The Airship Optigrab is a many splendored beast, a lover, a friend, an ally, an enemy, a sacred oath, a rotten banana, a beloved confidant, a ruthless bookie and a space-faring pirate ship with rocket powered jet wings. It takes a crew of skilled warriors and unbalanced minds to tend to this beauty. Those unstable monkeys are listed below.



Baron Von Ass is the code name for America's daring, highly-trained special mission force. It's purpose, to defend human freedom against Cobra, a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world. Not really. I am the owner and proprietor of the esteemed and Mighty Airship Optigrab, our mind-bogglingly fabulous floating homestead that can hover over this odd little mudball or soar through the vast expanse of interstellar space, all at one of my crazy, occasionally drunken whims. I have existed for many of YOUR years, and 'tis impossible to pin me vagabond ass down. However, a few years ago, after much adulation and copious fanfare resulting from my unmatched charisma and rugged good looks, I decided to come forth admirably and show the world that I, The Baron, indeed posessed both wings AND a scaly tail, not unlike that of a dragon. Needless to say, the insipid populace immediately dropped me from their good graces and began to actually STONE me - a practice all but eliminated from civilized existence - thus forcing me to flee within to my stronghold, this majestic Airship. Now, I sit, cynical and contemptous, as I allow my comedy to fall upon the undeserving cretins below in the vain hope that Jewel will notice me and fall in love.

This thing is creepy

Born of fire, The Gnome came into this world naked and bloody and plans to leave the same way. The history of The Gnome is so steeped in mystery and is so rife with earth-shattering revelations that to delve into it would serve to topple all of the collective dogma of each and every established and screwy religion that has crept forth and taken hold in humanity's consciousness, so suffice it to say that The Gnome has been around for quite a long time. He has served as a scribe and researcher for John Milton's extensive work, but after he was snubbed and received no credit for his work, he broke off the partnership and struck out on his own, occasionally descending into a world of seediness, disorder, artificial substances and barrels and barrels of mead. Throughout his travels, he somehow managed to piss off The Archangel Michael (who, in actuality, bears absolutely NO resemblance to John Travolta) - so much so that Michael decreed that The Gnome was to be killed at the hand of Death. However, The Gnome cannot die. This fact intrigued Death as he went to investigate, and after a time, the two formed a solid and deep friendship, having many adventures together. The Gnome and Death were beginning another evening of excessive debauchery and wench-chasing at McLeary's Pub one day when their lives were changed forever. For at that moment, a majestic, exquisite creature with proud wings spread forth from his back and a long and lustrous tail strode into the establishment and drew all eyes upon him. That man was Baron Von Ass, and they became fast and staunch allies, and The Gnome hath not left his side since. Death is more than a little jealous of their bond, but he copes.





This man is an enigma. We picked him up in our docking bay one fine November morning. He was sitting at the lunch counter eating five cheeseburgers, two supreme pizzas, and an Oreo Iceberg while admiring the airship, which was securely nestled in it's hangar at the time. He stowed away on the poop deck, and once we discovered him in our Screamin' Yellow Zonkers pantry, we all had a rousing laugh and accepted him as one of us. Even though he's an "artiste" and a "film and theater impresario," we make him earn his phaukin' keep. He's in charge of cleaning the poop deck, because some slimy bastard keeps stuffing it full of halibut. He likes Juliette Binoche.


The pilot of the Airship Optigrab. He grew up in the small fishing village of Le Stanc, off the coast of Normandy. He became a successful mariner, until he fell in with a dangerous bunch of French Socialists. The Baron rescued him after a failed attempt to overthrow the Second Republic of France. He has been a loyal retainer ever since. Captain Squat shuts himself away from the rest of the crew for months at a time, and it is rumored that he survives on his own bodily fluids. He spends much of his time writing issues of his newsletter, "L'Humanite" and tossing them out the window to the people below. A few months ago, he managed to sever his head and place it in the middle of his chest for, as he put it, "security reasons." Be careful, for if you don't watch your step, you may find yourself "accused" by the captain.
That Damn Whippersnapper. This kid's a freakin' nuisance. Always gettin' into crap and such. But he's smoother than a cherry pie with Ready-Whip toppin'. Just don't sound the Fee-tah alarm, whatever you do. That'll bring SuperDrew runnin', and that's only for emergencies. Yes, he does have a predilection for MC Hammer pants.


Our steadfast secretary. He answered the phone and greeted our wonderful callers with courtesy, respect, and above all, decency back when we were two wacky comedy mavens doin' the radio show. Unless, of course, the request was for some abysmal wretchedness such as Aerosmith, AC/DC, or groups banned by The Baron (Slayer) or The Gnome (Spin Doctors, Soul Asylum). Then, Ten Pounds would be unleashed with devastating fury upon the tasteless, and the sap on the other end of the line would be milquetoast at the hands of the acid tongue of 10 Lbs. Of Wonderful.
DEBBIL!DEBBIL!DEBBIL!

Beware our archenemy--Admiral Butts--and his rowdy bunch of miscreants i.e. Psycho Randomly, Corporal Aristide Briand, etc.) that get on our nerves with their S.S. El Guapo. They're bad news.


Back to the Foy-Yay of the Airship Optigrab.