Porky's Googol: an experiment in extrapolation
by Erik Belgum
This is an experiment in extrapolation from the Porky's movies that runs right down to the bitter butt end of time. Each character each plot event each runner each episode from the Porky's s movies shoved and shot toward radical, high energy extreme conclusions.
To wit: every jerk sexed teen every juicy hamburger prom dress everything and anything even hinted at in the Porky's movies accelerated and thoroughly unpleasantly blown all full out of proportion in every teen dreamable aspect inside every Porky's structure now standing or at any time hereafter constructed or placed upon the teenage Porky's land and all teen lighting, heating, cool black light posters of Hendrix, ventilating, even my stupid summer job air-conditioning system, sprinkling and plumbing fixtures, water and power mustang car systems, heavy screech engines and machinery, boilers, furnaces, oil burners, sickening little skunk faced bikini movies, elevators and cool motors.
Every variety of communication systems to be stretched out of proportion, all acne dynamos, transformers, cheeseburger grills, electrical equipment and all teen fixtures of every description located on or intended to be used in connection with the Porky's Drive-in or any Porky's movie filmed now or at any time hereafter.
OK. Now listen closely Mr. and Mrs. Here comes an experiment in extrapolation from the Porky's movies running straight down to the wire across the raw utter end of time. Every character and plot, every event and every runner and every episode every single good god damn "Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Whatever-her-parents-name-is, Don't worry, I'll have her back home by a googol a.m. Pregnant-that-is!' extrapolated from the movies and rocketed to an extra extreme conclusion.
Now here it comes straight from high school locker rooms. Millions of years in the future, men nude young teenage men line up for a contest comparing, you know, sizes. At the end of the line stands a young human teen geek with all testable skills totalling a combined negative googol. A tape measure extends. Length of member: one googol inches.
That's right, this experiment in extrapolation runs right down to the bitter butt end of time. Each character each plot event each runner each episode from the movies shoved and shot toward a radical high energy exaggerated extreme conclusion.
Take the case of the Porky's community for example, an entire community for example, now attached rectally and orally in a teethy butt-linked teen chain. How long does it take the communicable disease to travel the length of that chain, mutate, turn around and run right back on through that human teen chain again? And again?
This experiment runs right down to the bitter butt end of time. Oh yes it does. Each character each plot event each teen runner and each and every teen geek make-out episode from the movies aimed, pointed and fired to radical high energy conclusions.
Let us now examine the strange fighting case of some male and female teenage pimple jerks. Simple teen children of barely post-teen parents.
"I am going to the dance!"
Get the point?
This family fight rolls out infinitely in all directions in time and space eventually escalating to weapons use and headlines and again accelerated and finally leading right up to the very final high energy headline: BRAT AXES FOLKS INTO TINY QUARK PARTICLES
Hey. Everybody. Shut your mouths. There's an experiment in progress here, We're extrapolating from the Porky's movies and running it right down the pike to the bitter screaming acneed end of time.
Can I get some peace and quiet in here? After all, what this is is an experiment god damnit. What this is not is skinny little Nicky Nelson's shop project getting sabotaged day after day after day until Mr. Johnson husky voiced Mr. Johnson took the whole class to task and punished them beet red with a googol hours of after school detention. Per student.
A googol hours, that is a long time, but for now . . . I'm just going to let this darn experiment thing keep on running, because. . .
(begin music from a 1950's pock-a-billy orchestra)
I'm going down to Los Alamos, Where the sun shines damn near every day.
I'm going down to Los Alamos Where the sun shines damn near every day.
I think I'm going to go down to Los Alamos (the orchestra stops dead on cue) and feel the HEAT from the . . . core of the sun.