".

But all that changed one day, when they hit the city of Teleport, New Old New Orleans. That city was made of portals, through which they could be magically transported to other planes of existence. And that's what they did. Once they ended up in Chuck Norris land, and would have gotten crushed by his mighty awesomeness, had they not escaped through the revolving door before Chuck got the chance to slam it. Once they ended up in Regular Bill land, where everybody had to pay bills. This was no place for Wild Bill. He needed no payment. His finance was undefined and random. Either way, he never owes you money. You owe him money and that gives him the right to fuck you up. Watch out Wild Bill will fuck you up because you owe him money even though you never met him! Naw but he's cool, he'll pull your teeth out to apologize. Then you will feel better, if you will still feel anything.

So they teleported through new lands, met all sorts of strange creatures and lack thereof, and thereby and therewith had the luck of meeting the rest of their team. Astrobear in Spaceland, The MILFmaster in Infinite Age Land, And Little Billy, who was not quite ready to die, so he had a habit of breathing.

[ to be continued. feel free to comment ].

[vampirefrog]

"Dead clowns, kid.", said Wild Bill to his compadre. As they strolled along the moonlight. His boots were long and flexible. His flexibles were long and booty. His booty was nice and sharp. He would pop tires when he sat on them. He would sit on a tire, pop it, and play his harmonica as tumbleweeds weedily tumbled by, to and fro the tumbleweed factory, where captain Weed T. Umble was being very humble. He would shake and rumble. He would fumble and mumble. His boots were short and petrified. He would hammer them and they would crumble. What a dumble. His friends would call him "Tumbledore", due to the fact that ah nevermind let's get back to our hero, whom we have randomly named Wild Bill. His thoughts were food. He needed food for thought, therefore he turned his thoughts to food, and started eating them. Then his mind was blank. His friends surrounded him, saying "Is he dead, Jim?" "Let's chuck wild storyfish into the black void of his roomy cranium rooms." "Do I know this guy?". Astrobear stepped up and said "Friends, this is an obvious case of thought eatery. We must feed him some real food before he unthinks himself. Fetch me the real basket of goodies. Wild Bill was fed Astrogoodies, his head imploded and then popped back into shape from out of nowhere. "Thank you, friend", said Bill, who, for a second, was no longer wild. Then the wilditude came back into his eyes and he blinked wildly. "Now let's go clean up those dead clowns."

[Apollo]

This. This is amazing. Please Continue!

[vampirefrog]

Astrobear would wear a space helmet, have astronaut boots, and a jetpack. That's how you would imagine him. That's what everyone would expect. But no. That was not Astrobear. He was laid back. He was cool. His long bear hair blowing in the wind. His long wind blowing through his bear hair. Astrobear doesn't pass wind. He passes thunder. He would sit back on his bear-proportioned couch, thinking back to the old days, when he used to be a space jockey. A bear space jockey, riding space dinosaurs with rockets coming out of their a-holes. In and out of orbit. Orbit was his whore. In space, nobody can hear you pass thunder. He would run from planet to planet, eating slow food as fast as he could. He was all the rage. All the ladies would produce vaginal moisture as the first letters of his name were uttered. They would turn red and tremble as the next few leters of his name were uttered. They would have a violent screaming orgasm as the last letters of his name were uttered. Women who said his name thrice would end up in the hospital. There was a special ward for "You-know-who orgasm victims".

He had fought and won against space-nazis, and rabid atheist space-weasels in space-helicopters, evil space-clowns with robot monkey mecha suits and other lesser and more-er evils.

He decided to settle down, and just chill. He met a wonderful bear-lady, had three bear cubs, named suggestively Cub 1, Cub 2, and Cub 3 (who later founded the space bear federation). But all was not well in space-bear-land.

One day his services were required by Wild Bill himself. Astrobear knew Wild Bill from space-stories about overly-awesome heroes, and was quick to join his unuttered mission of awesomeness. Srsly. He kissed his bear wife good bye, right on her muzzle. He hugged his three kids in numeric order, put his space-hat on, and took his space-briefcase (filled with space) and they rolled into the sunset. Astrobear, Wild Bill, and Member.