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Seal of Disapproval vs. The Snapture


Under a bruised evening sky, the denizens of the Zoofights complex eagerly await tonight's fight between multi-ton monstrosities.

Yet as the hot air grows thick with ozone and electricity, there is no sign of either the Snapture or his presidential opponent on the viscera-stained sand.

With nothing to broadcast from arena #1, the stadium broadcast system begins to cycle through various video feeds throughout the citadel, until it finally picks up on the location of the Snapture...


The Snapture, meanwhile, has set his own agenda.

I was right in the middle of a fucking reptile zoo, and somebody was giving booze to these goddamn things

- Hunter Thompson

Sitting at the bar as he has been round the clock since his bus-punching expedition, the ageless turtle is just about to enter into his nightly round of drinking competitions with himself, when a shudder transmits itself through the stadium complex.

He knows it is time to fight, but he would rather be made into soup than go off wide-eyed in search of his opponent.

Taking another pull of malt liquor through a smile like the Three Gorges dam, he listens to the faint sound of the crowd chanting his name in the hallowed space of Arena One, and waits for trouble to come and find him.

It doesn't take long.

( And yes I know the Snapture is the size of a motor vehicle - you have no idea how huge that dude he's drinking with is! )

With a hiss of pistons and a low, guttering roar, the doors to the King of Beasts sports bar are busted aside and the Seal of Disapproval powers in.

Accusatory flippers flying, he wades through patrons and furniture alike, treating wood, metal and flesh like mist in his quest to lay a beating on the reptilian drifter.

The Snapture grimaces as he hears glass smash and wood splinter behind him, and begins to turn in his stool to deliver a withering volley of bon mots.

His craggy jaw opens, and ropes of acrid drool srop to the floor.

"Now Prez Imma let you finish..."

But the Bastard from the Bayou barely has time to fill his tar-coated lungs before the wind is knocked out of them by several tons of herring-scented blubber.

An almighty fusillade of hydraulic rams firing in unison sends Prez hurtling backwards into the Snapture, battering him against the vanadium-laced hardwood of the bar and spilling all five of his drinks.

He isn't happy with this.

Even as Snapture reels from the bodyslam that would have crushed the ribcage of any non-chelonian, his vast leathery paws grope for any useful weapon to hand.

Given his size and strength, a pinball table does perfectly, and stands in for a two-by-four in exemplary fashion as he spangs it it straight across the hideous face of his adversary.

Shards of tusk fall to the floor like handfuls of marbles, and viscous gouts of vomit tumble from the seal's maw, bearing with them vile parasites with gull heads stitched onto the bodies of rats. Foul.

But the leak of vomit is like a mere shimmer on the surface of a sea before the mighty tsunami of chunder to come.

Bearing all his immense weight down on the turtle, Prez disgorges many dozens of litres of acidic fluid, while releasing a dense horde of ratgulls from his gullet.

They rip, bite, stab and tear at the Snapture, but he cares not. Using titanic strength in one arm to keep back the moving mountain of sealhide and its minion-spewing piehole, he stands firm in the face of the onslaught.

Nevertheless, the relentless beaks of the slippery hybrids distract Snapture just long enough for the Seal of Disapproval to get himself in position for a stunning move...


For a moment, Snapture blacks out. When he comes to, he sees something astringent and highly flammable lying in the debris by his face - a barrel of Gezora's finest pineal punch.

Even though his mind is working thick and slow as black treacle, parts of his nervous sytem have already figured out his next move autonomously, and he begins to stir at once.

Crushing the barrel in his spring-loaded jaws, he staggers to his feet and reaches out to grab a flickering candle with his hugely callused claw...


Despite being suddenly and severely on fire, the Seal of Dissaproval launches itself at Snapture, and bowls the Testudarch over in a rolling melee of blazing flippers and raging tusks.

The Snapture is fed up with taking blows however, and uses his vast shell as a lever to force himself on top of his relentless adversary.

He lays in with a series of vicious facial blows, using his arms as a pair of savage meat pendulums to strip away the Seal's cranial blubber while hissing like a broken nuclear furnace.

But the howling seal stays resolutely conscious under the rain of battery, and bucks mightily to throw off the scaly burden.

While flames still lick across its hide, causing open rents in its blubber to sizzle like half-cooked teppanyaki, the President of the United States of America has no room in its mind for anything but hate, and the fight is nowhere near over yet...

In a feat of strength beyond rational comprehension, the Seal of Dissaproval grabs the Snapture's tail between his tusks and begins to Physically drag a turtle as heavy as a bull hippo up fourteen flights of stairs.

Despite often being connected only by the devastating clamp of bony beak on hide, the Seal backs up, backs up and backs up again, hauling the enormous reptile onward step by agonising step.

After a tortuous half hour of scaline suffering, they reach the apex of the tower, and the doors to the....

...commentator's booth.


The two monsters, shattered and exhausted, rise to their full height after hitting hard concrete in the aftermath of a 100ft drop.

The shattered bleachers of Arena One lie in pieces around them, and the audience gather in their thousands around the ring of debris.

The storm has broken into its full wrath during the duel, and hard rain is lashing down from the post-nuclear sky. It's fine weather for a showdown.

A dual scream of defiant fury, just one semitone short of harmony, splits the gathering darkness just as lightning strikes. Flippers and claws scrape the sodden ground, and each brute braces itself for the final collision...



From the upper tiers of the gentleman's seating, a flicker of rich green paper catches the stormlight for an instant.

It is but the reckless wager of an accordion-headed man, and yet it is enough to catch the shaded eye of the Snapture, even in his exhuastion.

As the banknotes of the dilettante's wafer flutter down to earth like the first blossom of a February orchard, the ancient turtle cannot help but stare in abstract hunger...





It happens terrifyingly fast.

The very second Snapture turns his head, the Seal is in motion. Wrenching a vast sign from its supports while the enemy is distracted, it slams the iron hoarding into the reptile's skull, and stoves it in at last.

There is no time even for the crowd to react before thunder and the smug bellowing of the seal steal the words from their lips.

The President is through to the semi-finals, and The Snapture must seek his fortune in the uncertain, bloody scramble of the Loser's League Rumble.

The Seal of Disapproval Wins.

Reader Comments (5)

Although I cannot condone this fight, it is how he would want to go...

June 20, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterDerecho

Ahahahahaha I've lost again. It's just funny at this point.

The final comeback is hilariously awesome and totally makes up for it - it is so awesome that this actually came down to whether or not Herr Accordion or Doctor Hans or whatever he's called used his Gorillion Dollars. That's amazing.

I wonder if VIn Diesel will be able to get this much mileage out of his own Gorillion...

Eagerly awaiting the sure-to-be-incredible Royal Rumble - there are a LOT of potential winners in there. Sheesh - Snake Pilgrim, Snapture, the Sturge, EMMA, the Gorillesis/Ro-Boto tag team, and the wildcard, the Onion. Heck, even Banebarrimundi is pretty cool now.

Oh, and, uh... an empty nautilus shell. Okay, they can't all be winners.

...Now I'm curious. How the heck did they manage to get Aggronaut back to life - if it's even possible? Draaainage ATE him. And he had gone rogue anyway! Anything could happen with what's left of Aggronaut, and that is another serious wildcard.

June 21, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterGooper Blooper

This year's rumble is going to be awesome!

I can't help but think the onion's bitten off more than he can chew.
He can't possibly take out the snapture, snake pilgrim AND gorillesis/roboto,
as well as the rest?
He's not that big, and he's got one huge,
glaring weak point that's pretty susceptible to attack.
One laser blast, harpoon, lion head or wayward time snake and it's over for him.

And possibly a huge mosquito stinger. After all, she's going up against croctopus.

June 21, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterLurker

Holy Crap! The brutality! The inhumanity! The rumble is gonna be risickulous. Maybe Aggronaut's shell becomes the new home of a savage and deranged monster hermit crab. Some mollusks happily squat in discarded shells. Hell, maybe after his recent defeat The Snapture will be wanting a new shell outfitted with squid arms, rocket launchers, and a flak gun... WhoTF KNOWS!!

June 21, 2010 | Unregistered Commenterfauzii


Okay, I'm just sore 'cause I backed the wrong titan. Who could have seen that coming, though? Zoofights: keeps you guessing.

As for the royal rumble, I just have no idea. My secret dream wish is that somehow Sturgeon splits the vote and makes it to the finals in some greatly augmented hyper-dangerous fashion (perhaps... giant robot arms and a Russian tank with a voice-amplifying sonic projector to ride around in?), but I suspect he just doesn't have the votes for it, and I don't want to see him lose to Crocktopus again anyway.

That puts it down to the Snapture, Drraainage (who I agree isn't getting through Crocktopus all in one piece), and the Onion, who has that Shang Tsung final boss vibe going on, you have to admit. Actually, I wonder what Sting Kong and his Sega Genesis MK1 brain have to say about that...

June 22, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterKid Darius

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