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Funny stories.

Stories, Fairy Tales

Max the Lovelorn Bear

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There once was a bear named Max.  He was a hopeless romantic who spent his days smelling flowers and eating bark off of trees for the cleanliness of his teeth.  He would always try to find the perfect flower to give to one of his many potential mates.

Natasha the Big Brown Bear was the skankiest bear in all of The NeighborWood, also known as “The Wood.”  She would climb trees and then eat the acorns out of their shells and then spit them at other bears.  She was so annoying.  This one time she spat an acorn shell on the mayor of The Wood, Mayor Hunstingson.  She was kicked out of the city for three days and had to direct traffic from the neighboring city ForesTown to and fro.  Traffic duty is pretty much the worst duty you could do in The Wood since everyone is an idiot and doesn’t know how to drive their cars.

Max found a Red Mistberry Flower growing in a ravine north of the NeighborWood Nuclear Factory.  He thought it smelled so good that he picked it and decided to give it to Natasha as a gesture of affection.  He thought since Natasha would be all alone on the Bearway Pass between NeighborWood and ForesTown, he could make his move.

It was an unfortunate misplacing of romantic intentions for Max.  Natasha had the IQ of a baboon, and the brain of one, too.  That’s why she’s so stupid.  Because she isn’t a bear, she is a baboon in the body of a bear.  Too bad for Max because she had a booty like DANGGGG!!!!!  Natasha ate his Red Mistberry Flower and spat the seeds at him when he presented it to her.

All spat on, heartbroken, and no one to love, Max went back to his den made out of bricks.  It was a nice den, but watch out if he wanted to fart because IT’S MADE OF BRICKS!!!!!  You may not get it, but sure.

The next week, Max found a flower called the Junior Talap Wishmaker.  It was the perfect type of flower to give to Allison the Green Bear.  Why was she green?  Because she is soooooo cool.  That’s why!  She’s like one of those chicks you see on BizarroBook who is friends with someone you know but sticks out like a sore thumb in their friends list.  So, Allison the Green Bear was at the local record store Bear-cords, smelling the guitar tablature books.  She liked the very minor temporary high the glue gave her.  Max came in, holding the large flower between his teeth, trotting down the aisle in a triumphant fashion.  Allison looked over to see Max presenting her with the flower.  She smelled it, but it did not give her even the slightest amusement.  Her swollen red eyes watered as the flowers pungent smell filled her sinuses.  She stood up on two legs and sneezed right onto Max’s face.  Max dropped the flower in astonishment and suddenly he was teleported back to his brick den.  The Junior Talap Wishmaker would grant one wish to anyone who sneezed on the face of the person that had picked (aka murdered) the flower.  In this case, Allison wished for Max to go away.

For two weeks, Max was again depressed and lacking in the macking.  He searched high and low for the next flower that would really impress his new love, Calista the Model Bear.  Calista spent most of her days at the NeighborWood Hidden Lake Resort, poolside, tanning in the moonlight.  The moonlight tanning fad had become a mandated regiment by the bear modeling agency known as Bear-It-All, and was forcing all of their famous bear models to take part in the tanning procedure which consisted of placing a huge amplification telescope above the tanner and focus the beam onto them until they became glowing with moon radiation.

Max was able to catch a spaceship to the Moon and picked a Moonflower for Calista since she seemed to like the Moon and he thought if he got this rare and special Moonflower which you could be arrested for if you picked it because there’s only like three of them left, so it makes it even MORE romantic because he committed a crime to show his love and chicks fall over for that stuff like a domino in a hurricane.

Max was seen by the Moonflower Security Response Team and for the next three days he was in the middle of a Western-Sci-Fi-style laser gunfight and spaceship dogfight campaign to get the flower back to the Earth.  Needless to say, and really the point I’m trying to make, is that Max did a lot to get this flower and it was a lot of effort.

After killing 67 members of the security team, they finally let him go.  Max gained the nickname the Moonflower Assassin for his cunning flower picking skills and being able to elude all of the security around the illustrious Moonflower.

Max , dressed in his space fighter leather jacket, with 67 tally marks on his right shoulder and “Moonflower Assassin” written in capital letters across his back, journeyed up the mountain to the Hidden Lake Resort.  Standing on two legs, he presented the Moonflower to Calista.

“Ugh, what is that?  I don’t even LIKE flowers… harrumph!”  Calista put the cucumbers back on her eyes and began to ignore Max again.

Max fell backward and the Moonflower, encased in its little forcefield blasted off towards the moon, to return to its nest.

Later next week, Max was escorted to the Emergency Sex Change Room.  He had absolutely no luck with women so he decided he wanted to try being one so that he could learn how to make one like him.

He hated flowers forever.

The end.

Moral of the story:  If you only have two minutes to think up a moral to explain your story, you’re doing it wrong.

Stories

Deep Sea Research: The Journal of Dr. Jerry Braduly

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June 1, 1999

Today I went to Office Depot and bought a notebook.  It was a pretty good price, if I do say so myself.  A colleague of mine had suggested I get a college-ruled notebook this time, as the wide-ruled paper I had been getting over the years did not allow for sufficient explanation of scientific principles, and often I would take fifteen notebooks explaining one concept and I would get confused in the order or lose whole notebooks at any given time.  Somehow I don’t think the college-ruled notebook will help me act smarter but given that Dr. Sandra DeBaer also had suggested the good idea of using paper towels instead of my hand to clean things in my house, maybe this will work better too.

June 18, 1999

My research team, Braduly Research Team, has set up a lab and funding for our next experiment.  We have located ourselves to the outskirts of a marina in Long Beach, CA to prepare for excursions out into the ocean.  I have selected a team of brave volunteers to deep sea dive into the treacherous depths of Long Beach to accomplish our research goal.

June 19, 1999

Today I brought in three starfish to experiment on.  Part of the lofty goal we have chosen to explore will require us to test the electrical resistance of starfish and other sea-life we might encounter during our deep sea dive.  Documenting our tests before the first dive will prove to be useful as we will make sure to not be surprised about exploding sea animals.

June 24, 1999

It has been five days since we barbecued starfish.  We decided to eat the starfish but they didn’t sit very well with our stomachs and we have been feeling sick for the past five days.  We should have just stuck with the Brazilian restaurant down the street.  They might take forever to make their food but at least we won’t feel like more starfish are growing in our stomach.

June 30, 1999

The second stage of our pre-dive experiments has been successful.  We have acquired thermal shielding for our deep sea scuba gear and are retrofitting our underwater vehicles.  We must now plan for the contingency of releasing something we may not want to release.  We will be experimenting with the torpedo systems in case any unforeseen terrors arise from beneath the Earth’s crust.

July 4, 1999

Today is July 4th, Independence Day.  The beach has been overrun by patriots and their silly showings of nationalism.  Nationalism is bad for countries; don’t they know what they are doing to their own country?  We are all at base right now waiting for the escapades to end.  We watch the silly explosions of chemicals on television, adding to the already existing pollution in our air.  They celebrate the birth of a nation by killing the world it is on!  It is quite hilarious, really.

July 5, 1999

We have spent the better part of the day re-establishing our communications array that was knocked askew by a rogue firework.  I had to call AT&T to come out and look at it, and they said next time they come out they would have to charge us forty dollars because we have equipment attached to our communications systems that we didn’t purchased from them.  How does that even make sense?  Do they expect us to not use the communications systems that we pay for because we are using computers that aren’t made by them for a problem that isn’t even something that I had control over?  Who do they think they are?  Our dial-up modems download at five kilobytes a second — it might be fast but we can’t afford to waste any more time than is necessary.

I’ve been a paying customer for 3 years and pay 150 dollars for our phone lines each month.  The funding for this experiment will run dry if there are too many more delays.

July 23, 1999

I have just got back from our funding meeting with Hersher & Globula, a multinational candy-making company.  Those goobers think they can just cut off my funding with no explanation when I ask for more operatives to take over the marina.  Well I got news for them!  I am so close to the discovery of what lies beneath the Long Beach Seaquarium, that I will find volunteers to help me – FOR FREE.

July 26, 1999

I’ve posted bulletins up on telephone polls for operatives to help me discover what lies beneath the crust of the Earth.  The response has been surprisingly overwhelming and I now have over three hundred volunteers equipped with their own gear and weaponry to put my experiment into motion.  The Landrill has completed its final tests and is now ready to begin digging in the whale tank of the Long Beach Seaquarium.

August 12, 1999

It is the first day we have full control of the Long Beach Seaquarium.  After we threw out all the marina employees and released the animals into the ocean, we activated the Landrill to begin its long trek into the crust.  The 345 security operatives have full control of the marina at this very moment and we are keeping the administration of the marina locked in their offices.  They are allowed to resume their daily duties, as we require food to be imported.  We may get sick of eating fish that was meant for dolphins and whales, but I do not plan on waiting long for our goal to be accomplished.

August 14, 1999

There have been three incursions to our sanctity by the local law enforcement.  Two by land, one by sea.  All I will say is that it was a good thing we brought torpedoes.  Due to our preparation and strategic location, we have very limited casualties and work on the Landrill goes swimmingly (pun intended).

August 17, 1999

The police chief has agreed to send us daily regiments of pizza to feed my army in exchange for one prisoner.  I believe this is a fair trade off, considering this one prisoner is so ridiculously illogical and talks about how she believes in God.  Honestly, how can you be a scientist and still believe in that good-for-nothing loser?  He is a rapist and a terrorist, and he’s probably guilty of murder.

August 20, 1999

Our quest to find what lies beneath the Earth’s crust is nearly through!  We have finally almost hit the edge of the crust with the Landrill.  We must be careful now, as the chocolate that lies beneath the Earth’s crust must be cultivated and sold to candy makers at high prices!  This will be the biggest discovery mankind has known since I proved that clouds are made of cotton candy!

August 22, 1999

As I write this, I felt it was important to note what evil I have unleashed upon this Earth.  There are DEMON CHOCOLATE BUNNIES UNDERNEATH THE MARINA!  They have dismembered fifteen of my operatives and our bullets and electricity guns do not harm them.  They slowly advance out of the hole created by the Landrill.  We are in a pincer attack situation, with Demon Chocolate Bunnies coming from within our position and police advancing from the outside.  This situation is hopeless, but when the police discover what is happening, I will be who has the last laugh.

 

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Stories, Fairy Tales

The Magnificent Mr. Jharraque

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There once was a lad, named Mr. Jharraque.  He wasn’t always always named this, but he was named it for the greater percentage of his life, to the point where if you were rounding up or down, you would be rounding up and it would be 100%.

Mr. Jharraque was born a man of 300 pounds.  When he was born, he was so large, his mother had been assimilated into this man and no longer existed.  Mother Jharraque may still live on in Mr. Jharraque, but since he is a freak of nature, its unknown.  Once Mr. Jharraque was released from the hospital’s baby ward, he was given a suit and a briefcase by the hospital staff who pooled their own money together to buy the items for him.  They wanted him to seem like a professional and find a job in the Commerce District of the Rubunthium Sector of the Januthliyu Bar and Grill Space Station and so that he may stark out on a life on his own.

It wasn’t easy for a three day old who had just naturally taken over his mother’s body like a parasite and eaten her from the inside, but after a tough learning process, he finally got a job at a drug store whose primary funds were to sell fad diet solutions.  Mr. Jharraque was not a normal employee of the establishment, but more of a “live model” of how any number of their fad diets may work.  They pumped so many different diet supplements into the poor man’s body that he lost 150 pounds in 2 days.  He ate nothing but dry chemical powder straight out of the bag with a large wooden spoon, chewing on diet pills non-stop, and ate “energy” gum to burn off whatever extra calories he might have had flying around in his blood after the other chemicals did their worst.

At 150 pounds, and almost no speech skills developed, Mr. Jharraque was depressed.  Mostly because of all the different chemicals floating around in his unnatural existence, he began to pine for something better.  Something better would not come for Mr. Jharraque, but something worse did.  Even though the labels on each of the diet products specifically said to not combine their diet products with other diet solutions, such as exercise, eating right, and the other products on the market, the non-discriminatory treatment of life by the Finhoogle and Nagle Drug Store destroyed Mr. Jharraque’s body and life with no remorse from the higher levels of the corporation, Mr. Jharraque was fired for crying.

“If Mr. Jharraque wants to cry, he can cry on his own time!”  Monty Finhoogle slammed his fist on the desk as Ken Nagle laughed at a picture of Mr. Jharraque in one of the promotional pictures they had forced him to be in with many of the different diet products they sold.

“If this fat 150 pound, 7 foot tall slob wants to have his emotions he can have no job!” Monty Finhoogle continued in his tirade.  Ken Nagle just kept laughing.

Later, in the backstreet alleyway behind the drug store, a jobless Mr. Jharraque pointed at things and grunted as he drank a lot of beer.  He pointed at a box and grunted again… and then a laser shot out of his finger and the cardboard box disappeared!  But not only did it disappear, Mr. Jharraque could FEEL the cardboard box be a part of him.

Mr. Jharraque was amazed at what had happened, he stared at his finger as he sat down.  He pointed his finger at another cardboard box and that box disappeared to!  He now felt what the life of an 8 x 12 inch cardboard box had.  Just then, the voice of his mother entered his brain.

“Jerry, you have finally discovered your hidden powers.  You have realized what it is like to be two different cardboard boxes with all of their unique experiences of having things being put in and taken out of them.  You are my son and I have awakened inside of you.  You now have the knowledge of a thousand eons of information and have the power to assimilate all that is around you.”

The Magnificent Mr. Jharraque had finally realized his true potential.

The back office of the Finhoogle and Nagle Drug Store lay quiet as Monty and Ken took a nap from their excessive amount of bellowing and fist-to-table pounding.  Mr. Jharraque stepped through the wall like a ghost and watched the two corporate fiends slumber.

Mother Jharraque’s voice emanated again.  “These men are responsible for kicking you out on the street, my dear.  It is time you taught them a lesson about what it is like to be human.  Break their fragile necks and show them that they are weak, worthless scum!”

Mr. Jharraque pointed his hands at Monty Finhoogle as he stepped closer and closer, aiming for his neck.  Monty woke up just before his neck became compressed between the large hands.

Monty grabbed his sharp stiletto letter opener and tried to fend off the attacker, but Monty’s soul was soon drained from his body and became a part of Mr. Jharraque.  Mr. Jharraque’s eyes began to glow and he picked up the shell of what was once Monty and threw it to the floor.

Ken Nagle had woken up during the assault and began to drink copious amounts of whiskey, knowing his end would soon come as well.  Ken threw five shot glasses as the monstrous Mr. Jharraque lumbered his way over to Ken.

“STAY AWAY, YOU MONSTER!”  Ken screamed as he backed up against the wall and tried to open the random cabinetry to find more things to throw at Mr. Jharraque.  Each of the shot glasses filled with whiskey sunk into Mr. Jharraque and each of the stories of the shot glasses became one with Mr. Jharraque.  Like, this one time Harry the Shot Glass was in the dishwasher and had an affair with July the Plastic Bowl.  Alfred the Spoon witnessed the foul acts occurring just above and while that was supposed to be a vacation, it was not fun getting all the dirty soap dropped on him from above.

Harry the Shot Glass was sued by his ex-wife, Mildred the Shot Glass and was forced to pay alimony of five molecules of dishwasher detergent every Sunday before seeing the kids.  He didn’t see why he had to pay to see his own kids, it’s not like they weren’t crafted in the glass factory from his own superheated sand.

Ken Nagle took a punch in the gut as he was flung across the room and into the door.  He busted through the door and as the splintered door pieces flew everywhere around him he began to crawl away, in pain.

Ken yelled to his secretary, Somya Fridaray, “CALL THE POLICE!  THIS MANIACAL DIET SUPPLEMENT ADDICT KILLED MONTY AND HE’S GOING TO KILL ME!”

Somya Fridaray stood up and opened her drawer and took out a smoke grenade.  She knew it would come in handy one of these days after she found it dropped by one of those ex-military men canoodling through the aisles of the drug store thinking they can just walk around wherever they want.

Somya threw the smoke grenade into the air and it began to fill up the small room with ease.  Mr. Jharraque couldn’t see anything anymore!  Oh, if he ever found that confounding secretary he was going to assimilate her like those cardboard boxes!  She has the wits of a rabid squirrel looking for a large acorn to satiate his thirst for blood, but realizing that acorns were no replacement for blood.

Ken Nagle and Somya Fridaray stumbled into the greeting card aisle outside of the office.

“Oh, it is so horrible, Somya!  He stole all of our shot glasses and made me drink all of my whiskey!  He would have pounded my face into a fine silicate dust if you hadn’t saved me!”  Ken Nagle confided to Somya.

Somya replied, “Do not worry sir, that is what I am here for—-“ and in the next instant a large red aura surrounded Somya and she disappeared!  Enveloped into the Magnificent Mr. Jharraque, she was.

Ken Nagle scrambled to his feet as he grabbed greeting cards as a defense weapon against  Mr. Jharraque.  Each progressively thrown greeting card sunk into his body and all of the corny stupid jokes became part of his vocabulary.

Mr. Jharraque shouted at Ken Nagle, “HAPPY 41ST BIRTHDAY!” and stomped on the ground with such force that made Ken lose his balance and fall to the floor.

“GET WELL SOON!”  Mr. Jharraque stomped again and Ken bounced up and down on the floor as he kept crawling away and into the Diaper/Beer aisle.

“Will someone please call the police!!”  Ken yelled at the diapers falling on top of him.  In a frantic panic, he opened as many beers as he could and tried to drink them all.  Sucking down fifteen bottles of beer empowered Ken Nagle to become Super Diet Man, who had the power of making non-lethal things into lethal things, such as diapers!

The diapers in all of the packages flew out and began to encircle Mr. Jharraque.  The flying diapers confused him, as he was only 5 days old at this point, and he had never worn a diaper in his life.

“Time to take out the used diapers, Mr. Jharraque!” Super Diet Man announced in a drunken delivery.

“HAPPY GRADUATION!!!” Mr. Jharraque jumped so high he jumped over the wall of flying diapers and grabbed onto the air conditioning duct hanging off of the ceiling.  Mr. Jharraque all of a sudden became sick and he fell to the floor and started puking.

Super Diet man stood laughing at Mr. Jharraque, and they became friends.

Moral:  Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear – beer before liquor, never been sicker.

Stories, Fairy Tales

Hooty McHoothoot and the Ducks of Doom

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Hooty McHoothoot was sitting on his branch in front of a flock of pigeons.

“What do you get when you cross an owl and a mouse?”

The pigeons all looked at each other, anticipating the answer.

“I don’t know, but I sure wouldn’t want to eat it!  That’d be like eating my brother!”

The pigeons all looked at each other, not really understanding.

Hooty McHoothoot fluffed his feathers and expanded his wings.  “Whoohaaa!!  That was hilarious!!”

* * *

It was a cold black night in the middle of Hinjojeseph City, Maine.  In an old, abandoned bread factory once run by the Doomsday Bread Corporation, several innocent ducks found their way in.  This group of ducks had heard stories of the plentiful bread crumbs that could be located in the old bread factory, and the opportunity had presented itself to find their way in.

Dally, Yabigail, Paulty, Rowry, Arolu, and Muhduriug were so excited to have finally found their way into the abandoned warehouse, they began to gorge themselves on the bread that had seemingly not lost any of its flavor even though it had been abandoned for a few years.  What the poor, innocent ducks did not know was that the bread made at the Doomsday Bread Factory was demonic bread made with the demonic spices of Turnevil and Meanolasses, to name a couple.  The bread was so good in fact that it was too good.  Too good in fact that it was sinful.  So sinful in fact that it would make whoever ate the bread in large quantities into evil maniacal beings bent on destruction.

Dally Duck and Yabigail Duck were the first to turn during the night.  Their feathers turned dark red and their wings began to grow claws on the ends.  Their feathers became more like scales than feathers and their beaks turned black and pointed.

The rest of the ducks turned by the morning and soon they were in one of the back offices of the factory, colluding, about what nefarious deeds they should undertake.

The ducks all stood in a circle — all of them scheming about what destruction they would bring about.  But, first they had to name themselves.

“What about Red Bi-pedal Ducks of the Impending Not-So-Far-Off Apocalypse?”  Muhduriug Duck suggested.

“No!  Too corporate!  If the Doomsday Bread Factory catches wind of any money-making empire we make down the line they may sue us for trademark violation!” Arolu Duck threw up his wings into the air.

“How about Doomsday Ducks?” Rowry Duck suggested.

“I KNOW!  DUCKS OF DOOM!”  Paulty yelled.

“You’re a genius, Paulty!” Yabigail clapped her feet together on the floor in excitement.

“Yes, good going Paulty!”  “You’re the best Paulty!”

All of the ducks loved their new name as they quacked and danced around.

* * *

Hooty McHoothoot was perched on a pier in front of a flock of sea gulls smacking their stupid feet on the wood boards in front of them.

“Knock knock!” Hooty announced to his “audience.”

The sea gulls slapped their feet against the floor some more.

“Who’s there?” Hooty filled in for his audience.

“Who.

Who who?

Hoohoohoo I’m an owl!”

Hooty waited for a response but the sea gulls just slapped their stupid feet on the wood boards in front of them.

Hooty McHoothoot fluffed his feathers and expanded his wings.  “Whoohaaa!!  That was hilarious!!”

* * *

The Ducks of Doom were in the Collusion Room of the Doomsday Bread Factory writing stuff on paper.  Their writings consisted of diabolical and oh-so-mean plans to fit their group name of “Ducks of Doom.”

“How about we replace all of the water with liquid Einsteinium?” Muhduriug Duck suggested.

“Impossible!  How would we ever be able to transport all of that Einsteinium and where would we put all the water???” Arolu Duck threw up his wings into the air.

“How about evaporating all of the water?” Rowry Duck added.

“I KNOW!  WHY DON’T WE PUT THE EINSTEINIUM INSIDE THE WATER!” Paulty yelled.

“You’re a genius, Paulty!” Yabigail clapped her feet together on the floor in excitement.

“Yes, good going Paulty!”  “You’re the best Paulty!”

All of the ducks loved their new doomsday plan as they quacked and danced around.

* * *

Hooty McHoothoot was sitting in a branch of the United States government called Congress.

“What do you get when an owl gets elected as a member of the government?”  Hooty asked Congress.

The members of the US Congress were slapping their stupid feet on the floor and looked at each other in anticipation of the answer.

“I don’t know, but he wouldn’t be MY friend!”  Hooty delivered the “punchline.”

The members of the US Congress continued slapping their stupid feet on the floor and looked at each other, not really understanding.

Hooty McHoothoot fluffed his feathers and expanded his wings.  “Whoohaaa!!  That was hilarious!!”

* * *

Muhduriug Duck was driving a semi-truck and backing a large tank of Einsteinium towards the ocean.

Arolu Duck was motioning the truck back more and more as it came upon the beach.

Rowry Duck, Yabigail Duck and Dally Duck placed wooden boards underneath truck as it got ever-closer to the ocean.

Paulty ran across the beach and yelled something incoherent.

All of the ducks stopped what they were doing and looked at Paulty.

“QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK!!!”

Muhduriug Duck adjusted his trucker hat and looked out the window and spit on the ground.  “WHAT?”

Paulty finally caught his breath and announced to the Ducks of Doom:

“We’ve been foiled!  Congress has done something worse than we could have done!  They passed a health care bill!  That means our Einsteinium poisoning of the ocean will be negligible because everyone will be healed!”

All of the Ducks of Doom lowered their heads and quacked off into the distance as they went back to the Doomsday Bread Factory.

The semi-truck full of Einsteinium stayed neglected.

That was until Hooty McHoothoot flew over and landed on the semi-truck.

“Hm, I wonder what this stuff is?”  Hooty McHoothoot took out a straw and took a big swig of what was inside.

Poor Hooty McHoothoot began to glow and all of the color in his feathers disappeared!  He was all white, and not only that but his eyes turned into glistening diamonds surrounded by a gold trim.  His beak became solid metal as well as his talons.  His eyebrows went out of control and grew into his moustache and down the sides of his cheeks.  His eyebrows pointed off and became horns.

Hooty McHoothoot squawked as his diamond eyes blew a hole into the atmosphere, degrading the O-zone layer.

Hooty McHoothoot fluffed his feathers and expanded his wings.  “Whoohaaa!!  That was hilarious!!”

 

Moral of the Story:  Clean up after yourself.

Stories, Fairy Tales

Local Exchange: An Eruption of Stupidity

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Based off the following post:

https://squackle.com/22567/screwed-up-chronicles/daves-kingdom/scam-call-from-local-exchange/

–

Harry Brown and Mildred Jacklesmith once had a great idea.

“Why don’t we scam people?” Harry Brown said.

Mildred, obviously in agreement, shouted at the top of her lungs.  “YESSSS!!!!!”

And so a company was born.  It was named Local Exchange and it was in San Dimas, California.  Or maybe it was in Villaverde.  Is that even a city?  To tell you the truth no one really knows what city it actually is in.  Not that it matters because absolutely all of their business would be conducted over the phone.

Local Exchange invested in a phone number that provided unlimited calling and texting.  Obviously, to scam people you need to call them unlimitedly and text them non-stop.  Otherwise, the whole scam thing doesn’t really seem very scammish!

The first order of business was to create the scam.  The scam of all scams.  A scam that everyone would believe but only the smart people would question and only the smart people would see it was a scam.  People who were smarter than them, even.  But that’s not the target market, now, is it?

The scam had been planned out in a matter of days.  First, they would call a random number and ask to speak to the “owner of the phone” to make it sound official.  Once they had the owner of the phone, they would tell them about the grand prize they had won and how everyone knows them locally but to get notoriety in different parts of the country, they were expanding their random 6-day cruise prize to different areas of California.

Once the person had given them their credit card information and social security number, they would hang up and begin to apply for credit cards and home loans with their information and take out cash advances.  And then they would invest that money into online payment systems.

Yes, life was grand in the most successful scamming company of all time.  Local Exchange posted huge profits and Harry and Mildred bought huge mansions once owned by drug dealers who fell victim to the scams.  Poor drug dealers lost their drug dens, but they weren’t the only victims to the grandest scam of all time.

I will now tell you about a lady who was down on her luck.  She thought she was the luckiest person in the world and won a free 6-day cruise to New York from California.  Oh, what a joyous occasion it was.  And all she had to give them was her name, address, social security number, and driver’s license number.  Overnight, this wonderful, nice lady had transformed into a blathering hobo asking for change at bus stop benches.  The day before she had been a worker at McDonald’s but when it came about that another Emelia Prancasa applied for a job at Burger King across the street with the same information as “Our” Emelia, that’s when McDonald’s fired her.  They couldn’t have a worker working at two fast food restaurants at the same time.  That would be espionage in the making!

Poor Emelia.  She can no longer work at any fast food restaurant because she became the most notorious fast food restaurant quadruple agent ever to be known.  Too bad she wasn’t hot cause she was quite ugly and not very attractive to boot.  Sometimes ugly people can be attractive, but sometimes they are just stupid.  Like Emelia.  Because she thought she won a 6-day cruise when in fact she won nothing and lost it all.

The end.

Moral:  Don’t give away your private information to random people who call you on the phone telling you you won a 6-day cruise.

Stories, Fairy Tales

The Secrecy of Knowing Nothing: The Destruction of Cal State Emptierton

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There once was a man who knew literally nothing.  He would go to work, sit in his chair, stare at the wall for 8 hours, and then go back home and stare at the wall for another 16 hours.  He didn’t sleep because he can’t dream because he has nothing to dream about because he knows nothing, like I said earlier.

He was literally paid to stare at a wall and make sure it did not fall down.  There wasn’t even any paint to watch peel off or dry because it was literally just a wall.  This man, named Gabriel Nosenovich, was good at his job, as dumb as it may seem to you.  He did do other things, though.  He had a desk, with a phone, and a pad of paper.

He would receive work orders from other parts of the campus and write down what was requested to be done at the school.  This school, known as Cal State Emptierton , employed a large workforce of idiotic manual labor workers who created a huge bureaucracy for the purpose of inflating payroll.  When a light bulb or something like that blew up, they would call Gabriel and tell him that it was broken.  Gabriel would then write it on a piece of paper and then give said paper to another person who would evaluate the cost of said project which would then go to another team to go investigate and see if the prior estimate was valid.  Then this new estimate would be re-evaluated by another department which would then be reviewed by the initial estimate and the process would repeat itself until a number that everyone decided on was agreed to.  Considering it took forever and a half to get a light bulb fixed, what would come next would be surprising on more than one level.

One day, he got a call from a disgruntled bookstore manager.  The Emptierton College Bookstore just fired one of their book managers and he thought he might play a trick.  He requested a work order to demolish the bookstore.

Gabriel, obviously knowing nothing about anything, wrote the work order request as normal and handed it over to the next department.  Obviously no one in the Construction Ward had been notified that the bookstore manager had been fired, so no one questioned the intent.  After the whole bureaucracy of deciding how much it would cost to demolish the bookstore, it soon happened.

There was outrage from all corners of the campus.

“How could you have demolished the bookstore?” the President of the college, President Tasyst had asked.

“There was a work order.  You can’t question a work order,” the head of the Construction Ward, William Vable stood firm in the policies created by the Construction Ward of Cal State Emptierton.

The next day, another three requests came in to destroy other buildings on the campus, and soon there were no buildings left on the campus other than the Construction Ward.

Finally, one last call was given and someone had put a work order in to destroy the Construction Ward itself.

It took no less than a day to destroy the Construction Ward, and there wasn’t even much deliberation over whether or not they should do it.  There was a work order, after all.

Moral:  Don’t hire maintenance people who are idiots.

Stories, Fairy Tales

The Love Pentagram

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There once were five roommates who lived together.  They all were each other’s boyfriends and girlfriends, but with a twist.  They loved two people, but one of the two people they loved did not love them.  Hence, “The Love Pentagram” was formed.

That was until they all blew up!  Someone stole 42 dollars from the community jar for grocery shopping and someone didn’t like that, we don’t know who, but they turned on the stove and then lit a match and it went kablooey.

When all the dust settled, the remains of the five roommates were arranged in a pentagram floating above the rubble.  The firefighters and police officers were astounded at the floating dead bodies and the weird laser beams pointing connecting to each other.

The firefighters blasted the five floating bodies with water, but nothing happened.  The police officers blasted the bodies with bullets, and then tasers, and then rubber band balls, and then doughnuts.  Water, metal, electricity, rubber, and even sugar didn’t break the demonic magic that held the five bodies in place.

Four days and three nights passed, as bureaucratic excuses and decisions were given to the cityfolk as to the new disturbance that was causing traffic on all the edges of the city of Bookhaven.  This was worse than the time they were fixing the sewers.  Everything was backed up then, even toilets!

That was when they called in the heavy artillery.  Rhyluf Gufgilo, Civil Engineer Extraordinaire, was called in to alleviate the situation and make everything flow smoothly again as the oddly transfixed demonic Love Pentagram showed no signs of change after four days.  Over the next 37 days, a large apparatus was installed underneath the city to rotate the city in such a way that no one would have to drive to get to where they wanted to go!  Everyone on the east side of town would get to the western side without very much effort at all!  All it took was a button press at one’s behest and they would make the city rotate.

It was only after the apparatus was installed that people realized this did very little to solve the problem.  Everyone who wanted to go east now had to go west, and the people who needed to go west had to go east, and the people who had to go north had to go south, and the people who wanted to go south had to go north!  It was all very confusing, and it made things even more confusing, like this sentence.  Sometimes people who wanted to go west, had to go north!  Sometimes people who wanted to go north, had to go north!  It’s ridiculous!!!

The Love Pentagram began to change as a result of the constant rotating that had been going on.  The Love Pentagram began to constantly rotate back and forth and then began to spin rapidly in an oscillating motion, like a washing machine.  The citizens of Bookhaven became concerned and a large group began to gather around as people had begun to abandon their cars and started to walk wherever they needed to go in town.

Without warning, in the middle of the day, 5 days after the rotating apparatus was installed underneath the city, it began to collapse into the center of the Love Pentagram!  More than just collapsing, though – it seemed like it was flushing down a toilet into the hole and all of Bookhaven was being sucked into the center of the hole.  People were screaming as they tried to run away from the power of the Love Pentagram.  No one could escape it when they saw it happening, and no one knew what would happen when they fell into it.

In less than three hours, the city of Bookhaven had been eradicated, leaving only the Love Pentagram left.  The Ruins of Bookhaven, as the area is now called, had only a sewer system to show for it and it all lead into the center.

Where did all of Bookhaven go, you may ask?  A new subterranean city was established underneath Bookhaven, called Bookhell.  All of the trapped citizens of Bookhaven and their buildings, houses, and cars were there, forever.

Moral: Don’t shit where you sleep.

Stories, Fairy Tales

The Bipolar Bear and the Water Skiing Buffalo

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One day there was a polar bear.  He had issues.  He had a sister who always overreacted about everything ever that ever happened.  His mom wasn’t that much better.  Unfortunately for this polar bear, he became nicknamed the Bipolar Bear due to his inherent illnesses contracted by the social oppression created by his familial situation.

When the Bipolar Bear was old enough to move out of his house, he moved to sunny California.  He had to get a roommate because he didn’t have enough money for his own room, so he had to post a lot of advertisements on telephone poles and traffic signs.  A couple of his signs actually caused some accidents because they flew away after the tape had eroded and flew into the open-windowed cars, causing paper cuts of a severe nature that killed almost instantly.  It was a windy day.

It was the worst of times.  It was the best of times.  The Water Skiing Buffalo was doing so many chicks he couldn’t count them.  He was soooo cool.  That was until the economy fell and he couldn’t pay for his buffahoes anymore.  His full-time job of being the only water skiing buffalo, hence his name, became commoditized with a sudden influx of foreign sea gulls learning how to drive boats, allowing for multitudes of different animals who have no business being on the water, on the water, resulting in a rapid loss of money.  Broken, shamed, and nowhere else to go, the Water Skiing Buffalo headed to California because that’s where everyone goes when they want to feel like they’re better than they are.  He thought if he could get on a couple of movie sets and show them what he’s got, they’d hire him to do some water skiing in front of a camera, since he was pretty good looking.

Anyway, to make a long, boring interlude short, the Water Skiing Buffalo and the Bipolar Bear somehow ended up living together.  They became sorta good friends, but they don’t really hang out a lot.  Only like three days out of the week do they even see each other, and they live together!  That’s crazy!  Right?!?!  I don’t even KNOW what they’re doing!

So, one day, as the Water Skiing Buffalo and the Bipolar Bear hiked down Sunset Avenue, they met a lady with a booming voice who was talking about a lot of religious malarkey.  She was shouting about how she repented and used to be a sinner and used to be the enemy of God.  How this witch of a lady could go around and just yell random nonsense without anyone telling her to shut up because of her uncanny ability to make her voice travel through the dimensions of space, time, and jelly, was beyond them.

The Enemy of God, who really was a witch, had a sick obsession with jelly, and to a higher exponential form, preserves.  She saw the water buffalo and the polar bear and conceived a diabolical plot to acquire all of their jelly!  The two roommates just moved in like three months ago and they don’t usually eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so they had like two jars of unopened jelly just waiting to have the life sucked out of them by The Enemy of God.

The Enemy of God called her rich friend President Hagen.  He was in charge of a local college and was going to be ousted soon due to an impeachment process.  He was being impeached because he ordered 600 computers and drove them to Alaska.  He wasn’t even USING them for the school!  He was going to build a large server house and sell Canadian money to Americans over the Internet, and make a 50% profit.  Depending on when you read this story, it might make sense or it might not make sense.  This story was written future-proof, just in case American money becomes more expensive than Canadian money again.

President Hagen picked up the phone and he was in the Jacuzzi.  He was throwing darts at the staff members who reported him to his bosses.  He kept like a bushel of these pictures in random places so that he can always do something lewd toward them, like wipe his arm pit sweat, waft his fart, or blow his burp at them.  Once he bought a Thank You card, and wrote a derogatory word that did not actually describe said person after “Thank You” inside the card.  Needless to say, he did not put a return address on there.  This man was as rude as they came.  How he greased the palms of everyone during his road to the presidency is an undocumented and probably illegal ordeal, on account of him being a grade A number 1 doodoo rag.

President Hagen, holed up in his Alaskan server complex had his 600 Computers working in tandem to serve his needs and his online business.  He had one computer just to control his Jacuzzi, that’s how many computers he had.  He got a call over the popular internet voice calling program TalkToMyFaceCauseTheHandsAin’tTypin or THAT for short from his friend, The Enemy of God. The Enemy of God yelled through her phone and conveyed to President Hagen her plans.  Not that it mattered too much since he wasn’t even listening and was playing minesweeper on his computer.

After he hung up with The Enemy of God, President Hagen got out of the Jacuzzi and put a towel on.  He walked into his quarter million dollar bathroom with heated AND cooling toilet seats (also managed by a computer) and began typing on a pull out computer while he was doing his doo-dy on the toilet.  His secondary server complex located in Nevada, the aptly named Hagen Dessert Server Complex (the Alaskan one was named the Hagen Iced Latte Server Complex) was running a little hot, and he adjusted the air conditioner.

“No melting ice cream, today, Nevada…”  The President said in between farts.

The President finished up, and wiped his ass with a picture of Juniper Rodriguez, a senior staff member at Hoodywoody College.

“You like the taste of that, Juniper?”

The President got up and put his towel back on.  He then grabbed a picture of Daniel Torres, another senior staff member, lit it on fire and dropped it in the toilet.

“BURN, DANIEL, BURN!!”

An hour or two later, President Hagen was passed out on his couch and snoring very loudly.  Oliver 6800, the boy robot slave President Hagen constructed from the innards of five computers, trembled in front of his master, as he wanted to ask him for more hard drive space.

“Please, sir, may I have some more?” Oliver 6800 chirped.

President Hagen awoke and yelled, “MOOOOOORREEEEEEEEE??????”

President Hagen then beat Oliver 6800… at Hearts.

The next day…

“Have you seen my mommy??”  Oliver 6800 asked President Hagen.

“Mommy????????????????????????” President Hagen threw his hands into the air.

President Hagen then beat Oliver 6800… at Monopoly.  It was a five hour ordeal and pretty gruesome.

Then child services came and acquired Oliver 6800 from President Hagen because he was abusing his robotic child.

Back to the Enemy of God, she was arrested later that evening for knowingly aiding a child abuser, even though the child abuser himself would not be charged and would be allowed to continue in his weird abuse of technology for some time to come.  She was also arrested for stealing a pallet of jelly from a grocery store that kept tens of thousands of dollars of jelly in their store room.

As for the oddly paired Bipolar Bear and Water Skiing Buffalo, they lived together for 7 years, decided it was in their best interests to apply for Common Law Marriage for the tax breaks and then cheated the system out of food stamps for years to come.  Those stamps sure did taste good, the glue was flavored!

Moral:  Don’t take more than you need.

Stories

A Crusty Evening

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“This is a sad day indeed!” I’ll always remember those words.

It was a hot summer day and the carnival was in town once again. Nevermind the silly little rides that the majority of the youth would waste their time with. I was there for one reason: the event that made yokels from miles ’round gather to witness. The challenge of the champions, the fight of the fatsos, the battle of the bulge! That’s right, the famed pie-eating contest.

This was the time of year all of the wives of the manly men of the town would spend many a night concocting an alluring assortment of delightfully delicious delicacies that dwelled in the darkest dreams of the obese competitors even weeks before the event. One of these wives, Mary Anne Truckstop, was the loving wife of Darryl Truckstop, the longest reigning pie eating champion in all of town. Each year Mary Anne would try to create a new, innovative kind of pie. One year she made a lard, apple, and aloe pie, but no one liked it! Another year she made a pot pie, except it really was made of pieces of broken pots, and no one liked it either! One year she thought she had really hit the spot. She didn’t hit the spot, though, but at least she made a spot on the livers of all who ate the pies.

This year Darryl was really pressuring Mary Anne to make the most fantastic pie recipe the town, and possibly the county, had ever known. Whenever she resisted he denied her of her rocking chair privileges and sent her to bed without dinner, so she started experimenting with every possible ingredient she could find to impress the public and, most of all, her precious Darryl.

On the day of the contest, as I was on my way to the carnival in my Geo Metro Convertible Custom, the DJ interrupted my favorite song to announce that Mary Anne would not be attending the fair. My heart sank, my blood boiled, my timing belt snapped. Thankfully I had just arrived at the Carnival. I listened to the rest of Blue Man Group’s “Drumbone,” then headed to the event with sour lips and sour expectations.

As I stood, waiting for the event to start, an angry and disappointed Darryl took a seat behind the pie table. He was the last to arrive. Others at the competition were “Big” Bill Owens, “Plopping” Harley Banks, and Don Reed aka “Popsicle Eyebrows.” The gentlemen cracked their knuckles and adjusted their belts accordingly. It was obvious that the men hadn’t eaten in a while, as the sound of their rumble was overwhelming to the point of deafening if you didn’t have your mouth open. At last, the contest began! The wives of most of the men participating slid their pies across the table. The men grabbed the pies and started devouring with no hesitation. Something strange was happening: Darryl was in last place! No matter how much pie he shoved into his mouth with his meaty hooks, he was still a crust behind. “This is a sad day indeed!” shouted my just-arriving dad whom I’d forgotten to bring with me.

It was down to the last ten seconds. Darryl had drifted further and further behind. At the eight second mark, all of the viewers saw something for the first time. Darryl just stopped chewing. He closed his eyes and began to cry, the pie filling foaming out of his mouth. At the three second mark, four brown and gray pies slid across the table. Darryl decided to give it one last shot and began to consume the pie. Metal crunched, twigs snapped, and paint ran inside the mouths of the men. All of the men except Darryl began to puke hard, spilling a rainbow of different colored filling. Darryl stood strong, stuffing all of the remaining pies down his throat.

The time was up. It was time to make the big decision. As the judges finished their tallies, it was come to the decision that Darryl had still only come in second. The winner was Bill Owens. The crowd booed loudly and started throwing their money until they realized what they were doing. Bill Owens waddled over to the man holding the trophy and raised it high. The sudden change of elevation from standing up began to take its toll on Bill. He threw the trophy to the ground and began hurling into the gas tank of a John Deere nearby. The judges re-tallied how many pies Bill had actually digested and ruled Darryl as the winner once again! The crowd roared with applause and cheerful laughter. Darryl knew that the only reason he won was because of the terrible pies that were given to them near the end. He had always had an iron stomach because of his wife’s cooking. He picked up the trophy and glanced over to see Mary Anne clapping for him. He handed her the trophy. “Here you go, honey…you deserve to hold it until we get home” he admitted. The two hugged and all was good.

This town doesn’t have much of a history, but one memory that will always live on is the legend of Darryl and Mary Anne Truckstop. Even though he got lost traveling to an out-of-county tree sale next week and was never heard of again, the track record of Darryl will never be forgotten.

THE END

Stories, Fairy Tales

Oopsy Daisy!

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Little Daisy is trying to make her first cake. What a cute adventure into womanhood! But sadness sweeps over her as she realizes she left out everything but the eggs and the icing. Her eyes start to rain down big salty tears, because her cake is no good. She’s just about to run to her room when a warm, calming hand touches her shoulder.

“Grandpa!” she yelps, surprised, trying to hide her tears. “Now, now, no need to cover your face, I know you’re ugly.” Grandpa says jokingly. This didn’t seem to help the situation at all, as she starts to cry louder. “Stop the water works now, my little princess. Let me tell you a little something. Sit down here.” Grandpa pulls out a chair for Daisy and she sits down. He thinks of trying another ugly joke, but is afraid she’ll start crying again.

“A long time ago, I was a little girl just like you,” Grandpa says. “Really?” Daisy asks, no longer crying. “Yes,” Grandpa continues, “You should’ve seen my room, it was beautiful. I had Marilyn Monroe wallpaper, an Elvis bedspread, a Dick Clark record player, and a Steve Carell make-up case.” “Wow!” Daisy exclaims. “You ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie!” Grandpa replies.

“I remember one time, when I was about your age, I got into my parents’ special cabinet. That’s what led to your grampy’s eventual incarceration, but that’s a different story. Anyway, my father, your great grandpa, caught me. That’s when he brought out his most expensive belt, which he called the ‘Cat of Ninetails from Hell.’ He laid a beating on me that went on for hours. He carved me up like a Halloween jackolantern.” Grandpa chuckles.

“That’s terrible!” Daisy shouts. “I thought so, too.” Grandpa says. “But looking back, he was only doing it to show he loves me, so I’ll always treasure it.” “I want treasure!” Daisy responded. “Well shiver me timbers then, matey!” Grandpa says in a gruff tone. ‘Set sail for beatdown! Go get your grampy’s 2×4, the one with the nails. Do you have your tetanus shot?” “What’s tetanus?” Daisy asks. “Good!” Shouts Grandpa with a smile.

The high pitched squeals fill the house for the next two days. Daisy will always remember the cake accident. But she will know, in her mind and in her heart, that Grandpa almost killed her with a board to show her how much he loves her.

Stories, Fairy Tales

Marshmallow Cosby

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You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. By now it is only common sense that Bill Cosby loves marshmallows. From their milky white texture to the way they feel like toxic sludge when you put them in your mouth, marshmallows are incomparable to any other food in the world. Even spaghetti, believe it or not. But I bet you haven’t heard of the escapades Bill has been through involving the fluffy, tasty creations.

The year was 1994 AD. Bill’s ego was riding high from the incredible, overwhelming sucess of The Cosby Mysteries. He was taking his daily jog through the park, listening to Fats Domino on his new TalkBoy. His head bob-a-dob-dobbed and his knees rat-a-tat-tatted rhythmically to the quick tumpa-tumpa of his heartbeat.

I know what you’re thinking: “This isn’t your ordinary run-of-the-mill slow paced yet healthy jog for Mr. Cosby!” Well, you’re right! Bill had marshmallows on the mind, and after the stroll he headed straight for the supermarket. Holding his basket out like a collection plate, he swept all of the bags of marshmallows he could find in, even the generic brands.

Before he could make his way to the counter, he was grabbed from behind and pulled into the employee restroom. “Get your hands off the Cosb!” shouted Bill, but this didn’t stop the assailant from sitting Bill in the sink and gluing his arms to the mirror with a hot glue gun that must’ve been conveniently placed in the bathroom. Bill hadn’t been in this much trouble since Malcolm Jamal-Warner caught him eating his crescent rolls.

“Mr. Cosby, with all due respect, if you keep eating those marshmallows by the fistful, you’ll be too large for TV!” Bill’s reply to this was his trademark rolling of the eyes, complete with laugh track. “Now see here,” Bill said. “It’s not like I’m eating delicious Jello Puddin’ Pops, they’re harmless little tufts of puff! Please, please, PLEASE feed me some, right now!” Bill opened his mouth wide and wiggled his tongue around, waiting to be treated. He was treated to a hard slap in the face. Bill looked at the man angrily. “Hey hey hey!” he roared in an enraged Fat Albert voice.

Their bickering eventually led to the signing of a pact; Bill was not allowed to eat marshmallows ever again. Bill did not jog home that day, he walked. His head did not bob-a-dob-dob and his knees did not rat-a-tat-tat. His TalkBoy ate his Fats Domino tape, but he didn’t care.

The first couple of weeks under the rule went surprisingly well, almost to the point of Bill forgetting about the snack he once treasured. But one day on his way to the flea market, he saw something that would forever change his life: the Hosebush Marshmallow Company was trying to create the world’s largest Marshmallow in the park he regularly jogged in. Bill immediately fell to his knees and starting bowing, claiming it as his new god.

The man who had made him sign the pact was there, however. He knew this was going to happen. “Listen to me, Bill. Don’t do anything you’ll regret, your career is on the line!” he begged. Bill grabbed the pact out of his hands and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed on it loudly and spit it back in the man’s face. The man started bawling into his hands and ran off, screaming “This is the end of Cosby as we know it!” “It’s MINE!” Bill shouted. He started pushing and elbowing people out of his way, growling with excitement.

He grabbed the side of the giant marshmallow and began clawing his way up. The people that had worked so hard making the marshmallow were running around, yelling at each other in frustration. Bill reached the top and ripped off his shirt. He slapped his belly a few times for good measure and dove down head first into the concoction. He started to tunnel his way down the center, using only his mouth and perfect set of choppers. “There go his canines,” thought the local dentist worriedly as he looked on.

In mere minutes, the entire marshmallow was devoured. Bill was so full, he couldn’t move. He was so big that when he rolled his eyes, it sounded like thunder. TV executives rushed in and handcuffed him, then hauled him off to be locked away in the NBC Fat Camp for two years.

During the years he spent trying to work off his fat, Bill was replaced on television by none other than Ray Romano, who covered himself with black ash to conceal his identity. If you look closely at footage from those years, you can faintly make out his Jewish chin. Ray also later played the role of Darlene on the series finale of “Roseanne.”

At last, in the spring of 1996, Bill was back and better than ever! Although the thought of another marshmallow binge was very tempting for him, he knew what it would do if it happened again. To this very day, every time Bill sees a bag of them, he grimaces in a way that makes him look sort of like a cross between GW Bush and Robert De Niro, with maybe a hint of Queen Elizabeth. This is a very ugly sight and Bill knows it, so he tries his best to stay away from the tempting morsels.

America loves Bill, and I’m sure you have your hand on your heart right now, saluting that he had the strength and willpower to fight his deadly addiction. I hope you have learned a lesson, and that you yourself do not become a “Marshmallow Cosby.”

THE END

Stories, Fairy Tales

The Prefect Candy Bar

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Alone in an alley, the mayor of Candybarrio in Foodland, Cassius Candybar was strolling through.  It wasn’t exactly the safest of places to take a brisk walk, considering the last five high profile homicides had taken place here, in which all of the victims were mutilated to the point of being called a different food.  No one knew what a Tomato Chocolate Smoothie was until last week when Clive Tomato and Sandy Chocandy were murdered and blended together.

“What kind of murderous, Foodlandish person would be able to exist?” the local news stations explored that question to no avail and received higher ratings than ever before.  Conspiracy theorists even started to believe the news stations themselves were propagating this uptake in mutilation-type violence — or even hiring people to commit them so there would be more news coverage!

The sad truth of the matter was, that it was not that simple… Cassius knew more than he had let on in his myriad of interviews.  To cut the mystery short, it was Cassius who had murdered the the five Foodlandish in the alley.  He was using the publicity of the murders to propel himself to the forefront of the minds of Foodlandish in the upcoming elections.

And his plan was working.

That was, until a copycat murderer decided to open his killing spree with a high-profile target.  Banana-Face the Orange had trained with his knife skills for like three hours before he came to the alley behind Roger and Jefferson’s Waffle House and Croissant Bakery.

It didn’t take too much effort to slice the ligaments in Cassisus’ legs… and before Cassius could do anything, a six-inch fruit peeler was jutted into his back.  Banana-Face twisted the fruit peeler slowly as the caramel began to ooze out of Cassius.  In his screams came more and more pain.  The nougat began to ooze out along with the caramel and Banana-Face’s Relentless Fruit Peeler began to dig at Cassius’ peanuts.  Once the hole was big enough, Banana-Face thrust his hand into Cassius and grabbed a peanut, ripping it from his nougaty center.

Cassius did everything he could to crawl away but it was to no avail.  Banana-Face enraged and began to rapidly stab Cassius in his back.  He began to bash Cassius’ head with his own peanut and caramel began to ooze from the back of his head.  Cassius’ last ditch effort was to get his Battery-Powered Blender Knife from his right pocket.  He reached for it and turned it on.

Banana-Face was in the middle of another Stab-and-Twist when Cassius flipped over, causing him to lose his balance.   Cassius raised the whirring Blender Knife into the air and came into Banana-Face’s lower extremities.  Banana-Face screamed louder than Cassius had, and orange juice sprayed onto Cassius’ face as he laughed maniacally, exacting his painful revenge on the orange.  Orange pulp began to spray, as the knife got closer to Banana-Face’s core.

Cassius removed the Blending Knife and readied his thrust again.  In that instant, Banana-Face reached and grabbed the fruit peeler in Cassius’ back and used it as a handle to get closer to Cassius before his next thrust.  Cassius screamed in pain, but that didn’t do much to offset his balance as the blending knife came from the right and into Banana-Face’s side.  They both screamed at the top of their lungs in their weird hug-like stance.

The alley was full of orange caramel juice.  It flowed like a miniature river as it ended up into a grate on the floor.  Banana-Face’s life force drained away and he eventually fell limp.  Cassius fell to the ground as well, but in victory.  He was relieved he had survived the ordeal, but little did he know, a new threat loomed beneath the alley — a fire-breathing Drah-Gun!

Shunookle the Drah-Gun was on a vacation from Nikpan and thought the sewer system in Foodland would provide for a nice respite from the hustle and bustle of Dragon Town.  Unfortunately for her, this was the sixth extremely loud murder to occur within the last week, and it was pissing her off!  She burst out of the alley’s asphalt and flew into the air, throwing asphalt all over the place and flying away.

Cassius Candybar was ultimately known for killing all tourism in Candybarrio once Shunookle the Drah-Gun posted on BizarroBook, the world’s most popular social network that Candybarrio was a very loud and unsafe place to visit.

Moral of the story: Considering the consequences of your actions is prudent in matters of politics.

Stories, Fairy Tales

The Wise Tennis Ball

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Tenny the Tennis Ball has been stuck in the same fence for 15 years.  Oh, the stories he could tell you about Rochestor Elementary School.  Tenny wasn’t always in a fence, though.  At one point, he was used as a tool for mass infliction of pain!

But, ever since he was thrown into the very top rung of the fence, Tenny observed the school and all of the events that transpired below.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Tenny is a romantic.  He longed for the days when he was trapped between two other tennis balls to whom he could have constant contact with in the metal tube he came from.  He is into the multi-racial thing, too, as one was green and the other was orange.

It isn’t easy being stuck in a fence at a lowly school in Missouri.  No one ever says, “Hi,” to him and when the seasons change, he weathers the weather without so much as a glimpse from a 5th grader.

There Tenny stayed stuck in a fence, never minded upon, simply unnoticed, always observing.

That is, until an electrical storm forced an alien spaceship into the atmosphere!  They were planning an attack on a K-Mart building that had gained sentience and was threatening to collect on the layaways the aliens had at the store.  The Layawaliens’ plans were foiled when the K-Mart Building #1335 created an electrical storm to foil them.

The immense radiation blast that came from the Layawaliens’ ship was focused solely at Tenny the Tennis Ball.  His simple existence of being stuck in a fence had instantly become something more… and as the Layawaliens tried to restabalize and exit the atmosphere, a second large burst of radiation hit Tenny and he sprouted legs, and arms, and a brain, and a head, and a kidney… two even!  He had become what he only knew… and elementary school kid.  A 5th grader, to be exact.

But he was still stuck in a fence, body organs hanging out every which way because there was no room for him to grow “naturally.”  There he groaned and lamented in pain as his tennis-ball-fur-covered organs hung and bounced around as he tried to free himself to no avail.

How he longed even more for the days of being a normal tennis ball!  This being a half-human-half-tennis-ball thing got old after about ten minutes of having two swinging kidneys.

There he stayed over the weekend until the children went out to recess.  It’s sort of hard to not notice this weird human hybrid monster thing hanging at the top of the fence.  Some children started to throw rocks and insults at Tenny for no reason.  He hated being “human” and hated humans, too!

Just then, the K-Mart Building #1335 developed space flight capability and empathically felt Tenny’s pain.  If K-Mart Building #1335 wanted a life-hating space captain, Tenny was it.

As the K-Mart building lifted off it made a tractor beam shoot out and rip off the piece of the fence that Tenny was stuck in and levitated it into its roll-up doors and exited the atmosphere.  Tenny the Tennis Ball was given a chair that fit the contours of his new body perfectly.  Even though he was still stuck in afence, he was able to integrate his thoughts with the space-bound building.

First order of business, was a volley of phasers and rockets and contact solution as well as several types of canned goods at Rochester Elementary.  There were tons of screaming children as they were splashed with exploding cases of contact solution and pelted with canned cucumbers and peaches.  The phasers targeted the handball and four-square courts to the children would never get to play at recess again.  This would lead to diabetes in 3/4 of the children and they wouldn’t be able to eat any fun food for the rest of their lives.

The K-Mart building communicated to Tenny that it was going to follow the damaged Layawalien ship back to its home planet and collect on its layaways in full, even if that means taking over their planet.

The Layawaliens ship finally made its way back to its home planet of Layaway Planet, where everything on the planet took a decade to pay for, so it was all old-looking shit.  The defensive capabilities of the planet were no match for K-Mart Building #1335, and soon it landed on the planet, creating a fortress around itself and infecting the population with a derivative of salmonella from its sliced Turkey products that the Layawaliens foolishly took it out on layaway from the store.

Three weeks after the fortress had been completed and 90% of the Layawalien population had food poisoning and stomachaches, Tenny declared Layaway Planet the property of K-Mart Building #1335.  The Layawaliens were forced to sign a treaty agreeing to this fact, so that they would be able to get antacids and cures for the salmonella poisoning that threatened their race.

Tenny thought back to his simpler days of being stuck in a fence as a normal tennis ball.  Look how far he had come, in such a short time.

Moral:  When your life is changed drastically, think of the consequences it has on others as well.

Stories, Fairy Tales

Who Found the Staplers’ Hats?

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A conspiracy was afoot.

In The Pencil Box, a coup was forming.  The Staplers, a sect of the Stationeries, have been the prevalent political party and their merciful political power is regulated only by their hats.  Without their hats, they are naked — exposed.

The Staplers use a valuable resource known as staples.  In the staple mines of Swingline Town, the ever-important node of the staple commodity, a nuclear bomb was set off by a renegade faction of pens called the Terrorist Pens.  This had effectively wiped out 34% of the total staple industry in The Pencil Box, resulting in a diminished power in the Staplers.  A staple drought was declared as Staplers went through the dredges of the Office Desk Canyons of The Pencil Box trying to find new suitable mines to replace what had been lost.

It was during this strategic opportunity in which the Stapler population was spread thin that the Terrorist Pens struck again — this time with a large wind burst that blew off all of the Stapler’s hats.  The Stapler’s hats is the prominent difference that Staplers have from one another.  Now they are all the same, and equal.  But that’s not how society works, so in one fell swoop the Staplers started to kill each other for no reason other than the fact that they all looked the same and it freaked each other out.

One spiritual Stapler by the name of John Stapler found himself in lonely cave, away from the ones he loved.  He yearned back for the days (sometime last week) where there was order in The Pencil Box, and it hadn’t been shaken up due to terrible design of its compartments.  It was then that John Stapler had realized he was not actually in a lonely cave, but the holiest and most important of locations to the Staplers in all of The Pencil Box, rediscovered only by John Stapler in a time of need.  John Stapler went deeper into the cave and found a monument that had the following words inscribed:

“In a time of need

You shall see

Not what is important, such as individuality

But what isn’t important, such as unique hats that set a fashion trend no one cares about”

The words meant something, I’m not exactly sure what since I’m not a Stapler, to John Stapler.  As he read the inscription on the monument, it began to glow, and time was reset to before the nuclear bomb in Swingline Town.

John Stapler had been given a chance to set things right before they go wrong!  Not only that, but he had a cool new hat that made him ultra-powerful.  Don’t ask me how, but Swingline Town was saved!  The Terrorist Pens had their nuclear bomb blow up in their faces, if you can call them faces, and the Terrorist Pens were no more, as their base of operations, a chemical plant in the Ink Hills, turned into a crater.

Anarchy would avoid The Pencil Box…

at least for now.

Stories, Fairy Tales

The Triumphant Lion and the Arrogant Jy-Raffs

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Once there was a rap group in the Sahara Desert called the Jy-Raffs.  It was a group of giraffes that loved to sing and rap.  They sang about eating leaves off trees and making sexual innuendos about those sexy giraffe bitches drinking from the watering holes.

One day an exuberantly manly lion named ReggIster Stupenstein published his first reggae/rap album.  He sang songs about legitimate love with his lioness pride without any baby killing beforehand.  He sang of lounging in the shade and eating yesterday’s zebra carcass with no hassle form the vulture community.

In essence, it was everything the Jy-Raffs were not and all the random lifeforms living in the Sahara Desert raved about the album.  This made the Jy-Raffs so jealous because deep down inside they were depressed that they were forced to sing about partying and smoking trees and looking at giraffe buttholes all day.  Most of them didn’t even like buttholes — they were mostly all about that tongue-action.

The Jy-Raffs decided to kill ReggIster Stupenstein because there was only enough room in the “politically correct reggae rap” niche for one successful artist.

Little did they know, this would be their demise.  As they were plotting their revenge in the cramped corridors of a secret underground cave, a genie’s lamp accidentally fell out of an encased tomb of sap that could only be unlocked by uttering the words “lion,” “reggae,” “kill,” “masturbate,” and “grind his liver between three calculus books” in the predicate of a 356-word-long run-on sentence with no correct punctuation.  They were rappers, after all…!

Anyhow, the genie, named Jardan Maura, didn’t come out of his lamp and grant the giraffes three wishes like you would expect.

Instead, the genie was a rebel genie who banished his victims to do irregular to insane monotonous tasks in a sweat shop in China that he owns.

The Jy-Raffs were fucked.  Instead of having to decide four different jobs for the giraffes to do, he combined them into one super giraffe — a four-headed, 16-legged monstrosity of a giraffe, doomed to forever lick closed 0% APR credit card applications sent to random people for the rest of their unnatural lives.

Moral of the story:  Appreciate the hard work that goes into mass-produced junk mail!