Author's blathering: Transformers is the copyright of Hasbro et.al. In other words, I don't own them, but if I did...! If you tried to sue me, you wouldn't get much! This is meant to be a parody and is therefore *supposed* to be weird and not to be taken too seriously. I'm not quite sure what prompted the spawning of this weird idea, but it is here, and I have unleashed it upon the unsuspecting Transfan community! Don't worry if you don't understand everything, for there are a few inside jokes hidden in the fic. Hey, it's a parody, you're not *supposed* to understand it! :) I was not able to include every Beast Wars character, and, for the sake of the story, it was necessary to leave out many events, or alter them. Call it poetic license. Please send feedback to phantom1313 at tfrid dot com. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows.
Special thanks to Magic and Rockman666 for their suggestions. You guys are my inspiration!!
* * * * *
The shadowy figure sat hunched over a glowing, tri-dimensional grid. His red optics glowed like fiery embers as he studied the readouts before him. It was almost too good to be true! But he had to be certain. Barely able to keep a quaver of excitement from his voice, he commanded, "Computer! Scan entire planet for designated compound."
The computer silently worked for several seconds, than reported in an undeniably feminine voice, "Scan complete. The planet is rich with the selected compound."
"Yeeeeeeess!" the figure cried in exultation, pumping one victorious purple fist in the air. "The planet has buttergon!!!!"
And thus begins...
Butter Wars! the parody
It was a war that stretched across time and space. The inhabitants of the planet Dairytron had lived peacefully side-by-side for millions of years, until the warrior Coffeecons, in their quest for a balanced breakfast, began depleting the planet of its natural resources. The Butterbots, though peaceful in nature, could not sit back and let the Coffeecons deprive them of their vital sustenance. The battle for nutrition raged until the planet was nearly depleted of its dairy stocks. In desperation, the Butterbots began searching the universe for more butter, followed, unbeknownst to them, by the devious Coffeecons. As chance would have it, both factions crashed on a planet that would come, in four million years' time, to hold rich stocks of the two components that each respective faction desperately needed: butter and coffee. Two hundred years in the future, this ancient battle seemed to be a thing of the past, as new factions, the Mooximals and the Breadacons, lived side-by-side in peace and gluttony. Yet a small band of renegade Breadacons would not be satisfied until they possessed all the butter stocks in the galaxy. The theft of the hallowed Golden Butter Disk once again led both factions to crash on an alien planet, where the drama plays itself out once more. The Butter Wars are born!
Just to avoid a bit of confusion, here is a list to keep track of who's who:
The Predacons- The Breadacons:
The Maximals- The Mooximals:
Optimus Primal- Buttermus Primal
* * * * *
"Why, what did you call me?"
Butterbot snarled angrily. "You heard me. You are an idiot and a fool! Plus, you are an ugly purple dinosaur! You make me sick!"
"All very valid points," Buttertron conceded genteelly, "but I fail to see why you are so upset."
"You brought to us the wrong planet! The Golden Butter Disk indicated that the planet that we seek has only one moon made of green cheese, not two!" Butterbot brandished a rounded object angrily. It was a bronzed circle of plastic, marked by the words 'Country Crock'.
Buttertron waved his little purple arms dismissively. "Oh, hogwash. What does it matter? This planet is rich with deposits of buttergon! Granted, it is raw butter, and we cannot properly digest it in our normal robot forms, but we have adapted! These new beast forms are excellent for our purposes! Now if only I could scratch that itch on the back of my neck, I would be deliriously happy and perhaps say yeeesss a few more times." Butternok obligingly stepped forward, like the toady he was, and scratched it for his leader. "Ah yeeeeees, thank you very much, Butternok. And as long as you are here, I have another job for you."
Butterbot's serrated mouth fell open in horror as Buttertron stepped aside, allowing Butternok to lock on an anti-dairy missile. Butterbot barely had time for a mingled exclamation of rage and pain as he was blasted far away from the crashed Breadacon shuttle. The first shot of the new war had been fired, and it had irrevocably tipped the balance of power.
"Beast form complete," the bass tones of the Mooximals' shipboard computer rumbled. "You may emerge." The door swung open, and out sauntered a spotted cheetah. The feline preened and admired his reflection in a nearby wall.
"Spot-on smooth, and butter-colored, too!" he murmured. "Check out the new-and-improved Buttor! Man, if the chicks on Dairytron could see me now!" He would not be so pleased if he knew what he would look like in a few seasons.
"Eh, whassup with this?!" a voice whined behind him. The cheetah turned to see a rat emerge from the shadows. "These little hands are useless, and I have a sudden craving for garbage!"
"Nice bod, Buttertrap," Buttor sneered. "And whew!" he exclaimed, fanning the air. "It smells as bad as it looks!"
"Can it, babybot, or I'll put such a knot in your tail that you'll--"
"Break it up, you two!" a voice rumbled, soon backed up with a somewhat bulky body. "Living large is for fellas like me: Buttox!"
Both Mooximals could not help but snicker at that comment. "Suits ya," Buttertrap muttered under his breath, goggling at the enormous rear on his old pal. He was amazed that it could even fit through the door!
"Buttertrap, that's enough from you," Buttox said patiently.
"Yeah, Buttertrap, or he might sit on you!" Buttor chortled in amusement.
"Enough chatter!" The last Mooximal finally joined the group, asserting his command status. "We have to explore this planet and secure its vast stocks of raw buttergon before the Breadacons do! We must act at once to intercept them."
Just then, the doorbell rang. "Since when did we install a doorbell in our ship?" Buttertrap exclaimed incredulously.
Buttox sighed. "Well, I had to do something while we were running through time and space chasing Buttertron!"
Buttor went to the peephole and looked out. "So much for intercepting them; they've come to us!"
"But there's just one!" Buttertrap exclaimed in disbelief.
"Attention, Mooximals!" Butterbot announced. "I have come to join your group... as leader!"
"You're welcome to it!" Primal muttered. "Leading this bunch of losers is already turning my fur gray."
"Ohh, no you don't!" Buttertrap exclaimed angrily. "You signed up for this mission, and now you're stuck with us!"
"Don't remind me!" Primal groaned wearily. To the waiting Breadacon, he sighed, "Very well. We will battle."
The door hatch of the Mooximal spaceship, the Butterlon, opened and descended towards the ground. Butterbot looked up and saw the Mooximals descending towards him. He shook his head in disgust. "Nevermind! I don't want to be stuck leading these losers. Just let me join your group. Buttertron will pick me off in no time if I remain alone."
"Are you sure?" Buttermus exclaimed, sounding slightly desperate. "We could do rock-paper-scissors!"
"Heeeey! I'm insulted!" Buttertrap cried. "You don't like having little ol' me under your command?"
"I can see why!" Butterbot snarled. "Your existence is an insult!"
"I love you too, Butterbot," Buttertrap smiled. "Now we don't have to keep our marriage bond a secret anymore!"
"Ewww!" exclaimed Buttor. "Sick! You guys deserve each other!" He turned aside, gagging slightly.
"Kids," the rat grumbled good-naturedly.
"Buttermus," Buttox rumbled in an ominous tone, "I've found something. These odd stone formations that the computer scanned... they aren't natural. I'm also picking up some sort of odd flying island."
"So then perhaps we're not alone on this desolate planet," Buttermus ruminated. "Very well, Buttox. Monitor all unnatural formations. We'll get to the bottom of this mystery yet."
"Sooner than you think, Buttermus, yeeesss!"
Buttor screamed as a disembodied hologram of Buttertron's head appeared in the middle of the control room's display table. "Control yourself, pussycat," the urbane voice sniffed disdainfully. "I am not here to cause trouble. On the contrary: I propose a truce."
"A truce?" Buttertrap sneered. "But the war has barely begun! Ol' boss-monkey hasn't kicked it off by yelling 'Butter Wars' yet!"
"I thought we could skip the theatrics," Primal muttered. "I'd have to endure teasing for the rest of the series for that corny line! I secretly erased it from the script!"
"Riiiight," Buttertron drawled. "Anyway, I need your response. Do you accept?"
"Oh, why not?" Primal sighed. "I'd never win a war with these jokers anyway."
'Good thing he hasn't looked too closely at my troops,' Buttertron thought gloomily. 'Ah, it's hard to get good help these days. Even coffee doesn't bolster their fighting spirit, and it certainly doesn't inspire loyalty. Only my rubber ducky understands me.' Aloud, he said, "Very well, we have a truce, then. Have a nice day!" The head disappeared from sight.
"Somethin's weird here," Buttertrap muttered.
"Besides you, vermin?" said Butterbot caustically.
"Cut it out, you two. Save it for the honeymoon," Primal said off-handedly. "I'm going to my quarters to think. Something has gotten Buttertron so distracted that he doesn't even want to think about us! I'm going to puzzle it out."
"No problem, Buttermus. I'll monitor the Breads' activity."
Buttermus shook his head as he left the command bridge and headed towards his quarters. What could this mean? Did Buttertron merely need more time to gather his butter supplies? He had to know that, truce or no truce, the Mooximals could not allow that. So what did he have up his sleeve?
He entered his darkened quarters, his gaze immediately focusing on one of his most precious possessions. On the wall hung a poster of one of the most revered Butterbots of all time, Buttermus Prime. The awe-inspiring figure stood poised on a hill, rifle at his side, gazing out thoughtfully into the distance. He gave off an air of self-assurance and battle-readiness. On his bright, shiny metal mask he sported a broad milk mustache. The bottom of the poster read: 'When I'm not busy leading my Butterbots into battle against the diabolical Coffecons, I cool off with a tall glass of milkagon. It has plenty of calcium to build a strong exostructure, and it has a refreshing taste. Dairy- the future of Dairytron!'
Primal turned to the poster thoughtfully. "What would you do in this situation, Prime, mightiest of the dairy warriors?" he asked humbly. "You were also stranded on an alien planet rich with breakfast products. Although I do not have the experienced warriors that you did, nor the wisdom that you had, I hope to prove worthy of your namesake. You have inspired me to defend this nutritious world from tyrants such as Buttertron!"
His radio suddenly crackled to life. "Buttox to Buttermus Primal."
"Acknowledged," Primal said, suppressing a snicker at Buttox's apt name. "Have you picked up anything?"
"Indeed," Buttox replied, sounding bemused. "A mushroom-shaped structure of butter has just appeared several kliks away. The Breadacons are already on the move."
"Thank you. Primal out." He cut the link, then turned once more to the poster, drawing strength from the mighty figure before him. "And so it begins," he said out loud.
Buttertron sat back, lounging in his buttergon whirlpool, a huge grin spread across his face. He picked up his dinosaur head/hand, and yes indeed, it seemed to grin as well. "Excellent, yeeesss!" he exclaimed to the walls. Things were coming together much better than expected. He winked at the poster of his ancestor and namesake, Buttertron, on the wall. The figure was standing proudly on a smoking battlefield, one foot on a hapless Butterbot corpse, taking a long, satisfying sip from a mug filled with steaming coffee. The caption read: 'Those foolish Butterbots think that we are only after dairy products. Little do they know that coffee is the real secret behind our fighting spirit! Dairy may be the future of Dairytron, but coffee is the secret weapon of the Coffeecons! Long live coffee!'
"Ah, my ancestor, even you could not dream of the wonders that this planet has! True, even coffee cannot motivate my poor excuse for warriors, but I have discovered, through the Golden Butter Disk, the secret to retaking Dairytron! This planet is abundant with natural, raw buttergon, enough by far to win this so-called 'Butter Wars' once and for all! Little does that fool Primal know, as I do, that this planet was artificially seeded with butter. I hope to make contact with these aliens and gain their knowledge in order to raise the Breadacons to their rightful place as rulers of the universe!" He nodded respectfully to his rubber ducky. "I have you to thank as well. Your loyalty and listening skills are unsurpassed by any in my so-called army. I have sent those fools out ahead to investigate the odd alien structure that has appeared. If anything, well, unpleasant should happen, they or the Mooximals will have to deal with it, thus leaving me free to implement my usual simple plans of universal domination. Though I suppose I *should* get going. It wouldn't do to miss out on all the fun!" Buttertron climbed out of the tub, modestly wrapping a towel around his waist to conceal his gearbox, and hastened out to join his warriors. Victory was almost at hand!
"Boy, is this thing ever weird!" Buttertrap muttered, studying the odd, mushroom-shaped structure.
"Not as weird as Butternator!" buzzed a voice.
"Oh, so it's you," Buttertrap sighed. "I should've known that you were lurking around here somewhere. So, what are you going to do? We have a truce, remember?"
"Buuuuutternator not shoot!" the wasp grinned, bashing Buttertrap over the head with his rifle.
"Okay, that does it!" the rat snapped. "I know this is the easy way out, but when you fight with a rat, you'd better fight dirty!" He reached out and pressed a big red button on Butternator's chest. "Oh, noooo!" the wasp had time to buzz before he immediately fell apart into a dozen pieces.
"Well, that was less than challenging," Buttertrap sighed. Whoever had assembled Butternator had been a true idiot, and the automatic disassembly button had been the crowning touch of stupidity. He had heard rumors that a Butterbot known as Cheese Wheelie had constructed Butternator as a science class project. The kid had probably received an F for his labors.
"Hm, now what do we have here?" The rat turned to study the alien structure before him. A large structure made entirely out of butter, his favorite food! How could he resist? He was a rat, after all! He stepped forward, transformed into beast mode, and bit in deeply. He promptly regretted it as metal tentacles pulled him inside "What in the name of Land O'Lakes?" he cried out as he disappeared inside the bungalow.
Buttermus Primal and Buttertron both simultaneously arrived just in time to witness Buttertrap's kidnapping. "No! Buttertrap!" Primal exclaimed. "You didn't actually try to *eat* this thing, did you?" A muffled "yes" met his audials, and he groaned in despair.
"It *is* hard to get good help these days," said Buttertron sympathetically.
"You should know," Buttermus sneered.
"Oh, you cut me to the quick, yeeesss," the purple dinosaur said good-naturedly, twiddling his tiny forearms.
"I'm going in. A Mooximal is the one trapped inside!" Primal said stubbornly.
"By all means, be my guest. It is awfully nice of you to spring any traps for me, and you'll be nicely out of the way when I break the truce!"
"What was that?" Primal asked suspiciously.
"Ah, nothing," Buttertron said, looking completely innocent, as far as a giant purple dinosaur can.
"If you're sure," the ape growled, then turned to the alien structure. He beat upon it with his fists, and since it was only made of butter, a hole quickly appeared. Primal quickly spotted Buttertrap on the floor, delirious with whatever had been done to him. He quickly dragged his stunned teammate to the hole and thrust him out, but was then himself grabbed by metal tentacles and restrained. The hole in the wall quickly resealed itself.
"Wh--who are you?" Buttermus managed to gasp as a bright butter-yellow light thoroughly scanned him.
"We are known as the race of Milkakuh," a disembodied, echoing voice replied, with a strange, almost Japanese accent. A shape began to form above the trapped Mooximal. Incredibly enough, the features gelled into a cow's head, complete with slanted eyes. "We are the ones that seeded this planet with buttah. Our own planet was running low on buttah stocks, and we wished to create an emergency supply. Buttah is our sole sustenance, and the focus of our culture."
"Since you scanned me, you know that the intentions of the Mooximals are peaceful," Primal pointed out desperately. A race that could seed an entire planet with buttergon had to be incredibly powerful!
"This is true," said the accented voice sadly, "but those that you call the Breadacons intend great harm. They intend to plunder our stocks of buttah and use it for their evil purposes. We cannot allow that to happen. Although it would mean the destruction of our buttah, as well as the lifeforms of this planet, we must eliminate this threat. We are sorry. Please try to have a nice day."
"What? Noooooo!" Primal screamed, horrified by the thought of such massive destruction, the death of his friends, the creatures of this planet, and most horrible of all, the *butter*!!!
Outside, Buttertron was about to take advantage of Primal's distraction of the aliens to take a large chomp out of the buttery mushroom hut, when a sudden loud rumble distracted him. At first he thought it was his stomach, but then he looked up in astonishment to see one of the green-cheese moons split apart to reveal an oddly shaped weapon. He wasn't sure what it did, but it had to be nasty. "All this, just to get rid of us!" he said thoughtfully. "If it weren't for the destruction of the buttergon and the end to my wonderful plans, not to mention my rubber ducky, I'd rather like these aliens."
Finally Primal managed to rip through the restraints and ran outside to warn his troops, who had finally managed to catch up. "Back to base, hurry!" he cried.
"What's goin' on here?" Buttertrap cried, finally coming to his senses.
Primal stared gravely at the sky. "The end of the world."
"You want me to do *what*?!" Buttox exclaimed incredulously.
"I want you to design a small craft that will fly me close to that alien weapon," Primal patiently explained once more.
"But what can you hope to do against *that*?" Buttor asked.
"I have a plan..." the Mooximal leader said mysteriously.
"Last time you said that, it got us stranded here!" Buttertrap complained.
"Don't remind me," Primal sighed.
"Alright, I'll do it," Buttox groaned. And, within a short time....
"It's ready," Buttox sighed. "I wish you wouldn't do this."
"It is my duty," Buttermus said nobly. Butterbot and Buttertrap both rolled their optics.
"Take care of yourself," Buttor said somberly.
"Good luck!" Butterbot exclaimed, saluting his new leader.
"He'll need it," Buttertrap muttered. "Hey, if you don't make it back, can I have your buttergon?"
"Absolutely not!" Primal snapped. "Besides, I intend to make it back in one piece." He quickly entered the ignition sequence, and the small craft launched into the air, on a direct course with the alien weapon.
* * * * *
In the Breadacon base, while the others ran around, panicking, Buttertron sat lounging in his buttergon tub, slurping buttergon-flavored coffee and playing with his rubber ducky. Hey, if today was the day he died, he might as well enjoy it!
"Why, what's this?" he asked himself, leaning closer. The screen that displayed the alien doomsday machine showed another small craft approaching. "Computer, increase resolution!" he barked, and the closer focus revealed the occupant within the craft. "Ah, Primal," he rumbled in amusement. "Leave it to you to play hero. This is certainly an interesting development: if you fail, I am no worse off, but if you succeed, I will be able to continue my plans! Oh, this is really too delicious! Your success will mean the ultimate defeat of the Mooximals and the triumph of the Breadacons!" He squeezed the rubber ducky until it squeaked in protest.
Primal's face was set in a determined expression as the alien behemoth loomed ever closer. When he had gotten within close range, he stopped the engines and popped the ejection seat, abandoning the craft. It drifted aimlessly in space, as if patiently awaiting his return. Buttermus had briefly considered launching the shuttle directly into the weapon, but then how would he get back to the planet if he succeeded? If he didn't succeed, the point would be moot, but that was out of his hands. No, he had a much better idea....
He drifted closer to the alien device and began to speak in a loud, commanding voice. "I'll have you know that what you are doing is wrong! These Mooximals, though they can be very irritating at times, are the best crew that I have ever served with! Each and every one of them is unique and important to me. Buttor has yet to learn discipline, but that will come in time. Buttertrap stinks, but that is only natural, for he is a rat. Buttox may have a large rear, but he is one of the most intelligent life forms that I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Butterbot is unruly and challenges my authority, but his loyalty is without question. I am sure that, given the chance to survive, we will successfully defeat the Breadacons and return safely to Dairytron."
With a shriek of rending metal, the alien weapon self-destructed, unable to withstand the steady and deadly barrage of one of Buttermus Primal's famous 'we can do it' speeches. Primal shielded his face as debris rocketed towards him. Igniting his boosters, he flew over to his abandoned craft, but a large chunk of metal slammed into it before he could climb in. All he could do was cling desperately to the now-useless hulk as the impact sent it hurtling towards the planet below. Seconds before it reached the surface, Buttermus let go and activated the parachute hidden in his rocket pack. He drifted down to solid ground, sighing in relief. A shudder of horror went through him when the twisted wreck that was his craft caught his optic. That could have been him....
"Yeeess! He succeeded! A pity that he did not die, but it is only a small disappointment. Now I can follow through with my plans to conquer Dairytron, and then the universe!" He activated the ship-wide communicator, his voice ringing out throughout the entire craft. "Attention, all Breadacons! Secure our buttergon stocks and prepare for launch!" He hurriedly climbed out of the bath, taking care to make sure that his towel was strategically positioned, then rushed off to the command bridge.
He stormed in to find his warriors gathered in a tight circle, once again questioning his sanity. "He's mad!" he heard Buttersaur exclaim.
"He is not insane!" argued the ever-loyal Butternok. "He, um, just forgot that we have no propulsion systems, since they were damaged in the crash."
"Ah, I have not forgotten at all, nooo," Buttertron said in his soft but deadly voice. "I have an excellent idea of how to get back. I have already sent out Butternator to lure Buttox with some very, well, *special* buttergon to our ship."
"Buttox?!" Buttersaur squawked. "What good can a Mooximal do?"
"I am afraid I agree, Mighty Buttertron," Butternok said. "Granted, the Mooximal does have extensive technical knowledge, but even buttergon might not get him to repair the damage for us."
"That is not my intention, noo," Buttertron smirked. "You will see what I have planned."
Just then Butternator buzzed into the room, followed by the lumbering form of Buttox in beast mode. "Here you go, butt-bot!" the wasp chortled, tossing the Mooximal the buttergon.
"Mmm, buttergon beans, my faaaavorite!" Buttox drooled and promptly pounced on the goodies. Very soon he began to feel odd. "Ohhh," he groaned.
"Quickly! Point his rear out this bomb hatch!" Buttertron ordered urgently.
Grunting and heaving, it took all the Breadacons to push the rhino into position. They were just in time, for as soon as his large rear was in place, Buttox let loose a large explosion of flatulence. The force was so great that it launched the Breadacon ship high into the sky. Another toot was sufficient to gain orbital altitude, and a third launched the ship through the solar system.
"Set a course for Dairytron. We are victorious!" Buttertron cheered. His triumph was at hand. None could stand in his way!
"So that's it," Primal sighed sadly, staring down at the soil beneath his feet. "The Butter Wars are over, and we have lost."
"Yeah, and now we're stranded here," Buttertrap grumbled, kicking a rock.
"Hey, guys, it's not really all that bad," protested Buttor, munching on a buttered roll. "We've got plenty of buttergon to survive on, and now we don't have to listen to the ranting of the Elders anymore. I don't know about you, but even I could rule better than Rumble and Frenzy!"
"Yes, but will the aliens allow us to remain?" Primal forlornly asked the skies. It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but surprisingly enough, he got a response. Once again, the Japanese Milkakuh appeared before him.
"Buttermus Primal," it addressed him gravely, "we apologize for trying to obliterate you earlier. Now that the Breadacon threat has been eliminated, we have no objection to letting you remain on this planet, so long as you care for it and help to cultivate our buttah stocks."
"Awesome!" Buttor exclaimed. "Then this truly is Paradise!"
"But the Breadacons escaped with your buttergon! I cannot bear the thought of Buttertron using it to conquer our beloved Dairytron!"
"Don't worry about that," the cow replied, actually winking one slanted eye. "We have already taken measures to thwart Buttertron's plans."
* * * * *
On Dairytron, an enraged howl echoed throughout the planet. Robots everywhere cringed and covered their sensitive audials. Many earthquakes cracked the metal surface, causing several buildings to collapse.
"Nooooooo! This *cannot* be! I won't allow it!" Buttertron raged. "After all my hard work and carefully-laid plans! I've been foiled by those meddling aliens!"
"What's wrong, Buuuuuutertron?" Butternator buzzed, knowing that it was dangerous to approach his leader in this state, but his overwhelming sense of curiosity (plus a sort of death wish) compelled him to speak up.
Buttertron's furious words sent a chill through every Breadacon present.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER!!!!!!"
The End =)
Return to Phantom's Fanfic Archive
Hosting by WebRing.