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Just a piece of fun thrown together by Plenoptic's Number One Fans! Please give us your keyboard!


Disclaimer: We swear we are not A.D.D.


You're supposed to tell about the story in the disclaimer, stupid!


WHATEVERA!


Real Disclaimer: We don't own Transformers. But maybe Hasbro could loan us Jazz for a day or two.

'Cause this would make a GREAT show!

EPISODE ONE

JAZZ FINDS SOME COOL NEW STUFF! AND FREAKS OUT THE NEW RECRUITS.

Jazz glared angrily at Optimus.

Glancing up casually Optimus met Jazz's red optics.

"ACK! What?"

"I hate you."

"Huh?"

"Femmes dig you, not me, why?"

"Um..." Optimus shrugged.

Jazz popped out his red contact lens and sighed. "Now I'll have to ask Elita, thanks though."

Optimus blinked and went back to work.

Slugging into her office, Jazz found Elita. "Why do femmes like Optimus?"

Elita looked up from a stack of paperwork, "the mask."

Jazz blinked, "seriously?"

"No." Elita went back to her paper work.

But Jazz didn't notice her sarcasm; he ran to his room, only to skid to a stop outside a mysteriously open closet door. To Jazz, however, every door was open to him--including the doors to the various femmes' quarters. But that's another story that wouldn't quite fit this rating, now would it?

"Whoa," Jazz said, and kicked the door open. "Seems stupid ol' Ironhide forgot to lock another door!"

The closet, as it turned out, was filled to the top with boxes that were overflowing with colorful thingies! Jazz, excited, ran into the room and immediately pulled out a box, toppling into another and knocking out all of the slaggin' awesome contents.

"Whoa!" Jazz repeated, looking at the floor. It appeared to be a random assortment of SUPERHERO CLOTHES!

Incidentally, Jazz had little, if not none, knowledge of superheroes.

"What the slag?" he said loudly, looking at the clothes. They looked like flimsy armor. He tried on some gloves. They came up to his elbows. "Cool!" he yelled, and as he shuffled through the other boxes, plans, ideas started to flow threw his little mind, soon he was grinning.

Only Primus knows how long Jazz stayed in that closet. A few passing recruits glanced nervously at it as they passed; they heard some very weird noises coming from the room; they hurried passed and decided not to reveal that piece of information to anyone, thinking that their processors were fritzing.

"This is so slagging awesome!" Jazz said happily, struggling though he was to pull on a big red cape. He now sported the purple gloves, and knee-high yellow boots that looked like something Superwoman would wear. "I love this human frag!"

Digging through another box Jazz found something he found to be like Optimus's mask; a visor.

"SWEET!" He squelched as he attached the funny colored single lens. "BEAT THIS OPPY!"

His fun was interrupted by the blare of his comm link. "Hiz," he answered, and Ratchet groaned loudly.

"Jazz? You're late for your shift."

"Whoz iz diz Jazz? I know no Jazz!"

"GET DOWN HERE!"

"OWWWWWZ!" Jazz rubbed his ear things. "Gosh, geez if your know no Jazz no comez I shallz offerz replacementz!"

"Just forget what ever it is you are talking about and get DOWN HERE NOW!" Ratchet roared.

Jazz blinked as the comlink went dead.

"Okay, Jazz is not going into work today, so what will go in as a replacement?"

Jazz held a light bulb above his head.

"I KNOW! I'LL GET SUPERJAZZ!"

The Training Bridge

Ironhide was rambling. It was a kinda interesting ramble. It went something like this--to those who understood it, of course. Ironhide was a redneck.

"Ah'm not sayin' nothin' abou' nobody, but Ah did know this one guy who got his interface blasted off bah ah femme on th' battlefield because he forgot to wear his crotch plate. Ya see, them femmes is violent tha' way...they don' put up with no nonsense from any mech, ya see..."

Elita was "grrrr"ing in the background. Optimus looked sheepish. He also looked like he was thinking "I was not the mech who got his interface blasted off, I was not the mech who got his interface blasted off..." Bumblebee was checking to make his plate was secure. Discreetly, of course...as discreetly as one could in front of about one hundred recruits.

"Jazz is late," Ratchet grumped angrily.

And at that moment, a mysterious costumed figure FLEW IN THROUGH THE WINDOW!

"OMG!" all the recruits shouted. "It's one of those flying morons! They warned us about them in the academy! They said to be careful about them in Optimus Prime's unit!"

"Hey!" Optimus squawked femmeshly high.

"Enough chattah!" Ironhide shouted above the resulting din. "Who the slag is that?!"

"Yeah!"

"Who is that?!"

"I… AM… SUPERJAZZ!" the figure roared.

"Frag! Some kind of weird code name!"

"Yeah! We have to reveal his secret identity!"

"Let's find out who he is!"

"Yeah!"

Elita stared at her so called friends. "...OMG. You're kidding me, right?"

"Ack!" Superjazz flayled his arms helplessly as he wobbled throught the air. "I'm losing control! Help!"

"Duck!" Ironhide yelped, pulling down a few recruits with him.

Superjazz was shooting all over the place, hitting the walls like PING PING PING PING PING!!! Ironhide, in a mad fit of panic, pulled out both of his bad-aft cannons and began shootin wildly, figuring that he might actually hit something. Superjazz yelped, careening insanely out of control and darn near taking out a few helpless recruits. Ironhide ran around in a circle, his cannons still going off.

Optimus and Ratchet ducked under a table, screaming rather wonderfully in key. Sexy beasts.

Elita sighed, realizing that it upon her to save her stupid mechs. She looked up at the loser who was PINGING off the walls, and as he drew close, she calmly extended an arm and seized his doors as he attempted to whizz past. He squirmed for a minute, his arms and legs sticking out in a SUPERMAN position.

Still remaining completely calm, she began to carry him to the window.

"SUPERJAZZ IS VICTORIOUS!" he bellowed suddenly, and she stopped.

"Huh?"

"I STOPPED THE BORING-NESS!" He roared, punching the air. "I PUT IRONHIDE'S AFT IN ITS FAT PLACE!"

Elita rolled her optics. Ironhide roared from his fat seat.

With a friendly parting of comment of "GET OUT OF HERE, FREAKAZOID!" Elita One threw the victorious Superjazz out the window.

Something is beginning…please review! No hate mail, please...


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