TI Babies VII

by Frank D'Antuono


Everyone: TI Babies, we'll make our dreams come true...


TI Babies we'll do the same for you...


Spyder: I just defected

O'Reilly: I do the math

Erich: I blow up ships


Xavier: I got a neat sword

Hex: I go everywhere

Treschi: I screw people over

Daimen: And I guard with care

King: I rule the galaxy

NPCs: beep-beep-beep-BEEP!

Marcus: Get your orders in by Thursday dammit!!!

Everyone: Yes Nanny.

Everyone: Were TI, TI, TI ,TI, Bay-Bay-Bay! Doo-wah-ooooo!

This Week's Episode: A Much-Needed Vacation

Nanny Marcus walked into the nursery with a suitcase in hand as he looked at what the kids were doing.  Baby Treschi was torturing a frog with a salt shaker and a fork.  Baby Alistar was humping a new doll, having worn out the last one.  Baby O'Reilly and baby Erich were playing Mortal Kombat III with electrodes hooked up to their tiny bodies so they would feel the pain of each blow their computer counterparts received.  Baby Spyder and baby Hex were having a contest to see who could hold their breath the longest.  Both of them were turning purple.  Finally, he looked over to see what baby Daimen and baby Xavier were doing.  Daimen was in training machine mode, and Xavier was blindfolded, using Kuar to deflect the shots coming at him.

Normally, this behavior would have pissed Nanny Marcus off, but not today.

"Kids!  Gather round, kids!  I have something important to tell you."

They all gathered at his feet.  "What is it Nanny?" they asked.

Marcus smiled.  "I going on vacation for a week.  I'll see you later... bye!" he said, moving to walk out the door.

"What?!" the kids exclaimed.

"That's right, I'm going on a much-needed vacation for a week.  I'll see you all Monday."

"But Nanny, who will feed us?" asked O'Reilly.

"And who vill take care of us?" asked Erich, ripping the electrodes off his skin.

"Who will give me important orders?" Daimen asked flatly.

Marcus turned around, a vindictive smile playing on face.  "Don't worry kids, you'll be looked after.  You're all going to stay with the players that created you!"  With that said, he left laughing mirthfully all the way down the hall.  The kids in the nursery collectively gulped.


"Risk?!  I hate this stupid game!" baby Hex cried.

Andy looked up at him.  "Come on, Hex, this game kicks ass!"

"It's Kiddo, not Hex!  I mean... dammit!"

"Watch the language, mom and dad are upstairs," Josh reported.

"Fuck that, Hex is right!  This game blows," baby Xavier cut in.

Matt looked worried.  "Dude!  That's not cool!  You'll get us all in trouble!"

"Maybe we should just play the game?" baby Spyder suggested.

"Turn coat," Hex snapped.

"Traitor," Xavier hissed.

"Guys, come on!" Josh started.  "Do you know how hard it is to get six people for a Risk game?  We have to play!  It's a moral imperative."

"Conference!" Xavier said as he, Hex, and Spyder went into a huddle.  After about a minute, they went back to the older kids.

"Okay, you guys like games?" Xavier asked.  "We've got a great one for ya!"  Then pulled out Kuar while Spyder and Hex pulled out plasma revolvers.  "It's called 'Tag, You're Dead!' "

The three teenager's eyes popped out of their sockets.  "Hey!  You're not supposed to have those!" Matt ejaculated, pointing a finger.

Xavier snorted.  "Hey, this is a crossover, man.  Anything goes!"


Baby Daimen approached the young man lying lazily out in a folding beach chair.  "Mission accomplished, M. Baumman."

The young man pulled the headphones off his ears and turned his head towards him.  "Did you clean the basement like I told you?"


"Did you sweep under the furnace and replace the filter?"


"How about the lawn... did you mow the lawn?"


"And do all the trimming?"


"How about my homework?"

"It has been completed.  Probability of 'A' work... 99.98%."

"Good," he said, sipping his soda.  "I assume the dog has been walked?"

Daimen processed the question.  "You canine has defecated in accordance with local municipal guidelines."

"Excellent!" he exclaimed as he sat up and pulled out a piece of paper.  "Now, Daimen, do you know who this is?" he said, giving it to him.

Daimen scanned the image against the information in his database.  "The woman's name is Britney Spears."

"Yes, very good.  I want you to find her and bring her to me.  Do you understand?"

Daimen nodded and turned to walk away.

"Oh, and Daimen?  If anyone gets in your way... eliminate them."

Daimen walked off to complete his mission.


"Welcome to Hot Babes III, Lord Johnston," the outstanding supermodel in a cocktail dress said to Marcus while rubbing his chest.  "I hope your trip was comfortable?"

"Oh GOD yes!" Marcus replied.

"Emperor Miro has been awaiting your arrival.  Please follow me," she said, smiling.

Marcus followed the beautiful woman through the cavernous space of Miro's castle.  After about ten minutes of walking and chatting, they approached a pair of large double doors.

"This is the Emperor's inner chamber.  Please feel free to walk right in... oh, and Lord Johnston?" she said, sliding her body up next to his.  "Here's my number.  Call me if you get bored.  The name's Candy, as in the treat."  She walked away as the drooling Marcus entered the emperor's inner chamber.

"Marcus!" Miro cried.

"Hola Miro, nice place ya got here."

"Well, I'm a big fan of closet space.  So how ya been?"

"Pretty good.  Uh, am I dressed okay for this place?" he said, looking down at his green and white striped socks.

"Don't worry about it, you won't be needing clothes this week!"

"Huh?" Marcus asked.  Suddenly, fifty of the hottest looking women Marcus had ever seen (or even imagined) entered the room.  Miro turned to the women.

"These are the fifty women personally hand-picked by me from the elite ranks of my deadliest military unit: The Hot Sex Assault Force."

Marcus gulped.  "What's going on?"  The women were all staring at him.  All feelings of sexual attraction instantly turned to fear at the sight of these goddesses.

Miro turned again to the women.  "Ladies, this is Lord Johnston.  You have forty-eight hours to drain him of all bodily fluids, re-hydrate him, and repeat the process about a dozen times."  He turned back to Marcus.  "You know, kill him with kindness."

The women rushed Marcus before he could blink.  They then started to carry him away like a pack of soldier ants with a breadcrumb.

"Miro, Bax, whatever!  I don't know if I can handle this!"

"Most mortal men can't, buddy.  Just have fun with it," Miro said, as his soldiers carried Marcus off into the Royal Pillow Room.  All alone in his chamber, Miro pulled the mask off of his face to reveal the face of Character Frank.  "At last I shall reveal myself to the TI Babies... at last I shall have my revenge!"


The Hohner household was spotless as Martin walked downstairs to the refrigerator.  His home had never been this clean in his entire life.  It was so clean that it sickened him to see his reflection in the kitchen tiles.  Having lost his appetite, he closed the refrigerator door and cursed the person responsible.

"Why, why did that little neat freak have to come stay with me!?" Martin said aloud.  "I never should have made him so dammed puritanical!"

As he went to leave the kitchen, something caught his eye.  It was a to-do folder with his name on it.  Martin seethed with anger.  "Now he's telling me what to do?  That little bastard's balls haven't even dropped yet!"  Anger gave way to curiosity as Martin checked out the contents of the folder.  It contained a short list of chores to do around the house, but was mostly filled with recruitment brochures for the various branches of military service.  On the back of one of the flyers was a note written on a Post-ItTM Note: "The Navy takes good men and makes them great!"

Anger flooded Martin once again.  "You've never been in the Navy, you little asshole!  You're a sick figment of Frank's imagination!  That's it, you're out of here!"

He went to the phone and dialed Author Frank's number.  It connected to an automated message.  "The number you have dialed cannot be reached from this story line.  Please hang up, and call someone who cares."

He violently hung up the phone and looked to the sky.  "Frank... you BASTARD!!!"

"Martin, is that you?" his mother asked from the other room.


"Could you come in here, please?"

Martin walked into the family room where his mom and dad were sitting on the couch.

"Martin," Mr. Hohner started, "we're gonna make this short and sweet.  You're out, Erich's in."

"What!?" Martin gasped.

"Oh, come on!" Mrs. Hohner said. "Don't look so shocked, son.  I mean, look at this place," she said, gesturing to the rest of the house.  "He might talk funny, but that little kid is a wonder.  It's like having a live-in maid, except he's paying us!"  She thought for a moment.  "He's like a second Rachel, but even better."

The rage Martin was experiencing was like nothing else he'd ever felt before; he could hardly breathe.  I can't believe they're picking him over me!  There has to be a way out of this!  I have a genius IQ, so think!  How do I get that little bastard out of here?!??!?

Suddenly, a wave of calm washed over him as he came to a solution.  "Okay, I understand.  I don't blame you; it is a rather sweet deal.  I'd probably do the same thing in your shoes."

"Really?" his mother asked.

"Martin, you're taking this really well."

"Oh yeah, I was thinking of moving out anyway.  I'll just go and start packing," he said, smiling.  He then ran up to his room and took out the phone book.  Finding the number he was looking for, he dialed his cell phone.  "Hello, Immigration...?"


Ed pounded on his bedroom door.  "Come out of there!"

"Screw you!" Baby O'Reilly yelled back.  He'd been holding out up in Ed and Heather's bedroom for days now, mainly because it was where the computer was.

"O'Reilly, you come out of there right now, or..."

"Or what?"

Ed's face flushed with anger.  "Or I'm gonna kick down the goddamn door!"

"Oh yeah?  Knock yourself out!"

Ed walked backwards to get a good running start, then smashed into the door.  The force field O'Reilly had erected, however, sent him hurtling back in the direction he'd just come from.  Once the shock had worn off, he got up and went to the door.

"How'd you like the taste of that?" O'Reilly inquired.

"Fuck you, you little shit!  Open this door!"

"I wouldn't talk to me like that if I were you.  I have total control of your wife's underwear."

Ed paused.  "What are you doing with Heather's underwear?"

"I've been using it for... stuff."

Realization hit Ed like a ton of bricks.  "You little pervert!  Stop it, stop it right now!"

"Up yours!"

"You have to come out sometime!  And when you do, I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

"What's that?  You want to purchase 5000 shares of Amazon dot com?"

"No, no, please, stop!" Ed begged.  "Please come out of there, I'll do anything?"


"Yes, anything, at this point!  Please just come out of there.  I've been wearing he same clothes for days!"

"You know what I want."

Ed got angry again.  "No!  You can't have that!"

"Suit yourself.  I can stay in here for months.  How long can you hold out?"

Ed's mind was reeling.  I've tried fire, water, gas.  We cut the power and he just rerouted it.  He brought the refrigerator in there.  I called the police, but they were powerless to stop him.  What am I going to do?

His train of thought was interrupted as he heard Heather walk in the door.

"Come on, buddy, open the door?  Heather just came home."

"Alright, bring her on!"

"No!  You can not sleep with my wife!!!"

"Bring forth the redhead to wax my loins!"

"O'Reilly, please be reasonable.  Just come out now, and I promise we'll forget this ever happened."

"Okay, buddy, THAT DOES IT!  I ask you for one simple thing, and you can't even give me that?  Fuck you, pal, it's go time!  Either you bring her in here, or I'm gonna give you a FBI file and credit history the likes of which GOD HIMSELF has never seen!  Good luck buying a house... or a can of tuna!  That's if you can stay out of jail.  Oh, and say goodbye to ever being employed again."

The fight had completely gone out of Ed; it had been replaced with fear.  Fear of the government, fear of creditors and repo men.  The icy fear of cops from the show COPS.

"Ed, is that kid still in our bedroom?" Heather asked, annoyed.

Ed grabbed her by the shoulders.  "Listen, honey, I know you're pissed.  I know he's been in there for a long time... but that little chink is holding all the cards here."  He looked briefly at the door.  "That's why you gotta go in there... and rock that little bastard's world!"


Real World Frank (yes, yet another Frank) walked into the First National Bank and up to one of the tellers.  "I'd like to withdraw 30,000 dollars from this bank."

"Certainly sir, what's your account number?"

He chuckled.  "Oh, I don't have an account here... this is a robbery," he said with a shit-eating grin on his face.

The teller's face soured.  "That's not very funny..."

"Shut up," he said flatly.  "You will now give me 30,000 dollars."

"Do you even have a gun?"

Frank pulled out a revolver.  "Oh, I have a gun, alright.  But I'm not going to use it on any of you," he said, gesturing to the other bank employees.  He then produced baby Alistar from his coat and leveled the gun to his head.  "Either you give me 30,000 dollars right now... or I'm gonna kill this baby seal!"

On cue, Alistar's big puppy-dog eyes meet with the teller's.  He reached his arms out in a hugging type gesture.  "Love me..." he cooed as all the women in the bank melted.

"Quick!  Give him what he wants!"

"Oh, that poor little thing!"

"Somebody stop the silent alarm and tell the police not to come!"

The male bank manager came in to stop all of the commotion.  "Have you all lost your minds?  Get the police in here!  Just because someone comes in with a..."  He was silenced as three of the female tellers pounced upon him, rending him limb from limb.  Another teller talked to the police on the phone.

"Yes, it's just a false alarm, officer.  One of our new girls took all the bills out of one of the register slots and set off the alarm.  Oh well, sorry about that, it happens.  Yes, have a nice day!"

"I'll be taking your surveillance tape as well," Frank told one of the tellers.  As they were all rushing about trying desperately to keep Baby Al alive by fulfilling Frank's demands, he leaned over and whispered into Alistar's ear, "Way to go Al!  It's not even ten o'clock yet, and this is the third bank we've hit today."  He gently kissed him on the forehead.  "When we get done, I'm gonna buy you the biggest, most expensive chew toy there is."

One of the tellers gave Frank a bag with the 30,000-some odd dollars of free-floating currency the bank had in it.  He carefully put it in his backpack.

"Okay, here's the deal, ladies.  I'll be listening to the police band for the next few days, and I don't wanna hear anything about me or you-know-who on it.  And if I do..."  He shook the gun next to Alistar's head.  "Guess who's going to die a slow and very painful death?"  All the women proceeded to gasp with fear.  One of them even fainted.  "Oh, and I suggest you all forget what I look like, too."

As Frank was walking out of the Bank, he noticed an incredibly hot woman in a halter-top and jeans standing in the corner.

"Hey, baby," he said to her.  "Do you like animal lovers?"

Her face crinkled in disgust.  "You horrible, horrible, man!  Weren't you just threatening to kill that poor defenseless baby seal?!"

Frank's face turned red with anger.  He thrust Alistar towards the woman's face.  "FUCK ME OR THE BABY SEAL DIES!!!"

Alistar reached for the woman's breasts.  "Boobies..." he cooed.


Xavier, Spyder, and Hex stood tall in the middle of the highway.  A mile down the road, they could see the entire town of Towanda engulfed in flames.

"I think we might have over-done it," Spyder said, breaking the silence.

"Nah, those suburban sucks had it coming," Xavier replied.

Hex turned to them.  "So, what do ya wanna do now?"

They thought about it.  "Wanna go get a slice of pizza downtown?" Xavier asked.

They both looked at him.  "Cool..."


Andy bolted upright from his bed to find Daimen standing right in front of him.

"Jesus, Daimen!  You scared the shit out of me!"

"Mission accomplished," Daimen reported.

Andy rubbed his eyes and looked at this clock.  It was 3:30 in the morning.

"Great, where is she?" he asked, still half asleep.

Daimen dropped the load from his shoulders onto the floor with a thud.  This completely woke up Andy.  He looked down at the limp body of singer-performer Britney Spears.

"Holy shit!"  He quickly grabbed her wrist and watched as it fell lifelessly to the floor.

"Daimen, she's dead!"

Daimen nodded.

"Daimen, why is she dead?"

"The mission's third directive: If anyone gets in my way, eliminate them."

Andy tried to think of what to do, but all he could think about was the fact that there was a dead body in his room.  He forced himself to concentrate.

"Daimen, how did she get in your way?"

"She resisted coming here, thus endangering the mission's success."

Andy suddenly thought of how loose a term get into your way was.  "Daimen, did anyone else get in your way?"

Daimen nodded.

"How many people got in your way besides Britney here?"


Andy went white as a sheet.  I'm a murderer!  I'm an accessory to mass murder!  Fear brought him back to reality quickly.  I gotta clear my tracks, he thought as he looked down at the dead body.

"Daimen, do you know how to dig a hole?"

Daimen nodded.

"Okay, Daimen, here's what were gonna do..."


Emperor Miro Creed burst into the Royal Pillow Room.  I just hope I'm not too late to save Marcus, he thought as he stepped inside.

The sight he saw was awe-inspiring.  Fifty naked women lay passed out from exhaustion on the floor around Lord Marcus Johnston.  Marcus was currently hovering ten feet above the floor surrounded by a glowing golden aura of light that was also emanating from his eyes.  He was now seven feet tall and rippling with muscles, and his complexion had also cleared up.


"Christ!  Marcus, is that you?" Miro gasped.

The aura vanished as Marcus slowly descended back to the floor.  "Oh hey, Miro, how's it going?"

Miro was stunned.  "I'm... fine... how are you?"

Marcus stretched his arms.  "Man, I feel great!  I think I'm awakened now."

"Oh, thank god, I thought you were dead!"

"Why is that, little fella?" he asked, looking down at Creed.

"Some guy pretending to be me set you up.  I never would have expected you to live through forty-eight hours of a power orgy."

Marcus smiled.  "It was just what the doctor ordered.  I can't wait to enjoy the rest of my vacation.  Thanks for inviting me here, Miro."

"Don't mention it, Marcus.  Now what do ya say we get you something to eat?"

"Oh yeah!  I'm starved," he said as they walked towards the dining hall.  "Hey Miro, who was the guy pretending to be you?"

"I don't know, but let's just say... he ain't too happy right now."


Erich was led to the airport runway in handcuffs by two INS agents.

"Zhere must be some mistake!  I'm just a kid!"

"Listen pal, the country's closed!  No exceptions," one of the agents yelled.

"You'd think your kind would've learned that after that little Cuban kid," the other said.

"I'm not Cuban, damn you!  I am German!"

"Yeah, whatever..."

Soon afterwards, two Aryan-looking gentlemen came to greet them.

"I am agent Zimmer, this is agent Klaus.  We will take the boy into custody now."

"Sign here, please."  One of the German agents signed the form and the two INS agents left.

"Please don't take me to Germany, I don't know anyone zhere!" Erich pleaded.  "I belong in zhe nursery!"

Once they were alone, the two German agents pulled off their masks to reveal that they had three eyes each.

"Hello, Gatecrasher," one of them said.

Erich's eyes popped out.  "Jurvain?  But... zhis is 20th century Earth?  You're not supposed to be here!"

"Silence, puny Earth creature!  The author has already well established the rules of crossovers."

"There are none," the other cut in.

"But, I von't destroy your invasion force for another 243 years!"

They looked down on him.  "Exactly, and now... you never will!"


Chris woke up slowly and groggily, with a really big hangover.  Oh man, he thought, what'd I do last night?

As his eyes focused, the reality of where he was slowly sunk in.  He was wearing nothing but a bathing suit while sitting in a tub full of ice.  He screamed and jumped out of the tub.

"What the... what the hell happened?"  Then he saw himself in the mirror.  Three large red scars crisscrossed his torso.  He suddenly felt pain in his midsection as he hugged his body.

"Oh God!  What's happened to me?" he yelled as he limped to his room.

After slowly getting dressed, he tried to remember what had happened the night before.  The last thing I can remember is little Treschi bringing me a beer and...  The reality of his situation hit him like a ton of bricks.  "That little bastard slipped me a mickey and stole my organs!"  Fear filled the sections of his body that used to house vital organs.  He quickly dialed the phone to speak to his doctor.

"Hello, doctor's office."

"I think someone took my organs!"

"Sir!  Hang up right now and dial 911!"

"Okay, thanks.  Wait, what day is it?"

"It's Friday, now hang up and dial 911!"

Chris hung up the phone and started to dial.  Then it hit him.  Today's Friday?  That means I've been out for five days!

Having called 911, he hung up and went downstairs to wait for the paramedics to arrive.  A knock soon came to the door.

"Oh, thank god you got here so..."  It wasn't the paramedics.

"Christopher Yarwood?" one of the red-suited agents said.


The two men grabbed him.  "You're coming with us!"

"No, wait!  Someone stole my organs!  I need medical attention!"

One of the agents scoffed, "If I had a nickel for every time I heard that."

"No, really, please!  I'm gonna die!"

"Shut up!  You're under arrest for embezzlement, fraud, grand larceny, manipulation of revenues, and the list goes on and on!"

Chris was utterly stunned.  "What?!"

"That's right, we got wise to you when you took out loans for 573 homes in this state alone in the past week.  You're accountable for... how much?"

"2.13 billion dollars," the other agent replied.

Chris's mind went reeling at the figure he was being arrested for.  "It wasn't me!  It was Treschi!  Andrea Treschi!"

"Tell it to the judge, pal."

Just then, Chris noticed the uniforms they were wearing.  The Raptors? he thought.  Then he noticed the nametag of the agent with the eye patch.

"Wait a minute... are you Arthur Clarke?"

The old were-tiger smiled.  "Yep, that's me."

"But wait, how can you be arresting me?"

Arthur shook his head.  "This is a crossover, dumb-ass... anything goes."  They then threw him into the back of their squad car, parked in front of the SOLD sign on the front lawn.


President Elect George W. Bush finished signing a document for one of his staffers.

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"That's 'President-Elect'," he said with a smile.  As his staffer left, he hit the intercom to talk to his secretary.  "Jenny, hold my calls for awhile."

"Yes sir," came the reply over the box.

He kicked back his heels on his desk and relaxed.  Oh boy he thought, I'm gonna be the next president of the United States of America!  He then took off his mask to reveal the face of little Andrea Treschi.  "What a bunch of suckers," he said aloud.



I know I've been doing some weird stuff lately with characters and settings.  I seriously doubt that any of you will have trouble following any of this stuff, but to avoid the critics who might tell me what I'm doing is wrong, due to writing or game mechanics, I have the following:

  • The rules of doing a Parody: Nothing is sacred, no one is safe, and any writing style is acceptable.
  • The rules of doing a Crossover: Anything goes and multiple writing styles inhabiting the same opus are acceptable.
  • The rules of doing a Crossover with a Parody: No rules!  I could submit a drawing of a smiley face in urine and call it a crossover with a parody.  It would suck, but it'd still fit the criteria.

I'd also like to talk about the many facets of the characters.  We've now seen three different Franks in the series.  Let me explain what these titles mean...

  • Author/God/Deity/GM/DM/Storyteller: The divine power behind the medium you're creating.  Currently in TI, Marcus had this title.  But in TI Babies, it doesn't mean squat!  (HAHAHAHAHA!!!)  Or, if you like, the dude who has the final say.
  • Player/Real World: You the player or the reader, being plucked from reality and fictionally put into the story universe.  Having become emotionally involved in the story is a requirement.
  • Character: A shadow or avatar reflection of you.  Like someone playing you in a movie.  The fictional you that inhabits that story universe.
  • Player Character/Creator: A character that someone, besides the first example above, controls.
  • Player: What you are while role-playing.

I know you guys already know this stuff, I just want there to be no confusion whatsoever.

Oh, and the final rule: Above all else, it must have style!

Next Week's Episode: The Dentist


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