Categories > Cartoons > Minoriteam
A Minoriteam Fanfic that involves a new television where unusual oddities come out of it. Could White Shadow be behind this?
0Unrated
Nobody has done a Minoriteam Fanfic yet? What is this world coming to?
The living room of the Minority Mansion was usually a place of strategic planning or intense bickering. Today, it was the site of a high-tech upgrade.
Dr. Wang wiped his spectacles, admiring the 100-inch "Ultra-Mega-LED" screen they’d just hauled in. "For a price so low, the resolution is statistically improbable," he noted, adjusting the antennas that shouldn't have been there.
El Jefe patted the bezel. "The guys at the shop were very helpful. A bit stiff, maybe. One of them had stitches all over his face, but he gave us a great deal on the extended warranty."
"I don't like it," Nonstop buzzed, his feet blurring as he circled the set. "The remote feels... heavy. Like it's fueled by pure, concentrated malice."
"It’s just a remote, kid," Fasto grunted, grabbing the device. "I just want to watch the game." He aimed the sleek, black remote at the screen and pressed 'Power.'
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
Instead of a logo, the screen pulsed with a sickly, pale light. A crackle of static filled the room, and suddenly, the air in front of the TV rippled.
With a pop, a man in a crisp 1950s suit, holding a pipe and wearing an expression of extreme paternal disappointment, materialized on the rug.
"Son," the Sitcom Father said, looking at Jewcano. "Is that a volcanic rock formation on your head? In this house, we wear sensible hats and respect the curfew."
"What the—?" Jewcano started, but the Father began lecturing him on the virtues of paper routes and firm handshakes, his voice carrying an unnatural, hypnotic drone that physically pinned Jewcano to the sofa.
Fasto panicked and mashed the 'Channel Up' button.
Zap.
A Charismatic Lawyer in a $5,000 suit appeared next, pointing a finger at El Jefe. "Sir! My client—the air you are currently breathing—is suing you for unauthorized inhalation! I have a stack of depositions here that says you're a public nuisance!" The lawyer began circling El Jefe, shouting legal jargon so fast it created a localized vacuum.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
"It's a trap!" Dr. Wang shouted, trying to calculate the physics of fictional displacement. "The remote isn't changing channels; it's tearing the fourth wall!"
As characters from gritty police procedurals and over-the-top cooking shows began to flood the room, harassing the team with endless questions and "helpful" advice, the TV screen flickered one last time.
The image of a beach resort faded away to reveal the cold, sterile office of White Shadow. Behind him stood the "store employees" the team had met earlier: Corporate Ladder, Standardized Test, and a very grumpy Racist Frankenstein wearing an 'Ask Me About Our Rewards Program' vest.
"Surprised, Minority-beings?" White Shadow’s voice boomed through the speakers. "You thought I was on vacation. In reality, I was merely outsourcing your destruction to the most annoying forces on Earth: Network Television Archetypes!"
"We ran the numbers," Corporate Ladder added, straightening his tie. "The cost-benefit analysis of using fictional tropes to annoy you to death is highly favorable."
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
The Sitcom Father was now trying to force Nonstop to eat a "wholesome" pot roast, while the Lawyer was attempting to serve El Jefe with a restraining order against his own mustache.
"The remote!" Dr. Wang yelled. "Fasto, the 'Input' button! Switch it to 'Reality'!"
Fasto, dodging a group of reality TV stars trying to "makeover" his outfit, lunged for the remote. He didn't just press a button; he used his superhuman speed to vibrate the remote at a frequency that matched the TV’s output.
$f = \frac{1}{T}$
He didn't know the math, but he knew the rhythm. With a roar, he smashed the 'Mute' button.
A silent shockwave blasted through the room. The Sitcom Father vanished mid-lecture; the Lawyer disappeared just as he was reaching for a business card. The TV screen shattered, and back in the secret lair, White Shadow was showered in sparks as his monitor exploded.
Jewcano stood up, shaking off the lingering scent of 1950s hair cream. "Next time," he grumbled, "we’re buying from a reputable dealer."
"Agreed," El Jefe sighed. "And no more extended warranties from monsters.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
The Minority Mansion's living room, now devoid of fictional characters and the shattered remains of the "Ultra-Mega-LED" screen, was a testament to the chaos of the previous day. Dr. Wang was meticulously sweeping up shards of glass, humming a complex equation under his breath.
"This is an unacceptable loss," Dr. Wang declared, holding up a particularly jagged piece of glass. "The statistical improbability of an electronics purchase leading to interdimensional incursions is astronomical!"
Jewcano, still slightly smelling of pot roast, adjusted his volcanic hair. "I just want my money back. And maybe a formal apology from that lawyer."
El Jefe paced. "We must confront these… employees. They thought they could trick El Jefe? Fool us once, shame on them. Fool us twice... well, El Jefe doesn't get fooled twice!"
Nonstop zipped around, his tiny fists clenched. "I’ll make them give us a refund! I'll be so fast, they won't even see it coming!"
"Easy, kiddo," Fasto said, stretching. "Let's try the direct approach first. But if they don't cooperate..." He cracked his knuckles.
The Return to the "Electronics Emporium"
The "Electronics Emporium" was exactly as they remembered it – suspiciously empty, overly bright, and with a lingering smell of ozone and something vaguely formaldehyde-like. The same garish 'Grand Opening' banner still hung askew.
Behind the counter, Racist Frankenstein was attempting to fix a broken price scanner, his stitches pulling taut with each grumble. Corporate Ladder was on a small step-stool, meticulously aligning a stack of instruction manuals, while Standardized Test sat at a computer, frowning at a spreadsheet of customer satisfaction metrics.
"We're here for a refund!" El Jefe announced, slamming his hand on the counter, making Racist Frankenstein jump.
Racist Frankenstein blinked, his reanimated eyes widening slightly. "Oh, it's you again. Lost your remote already? Thought you'd be back."
"Lost it?" Jewcano scoffed. "Your remote brought a 1950s dad into my living room! And then he lectured me about my 'future prospects'!"
Corporate Ladder stepped down from his stool, a tight smile on his face. "Ah, the 'enhanced user experience' package. A premium feature. Not eligible for a full refund, per section 7B of the 'Interdimensional Interference Clause' in your purchase agreement." He gestured vaguely towards a microscopic line of text on a nearly invisible poster.
"Enhanced user experience?" Dr. Wang's eye twitched. "That television was a quantum-destabilizing portal to narrative chaos! It nearly invalidated the entire concept of causality!"
Standardized Test looked up from his screen. "According to our metrics, customer satisfaction regarding 'novelty entertainment' currently stands at 3.7 out of 5. Acceptable."
The Negotiation, Minority-Team Style
"Listen, you stitched-up scam artist!" Fasto growled at Racist Frankenstein. "We want our money back, or I'm gonna rearrange your display models!"
Racist Frankenstein, surprisingly, looked a little nervous. "Now, now, let's not resort to violence. We're a family-friendly establishment."
"Family-friendly?" Nonstop buzzed, blurring into a whirlwind. "You sold us a TV that tried to make me eat pot roast!" He zipped over to a stack of Blu-ray players, vibrating them violently. They began to spark.
Corporate Ladder's smile faltered. "Please, refrain from damaging the merchandise. That affects our quarterly projections."
"Give us the refund," El Jefe demanded, his gaze intense. "Or El Jefe will personally ensure this 'emporium' becomes an 'empty-orium'!"
Racist Frankenstein glanced nervously at a display of toasters, which were now all inexplicably ejecting slices of perfectly toasted bread thanks to Nonstop's vibrations. "Alright, alright! Sheesh! No need to get all... Minoriteamy about it!"
He fumbled under the counter, pulling out a wad of cash and a pristine, unopened box for a much smaller, non-interdimensional television.
"Here's your refund, plus a complimentary 13-inch CRT. Good for emergencies. Now, please, just... leave."
Dr. Wang snatched the cash. "Hmph. A 13-inch CRT? The resolution is barely adequate for distinguishing discrete pixels! This entire transaction has been a statistical anomaly of incompetence!"
As the Minoriteam turned to leave, Corporate Ladder adjusted his tie again, his smile returning, albeit a little strained. "Do remember us for your next... entertainment purchase. We have some exciting new 'reality distortion' sound systems coming soon."
El Jefe paused at the door, turning back to Racist Frankenstein. "Tell White Shadow he is a coward. And tell him El Jefe expects a real challenge next time. One without sitcom fathers!"
Racist Frankenstein just sighed, watching them go. "Customers," he muttered to Corporate Ladder and Standardized Test. "Always so demanding."
The living room of the Minority Mansion was usually a place of strategic planning or intense bickering. Today, it was the site of a high-tech upgrade.
Dr. Wang wiped his spectacles, admiring the 100-inch "Ultra-Mega-LED" screen they’d just hauled in. "For a price so low, the resolution is statistically improbable," he noted, adjusting the antennas that shouldn't have been there.
El Jefe patted the bezel. "The guys at the shop were very helpful. A bit stiff, maybe. One of them had stitches all over his face, but he gave us a great deal on the extended warranty."
"I don't like it," Nonstop buzzed, his feet blurring as he circled the set. "The remote feels... heavy. Like it's fueled by pure, concentrated malice."
"It’s just a remote, kid," Fasto grunted, grabbing the device. "I just want to watch the game." He aimed the sleek, black remote at the screen and pressed 'Power.'
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
Instead of a logo, the screen pulsed with a sickly, pale light. A crackle of static filled the room, and suddenly, the air in front of the TV rippled.
With a pop, a man in a crisp 1950s suit, holding a pipe and wearing an expression of extreme paternal disappointment, materialized on the rug.
"Son," the Sitcom Father said, looking at Jewcano. "Is that a volcanic rock formation on your head? In this house, we wear sensible hats and respect the curfew."
"What the—?" Jewcano started, but the Father began lecturing him on the virtues of paper routes and firm handshakes, his voice carrying an unnatural, hypnotic drone that physically pinned Jewcano to the sofa.
Fasto panicked and mashed the 'Channel Up' button.
Zap.
A Charismatic Lawyer in a $5,000 suit appeared next, pointing a finger at El Jefe. "Sir! My client—the air you are currently breathing—is suing you for unauthorized inhalation! I have a stack of depositions here that says you're a public nuisance!" The lawyer began circling El Jefe, shouting legal jargon so fast it created a localized vacuum.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
"It's a trap!" Dr. Wang shouted, trying to calculate the physics of fictional displacement. "The remote isn't changing channels; it's tearing the fourth wall!"
As characters from gritty police procedurals and over-the-top cooking shows began to flood the room, harassing the team with endless questions and "helpful" advice, the TV screen flickered one last time.
The image of a beach resort faded away to reveal the cold, sterile office of White Shadow. Behind him stood the "store employees" the team had met earlier: Corporate Ladder, Standardized Test, and a very grumpy Racist Frankenstein wearing an 'Ask Me About Our Rewards Program' vest.
"Surprised, Minority-beings?" White Shadow’s voice boomed through the speakers. "You thought I was on vacation. In reality, I was merely outsourcing your destruction to the most annoying forces on Earth: Network Television Archetypes!"
"We ran the numbers," Corporate Ladder added, straightening his tie. "The cost-benefit analysis of using fictional tropes to annoy you to death is highly favorable."
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
The Sitcom Father was now trying to force Nonstop to eat a "wholesome" pot roast, while the Lawyer was attempting to serve El Jefe with a restraining order against his own mustache.
"The remote!" Dr. Wang yelled. "Fasto, the 'Input' button! Switch it to 'Reality'!"
Fasto, dodging a group of reality TV stars trying to "makeover" his outfit, lunged for the remote. He didn't just press a button; he used his superhuman speed to vibrate the remote at a frequency that matched the TV’s output.
$f = \frac{1}{T}$
He didn't know the math, but he knew the rhythm. With a roar, he smashed the 'Mute' button.
A silent shockwave blasted through the room. The Sitcom Father vanished mid-lecture; the Lawyer disappeared just as he was reaching for a business card. The TV screen shattered, and back in the secret lair, White Shadow was showered in sparks as his monitor exploded.
Jewcano stood up, shaking off the lingering scent of 1950s hair cream. "Next time," he grumbled, "we’re buying from a reputable dealer."
"Agreed," El Jefe sighed. "And no more extended warranties from monsters.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
The Minority Mansion's living room, now devoid of fictional characters and the shattered remains of the "Ultra-Mega-LED" screen, was a testament to the chaos of the previous day. Dr. Wang was meticulously sweeping up shards of glass, humming a complex equation under his breath.
"This is an unacceptable loss," Dr. Wang declared, holding up a particularly jagged piece of glass. "The statistical improbability of an electronics purchase leading to interdimensional incursions is astronomical!"
Jewcano, still slightly smelling of pot roast, adjusted his volcanic hair. "I just want my money back. And maybe a formal apology from that lawyer."
El Jefe paced. "We must confront these… employees. They thought they could trick El Jefe? Fool us once, shame on them. Fool us twice... well, El Jefe doesn't get fooled twice!"
Nonstop zipped around, his tiny fists clenched. "I’ll make them give us a refund! I'll be so fast, they won't even see it coming!"
"Easy, kiddo," Fasto said, stretching. "Let's try the direct approach first. But if they don't cooperate..." He cracked his knuckles.
The Return to the "Electronics Emporium"
The "Electronics Emporium" was exactly as they remembered it – suspiciously empty, overly bright, and with a lingering smell of ozone and something vaguely formaldehyde-like. The same garish 'Grand Opening' banner still hung askew.
Behind the counter, Racist Frankenstein was attempting to fix a broken price scanner, his stitches pulling taut with each grumble. Corporate Ladder was on a small step-stool, meticulously aligning a stack of instruction manuals, while Standardized Test sat at a computer, frowning at a spreadsheet of customer satisfaction metrics.
"We're here for a refund!" El Jefe announced, slamming his hand on the counter, making Racist Frankenstein jump.
Racist Frankenstein blinked, his reanimated eyes widening slightly. "Oh, it's you again. Lost your remote already? Thought you'd be back."
"Lost it?" Jewcano scoffed. "Your remote brought a 1950s dad into my living room! And then he lectured me about my 'future prospects'!"
Corporate Ladder stepped down from his stool, a tight smile on his face. "Ah, the 'enhanced user experience' package. A premium feature. Not eligible for a full refund, per section 7B of the 'Interdimensional Interference Clause' in your purchase agreement." He gestured vaguely towards a microscopic line of text on a nearly invisible poster.
"Enhanced user experience?" Dr. Wang's eye twitched. "That television was a quantum-destabilizing portal to narrative chaos! It nearly invalidated the entire concept of causality!"
Standardized Test looked up from his screen. "According to our metrics, customer satisfaction regarding 'novelty entertainment' currently stands at 3.7 out of 5. Acceptable."
The Negotiation, Minority-Team Style
"Listen, you stitched-up scam artist!" Fasto growled at Racist Frankenstein. "We want our money back, or I'm gonna rearrange your display models!"
Racist Frankenstein, surprisingly, looked a little nervous. "Now, now, let's not resort to violence. We're a family-friendly establishment."
"Family-friendly?" Nonstop buzzed, blurring into a whirlwind. "You sold us a TV that tried to make me eat pot roast!" He zipped over to a stack of Blu-ray players, vibrating them violently. They began to spark.
Corporate Ladder's smile faltered. "Please, refrain from damaging the merchandise. That affects our quarterly projections."
"Give us the refund," El Jefe demanded, his gaze intense. "Or El Jefe will personally ensure this 'emporium' becomes an 'empty-orium'!"
Racist Frankenstein glanced nervously at a display of toasters, which were now all inexplicably ejecting slices of perfectly toasted bread thanks to Nonstop's vibrations. "Alright, alright! Sheesh! No need to get all... Minoriteamy about it!"
He fumbled under the counter, pulling out a wad of cash and a pristine, unopened box for a much smaller, non-interdimensional television.
"Here's your refund, plus a complimentary 13-inch CRT. Good for emergencies. Now, please, just... leave."
Dr. Wang snatched the cash. "Hmph. A 13-inch CRT? The resolution is barely adequate for distinguishing discrete pixels! This entire transaction has been a statistical anomaly of incompetence!"
As the Minoriteam turned to leave, Corporate Ladder adjusted his tie again, his smile returning, albeit a little strained. "Do remember us for your next... entertainment purchase. We have some exciting new 'reality distortion' sound systems coming soon."
El Jefe paused at the door, turning back to Racist Frankenstein. "Tell White Shadow he is a coward. And tell him El Jefe expects a real challenge next time. One without sitcom fathers!"
Racist Frankenstein just sighed, watching them go. "Customers," he muttered to Corporate Ladder and Standardized Test. "Always so demanding."
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