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This week the Quizzo blog is going to be a post-apocalyptic, steampunk, multi-media extravaganza. Directions are as follows:

The links will direct you to a Youtube video of a song. Open these links in different tabs or windows (a right click will do the trick) and return to the blog. The videos will begin to play after you click on them and will provide background music to the narrative below. At each break, stop the previously opened video and open the new one, again in another window or tab, to provide the next round of background music. There are 3 links. As far as I know this is the first time this is being done, so tell me how it worked!

Link 1

As the sun began to set, the three idling motorcycles kicked into gear and pulled out onto the road. The bikes were stripped down, homemade choppers that had more stolen and jury-rigged parts than originals. Idling they were loud enough to shake your ribs and speeding they would shatter them. The machine's roar, like the thick black cloud of exhaust and dust that swirled in the twilit street, dissipated as the bikes tore away toward the night's game. The burgeoning silence was accentuated as the orange glow of the hearth disappeared behind the heavy wooden door's lock. Even the plants seemed to shudder.

The 3 bikes sped down the decaying cobblestone avenue toward the pub. The rider's faces were masked by Muslin scarves worn high to block the dust, thick amber goggles and leather helmets. Gnarled and thick hands stuck out of leather jackets and gripped the tarnished metal handlebars as the bikes sped past the crippled shells of bombed-out buildings. Brick and mortar crumbled into piles of rubble at the base of what were once great halls while twisted metal and mountains of dirt had taken the place of the shrubs and landscaping. The ruins were just now beginning to see trees poke out from within their dusty, weed-infused skeletons. The bikes veered around the burning hulls of a 2 car accident as beady eyes and grubby hands warmed themselves in the flames of the wreck. The wretched bastards lived in the ruins; whatever skin wasn't covered in filthy rags was covered in sores and boils from an overabundance of UV radiation. The bodies of the 2 drivers were still inside, cooking, as the bikes sped onward. They wouldn't be there on the way back.

As the final hill was crested the lights of New Philadelphia glistened and sparkled in the distance. The twinkling skyscrapers, buzzing helicopters, flailing searchlights pointed to the skies and dazzling, flashing advertisements set against the last vestiges of waning daylight were almost dreamlike in their contrast to life on the dusty ground. The riders, tearing through the silent streets, would stay on the outskirts of town. New Philadelphia didn't cater to this caste of Outlanders.

The three riders had reached their destination at one of the few remaining buildings of Old Philadelphia; an ancient Greek building standing alone amidst dry, dusty earth and uneven, broken cobblestone. A shantytown had been erected in it's morning shade to shield the people from the powerful sun. The riders disembarked in a cloud of dust behind the tent-city; the din of the bar in the distance was as inviting to those in that rotting wasteland as a fire is from the cold. The darkness had now set in fully and the starless sky was dark save the slim, waxing moon. The three riders made their way through the darkness toward the building.

Link 2

Once inside the riders sat at a corner table near the back and ordered a round of drinks. The lighting, powered by Italian Greyhounds running on treadmills high above the crowd, shorted out constantly and was colored by black light and neon; it was nearly impossible to see through the thick clouds of smoke each taking the color of the light they floated through; a glowing miasma of blue, purple, green, red and gray.

Wednesday was the night of the weekly Pub Quiz which meant that the dredges would be out to get drunk and see blood spilled. Much of the clientèle, like the bikers, had a fine coating of black dust ingrained within their sun-warped skin. The men wore brightly dyed mohawks or thick multi-colored dreadlocks and were covered in amateur tattoos and piercings. The scantily clad women, their heavily made-up faces aged well beyond their years, bore the signs of a lifetime of abuse. Teenagers skulked in the shadows, illuminated only when they took a draw from a cigarette, waiting for the first lush to fall asleep and forfeit his or her wallet. Everyone was no more than a bad look away from a violent attack. Then the Quizmaster came out.

The only thing that could match the foul living conditions of Old Philadelphia was the tongue of The Quizmaster; it was as sharp as a razor and as filthy as a whore. His mere presence was like an electric current throughout the bar. He dressed outlandishly, spoke with a thick brogue and was quick to strike. One unlucky drunk, who hadn't noticed The Quizmaster arrive, had his seat kicked out from underneath him and found a 6-inch serrated blade driven deep into his heart before he had even hit the ground. The Quizmaster, grinning devilishly beneath twisted locks curling out from under his tall stove-pipe hat, conspicuously and gracefully leaned down to the man, now prone on his back, and fiercely whispered something into his ear. The convulsing victim's eyes bulged as The Quizmaster ceremoniously ripped the blade from his chest, spraying the surrounding crowd with a fountain of blood, and as a gurgling death rattle was emitted from below, a wild, uproarious cheer erupted from the crowd. The game had begun.

The teams fought fiercely for each correct answers as the wrong answers carried heavy penalties. One team thought they were right and during the ensuing celebration, the crowd covered them in cheap gin, lit them on fire and threw them into the street. They had misspelled Diogenes.

Other teams narrowly escaped the powerful crushing jaws of genetically engineered giant crocodiles leaping and snapping from trapdoors beneath the tables, dodged sparking, spinning saw blades, that would take your limb if not your life, that were hidden within cracks in the walls and floors and leapt to avoid all manner of makeshift blades, small explosives and chemical agents thrown indiscriminately by The Quizmaster. Many were less fortunate and as the body count rose, the team numbers and ranks dwindled.

In the end, two teams survived the onslaught, but ended up in a tie. Ties never bode well in this game, however, and The Quizmaster quickly improvised a tie-breaker that would truly decide the fate of the players. With the aid of a flash grenade he slipped through a secret door and left in his place his weight in Composition 4 Plastic Explosives. As the screaming and hysterical crowd streamed through the door, trampling those unfortunate enough to have tripped on the bodies below, the bikers finished their drinks and eyed each other.

Link 3

The explosion and subsequent fire weren't even noticed by the New Philadelphia fire company, who wouldn't have come out at night anyway. The smoke was wispy in the morning twilight and as the bikes tore off, one of the bikers turned and faced the sun rising over the Delaware. The river, it's small waves dappled with the bright morning sunlight, danced along in wobbly, glowing orange lines. A lone fisherman cast his line from a bobbing boat and young trees rippled in the light breeze. Flowers began to unfurl themselves, stretching their dewy petals out to greet the new day. Softly, in the distance, the quiet roar of the bikes could be heard. The fisherman never turned his head.

Congrats teams. Winners this week were That was me in the R. Kelly Video featuring Dr. Mike, KristIn, Charity, Bill, Lauren, BJ, D'Arcy and a mysterious, point-reducing 8th member. In a heartbreakingly close 2nd place was Teledildonics made up of Jimbo, Sean, Rob, Reese and Eddie Mother-Fuckin' Money. Hope you enjoyed the blog and see you next week!