Going to Cleveland tonight. Should be fun (and funs). Happy New Year to you all. Chapter the First of The Big Big Meal can be found here.
Chapter The Second: In Which Our Hero Wants A Refill
The hatless man took another bite of his Crab Bang Boom. It was delicious when he received it and it was delicious when he took the bite mentioned in the sentence before this one. Unfortunately, it was also filling. He had managed to eat about three-fourths of one of the steaks from his Two Steaks And A Steak, but he was already getting full. The other two and a quarter steaks were just sitting there, taunting him, as were the countless other menu items sitting in front of him. He was beginning to get cramps.
"Ah, well," he thought. "That’s what you get when you get a big big meal."
"You also get a big big meal," thought the hatless man’s many-named lizard.
"Very true, Madam Sandler," the hatless man responded, thought-wise. "Very true."
The lizard began to eye the hatless man’s Crab Bang Boom. The hatless man noticed this and ripped off a piece, bringing it close to the lizard’s mouth.
"HEY HEY HEY!!!" shouted Corporal Manager from across the restaurant. "Every bite must be eaten by you or it’s not free!"
The hatless man frowned. “This is bullshit,” he thought. “We both came here to eat… What if we were on a date?”
He popped the piece of Crab Bang Boom into his own mouth. It (the Crab Bang Boom, not his mouth) had begun to get soggy, though it was still warm. He swallowed, and he could feel his stomach churning. It had been working overtime ever since his fourth bite. It was almost like his stomach had a mind of its own. Of course, ever since the surgery, it did.
"Please," thought his stomach. "No more."
"You’ll do what I tell you!" the hatless gentleman shouted to his belly. "Unless of course you can pay for this enormous meal somehow! Do you have some secret bank account only you can access?!? Because to the best of my knowledge, you only have ONE secret bank account, I can access it, and it’s completely empty!"
The entire restaurant was now staring at the hatless man and his lizard.
"Take a picture, it’ll last longer," quoth the lizard.
"Never mind them, Jamiqua," said the hatless man as he took a bite of his Towering Taco Taster Tummy Treats. He glared at the crowd until they looked away.
"You should take your own advice," the lizard pointed out.
"You should be a human being," snapped the hatless jerk.
The lizard begrudgingly kept quiet. It stayed on the hatless man’s shoulder, digging its claws into the skin perhaps a bit too much, but it left the hatless man to his meal.
Elsewhere in the restaurant, the last table was sat and Branby’s Fine Foods and Water was officially full. Although some people occasionally glanced up from their food to visually question the incredibly large meal sitting in front of the man with no hat and a lizard, everyone seemed relatively happy. Many were even enjoying themselves. Some were families, more were softball leagues, and none but one were a hatless man and his lizard.
Quite suddenly, a man in a hat entered through the front doors and approached the pretty young thing operating the “please wait to be seated” podium. He glanced at her name tag.
"Excuse me… Fred?" the man in a hat asked.
"That’s right," she responded.
"I’d like a table for one and a little bit, please."
"A little bit?"
"Yes," responded the man in a hat as he pulled something quite small from his pocked and showed it to the girl. "The little bit is for my egg," he said. At closer inspection, the object did indeed remind her of an egg.
Fred looked in her secret book of table information as the man in a hat returned the egg to his pocket. She glanced up.
"I’m sorry," she said, "But there will at least a four chapter wait."
"There will be at least a thirty-minute wait, sir."
The man in a hat briefly glanced at Fred’s breasts, then glared at her for a moment. She smiled, because that’s her job, and the man in a hat performed a quick scan of the restaurant. He could just barely see a small green tail next to the back of a head that quite noticeably did not have a hat covering it. The man in a hat glared in that particular direction for a longer moment then he glared at the pretty young girl.
"Fine!" he spit. "I will be back in a few chapters, then."
"What?" asked the girl.
"I said I’ll be back in a half hour, you BITCH," the man in a hat muttered. He turned quickly. Almost too quickly. Inhumanly, perhaps?
"No, just quickly," said the man in a hat as he huffed off and out the front doors.
Fred shrugged to herself and went back to her crossword puzzle. She needed a four-letter word for “man’s name used as girl’s name,” but she could not think of anything. She wasn’t very good at crossword puzzles and it wasn’t a very good crossword puzzle, so she crumpled it up and threw it on the floor.
"You’d better pick that up!!!" shouted Corporal Manager from across the restaurant.
Fred sighed and picked up the puzzle as Samanda the Waitress walked by her.
Normally she would stop and talk to Fred for a bit, but she was having a pretty hectic shift. She had not even been back to check on the hatless man’s table since she brought him his food.
"Table 9’s been sat," Fred told Samanda as she passed.
"Well, they’ll just have to wait," Samanda told her, and she walked to the hatless man’s table. It seemed like he was taking a break from eating at the moment. Half of his meal was not even touched, and the other half wasn’t even half-eaten. He was just sitting there, humming to his lizard and chewing on his drinking straw.
"Well if it isn’t my favorite customer with no name," Samanda said as she arrived at the table.
"Who’s your favorite customer WITH a name?" The hatless man asked.
Samanda laughed. It may have seemed like the hatless man was being funny, but he was not. He was a petty, petty man, and he really wanted to know who else this waitress may enjoy the company of.
"I’m sorry I just ended a sentence with a preposition," said the author.
"It’s okay," the readers responded in unison. "You can keep doing it."
Samanda giggled a bit more. She looked at the hatless man and replied, “Oh, I don’t have a favorite customer with a name. It’s you all over.”
This made the hatless man very happy. He smiled, showing that what she said made him happy.
"Everything taste okay?" she asked him.
"Oh, yes, very much."
"Can I get you anything else?"
"A second stomach would be nice."
Samanda laughed, not knowing the hatless man was once again being deadly serious.
"Well, I don’t know if I can do that," she told him. "But I can get you a refill. Do you want a refill?"
The hatless man glanced at his empty glass.
"Yeah, sure," he said.
"Can do. What were you drinking?"
The hatless man opened his mouth to respond.
"I’m kidding, of course," she said. "We only have water."
She grabbed his glass, gave him a wink, and walked off to the Designated Watering Zone. He watched her leave and could only think one thing: Her naked body, although covered with clothes, was probably smokin’ hot.
"I think she likes you," said the hatless man’s lizard.
"Thanks, Tiger Beat," said the hatless man. "I think I like her, too."
The hatless man, now in a much better mood, took another bite of his Crab Bang Boom. He was not at all close to finishing it, let alone any other item he ordered, but at least he had something to eat forward to.
"Keep it coming," thought his stomach.
"Don’t tell me what to do," the hatless man muttered.
Outside in the parking lot, a man in a hat furiously paced back and forth. He was not hungry, he was not thirsty, but he desperately wanted a table. Anxious and full of rage, he kicked a rock as hard as he could. It did not make a sound as it hit the nearby grass.
"No loitering!" shouted Corporal Manager from inside the restaurant.
The man in a hat looked up. He nodded to himself and softly pet his egg through his pants. He walked toward the street, knowing full well he would return.
In 3 weeks, LOST season is upon us, meaning the 5th and penultimate season of LOST will be starting. Also: In 3 days, The Bernards will be having a reunion show, meaning my band will be playing together for the first time in over 4 months. So here is The Bernards playing a delightful song from LOST.
A few days ago, I received a Facebook friend request from Tara Wallehoringer. I don’t know this person, but I clicked “accept” anyway. I pretty immediately found out that this Tara person was a 14-year-old girl. I cancelled our “friendship” and sent her a message. The following is a screenshot of the back and forth messaging that followed. I did not make this up, I did not photoshop this, it is real.
She has not responded yet, and I hope she doesn’t, because that means she may have learned her lesson. Also, I’d just like to say, what is it with tweens liking me? Tweens LOVE me, and apparently I don’t even have to meet them first. Personally, I think it probably has something to do with the fact that I’m so much taller than some of them.
But seriously, Tara, wise up. If I were a different person, I could so easily track you down. Not only does Facebook contain a wealth of information about people, but (as my sister pointed out) your last name is “Wallehoringer.” You are probably the only “Wallehoringer” in central Ohio. So I now not only know your name, but I could know your address or phone number or e-mail or school district or even (god forbid) your favorite quotes. And then I could use that information and be absolutely weird with it. You like to meet strangers?!? You’re FOURTEEN! Have you not ever heard of “Stranger Danger?” Even if you have, there’s something else you should know about, and it’s called “Facebook Rape.” I’ve very seriously got half a mind to look up the Wallehoringers and tell your mom what you’ve been doing. But I won’t, because I’m super hip. I’m also glad only five people read this blog and that none of them are creepy, because they would now know you’re totally into meeting strangers.
So it has been a while since I have posted something, and there are several reasons for that. Partly it’s because I’m busy working on several projects at once. But more importantly, it’s the holidays, so kindly fuck off.
My good friend and former roommate (who we’ll call “Tom,” because that’s his name) joined the Peace Corps a year ago. For the last year he has been teaching, living with scorpions, and generally being a hero in Africa. He returned to us yesterday, and tons of his friends went down to his home in Cincinnati to say “hey” to the little guy, because he is returning to Africa for another year on Tuesday. His mom cooked us delicious food and then we went to a bar and fed him shots all night. At about 1:30, he was dancing, which is not at all what Tom does. It’s what New Tom does (which is what we call Tom when he’s drunk). So he was dancing. At 1:45, we glance over and see that instead of dancing, Tom is now sitting in a chair and not moving, though he is still breathing.
One of us carries him out Firefighter-style (or, if you’d prefer, the end of An Officer And A Gentleman-style) and we put him in the car to go home. The next hours consisted of ten or so of Tom’s closest friends, his four sisters, and his parents taking care of him and making sure he would stay alive. It was not as dire as it might sound, though. Tom was fine, just incapacitated for the rest of the night. Everyone gradually left or went to sleep, and I stayed up to chat with some folks, because I had drank water all night so I could go to work the next morning. Did I mention I had to work at 8 the next morning? I did. So on no sleep, I leave Cincinnati at around 6:20 and drive back to Columbus and then straight to work.
I would say right now I have a case of the Mondays. I would say right now I am worse than Garfield in that I don’t just hate Mondays. I want to rape, torture, murder, rape again, then dismember Mondays.
So that’s what’s up right now. I’m exhausted, loopy, and at work, and I have a feeling I am going quite mad. I will persevere, though, for I have issued myself a challenge to get through the day: Write a story about something. Anything. It doesn’t matter. Maybe about a cellophane clock that produces milk for local schools. Maybe not what I just said. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll fail. Or maybe I’ll succeed, but the story will be utterly indecipherable. God knows I’m already struggling just to finish this actual story that happened incredibly recently. Good luck, Cody. I hope you get to sleep in 8 hours…
Also, if you’d like a more Batman-related title, feel free to call this post “Why So Delirious?”
Earlier today, I was with family at my brother’s house, you know, enjoying family. My sister decided to go back to her place and start preparing and all that. We would head over there a little later. As she walked out the door, my mom said “Bye, love you!” and then my sister left. The door closed, and a few seconds later my mom exclaimed, “Oh no! I forgot to say be careful!” Moms are great. Hug your mom.
Earlier today, local candy farmer Darvery Allsallo suddenly realized it was Christmas Eve and he had gotten absolutely none of his shopping done. He was, however, in the middle of an episode of Entourage, so he decided to finish that first. He just had to know how it ended. It was the one where Turtle mentions jerking off and Drama calls Vinny “bro.” It’s probably his favorite episode.
Upon finishing it, Darvery was pleased to find out that Vin and the rest of the gang would be just fine, despite the fact that it seemed a little shaky for the middle part of the episode. Darvery grabbed his keys and rushed out the door. He did not even notice that he had kept the DVD running and the next episode was just starting. The HBO symbol appeared and the audience was informed that the show was rated TV-MA for language and adult fucking. Then Jane Addiction from Jane’s Addiction began singing Entourage’s delightful theme song.
Meanwhile, Darvery hopped in his car. It wouldn’t start, because it was mostly made of candy, so he called up his best friend and accountant Bwayne Rexy. A few minutes later, Bwayne arrived in his car made of calculators, and the two were off to the product stores.
After a good five mile drive down Five Mile Drive Dr., Darvery and Bwayne arrived at the Common Shopper’s Haven, home of Musicy Stuff, Just Movies About Reading, and Look We Got Clothes. Their first stop was Look We Got Clothes, because Darvery knew his wife needed a new blouse not made of candy. They couldn’t find any, so he just got her two new blouses made of candy.
"Two of something you don’t want is better than one of something you do want, right?" Darvery asked Bwayne. Bwayne considered this for a moment and nodded. If there’s one thing Bwayne knew, it was numbers.
"Two is bigger than one," Bwayne explained. "Case closed." Darvery hugged Bwayne for his help, and they left the store.
They moved on to Musicy Stuff, where the hippy dippy asshole floor manager was all like “What’s up, dudes?”
Neither Darvery nor Bwayne had ever heard that expression, so they replied, “The ceiling.”
The hippy dippy asshole floor manager tried to clarify. “No, I mean what’s going on?” he explained.
"On what?" asked a confused Darvery.
The hippy dippy asshole floor manager sighed. “Naw, dude,” he said. “Like how’s it hanging?”
"Well, if you’re talking about the posters on the wall, probably by a nail or with tape or something."
"No," began an exasperated hippy dippy asshole floor manager, "I mean what’s shakin’?"
Darvery and Bwayne looked at each other. “Electrons?” they both asked.
"No!" the manager yelled. "I just mean how are you?"
"THIRD BASE!" exclaimed Darvery and Bwayne. Then all three of them took a bow as the audience laughed and cheered. The next act went on, and Darvery and Bwayne left the store, because they didn’t actually need anything from Musicy Stuff.
The next stop, of course, was Just Movies About Reading, which was a small empty room that lead into a much larger empty room. There didn’t seem to be anyone working there, so Darvery and Bwayne just stole everything, which was nothing.
"Did you even need anything else?" Bwayne asked.
"Well, I only have a wife and I got your gift months and months ago."
"Oh, you shouldn’t have!"
"Well, I know you’ve been needing a new muffler, so I got you this calculator." Darvery handed Bwayne a shiny new calculator and the two of them hugged it out.
"Let’s get you home," Bwayne said. "I know you’re probably itching to watch the next Entourage."
"Oh my God!" Darvery exclaimed. "I left the DVD running! I’ve probably missed like three episodes already!"
So Bwayne quickly installed his new calculator in the car and started ‘er up. It sounded like an angel, and Bwayne drove like he’d never driven before, which was not that hard because he had gotten his license the day before. He also drove like a bat out of hell, which was considerably harder because he was just a human out of the Common Shopper’s Haven.
The car ride back down Five Mile Drive Dr. was quick and painless and it wasn’t too long before Bwayne and Darvery pulled up in front of Darvery’s home. The two hugged it out once more, and Darvery ran inside.
Upon arriving in his living room and plopping down on the couch, Darvery heard the sublime sound of Jane Addiction from Jane’s Addiction squealing “YEAH! OH, YEAH!” as Vince, Drama, Turtle, and E all got out of the car, bird’s eye view-style.
"Thank God," Darvery said. "I didn’t miss an episode at all. I just missed the opening credits!" It truly was a Christmas miracle, because the opening credits last three days, but in this particular story they only lasted a couple hours.
Very good, President Bush. You have pardoned someone posthumously, which completely doesn’t matter and now you look like you’re a “kind soul.” Please, news people, tell me something that affects the living, like the ONE HUNDRED NINETY other people he pardoned…
Local Student Can't Believe He Just Called Teacher "Mommy"
In a truly unexpected moment during school, Freshman and now socially-doomed Freshman Alanore Breadslick accidentally called his third period English teacher ”Mommy.” The classroom instantly burst into laughter, and it wasn’t long after that that the punching began. It wasn’t long after that that the principal was called in for a quick chuckle. The teacher, Mrs. Hellens, did nothing to stop any of this, as she did not want to embarrass the student further. “It’s not my job to discipline, it’s my job to teach,” says Mrs. Hellens. “If I got a job being a cop to teachers, then maybe I’d be singing a different tune right now, but thank God I’m not a cop to teachers, because I have a horrible singing voice.”
The torment continued throughout the day, with students and faculty all ganging up on poor Alanore. The school has yet to come up with a nickname that will stick, but it’s not for lack of trying. “Diapernore,” they’ll call him. Or “Alababy.” So far, “Breadslick Wants His Mommy” is the school-wide favorite.
Several days have gone by, and Alanore is still mortified. “I’m just blown away,” says Alanore. “I would understand it if I were in Kindergarten, because then I WOULD miss my mommy. But I’m almost a legal driver; I don’t miss my mommy at all. I mean ‘mom.’ Fuck…”
As it turns out, Breadslick doesn’t miss his mommy at all, he just loves her and sees her every day. Little do the other students know, but Mrs. Hellens is very much Alanore’s actual mother. She changed her name to save her son the embarrassment of having such a bangable mom.
"I don’t want to use the word ‘Cougar’ or ‘MILF’ because I’m allergic to cats and dairy," says Mrs. Hellens. "But I’d fuck me… Hell, I have fucked me…” She explained what she meant by that, but it’s a lot more boring than you’d think, so I won’t relay the information.
Hopefully Alanore will be able to overcome this horrible faux pas, though he doubts it. “The only way I could move past calling the teacher mommy,” deduces Alanaore, “is if I let everyone know that she is actually my mommy. I mean mom. And the only way that’s going to happen is if anyone even reads this. And I know they don’t, because they’re all too busy jerking off to thoughts of my mommy. I mean mom. Dammit…”
5 Lazy Ways To Get Punched In The Face By A Stranger
5 - Fall Asleep Mid-Conversation This tactic can take place at a large variety of locations and during many diverse situations. Maybe you’re at a job interview or you just brought table five their drinks. A first date is the perfect opportunity, though depending on your gender you may have to settle for simply getting slapped in the face, because I’m sexist and don’t think girls ever punch. Regardless, you’re talking to this person, right? Fall asleep. Stay asleep for maybe a minute, then wake up. If they are concerned and ask you if you have narcolepsy, just do the following (in this order): Look at them. Say, “What the fuck is narcolepsy?” Spit on them. Fall asleep. Now, this may seem like you’re exerting too much energy (i.e. – the spitting). You definitely don’t have to spit, but it really helps. In fact, if you have the energy to spit, you don’t even have to worry about the falling asleep part. Just spit on someone.
4 – Gotta pee? Pee! Hands down, one of the hardest things to do is to not pee when you really have to [pee]. Well, thank god you’re lazy and want to get punched in the face by a stranger, because now the worst part of having to pee is a thing of the past. In a meeting? Gotta pee? Pee! In a classroom? Gotta pee? Pee! Insane? Gotta pee? Scream while you pee! It works almost everywhere while at the same time it requires almost no actual work. Plus, after a couple of unsuccessful attempts, the built up smell from your several pees will fill anyone around you with at least a tinkle of disgust and rage. “Tinkle” because it’s pee.
3 – Don’t Get Up People need to get places all the time. It’s part of who we are and a part of who you are. But not today, baby! You only have one part of you today, and that part of you is feeling extremely relaxed right now. Sit down or lean somewhere, but specifically do this in front of where people are going or in front of something people need. On stairs, in doorways, in front of an Automatic ATM Machine. It really doesn’t matter! That person staring at you or nudging you really wants you to move slightly. All they ask is that you just please get up a little bit. Come oooooooon. Here’s the thing, though: Don’t. They will definitely react favorably (if your idea of favorable is getting punched in the face).
2 – Sickening Profanity and Racial Slurs: The Easy To Hear Killer Make sure you have a voice box for this one. More importantly, make sure you’re either unabashedly racist or perverted enough to shrivel Larry Flint’s already shriveled junk. If you’re not, you may end up punching yourself in the face, and that is positively not what we are here to do. All the racist perverts still here? Everyone else gone? Okay, good… So, racist perverts, this is going to be the easiest thing in the world for you to do. All you have to do is say exactly what you know is true to the people that absolutely deserve to hear it.
1 – Wink Constantly This last one requires a bit more energy than we would have liked. Many of us here at The ‘Dance can’t even wink. A) It’s hard and B) a lot of us are pirates. But if you know how to wink, then you definitely should. Start now, in fact, but pick your target carefully. You don’t want to end up having sex or anything like that. We would suggest someone who is clearly married. Your boss is another good option, and almost any cop will do. The best choice, though, would most probably be someone with gang tattoos or someone who looks like their favorite catch phrase is “You might be gettin’ ‘er done if…” However, there’s always a chance that any one of these people will be interested in you and shoot you a smile or even their own brand of wink. If someone starts to wink back at you and you’re worried you might score, just make sure you don’t verbally engage them and continue winking. At least 3 winks a second will suffice, and if they still seem interested, just spit on them. If they’re still interested after that, fuck them.
Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted. I’m super busy with the zombie epidemic. I assume no one’s even reading this (because of the zombie epidemic), but I find blogging therapeutic, especially during such an intense zombie epidemic.
That reminds me, this coming weekend will mark my final appearance on Zombie Night Live, mainly because a majority of the cast is now zombies, and Lorne doesn’t think I “fit in” anymore. Fucking Lorne… when will that guy die or turn into a zombie already?
Furthermore, I’m very glad to say The Bernards have a tour coming up. After a several year hiatus, we’re back at it and we couldn’t be having a better time. Who knew it would take a zombie epidemic to make “Here Come The Dead!” a worldwide #1 hit? Certainly everyone must have.
My ninth cat, Human Failure, just learned to talk yesterday. It’s all thanks to intensive gene therapy and a positive attitude. And although its fur is all gone and it only eats blood now, when it says, “Pweez feed me bwud,” my heart still melts.
So these Ultra Storms are pretty terrifying, huh? Isn’t it weird not wanting to go outside during the summer because a snow tornado might cause another deathquake? You new tweens might be used to it, but five years ago we for sure didn’t have any of those.
Not to bog the blog down with politics, but President Palin really sucks dick. Ever since Obama had to go off to the Jungar Nebula to fight in the Secret Wars, the country’s really gone downhill. Though on the bright side, she’s having another baby and I can’t wait to find out if it is of normal intelligence. She’s already picked out a name (It’s Prunge). Oh, well… At least we have Vice President Fey.
Also, I was thinking jorg ton belisstaree…Sorry. That was weird. I think my iBrain is acting up again. God damn first generation iBrains… Steve Jobs’ robot’s corpse must be rolling in its cybergrave.
Oh! I almost forgot… Be sure to pick up a copy of The Curse of The Moongician (And Other Tales To Make You Go “What?”). It came out in bookstores last week. And if you feel like braving the weather (yeah, right!), make sure you check out the new big screen adaptation of The Big Big Meal, starring Steve Buscemi as the Meal Eater and the incomparable Pauly Shore as Dr. Collosotrope. I haven’t seen it yet, but I hear it’s horrible, so that’s good…
Keep coming back, cause I have a lot more fun stuff I’m working on. One thing in particular is my 63rd song about Battlestar Galactica, titled “It’s Been Off The Air For Five Years, Get Over It.” I was also going to do some more fake news, but ever since Jon Stewart bought CNN, what’s the point?
I’m gonna leave now. The TV’s coming on in my head and I want to watch the newest episode of The Simpsons (season 25 and still strong!). Thanks for reading and stay alert. As the common phrase that started during the zombie epidemic goes: “Watch out for zombies and don’t be a zombie.”
It was so incredibly easy to wake up today, because I knew instead of going to work, I was going to be doing some fun improv with fun people for fun students. Normally, I wait until the last minute, get ready, and begrudgingly go out the door. Today, though, I waited until almost the last minute, got ready, and happily went out the door. Following that was two hours of waking up coupled with… like I said, fun improv with fun people for fun students. It was an incredibly refreshing way to start the day. Then I left and went into work late. Even now, I feel more alert and engaged than I normally do at work, all thanks to improv wakin’ up my body and mind for me instead of making coffee do the work (although coffee still helped). So here is my plan from now on: Wake up at 5:30 every morning and do improv from 6am to 8am, then go to work. All I need now is 3 to 6 people willing to wake up way too early for the sole purpose of making my mornings slightly more enjoyable. So who’s coming with me? WHO’S COMING WITH ME?
The Big Big Meal is a fake novel or “novella” or “dumb thing” I never planned to write. The first occurrence of this “dumb thing” was the very last sentence, which can be found here. Another excerpt is here and another here. For some reason, several people thoroughly enjoy these. So in the interest of pandering, here is Chapter 1 of The Big Big Meal.
Chapter The First: In Which Our Hero Receives His Meal
The waitress set the plates down on the table in front of the young hatless gentleman. He noted how delicious and abundant his food all looked and then the waitress told him, “I’ll be back with the rest.”
The rest? he thought. I’ll barely be able to eat this.
He could feel his wallet burning through his pants. He now knew he should not have ordered so many things off the menu. He was not the kind to dine-and-dash, but he would not be able to pay for all of it and he certainly didn’t know how to do dishes. These lonely dinners out were just getting worse and worse. How fully unaware he was of the silliness that would soon befall him and his lonely dinners. Although before that, it would get considerably worse.
The waitress came back with three more plates and set them down near the several other plates.
"So are you…" the waitress began. "Are you expecting anyone?"
He looked down at his shoes which looked more like shoe boxes because they were shoe boxes, and he held back the only tear he allows himself a day. He knew he would need it later.
"No, I’m not," he said.
The waitress turned her head to the side. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” she asked him.
"I don’t even have one," he sighed.
"Well that’s a shame," the waitress frowned. "Cute lonely guys with big meals should have names."
He gawked at her and pointed. “P-p-p-p-p-p-pretty…” he managed to say.
The waitress smiled for some reason and pointed to her name tag.
"I’m Samanda," she said. "I should have told you that when you ordered, but I’m new."
"Nice to meet you Samanda. That’s a very interesting name," he pointed out.
"No it’s not," she smiled again. "Having no name… now that’s an interesting name.”
He had literally never been talked to by a woman, let alone a woman with such an apparently uninteresting name. Maybe it was his severe lack of inter-personal skills or the Port-wine stain covering everything but his penis, but girls just didn’t seem interested in this unnamed hatless fellow. Also the lizard (who incidentally had many names) that constantly sat on his shoulder could be quite jarring at first.
"M-m-m-m-marry me?" he asked and held out his hands as if he were requesting more porridge.
"Not yet, no," lamented Samanda. Although the hatless gentleman was hideous and horrible to talk to, she could tell there was something special about him.
"But later?" he asked hopefully. "M-m-m-m-marry me later?"
"Maybe after things get silly," she considered. "We’ll see." She turned and began to walk away.
"Wait!" shouted the hatless gentleman.
Samanda turned back around. “Yes?” she asked? Yes. She asked.
"Will I ever see you again?" he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation.
"I’m your waitress."
Samanda turned back around again and walked away all sexy-like. Damn, look at that sweet ass, thought the author.
The hatless man looked at his meal. It was big and it was very big. It was definitely what one might call a big, big meal. Had he not ordered the Two Steaks And A Steak or the Choco Popperbees it might have been considered a big meal. But man, this was a big, big meal.
Before he could even take a bite, a bespectacled, smallish man approached. And just as much as he approached, he spoke. “Hi, I’m Corporal Manager, the Manager of Branby’s Fine Foods And Water,” the man explained. “I hear you ordered the everything.”
The hatless man looked down at his many plates.
"Pretty much, yeah," he said.
"Well, let me ask you this," began Corporal Manager. "How hungry are you?"
"Only slightly," the hatless man responded.
Corporal Manager frowned a courageous frown, whatever that might be. “You know,” he began. “You should really think about how hungry you are before you order. Not only is your bill going to be astronomical, but I doubt you’re going to be able to finish all that.”
"I might," replied the hatless gentleman.
"It’s just being wasteful," Corporal Manager said sternly. "People are hungry everywhere. You can be wasteful when food grows on trees."
"What, like fruit?"
"Yes! Thank you! Exactly like fruit!”
There was a deafening pause. Even the food was silent. Corporal Manager, feeling the discomfort in the air, opted to simply leave. Before he left, though, he mentioned to the hatless man quite possibly the most important thing he had ever heard in his life.
"Also," began Corporal Manager. "As incentive to deter from being horribly wasteful, if you finish everything, your meal is free."
This was news. This was wonderful, terrifying news.
The hatless, unnamed man resolved to eat it. All of it. It would be a long evening, but he knew he could do it. Especially with help from his lizard of many names.
"Come on, Jennifer," the hatless man told his lizard. "Let’s dig in."
Yesterday on December 9th, The Dark Knight DVD hit store shelves across the country from New York to LA to the real life Gotham City, Wyoming where Batman resides. Poised to become the highest-grossing film of all time when it returns to theaters in January, The Dark Knight has already beaten out each Star War, all of the wizard films, and each Pirate-themed Johnny Depp movie, although it has yet to surpass the domestic gross for Cry Baby and Star Trek 8: Cry Baby.
None of that might matter, though, as the DVD sales numbers have come in and they are truly staggering. It seems everyone in America each bought at least 3 copies of the film. Even director Christopher Nolan stocked up for the holiday season. “I’m going to give them out to all my friends and family for Christmas and sometimes Hanukkah,” explained Nolan. “I know they all loved it because they bought so many copies already, and who couldn’t use an extra copy?”
In just the first day, the film has sold over 873 billion copies, which adds up to well over several trillion dollars. Seth Anne Krisskross, a spokesman for Warner Brothers, had this to say: “H-h-h-h-h-h-h-hoooooooooly shit!” The colossal amount of money, however, is not going to the studio or the director or the production team. It is going straight to the government for redistribution and stimulation of the economy.
"These movie bucks are gonna kick start the country back up again," says Still President George W. Bush. "Just like when you kick start a good old-fashioned Texas Texas Texas." He paused a moment to maybe think of a better analogy, metaphor, or simile. "Or it’s just like that good old-fashioned Texas band, Kick Startin’ The Country Back Up Again." Bush is eerily right about this, as Kick Startin’ The Country Back Up Again’s debut album was called "Batman Beats Recession."
The money will be used extremely liberally to bail out pretty much anyone who asks. Danby Robes, a student at The College University, is experiencing moderately tough times and put in a request. “Rent’s coming up and, you know, I’m living off student loans and my parents. It’s gonna be hard, especially cause I saw this super cool bag of weed at the store the other day. I really want it.” Danby was given one million dollars.
Even the likes of Batman and Heath Ledger’s ghost have received copies of the film. The ghost’s DVD was sent to a dark alley where all jokes about Heath Ledger are sent to be reprimanded. Batman doesn’t seem to mind the jokes, though. “People say it’s insensitive, but if you can’t laugh at anything, what can you laugh at? Nothing?” queries The Batman. “I’ll tell you what is insensitive. These people who haven’t bought a Dark Knight DVD yet. And, you know, call me insensitive, but those faggots are retarded.” Then he said “Look over there!” and disappeared.
This morning, a preacher on the radio was arguing (aka “preaching”) that God clearly wrote the Bible. He (God) just happened to have written it from Man’s point of view. That’s fine. That’s the kind of mild crazy I expect from these hipcats. The preacher’s argument, however, was the following direct quote: “The Bible says ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’ Sheep have shepherds. They’ve got to have shepherds.” After I laughed, I paused to think about what this guy thought he meant by that. Four hours later, I realized I was at work and my head had exploded. So much for coffee today…
So it’s been brought to my attention by more than three people that the post below, “Uptight Finnigan’s Parade” makes no sense and “what the fuck?” and so on. Originally it was just the title for a post about my experience seeing the Upright Citizen’s Brigade Touring Company. It began with some general and also specific praise for the 8th floor, who opened for UCB and who continue to impress me even though they’re so fat. Then I went on this tirade about UCB’s show (which was great) and how they convinced me of what I kind of already suspected, which is that they are without a doubt the best in the business. I’ve seen a lot of shows from Second City (including their touring company, which was abysmal) and ImprovOlympic, and they were either “not that bad” or made me think “Oh, cute, they’re improvising!” And maybe it was just the specific shows I’ve seen, but none of them held a candle to the UCB, let alone their touring company. It made me a little sad, because Chicago’s Second City and ImprovOlympic own such a huge part of the history of improv and American comedy in general. But it seems clear to me that as soon as the man died, his spirit and philosophies were lifted, moved, and now reside in a theater in New York. It’s like all those t-shirts say, “We am fan of New York.” So I wrote that, and it was much longer than this and boring (more than this) and it was just me ranting about improv, which only a few of you (if any) would be remotely interested in. So I posted it and it sat in the cyberpatch for a while, then I thought better of it, because the tone did not match the tone of most of this blog, which has very little to do with me personally and does not really operate as a “here’s what I think” sort of place. That’s what conversation is for. So I decided to take it down, looked at the words “Uptight Finnigan’s Parade,” and quickly replaced the original with what can be found below, which is nothing. I am thankful for this being shorter than the original post (if only slightly) and for this having at least one joke (a thing that the original quite possibly had none of). And that’s the story of the story of Uptight Finnigan’s Parade.
If It Were A Snake, It Actually Would Have Just Bit Me Less...
I wasn’t looking for my fucking keys, I was looking for my pet shark Tooth Man Slumbers. And, yes, I should have found him earlier, but that guy is wily as a road runner high speed online. I had taken him out of the tank for his weekly air bath, and wouldn’t you know it, but the phone rang! So I leave him for MAYBE three minutes to yell at someone… I’m actually not sure who and now that I think about it, how do you know if you’re concussed? Anyway, I come back and he’s fucking GONE. You sit there with that goofy doofoid smile of yours, and finally I find him under the enormous bar of soap. “If it were a snake, it would have bit you,” you said, then Tooth Man Slumbers did this. You thought you were so damn clever, but the common phrase you used to make me look foolish just ended up making you look foolish and me look all bloody and gross. So fuck you… uh… is it Craig? Stan? Sorry. Like I alluded to earlier, I think I have severe short term memory loss. Wait, do I? Oh, yeah… Yes…
Uptight Finnigan was an eastern proto-punk/classical-rap fusion band from Milwaukee. There were a questionable number of members and they were all a little semi-retarded. Every year, to make the band feel better, the people of Milwaukee would throw a big parade where everyone would throw guitars at each other. The one or more band member or band members died or fell asleep in an elevator last month or maybe it was tomorrow, the narrator wasn’t very clear about it until a little later.
The worst part about it was that the parade was going on, and Uptight Finnigan was missin’ it. That last part should have been spoken or sung rhythmically. One more time! ”And Uptight Finnigan was missin’ it.”
Milwaukee blew up, because they were used to their routine and weren’t quite sure what was happening. The guitars were still there, though, and when Uptight Finnigan woke up last month (It was one person, it was last month, and he was just asleep), he found those guitars and tried to ride them, because he was just a little semi-retarded. The people clapped though, even though they were dead, and then the credits rolled. This actually happened and apparently they’re going to turn it into a movie, only they changed the credits at the end to credits at the beginning and they added closing credits.
Feed Store Owner Challenges College Students to Find Better Feed Prices on Feed Than Can Be Found At Feed Store Owner's Feed Store
MELANOR, OHIO - Local down-home old country treasure and international movie star want-to-be-er Douglass “Old Doggins” Doggins has been a mainstay of the Melanor strip mall since the end of the Smock Wars. In those days, feed sold like food, and no one was complete without a stop by Old Doggins’ place. It seemed like everyone had a need for feed, and that feed was fine indeed, for the leading store for speedy feed was unanimously agreed (and later decreed) to be the feed store right down the street. You’d even be knock-kneed at the sight of the stamped for Doggins’ feed. One man, a Swede, even skied!
Sadly, though, the rhyming stopped and reality has set in for Old Doggins. “You know, sales have been slow lately,” laments Old Doggins. “I’d almost be happier if they were buying feed somewhere else, but they’re not buying feed at all!”
As a result, Old Doggins has drastically slashed his prices, and has even resorted to what he has deemed “Deals On Feed.” If a student buys a ten-gallon jug of chicken feed, they would get a free twenty-gallon jug of bat feed. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t use free bat feed!” shouts a befuddled Old Doggins. “I’ve seen you kids with those bites all over your necks and arms! What do you think did that? I’m offering you a chance to feed and ultimately befriend these bats!”
Doggins urges students to not pass this offer up due to excessive pride, but acknowledges that maybe some kids just don’t need feed, free or otherwise. Convection Tammies, a Melanor University Professor of Agriculture and Television, offers the following theory: “It’s simple thinking. Who uses large quantities of feed? Farmers, horse breeders, and beetle harvesters. The land in Melanor has been barren since the Time of Burning and Salting immediately after the Smock Wars and Old Doggins should know that, as he was a celebrated General during those dark times. I guess it’s true what they say: You can’t teach Old Doggins a fucking thing.”
I recently had the “opportunity” to sit down with the incomparable Britney Spears. Incomparable if you are trying to compare her to something that doesn’t exist. Anything else, she would be easily compared to whatever that anything else is…
Dr. Mister Cody: Thanks for your time, Ms. Spears.
Britney Spears: Huh?
Dr. Mister Cody: So your life must be pretty crazy. I mean, since you were sixteen, everyone wanted a little piece of Britney. And now with kids, it must be very frustrating to even go outside.
Britney Spears: I just can’t go anywhere. I saw Jessica Alba at the store and there was only like one guy following her around. I could never do that.
Dr. Mister Cody: So you and your kids are pretty much followed 24/7. You must hate it.
Britney Spears: I do.
Dr. Mister Cody: Can I make a suggestion?
Britney Spears: Sure. Go ahead, y’all.
Dr. Mister Cody: Okay… Don’t make another album. Don’t live in LA. Don’t constantly come out with a new fragrance or “spontaneously” appear on stage at a Madonna “concert.” Pick up your kids, pack up your stuff, move to Iowa, marry a cornfield, and make sure your weirdo kids don’t wind up on My Super Sweet Sixteen. Maybe people will finally lose interest.
Britney Spears: Man, what’s your problem, y’all?
Dr. Mister Cody: I’m sorry, are you aware that you aren’t talking to more than one person right now?
Britney Spears: Listen, y’all, I dunno what yer tryin’ to say over up here, but you know, life changes. There are good parts of my life, but there are also bad parts. Isn’t that interesting, y’all?
Dr. Mister Cody: Actually, Britney, you’ve just described the life of everyone everywhere always. Furthermore, would you mind if I see you naked, like, six years ago?
Britney Spears: Tee-hee!
Dr. Mister Cody: Well, that’s very intriguing, Britney, and thank you very much for coming to my blog. I know high-end celebrities like yourself have exclusive access to the other, better internet, so I appreciate you slumming it over here on the regular internet. For you and your kids’ sake, I hope the day will come when you aren’t constantly hounded and photographed. I also hope the reason for that won’t be because you’ve achieved maximum ugly. Have a good one.
Britney Spears: I was on the Mickey Mouse Club, y’all!
The Curse of The Moongician (And Other Tales To Tell 'Round Midnite)
NOW YOU INVISIBLE, NOW YOU DON’T INVISIBLE
Nearly never noticed, Nathan would have been known as Nearly Never Noticed Nathan, but no one knew his name. He was most often referred to as “Excuse me, guy” or nothing at all. Quite honestly, he preferred nothing at all, because he could then pretend he was in a fight with whomever was ignoring him.
He had absolutely no friends, you see, and so he was forced to pretend at an early age and he pretended all the time. He loved pretending, though he was not very good at it. Alone on the playground, he would imagine himself as slightly taller, or maybe he would be someone with their hair parted to the other side. Sometimes, he would pretend that his name was spelled differently, but he could not keep that up for long.
The day of Nathan’s fifteenth birthday was like all the other days. He woke up, was briefly acknowledged by his parents, and walked to school. There was a light drizzle, but Nathan didn’t mind because he could just pretend there was a normal drizzle, which he preferred over light drizzles.
A truck of students pulled up suddenly. Blitz Creamer, the coolest kid in school, was driving, and the back of the truck was filled to the brim with the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh coolest kids in school.
"Hey!" shouted Shades Magnum, the second coolest kid in school. "Who the FUCK are you?"
Shades started cackling and the rest of them laughed uproariously. The tires squealed and the truck drove off, splashing Nathan from belt to toe. He tried very hard to imagine this away, but he could not shake the deep anger and sadness he felt. Some things are hard to pretend, especially for Nathan who was so poor at it.
He walked the rest of the way in silence and he came upon the front doors of Pretty Good High School. Like all the other days, he was quickly approached by Principal Spooner.
"I’m sorry, young man," said the Principal. "Students only."
"I am a student," Nathan sighed. "I’m always a student."
Principal Spooner narrowed his gaze and gave Nathan a very stern and familiar look. “Well, we’ll just see about that,” he said, and grabbed Nathan by the arm, pulling him to the attendance office.
Sitting at the attendance desk was, of course, Berthenia, the 70-something attendance secretary who was the first step towards dealing with attendance-related problems.
"And who’s this?" Berthenia asked.
"Says he’s a student here," replied Principal Spooner.
"Well, we’ll just see about that," Berthenia replied, and grabbed Nathan by the arm, pulling him to the back room of the attendance office.
Sitting in the back room of the attendance office was, of course, Sally Grumpus, the 80-something attendance chief who was in charge of all attendance-related problems.
"And who’s this?" asked Sally Grumpus.
"Says he’s a student here," replied Berthenia.
"Well, we’ll just see about that," Sally Grumpus replied, and grabbed Nathan by the arm, pulling him closer to her desk. "What’s your name, ‘student’?"
"Speak up, boy!" Sally Grumpus shouted, her spittle landing on Nathan’s nose, though he pretended it was just a normal drizzle.
"Nathan Rallies!" Nathan spoke up.
"No need to shout, boy," Sally Grumpus lectured. "I may be old, but I’m also going deaf because I’m so old, so thank you for shouting."
A confused Nathan stood quietly as Sally Grumpus put his information into the computer. She slowly looked up and glared at him.
"He checks out," Sally Grumpus told Berthenia. "But keep your eye on him."
Berthenia grabbed Nathan by the arm and pulled him into the front office. She shoved him into Principal Spooner’s arms.
"He checks out," she told him. "But keep your eye on him."
Principal Spooner grabbed Nathan by the arm and pulled him towards the door. “I’m the Principal,” he said. “Don’t tell me what to do.” As he pulled Nathan into the hallway, he added, “ya big jerk.”
The Principal looked down at Nathan. “Now where’s your class, Mr. I’m-A-Student-Here?”
Before Nathan could answer, Principal Spooner looked around as if he no longer saw Nathan, and walked away aimlessly.
Nathan sighed. What a day like every other day. As he walked to class, he imagined he was walking to class.
"Maybe go here instead," A voice said faintly from somewhere. Nathan paused and looked around. Somehow, the hallway felt different today.
"What?" He asked out loud, then immediately felt foolish.
"Go here," came the voice again. This time, he knew it was coming from the snack machine to his left. A snack machine he had never seen before. A snack machine… of doom? Only kind of.
Nathan walked up to the snack machine and, slightly embarrassed, quietly asked, “Are you talking to me?”
"B-6," said the snack machine.
Nathan took a moment to think what this might mean. Clearly it was referring to the mysterious product labeled B-6. Nathan took out a dollar bill and inserted it into the slot. Quickly, the dollar bill was rejected. He flattened out the bill and put it in again. It was quickly rejected.
"Use quarters," said the snack machine.
Nathan reached into his pocket and came up with a piece of lint and a note from his mom that read, “I think I know you. You’re my son, right? If you are, I love you.”
Nathan sighed and looked around. Principal Spooner was approaching.
"Excuse me, sir," asked Nathan, "Do you have change for a dollar?"
Principal Spooner examined Nathan slowly. “Sorry,” he said. “Students only.”
"I am a student," said Nathan. "I’m always a student."
"Well, we’ll just see about that," said the Principal, and he grabbed Nathan’s arm and headed to the attendance office.
The rest of the morning was filled with trips to and from the attendance office. Lunch finally came, and the worst was over. Nathan made his way to the curious snack machine.
"I still don’t have any quarters," he whispered.
The snack machine sighed, then beeped. B-6 turned and a product fell to the receptacle at the bottom. Nathan grabbed the item and examined it. It was something called “Disappear: The Drink.”
"What’s this?" Nathan asked, but the snack machine was already gone. In its place was Principal Spooner, who quickly dragged Nathan to the attendance office.
Sitting in the attendance office was, of course, Berthenia, the 70-something attendance secretary who was the first step towards dealing with attendance-related problems.
"And who’s this?" asked Berthenia.
"Says he’s a student here," explained Principal Spooner. Nathan opened his drink and began to sip on it.
"Well, we’ll just see about that," said Berthenia. She grabbed Nathan’s arm as he gulped his last gulp and she pulled him into the back room of the attendance office. Sitting in the back room of the attendance office was, of course, Sally Grumpus, the 80-something attendance chief who was in charge of all attendance-related problems.
"Yes?" asked Sally Grumpus.
"Don’t you mean, ‘And who’s this?’?" asked Berthenia, slightly confused.
"I would if you had brought anyone in."
Berthenia looked down to her hand, which was clutching absolutely no one.
"But I…" Berthenia muttered. "He was right here. Wasn’t he?"
"You’re fired, Berthenia," said Sally Grumpus.
"Yes… Yes, of course," and she walked out of the room.
Nathan, all the while, had been saying things like “I’m right here” and “Hellooooooo.” He glanced down at his drink, which had a warning label on the side reading “Do not drink if you wish to be seen or heard.”
This seemed like the last thing he would need to drink. Nathan’s problem all along had been that he was nearly never noticed. Now he can’t even be seen or heard? What a horrible twist of fate or storytelling. He exited the back room of the attendance office and walked past Berthenia, who was cheerily emptying out her desk. He walked into the busy hallway. Students were laughing, couples were cuddling, everyone was doing something and enjoying it. Nathan briefly tried to pretend he was one of them, but all he could muster was a brief imagining of him not being one of them.
"Agggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" He screamed. No one even looked up, which was incredibly frustrating, because before he drank the mysterious Disappear: The Drink, people would at least glance up when he screamed. Sometimes they would even give him a quick "shut up." Suicide never seemed so scary good.
Suddenly, the intercom squawked on.
"Hello, students," said Principal Spooner. "This is Principal Spooner, Principal of you, the students."
An awed hush filled the hall with hushy awedness.
"I’m aware this intercom only goes one way, but please feel free to answer the following," said the Principal. "Has anyone seen that kid no one knows?"
"Oh, you mean Nathan?" asked Shades Magnum. "No one even knows that kid’s name."
"Yeah," said Slick Skywalker, the third coolest kid in school. "I don’t even know who you’re talking about and I know I haven’t seen him anywhere."
"Should we be worried?" asked a worried Cool Basketball, the fifth coolest kid in school.
"I’m right here!" yelled Nathan, who was at least a little bit thankful Shades knew his name even though he also didn’t.
"Despite the fact that I can’t hear you," Principal Spooner began, "I appreciate your input and your assumed concern. We will be canceling classes for the rest of the day in order to search for the student we all ignored until it was too late. What a very sudden lesson for us all to learn."
The students all began searching immediately. Their concern was implicit and their desire to not have to go to class was palpable.
"Nathan! It’s Nathan, right?" filled the halls that day. As much as Nathan responded by shouting or jumping up and down, no one seemed to hear or see him, much like the label on the Drink warned. Sorry, EXACTLY like the label on the Drink warned.
The final bell rang and the students filed out. Nathan did not notice because he had spent the last hour and a half crying a shitload. After the doors closed and everyone had left, Nathan stood up. Ready to go home and not enjoy the rest of his life, he headed toward the exit. He reached for the handle and simply could not grab it. He tried again. Nothing. He pulled out his can of Disappear: The Drink and examined it once again. The warning label had changed. It now read: “Also, you can’t touch stuff.”
Dejected and speechless, Nathan walked to his favorite classroom, which at the time was just the closest classroom with a door already open. He slumped down on the floor and pretended he wasn’t crying. I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether or not he did a good job.
Suddenly, everything began to hurt. Badly. The worst physical pain he had ever felt coupled with the worst emotional pain he had ever felt swept through his body. He keeled over and began to shake. He could feel everything shutting down, his life leaving his body. As his eyes began to close for the last time, he could see the side of his can of Disappear: The Drink.
The next morning, a ceremony was held for the boy no one remembered. His mother gave a speech about how she was never fully aware she had a son, but now that she knew she apparently did, she was sad he was gone. It was odd that they did not search longer, but no one really even knew who they were looking for. They had searched the school for three periods and everyone assumed he was dead and gone. Unfortunately, they were only half right, because as the weeks went by, the room Nathan died in began to stink hard like rotting corpse. Students complained, teachers complained, and finally Principal Spooner was called in.
He walked slowly around the room and finally came upon an empty can of what appeared to be soda. On the side it read, “They will be able to smell you, though.”
Principal Spooner shook his head and threw the can away.
I should have known, thought Spooner, as if he knew about the weird snack machine. I’m in a school full of litterers.
He did not know about the weird snack machine.
And what of Nathan? Well, he was definitely dead forever and his invisible corpse stayed in that classroom until it decomposed and fertilized the tile floor, spawning a sad invisible flower. But he did learn the most important lesson of all…
Be careful what you invisible, because you just might invisible.
This appeared in Cracked Magazine about a year and a half ago, before it became not a magazine anymore. It’s probably still funny, so here it is…
M. NIGHT SHYAMALAN’S DON’T GO IN THE BASEMENT
Goosebumps fans rejoice! M. Night “M. Night Shyamalan” Shyamalan is turning your favorite childhood spook series into a movie! The first installment is about a girl who thinks her dad has turned into a plant and finds out it’s really just a plant that looks like her dad. Then she kills the plant version of her dad, but finds out it really was her dad, and that the plant who looks like her dad is still alive. The dad, the plant, and the girl are all played by M. Night Shyamalan, as is every other character in the film.
Favorite Part: At the film’s climax, Shyamalan turns to the camera and explains the twist ending to you, which is that you were actually watching a good movie the entire time.
JERRY BRUCKHEIMER EATS A WHALE: A MICHAEL BAY FILM
This movie literally takes one whole year to watch. It’s a huge whale, and Bruckheimer takes several week-long breaks between eating. The film starts with the whale wanting nothing more than to learn how to read. Luckily, a friendly wood-nymph named Jerry Bruckheimer is willing to teach him how. That takes about 20 minutes, and then he just starts fucking eating him. Yes, at the end of the film he finishes the whale. But remember, it takes a full year to watch, so pack a lunch. Actually, pack 365 lunches.
Favorite Part: An interesting decision on Bay’s part, but Aerosmith is in the background of every single shot. They don’t sing. They just stare. Also, the Japanese bomb Alcatraz and Nicolas Cage dies three times.
CHEVY CHASE WEARS A FANCY DRESS AND GOES OUT ON DATES TO GET MONEY
One of the few documentaries coming out this spring. Not only is it hilarious, but it makes you think about gun control and how the Bush administration is responsible for 9/11 destroying the health care system. The one regret is that they gave it an R rating instead of the X Chevy Chase demanded. You’ll just have to wait for the DVD!
Favorite Part: As Chevy says good night, he quips, “I’m Chevy Chase, and you’re not,” and his date responds “Who’s Chevy Chase?” This happens 17 times.
Everyone’s favorite thief is back for the prequel to the movie that put the word “ocean” in the dictionary. Fortunately, no one else agreed to come back, so the entire movie is a long shot of George Clooney standing around enjoying his own musk.
Favorite Part: Brad Pitt and Matt Damon make brief cameos, but all they do is spend a couple minutes making out and sucking on each others’ naked dicks.
From the American classic Battlefield: Earth comes the much-needed sequel Battlefield: Uhrf. It is the story of Uhrf (from planet Uhrf), a down-on-his-luck HyperRappa who HyperRaps by his own set of rules. He is played by the incomparable Will “Aw, hell no!” Smith. Enter the evil Terl (John Travolta, Lucky Numbers) and his army of followers, all played by Gabe Kaplan (Welcome Back, Kotter). It’s full of nonstop action except for the third act, which is The Legend of Bagger Vance with CGI effects used to replace the grass with lava.
Favorite Part: As the evil Terl is about to finish off Will Smith, Smith looks up at him and he’s all, “Oh, I did not plan on this happening to me today!”
CITY SLICKERS III: THE QUEST FOR BRUNO KIRBY’S GHOST’S MAP TO SOME TREASURE HE KNEW ABOUT
Jack Palance returns to the silber screen in this hilarious flick about cows. Palance plays Billy Crystal, who finds a clue to a secret concerning the death of actor Bruno Kirby. The first half is hoofin’-hollerin’ fun, but the second half takes a strange turn and documents the death of Kirby and how his family dealt with the loss. Very sad.
Favorite Part: We don’t want to ruin it, but you remember in City Slickers II: The Legend of Curly’s Gold, when Jon Lovitz accidentally jerked off that bull? Well, this time it’s intentional, and it involves double penetration. If you’re not totally into bestiality, you should probably skip the first hour and 20 minutes, as well as the last 14 minutes.
A teen comedy starring Artie Lange and Kevin Pollack for some reason, it’s about two guys whose beanbags hang out of their underwear. Every once in a while they wank into something someone eats later on. Usually it’s coleslaw, but sometimes it’s not.
Favorite Part: Definitely the part when you see the two guys’ beanbags.
Adult I'm Speaking To Clearly Just Little Kid On Talkboy
Listen, “sir,” I know you think you’re being clever. I know you think you’re fooling me big time and it’s only a matter of seconds before I approve this loan for you over the phone, but you need to know two things. One: That’s not how banks operate. You need to come in and fill out a loan application and we will discuss it face to face. Which brings me to Two: You will never come in and show me your face because you are clearly just some kid messing around with your new Talkboy.
Yes, when you slow down the speed on the playback, your voice sounds lower. But it also sounds much slower, you dumb, dumb kid. Nobody talks that slow. Not stroke victims, not Snuffleupagus, not even Molasses Man, and I just made that guy up.
I also can’t help but notice that you have yet to respond to any of these allegations. I will assume that’s because in order to respond, you have to cover up the phone, record your response, rewind it, and then play it back into the receiver. And guess what? Regardless of pitch or speed, your voice is accompanied by what can only be described as “whirring” and “crackling.” Almost like it’s a cassette tape being played back on a device that came out in 1993. Or maybe you’re just eating Pop Rocks next to a bee hive, I don’t know.
No, wait. I do know. You’re a kid and you’re lame and you’re wasting my time because apparently you just saw a movie that came out before you were even born. That’s right. I’m not an idiot, and I’ve seen Lonely Christmas House 2: Misplaced, Manhattan-wise. Nice try.
I’m hanging up now, because I have a real human job I need to do. Next time, try calling the early nineties. Or better yet, just stop and think for a second about how stupid you definitely are.
He was not full yet, but he knew he had quite a bit of meal left. Of course, he had no time to think about that now. Quickly, he ducked behind the bar as lasers whizzed by his head.
"Damn you, Dr. Colossotrope!" he shouted. "Let the girl go!"
Dr. Colossotrope sent another barrage of lasers into the bar and began to cackle a fearsome high-pitched cackle.
"You will never finish that meal, boy!" taunted the doctor. "Not if I or The League have anything to say about.
The Meal Eater paused and took a deep breath. None of this was supposed to happen. It was all supposed to be so different. But his training had prepared him for this. Roll with the punches, use a napkin. He would get the girl back. He would finish the meal. He would save the world, just like the old crone said he would.
He would have to do it very soon.
From Chapter 14 of my never-finished novel The Big Big Meal.
Local Tweens Totes Caught Texting Behind Roller Rink
This past Tuesday, a collection of tweens were for reals seen texting behind the Dry Hump Roller Rink on 5th and Grind. The tweens seemed to think no one could see them texting, but we totes could. Apparently, the back parking lot of this particular roller rink is a hot spot for the local tweenagers to text in an adult-free zone. “The ‘dults just don’t get it,” says Brytnee Halter, one of the texting tweens. “We may be young, but we’re not kids. If we think we’re old enough to text, and texting is one of our fave things to do, then why shouldn’t we?”
Many of the tweens’ parents are appalled by this revelation and have perfectly good reasons why they don’t want their kids texting. “First of all, that texting stuff is expensive,” says Brytnee’s mom Britney. “If I wanted to pay an extra 40 bucks a month, I’d buy real butter. If I didn’t want to pay an extra 40 bucks a month, I’d probably change my plan to include more texting.” She paused briefly, then made a quick phone call to Verizon. Was there a second of all? “Oh, right,” continues Britney. “No.”
Some tweens don’t even text behind the roller rink. They simply watch others text. “My ‘rents won’t let me have a cell phone,” says Jadrian Blaker, a tween who frequents the back of the roller rink. “I understand why not. I’m too young to start texting. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t learn how to now so when I am ready, I’ll be ready, you know?” Jadrian feels so strongly about this, he has even started a new club at school called Learn or Lose (LOL), which promotes textual awareness. “We’re not promoting texting,” explains Jadrian. “We just think tweens these days should have as much information about it as possible, so they can make an informed decision and whatev happens is whatevs.”
"Oh, wait!" interrupted Brytnee’s mom Britney. "There was a second of all. These tweens today. They think they’re so adult, but they’re sooo not. Don’t make me rofl. That’s a thing, right?”
Brytnee is certainly sick of being told what to do, and she will continue texting, whether it’s behind Dry Hump Roller Rink, the Boneview Shopping Center, or in the privacy of her own bedroom. She complains, “I’m at the stage in my life where I’m almost close to becoming closer to the next step towards being a young adult. I mean, OMG, it’s not like I’m husking or something.” Husking, of course, is something that may or may not exist, and it is when two tweens rub their genitals together, sans penetration (or “penetrashe,” as the tweens call it).
"No, I’ve never heard of husking," says Brytnee’s mom Britney. "All I know is that behind that roller rink is disgusting. These tweens could catch something while they’re texting. I mean, come on! We all know teenagers fuck back there."
Growing up, I moved around a lot. As an adorable child, I lived in Cincinnati and Columbus, South Carolina, and Maine. South Carolina is fine when you’re 9 (because it rhymes so well), but returning to the south with matured eyes is quite a different experience. A) It was the close-minded religious zealot-style south, B) It doesn’t rhyme at all, and C) A.
My parents moved to North Carolina a few years back, and I visited a couple times. My first foray into the south as an “adult” yielded 3 ridiculous things. First of all, I was at the Olive Garden with my family and I saw a pot-bellied pig literally fucking an aborted fetus. Also, I don’t know what the word “literally” means. The second thing I saw (and this is actually true) was when I was stopped at an intersection, stop lights and all, lots of traffic. A few cars away, a mother exited her car, walked around to the other side, and let her 10 year old child out. Mind you, this is a very crowded area. There’s a movie theater a hundred feet away, a mall, lots of restaurants, etc. The mother stands there next to her car while her son pulls down his pants and just starts pissing in the middle of the intersection. For real? Yes. Only in New York! And if not New York, then ridiculous southern towns.
I come from a book store family. We enjoy book stores. We oftentimes go out to lunch or dinner, then spend the next hour or so just hanging out in whatever nearby book store is available. We also use the word “oftentimes.” So we go to this bookstore in the south and I don’t remember which one. For the sake of argument and out of respect for my southern friends, let’s call it the Derg Books Fer Readin’ Store. I’m perusing the aisles, and I stumble upon a section I don’t think exists in the north: The Banned Books Section. My initial reaction was “If these books are banned, why would they sell them?” I quickly realized I was an idiot and these books were here for people who want to know what books are banned so they can read them. People who don’t mind a little controversy, a little mind expansion. So I started going through some of the books, and I understood why a lot of them were banned. They had the Harry Potter books, which aren’t very good, so… you know… ban them. Then they had The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Again, I understood why they would ban this. Not only does it teach kids that slavery is wrong, but it also contains gratuitous use of the word “Jim.”
The next book I stumbled on was A Wrinkle In Time. I barely remembered this book, but I knew it was adorable and had fun things like time travel and unicorns with names like Fun Shadow, Meadowbreeze, and Sun Sage. Ban A Wrinkle In Time? What the WTF? So I started flipping through it to refresh my memory. Maybe I forgot something. And then I pretty immediately hit on it. I had totally forgotten that the unicorn’s name was actually Nigger Fun Shadow.
First of all, I am aware that the most recent episode of South Park has something to do with vampires. I haven’t watched it yet (there was a Tyler Perry’s House of Pain marathon on TBS (the “very funny” network)), but I’m sure it was, you know, about vampires.
Recently, there has been an insurgence of vampire-related media. The two most recent examples being Vampire Le Show (HBO’s True Blood) and Vampire Le Film (Twilight). This variety of fad occurs all the time. There was the pirate fad (Pirates of the Caribbean, The Pirates of Pirate Cove, Captain Fuckbeard’s Dance Party), there was the magic fad (Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Garbinius Mutton and the Wizard’s Fork), there was the zombie fad (28 Zombies Later, Dawn of the Zombies, Zombie Chat with Zombie Matt), and there was the ninja fad (everything always).
That seems to be all of them except super heroes, which have been popular from the time they were first imagined to the time the pilot of Heroes aired. I don’t know what will be next on the fad list, but I’m hoping for something a little less slick and superficially cool, like old timey prospectors. Here are just a few suggestions, Hollywood: Mining Melanie, Here We Come A-Fossiling, and HBO’s Rush (starring Rush, during the gold rush). I don’t know what any of these would be about, because I’ve never had any ideas for anything ever, so someone else is going to have to pick up the slack. Maybe they should all be about Star Wars, since I like Star Wars.
Galactica Actual: Helo And His Cylon-Occupied Heart
Well. This exists. I’m thinking maybe it doesn’t matter what I write here since no one who reads this even watches that great show called Battlestar Galactica. Maybe you should. You’d probably enjoy these slightly more.
College is sweeeeeeet. It’s getting cold out, but it’s okay because the dorms are heated! Classes are great and learning is fun and all, but the beauty part is, if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to go! That’s college for ya, huh?
I auditioned for this improv group called The Talking Monkeys yesterday. Horrible name for an improv group, but they seem like fun people. I just got a call today, and I’m in! I can’t wait to start improvising again, especially with such a mainstay of Ohio State. Yes, sir, I have a feeling The Talking Monkeys will be around for a long, long time…
Another great thing about college is the free movies. Free movies outside? I can’t believe it! They showed Cold Mountain the other day. It was pretty good. There was this actor in it, Jude Law, and he was really great. I hope we’re not overexposed to him. It seems like he’ll probably be in seven movies next year and then just sort of disappear, though. But that’s Hollywood for you. Speaking of Hollywood: Arnold Schwarzenegger, the governor? Whaaaaaaaat? They’re calling him the “Governator.” That’s retarded. I hope it doesn’t catch on.
Oh, yeah! I got this great idea for a TV show last night! I had this dream where I crashed on this deserted island, only it wasn’t deserted. There was this entire culture of mysterious natives, this weird monster made out of smoke, and this bald paralyzed guy who starts walking around finding doors in the ground. Sounds stupid, I know, but I think there’s something there. I’ll spend a year developing it, and then try to pitch it. It’s so bizarre, I don’t think I should worry about someone else coming up with a similar idea before I can do something with it. I think I’ll call it “The Weird Island.”
So the Iraq war seems to be winding down, doesn’t it? Thank God. I can’t wait until that jackass is out of office. He’s so horrible and retarded, the election in ‘04 is gonna be a breeze for whatever democratic candidate we have. One more year! I hope our next president is better, but I really hope he’s not black! That would be horrible! Okay… maybe half black… Yeah. Yeah, half black’s okay. There’s a ticket for you: Half-Black in ‘04! Of course, you’d have to find a politician with the last name “Half” and someone willing to run alongside Jack Black. Or Lewis Black. Or Frank Black. Or Joe Black. Do you remember that movie? Meet Joe Black? That movie came out 5 years ago. Five years ago was 1998.
Anyway, thanks for reading. This blogging stuff takes some getting used to, but it seems to be just on the cusp of popularity. Glad to be getting in on the ground floor. I’m gonna go to Mirror Lake now and get some food. Meal swipes rule! Also, it’s like 1am and the place is not only right next door, but it’s still open! At 1am!!! Better still, I can stay up as late as I want and read the newest Harry Potter book (Harry Potter 5) or maybe The DaVinci Code, which also came out recently. College ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuules!!!
I'm Sorry, I Just Don't See This Relationship Going Anywhere Near My Penis...
We had a good run, we did. I still care for you, and I hope you still care for me, but I think it’s time we parted ways. I’d like to say “It’s not you, it’s me,” but I can’t. It’s not you and it’s not me. It’s my penis. Specifically, it’s your attitude towards my penis. Now that I think about it, I guess that would make it a little bit you and a little (it’s big, I swear) bit me.
You’ve said that you wanted to wait, and I understand that, because I totally respect you or whatever. I was content with being hand-holding, tongue-kissing friends, but it’s gotten to the point where I just don’t think this relationship will ever get anywhere near my penis. We’ve had fun, we’re awfully close, but we’re not any closer to giving the little (big, I swear) guy what he wants.
When I think about where I want to be in one, five, or even ten years, I can see myself with you. I really can. But I can’t see myself in you, which is a big problem for my penis. I am deeply sorry it has to end up this way, but I don’t know what either of us expected. I mean, you grew up as a Puritan in 17th century England, I have this penis that needs tended to; your father is John Lithgow in Footloose, I want you to dance with my penis; your mother was killed by a penis, I (again) have this penis that needs tended to. I still love you, but this needs to end, because we’re clearly from two different worlds. Your world is cold and distant, my world is big, I swear.
Cody Johnston (ASTRONAUT #24) is a senior and proud to be appearing in his first show. He enjoys long blowjobs on the beach and candlelit candles. In the past, he has done crew for Bull Night Omega, Lazy Town Tales, Reach for The Void, and Lazy Town Christmas Tales. He is captain of the sports team and Sergeant-At-Arms for G.L.U.P.P.Y., an anti-drug and alcohol club for losers. When he graduates, he would like to be much taller. In closing, he would just like to say “Sandy toes? I’m looking at the crunchier one!” Hahahaha, Jared! Best friends for life!
The Curse of The Moongician (and Other Tales to Tell 'Round Midnight)
In honor of Columbus’ first snow, I have decided to do nothing out of the ordinary. However, I would like to quickly point out that today’s snow did not look like snow. It looked like Dippin’ Dots.
Now, in honor of a very “productive” day at work, I have for you another installment of The Curse of the Moongician (And Other Tales to Tell ‘Round Midnight).
Today’s Nightmare: The Corpsey Creep of Crocodile Creek
Colin would never forget the summer he encountered the Corpsey Creep, because the twist at the end is that he has to relive it over and over again. Were this not the case, he would still never forget it because the experience was, for lack of a better word, memorable. There is no better word because that is the best word.
Summer was always full of adventure for Colin and his friends. Scraped knees, muddy jeans, and monster-related scuffles were mainstays in their lives. They did, after all, live in the Unnamed Town of Horrors, and with a name like the Unnamed Town of Horrors, what kind of summers would you expect?
"Go long!" shouted Colin’s friend Tanko, and he tossed the generic throwing ball with all his might.
"Way to go, Tanko!" yelled Marvone as the ball disappeared into the woods. "That was our last throwing ball!"
Colin stepped up so everyone could see him. ”Calm down everyone,” he said. ”Let’s not fight. Remember what happened the last time we fought?”
Colin and his friends would never forget the summer they fought so much one of them died. There was no twist ending that summer, but one of their friends died and it was their fault for fighting so much. So yeah, they remembered.
"Yeah, we remember," muttered Knoxy under his breath.
"We all remember," said the rest of Colin’s friends - Kelnor, Rain, Pagger, Juke, Tronathon, Mandy, Manny, Bandy, Banny, Crust, Snigs, and Slightly Older Juke. All of their middle names were Colin and they hoped that one day they would have last names, too.
"Now," said Colin as he looked into the darkening woods. "Let’s think about this calmly and rationally."
He took a deep breath as his friends gathered around. ”We don’t necessarily need to keep having a toss today. We had a pretty great toss yesterday, and Pagger’s mom said she’d make us all summer pies and pizza drink if we stopped by, so—”
"—But, Colin!" Shouted Tanko. "That’s my favorite throwing ball! It was a holiday gift from one of my real parents!"
Colin sighed. ”I know,” he said. ”I was there. But come on, Tanko. Do you want to end up like Morgy and Borgy? You know what’s in those woods.”
"My throwing ball!" Tanko exclaimed.
Colin narrowed his eyes and spoke quietly and deliberately, “You know what else is in those woods, Tanko.”
They all knew what else was in those woods. They had found out earlier that day.
Earlier that day, Colin and his friends were getting ready to have a toss. They had just finished talking about what a great toss they had the day before, and were now more than ever looking forward to a good old-fashioned quality toss. Draped over Colin’s shoulder was a ruck sack full of throwing balls and a couple bottles of snack juice. Following him were all of his friends who had so far survived the day: Tanko, Knoxy, Marvone, Kelnor, Rain, Pagger, Juke, Tronathon, Mandy, Morgy, Manny, Bandy, Borgy, Banny, Crust, Snigs, and Slightly Older Juke. Pulling up the rear was their group dog, Sniffy Sniffy Best Friend.
Everyone put down their packs and it wasn’t long before they were all having quite the toss with one another. And it wasn’t much longer after that before Tanko threw his throwing ball too hard and it ended up in the woods.
"Aw, man!" Tanko shouted. "I got that from that cool clown who hangs out by the softball fence at school!"
"That clown’s just a pedophile mummy with clown makeup on," Colin pointed out. "Let it go."
"But it’s my second favorite throwing ball!" pushed Tanko.
"Tanko! Stop it!" Colin shouted, fed up with the whole thing. "You’re going to get me or one of my friends killed!"
"Yeah!" Chimed in Morgy and Borgy, who you’ll remember are not having a toss with Colin and his friends at the beginning of the story (which takes place after the toss they are enjoying right now).
"I don’t care what you say," Tanko whined. "I’m getting back my throwing ball." He pushed through the group and began walking into the woods.
Colin sighed again in the manner that Colin always sighs, meaning that he would begrudgingly follow his friend on this adventure to retrieve a throwing ball, while at the same time knowing full well at least one of his friends would likely be killed. He briefly took a moment to remember the days when “Colin and his friends” meant “Colin and his two hundred friends.” Now all he had left were Tanko, Knoxy, Marvone, Kelnor, Rain, Pagger, Juke, Tronathon, Mandy, Morgy, Manny, Bandy, Borgy, Banny, Crust, Snigs, and Slightly Older Juke.
"Alright gang," Colin called to the group. "Pack up. We’re going in."
"I don’t know if we should, Colin," said a nervous Morgy.
"I’m with Morgy," said Borgy. "What if one of us dies like the last… all the times we do something like this?"
Colin couldn’t even look Borgy in the eyes, let alone answer him. He just kept walking, and his friends soon followed.
The woods were dark that day, but not so dark you couldn’t walk through them and be slightly frightened. Indeed, Colin and all of his friends were slightly frightened as they began searching the ground for Tanko’s throwing ball.
"Jeez, Tanko," complained Juke. "How far did you throw this damn thing?"
"I don’t know," Tanko responded. "I don’t see it anywhere."
Colin and his friends slowly made their way deeper and deeper into the woods, unable to find Tanko’s second favorite throwing ball. Suddenly, they were all too aware of their surroundings.
"We’re here," whispered Colin.
Everyone stopped and stood silently. They were indeed there. ”There” being the dreaded Crocodile Creek. The faint dribble drabble of the creek was almost deafening in Colin and his friends’ ears.
"We should leave," suggested Slightly Older Juke. "This place gives me the mega creepazoids."
"Yeah," Banny agreed. "I hate Crocodile Creek."
"Why do they call it Crocodile Creek, anyway?" Pagger asked. "There are no crocodiles here."
"Because, idiot," Tanko began, "Our state is shaped like a crocodile."
"Then shouldn’t our state be called Crocodile State and this creek something else?"
"Guys!" shouted a fed up Colin. "We fight about this practically every day! We need to let it go or someone else will die! This is exactly how Crouton died. Do you want to end up like Crouton?"
There was a somber silence. Those wearing hats removed them and bowed their heads. Those not wearing hats waited for those wearing hats to be done bowing their heads so they could borrow the hats, remove them, and bow their heads.
"Okay, then," Colin continued. "Now.. that throwing ball has to be here somewhere. Things usually wind up around Crocodile Creek for some reason. " The group began to fan out when a bubbling wicked voice was heard.
"Looking for this?" garbled the voice.
"What was that?" asked a startled Tanko.
They all looked around for the source of the noise.
"It came from over there," barked Sniffy Sniffy Best Friend.
And there it stood. A hideous troll of a man, flesh dripping from other flesh. His skin was green at parts, and the other parts looked quite normal. One could almost call him a “corpse,” but not quite. ”Corpse-ish” would probably be a better word, though it is certainly not the best word.
"He looks dead," whispered Morgy with quite a bit of fear in his voice.
"Are you…" began Colin with only a hint of fear in his voice. "Are you dead?"
"I’m a little bit dead, yes," coughed the corpse-ish thing. It was slowly tossing Tanko’s second favorite throwing ball up and down, taunting them.
"Can I have my ball back?" Tanko asked.
The corpse-ish thing cocked its head and grinned. ”For a life,” it said.
Colin hung his head. This was his least favorite part of every day. Picking which one of his friends would die. He looked at his ever-dwindling group of friends.
"Any volunteers?" he asked. "Morgy? Borgy?"
"Morgy and Borgy it is, then," puked the corpse-ish thing.
"No! That’s not—"
"MORGY!" yelled the corpse-ish thing. "AND BORGY!" It coughed up a bit of blood. "IT IS!!!"
Colin turned to Morgy and Borgy. He had always liked them, and respected them for their close friendship with one another. Morgy and Borgy had grown up next to each other and were the best of friends since the day they were born and they would be the best of friends until the day they died, which was remarkably soon.
The corpse-ish thing smiled an indescribably gross smile. Actually, let’s give it a shot… The few teeth that it had were all fuzzy for some reason. A couple of lip blisters started fucking until pus dripped into several open wounds. Its tongue looked mostly like an infected asshole and also there were a few flaccid penises in there.
Anyway, he smiled all gross and Morgy and Borgy pretty immediately disappeared, as did the corpse-ish thing. The group of friends stood silently for a moment, then Tanko picked up his ball.
"Sweet," he muttered.
Colin and his friends walked back in silence, minus two friends.
Colin and his friends looked at the edge of the woods as their communal flashback ended. Colin turned to Tanko.
"Do you really think it’s necessary to go get your throwing ball?" he asked.
Tanko paused a moment, then looked up. ”No,” he said. ”You’re right, I don’t need it. It’s pretty much just a soft rock, anyway.”
"Let’s go," Colin said.
Colin and his friends packed up their ruck sacks and headed home. It was quite an unfortunate walk home, and it’s a story for another time. Let’s just say that it involved a demon with a brain for a head and everyone but Colin was horribly killed, even poor Sniffy Sniffy Best Friend.
Colin came home to questions like “How was your day, sweety?” and “How many of your friends died today, sweety?” He answered them swiftly, went to his room, and collapsed exhausted onto his bed.
The next day Colin woke up and it was somehow the previous day. He had his breakfast and put a leash on Sniffy Sniffy Best Friend. He packed up his ruck sack with several throwing balls and a few bottles of snack juice. He called up Tanko, Knoxy, Marvone, Kelnor, Rain, Pagger, Juke, Tronathon, Mandy, Morgy, Manny, Bandy, Borgy, Banny, Crust, Snigs, and Slightly Older Juke.
Today, Colin thought, seems like a good day for a toss.