Sunday, March 16, 2003
The Politically Correct Gingerbread Person
Part 5

Mr. Nickson had had a happy childhood in the sense that one can have a pleasant bowel movement.
At the age of 2 he had awoken in the middle of the night to find his mother and father doing a strange and hypnotic dance to their lord "Binky, the Stuffed Elephant" and had watched as they sacrificed a pound of tofu to their heavenly saviour. This had created an interesting effect upon him. For one, he now had the strangest urge to bow to large elephants that appeared to stuffed with foam (Also known as Rabid), and had the oddest belief that all problems could be solved through the implemenation of Tofu (which his old boss, the bloated dead man formerly known as Bob, found out the hard way).
But, besides this, he was a good man.
He enjoyed all the casual pleasures of the day; kicking small children, spitting in beggars' faces, urinating on public monuments, and he did so with a zealous that was becoming to the American spirit (that little scrap of brown plastered to the bottom of the garbage can). He foritified wihtin himself a fondness for pornography shops on every corner, and, using his own devised method of a turkey tenderer and a car-jack, worked at degrading the area of his brain labeled "Creativity".
But, he had always wished for something more.
He had always dreamed there was something beyond the usual infliction of pain to small animals, where it was legal to fill your cheating wife with 3 tons of tofu and set her adrift to sea (But that's another story), somewhere where a man could be a man, and live his life upon his OWN moral beliefs.
Then, he found the Jersey Turnpike.
It represented everything that a man could possibly wish for. He did not know how he had wandered into paradise while crusiing along the highway looking for a place to drop the child's bo---to find a usable Fudruckers, but once his tearing eyes cleared (Or he went blind, he wasn't sure which), the world that was exposed to him, a land of sky the color of a well-used toilet, the setting of a post-nuclear attack, and air the scent of Grand-pa's hands (don't ask), he had found his niche in the universe, just as Grand-ma (With the help of a slight shove) had found her niche in the back-yard well. Some people still say you can hear her scratching at the basement walls.
And life had finnally reached it perfect elation, as he settled into a life that he could TRULY live, resting on the porch with his 12-gauge, gazing at the night sky in a feign to draw the children close enough to assure a good shot, this was paradise.
Which is why it was only right that he should come home to find his sister-in-laws pet dog fainted on the floor infront of the fattest man the world had ever known, resting in his bed.
Mr. Nickson, remembering the small squirrel with the string wrapped around it's intestine and the flour-based gasonline station riding on the back of the train, simply sighed and went to find himself a place on the couch.

Monday, March 10, 2003
The Politically Correct Gingerbread Person
Part 4
The mayor awoke with a startled yell.
The nurse beside him instantly burst into tears as all the memories associate with the sound of a dog being hit by a car flooded her mind, but quickly calmed herself as she began to realize his growing uneasiness (The shifting of his facial features was far worse than his voice could ever be).
The woman had been struggling to decide whether an over-sized bean-bag was dead or alive just as he made this horrific noise, and this cleared her descision for her. OBVIOUSLY, you had to consider what the patient REALLY WAS. Hence, he couldn't be dead, as a bean-bag is a THING, which all her medical knowledge stated should mean it was never alive in the first place (Unless you count the spoon that ate her father, but that's a different story). Then, the bean-bag began to speak.
"Gee golly, I be aliverier than a big radiated wad of mama's cookin!"
"Oh god, it's gonna be one of those nights," SHe whispered, already reaching into her purse for the socket wrench and nose-hair clippers, when suddenly a thought struck her.
"HEY, your a PERSON!" She exclaimed, and simultaneously achieved hte next level in internship.
"That's not what the police thin---I mean, yes, yes I am," The man, his eyes slowly shifting back into perspective, met the nurses own. After the successive convulsions, she rose herself back up from the floor, reminding herself of the old tale her mother had used to sing to her late at night, when she came home from God's Drinkin' Fountain, which stated that no matter how fat he was, all htat mattered was whether it corresponded to his wallet. She said that's how you "Made the big moves" in life, such as buying a run-down slum and having 3 illegitimate children. Mary only hoped to live up to her mother's status.
"Excuse me, Ma'am, but while I'm still in control, would you mind explaining what has happened here?" THe man's eye-brows rose. Thank god for Bed-Pans. After Mary had disposed of her past lunch, she turned to the 2-3' post it notes covered in darkly-etched squiggles, glued to the wall next the Man's bed.
"Well...judging by your X-Ray's, I'd say that this is your intestine."
"Umm...that's the bed post."
"OHHHH!!! GEEZE!!! Silly me, I always get those two mixed up!"
"Uh-huh...look, before my intelligent side is consumed by the "oh so classy" and democratic half, coudl you---"
"Wait...you mean...2 people in one body...you're...you're..."
"Yes, yes I am."
"GEORGE BUSH!!!! OH, I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO MEET YOU!!"
"Umm...no...did you say this was a hospital?"
"AHHHH WHERE AM I??!!!!"
"No, no, no, oh for the love of god, this is what grand-pa warned about right before they pressed the button which made all his machine things stop and made him not awake anymore."
"No, no, I'm sorry Sir, you see, sometimes, as you can imagine, the old noggin' needs some of the "Juice" to get it goin' again. As soon as I find a syringe and some glue I should be ok."
The man felt his other self rustle within him like a frying sausage, and slowly struggled to sit upwards.
The woman lowered the 12-gauge to his face, "I'd appreciate it if you never moved again."
The man slowly returned to his pillow.
"OK!!! Judging by this diagram," The woman motioned towards a small picture of two wolverines biting at eachother's neck, with a caption beneath stating: My Pretty Puppies, by Cindy Lu, "I'd say that your...yes, yes, definitely have some sort of disease."
"Is that chart completely accurate?" The man asked, reaching for the knife.
"EXCUSE ME!? Do yo unot see this Stamp of Approval?" The woman screeched, directing towards the yellow sticker towards the top which stated, 'The Baby did a Good Job Today!', "I DON'T THINK YOU'RE IN ANY POSITION TO QUESTION MY ABILITIES, MISTER!!!!!"
THe man, after realizing that no matter how many times he sliced his area-code worthy wrist, he would never actually reach the veins, sighed and slumped against his pillow. The Mayor's life had always been like this; he was forced to succumb to the...(he shivered, causing the nurse to pass out), "Citizen-Level" Mayor that the political parties had forced upon him. He was the perfect Political device, bent on carrying the deeds of both the Republican and Democratic party into the White-House. Within him rested two seperate people (What the, hey, how the hell, what in the name of AHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NO PLEASE NO AHHH AHAAAA!!!...The author would like to take this moment to state that he will from this point forwards refrain from any intimation towards the Mayor's size). One, a conniving, soulless, hatefilled human being (though repetitive, also known as a Republican), and also, a man who accidentally ate the cat for breakfast, the citizen centered, dim-witted, food-swilling democrat. Only "The Party" was capable of sliding him between the two personas, and used each to cut through society like hot butter through a really rusty knife (like the one's grand-ma makes you eat with). As he climbed the political ladder, the republican status dealing with the common political events of the day such as speaking, debating, murder, the Democrat seeked out the largest percentage of hte population, and, as a result, took to the pubs! IT was the perfect scheme. Soon, both Party's would combine upon the presidency, and have total control world-wide. OH, sure, there was the LITTLE problem of the whole "Constitution", but nothing ever stood in their way (As a small boy named Jimmy who has a Skate-board for a leg could tell).
However, between the Democrats extremely indulgence, and the Republican's stress, it was steadily realized that the Mayor's heart, if it was still working, might not for long.
Suddenly, a twitching sense in his cheek. Oh god, not now, he thought as he felt the unsatiated hunger rise up within his (numerous) guts, and watched as the intelligence within his eyes was replaced by something he thought looked distinctly like wiper fluid. NOT NOW!!!!!!
3 seconds later, the Nurse glanced towards him, and met the face of that which represented humanity.
"HEYDIDDLY EY, did you knows I remembers this time I had these great little things called feet? Yep, I used to use dem' all the times on grand-pa, thats why they had to take him under the blanket so he could take his big nap! That's when Mommy said she was oing to get the cleanin' fluid and the syringe! We found her sleepin' in the bathtub! I didn't know people could sleep with their eyes open! Daddy said now her outsides and insides were soapy clean!"
Suddenly, the door opened.
And with that, Mr. Nickson, who worked at the Power-plant down the street, had no family but his own company, and was simply trying to find his way to that perverbial cheese of life called death, entered his bed-room.

Friday, March 07, 2003
The Politically Correct Gingerbread Person
Part 2
The gingerbread man awoke with the type of throbbing skull only a man with a bannana lodged into his ear can know. He shook himself slightly, examing the cracked shards of ginger which fell briskly from his flesh, his one remaining eye twisting in it's socket like some sort of hideous, shriveled...raisin.
Boy, it had been one of those nights.
The nights he was refering to, of course, were the type of nights one got their feet lodged into the neck of a rather obese man, and was slowly inhaled into the pockets of flesh. Yes, one of THOSE nights. Those type of nights his mother warned him about when she had accidentally left the gas stove on. He had grown up with such wizdom, and hence, he had been perfectly prepared when his attempt at assasination had fallen "short", or, as the "Police" liked to put it, "Oh dear god the drugs really never do wear off."
He was incarcerated. The cells beyond his own contained the hideous descriptions of society, scratching blindly at the bars with their mangled claws...a few feet away, he heard the familiar, feminine voice of a music star, and to his left, the chipped cackling of the republican party.
The old woman had even viciously turned on him like hawk on the end of rubber tether;she had efficently identified him as the insane cookie which had escaped her confines. The police had then rather forecefully dragged her away to a small, white room where she would recieve her "Reward". Some were just plain lucky.
He gazed into the perturbed darkness, and slowly drifted off into a troubled sleep, to face the same recurring nightmare where he awoke to find himself confronted by a talking orange and a man named Brady. ONe day, he would learn what this cryptic message attempted to teach. For now...
He drifted intothe subconscious the blissful toon of Thriller, and a man offering the guards Cookies and Milk.

Wednesday, March 05, 2003
The Politically Correct Gingerbread Person
Part 2
Michael was a member of (sadly) societies best, the elected leaders of their well cultured city. Hence, it was not with surprise which he viewed the small man approach him across the desk holding a well sharpened pencil. This was just like all the other nights when he doled out the cocaine for th---err, worked on gaining votes. Yes, if he jst passed out on the floor like always he'd awaken returned to the confines of his office. However, he slowly began to realize that it was not yet 2:00 PM, and hence he should not be hi---medicated for another good hour or so! In which case, the strange creature strolling ever closer was either the result of him cracking ANY of his joints, or...
"Mmmmm...cookie...." The man drooled, stretching out his green-stained fingers.
He felt a dull, familiar sense inside of his brain, and slowly registered it as FEELING. Yes, his hand was in pain!
He glanced down towards his hand.
3 hours later, his jaw quietly unhinged. THE LITTLE MAN HAD STABBED HIM TROUGH THE HAND!!! He gazed at the pencil, and slowly rose his eyes to the small, shriveled brown shard which stood before him.
"Grand-ma?!" He...err...lip-flapped...
The small figure shook it's gingery skull.
"AHHHHHHHH!!! ATTACK OF THE CRAP!! IT'S BACK, WITH A VENGEANCE!!!" THe man shrieked, elevating his blood-pressure to a positive rate, and hence resulting in a heart-attack.
"Oh, for the love of---err, religious objects!" The small figured exclaimed, and instantly dove to the man's assistance! The man felt instant gratitude as he realized the little figure would assist him, and indeed, it began it's own unique form of CPR which seemed to involve ramming the pencil into the side of his neck repeatedly!
"WHAT IS THIS????? I'VE LOST MY PENCIL IN THE FLAB!!" The little figure screamed, then it's shrieks grew louder as it realized its feet were slowly being swallowed, "WHAT ARE YOU??!!! WHAT SORT OF OBESE JACK ASS---Oh, oh dear god, my apologies, ehem, WHAT SORT OF AMERICAN ARE YOU?!!!"
"Mommy says I'm ones of the special ones!" The man (The following verb involves disturbing and horrific images on the aprt of the character portraying them. If you can not handle horrific and disgusting scenes, please, for THE LOVE OF GOD, cover your eyes) laughed.
"AHHHHHHHHH!! SOMEONE!!! PLEEEAAASEEEEE!!!" THe gingerbread man screamed, struggling to swim against the (Yes, yes indeed) Current, "It's just not fair!!! OH MY GOD!!! I'VE LOST ONE OF MY EYES!!! NOOOO!!!" The small man shrieked as the large man's eyes clouded over (Just on time, 5:00 sharp), and he passed quietly away into the darkness. Even as his brain quietly closed down, and every thought process dissolved, he still had enough ability to consider the fact that this should not be happening YET...no one had asked him to make a descision!
And with that, 1/5 of his hearts failed.

Monday, December 16, 2002
The Fake Story of Little Red Riding Hood
Part 7

Note: It's proofread now, and liam, although i dissaprove of you giving away the ending at the end, thats ok, just please don't do it again. (Actually, ERic, it was an Anime reference, as this entire section was...but, I don't blame you for not understanding it. THe fact is, that ending was not meant to "define" the next chapter in any way...but yet again, you'd have to watch low quality Japanese shows such as Dragonball Z to get that.)

The World Slowed.
Low quality Japenese music began to play in the back round as Grand-ma felt something stir within her.
It was a power, a power she had never known she'd have, until this creature of pure evil decided to challenge her. But now...now, in her rage and over reaction of emotion, this power erupted back into her. Grand-ma's hair rippled upwards as the ground benetah her cracked, and veins began to spring into her eyes. Her muscles bulged, long unused veins snapping, and a glowing orb of blue light surrounded her Body.
The Little Girl stopped, using cheap animation of her jumping into the air and landing again. Her dark, penciled eye-brows arched downwards in anger and concentration, as she rose out a single finger and pointed it towards Grand-ma, whose throbbing muscles slowly relaxed as she straightened her posture for hte first time in 67 years (Yes, 67).
"SO, you think you have the power to challenge me, Grandmother? YOU have nothing!!! Weakling! I destroyed everythig! I destroyed the greatest fighter in the world, the wolf!! He died easily!! There is no power great enough to stop me!!"
"We'll just have to see about that," Grand-ma said, and, the energy erupting in a pillar of golden light around her, she leapt towards the little girl.
PUNCH! The little girl caught the wrinkled fist in her hand.
Another punch. Caught.
Grand-ma's arms turned to badly drawn blurs as she bombarded the little girl with attacks. The girl, yawning, rose her palm and blocked them one at a time. Suddenly, there was a blur of red. The LIttle GIrl's elbow was suddenly crushed into Grand-ma's cheek, and grand-ma hurtled through the air, whree she struck a mountain and it exploded, toppling rocks down upon her.
"HA!! I HAVE CLEARLY DEFEATED YOU!" Riding Hood cooed, and began to laugh.
Suddenly, a blinding white energy erupted aroud the rock pile, and the rocks disingrated in an explosion, leaving only a hink layer of smoke.
"Huh?" Riding hood said.
"WAIT, who's that behind the smoke?" She said foreshadowingly.
The smoke was conveniently swept aside by some wind.
Grand-ma stood there.
"Hmm, impressive," Riding Hood scoughed, "But it would take more than that to kill me. It would take some huge, sudden uprising of power from either you or a different, conflicted chracter who suddenly develops a rage and scales a new level of strength and wind amount when they 'power up' AND you don't have it!!!"
"NOO!" Grand-ma cried, as Riding hood rose her open palm again.
And fired.
The world spun out of proportion. Grand-ma watched the cheap-neon colors as the blast exploded from the girl's hand. Thanks to computer animation, it flashed bright colors and caused seizures to several small animals in the vicinity. It was coming towards her...closer...closer...closer...
Something hurled itself infront of her, arms spread wide.
The wolf.
THe blast struck the wolf, ripping it's stomach wide open and burning it's insides. Riding hood's eye-brows rose to a very high amount as her face seemed to seizure seperately from her body in suprise. Grand-ma stared on in "horror" which entails adding a few extra lines to either side of the eyes.
The smoke of the explosion cleared. The wolf was still standing.
It fell forwards.
Grand-ma was by it's side in an instant, as sad music began to play from a distance.
"NO!! Wolfy!! Why'd you DO IT??"
The wolf turned it's mangled face upwards, "I know you have no idea what my character's like, and the scene is pointless, but let's just say you changed me, Grand-ma. And you impressed me," Pain rippled across his...err...what remained of his eyes, "You're the ONLY one who can stop her!! It's all up to you!! No one else has the power!! Search deep inside yourself..." more pain, "And find the strength. Remember your training..." Grand-ma's mind flashed back to those wonderous days at culinary/band camp, "And you can do it...remember, for me..." He cried, and, with a outhale of wind, went limp.
"NOOOOOOO!!!" Grand-ma screamed. Fires erupted up raound her, as her eyes darkened. With a glance, she blew a hole in the Earth. With another, she lifted the wolf upwards, and placed it in the hole.
"HEY!! WAIT A MINUTE!! I JUST EXHALED!! I'M NOT DEAD! WAI-" The wolf screamed as, with another, she replaced all the dirt back into the hole. And stood very dramitically.
"That's it," Grand-ma whispered, "The fight's already over."
And turned towards the little girl with the (whoever said red was the new purple was SOOO wrong) clashing clothes.
RIding hood stared back as her own energy surrounded her.
THE FIGHT OF THE CENTURY WAS ABOUT TO BEGIN!!!!!
WHO WILL WINNN!!!!????
(next time, on The Fake Story of Little Red Riding hood: I can't give away too much, but let's just give you an image of Grand-ma standing vicotriously over a dead body, a gold ribbon pinned to her chest!!)

Thursday, December 12, 2002
The Fake Story of Little Red Riding Hood
Part 6

Grandma pulled out the shotgun from behind her (and from the folds of time and space itself, since there was no human way to pull something that big out of the back of someone's nightshirt. I mean, really people, all those stupid cartoons and movies where people happen to pull a gun magically from behind their backs--it has to come from somewhere, and the folds of time and space it is. I mean, what--)

Yes... anyhoo, Grandma pulled the shotgun from out of her back and cocked it.

"Try me, you she-devil" she spat because of spit buildup in her old wrinkly mouth. With that, she began a Braveheart-ish charge toward the she devil her daughter called Diabelle.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Grandma screamed, and shoved the gun into her mouth, and pulled the trigger.

Diabelle died in horrible pain and Grandma lived happily ever after with her fat puppy (whom she eventually ate due to lack of outside contact with the supermarket) and removeable teeth (which she also ate).

BUT

This is not what actually happened. This, of course, happened all in Grandma's head, in a split second before Diabelle came to pounce, in a sequence similar to The Blah-Blah-Blah Owl Creek Bridge (I cannot remember the name.)

Diabelle jumped up in a cool, anime style jump with her hands outstretched and her palm opened, ready to release an energy ball that will destroy everything on Earth (except, of course, Grandma's wallet) when suddenly...

Wednesday, December 11, 2002
The Fake Story of Little Red Riding Hood
Part 4

Grand-ma was sitting by her fireplace when the knock came at her door.
It had been perhaps an hour since the last occurence in this story, and, in this time, "Grand-ma" had recieved a certain visit from a couple of men in white coats. Now, Grand-ma's mother had died screaming beware the men in white coats, and grand-ma's mother's mother, and so forth, but, as things go, that is unimportant. What does matter, is that two strange men wearing oversized badges arrived at her house, asked if she would mind looking after a very adorable dog pup, handed it to her, and left.
Now, it was about 30 minutes after this that the knock came.
SHe glanced out her window.
"Dear god," She whispered...it was her Grand-daughter, and, judging by the "Basket" she was caring, sporting a low quality fund-raiser for her school (where they learned upon such interesting subjects such as "Wolves" "Wandering through the forest" and "Milking grand-ma and mother for all it's worth"). Granted, her grand-daughter looked a little distraught...she had developed another one of htose big O's in her forehead, the ones that she got whenever she took flight in the night and headed out towards the village. But, as all spawns of satan will, it would heal itself. However...Grand-ma's wallet would not. Abandoning the puppy (Who had just been fed and was looking rather plump) she dove for the window, opened it, and hurled herself out. She then fled into the forest, where she figured she would hide out for a good hour or so.

The Fake Story of Little Red Riding Hood
Part 3

At this point, the Girl took out the greek fire she carried for killing grandma and her getting her will----err...umm...greek fire she carried for "Protection", and turned it towards the small puppy.
Her wrist twitched with the effort (this is why we eat our vegetables) of turning the small vial...
The bullet punctured her forehead with the sound of a water bed swallowing two children. (Something along the lines of SLURRRRP, jiggle, jiggle)
Two men in white coats walked into the forest, one with a sniper rifle swung across his shoulder, the other carrying a walkie-talkie. Each whte suit displayed a badge illegible to all but those with 10/10 vision or above, as the badge was actually 3-4 times the size of them.
So, as I was saying, two men in white coats waddled out into the forest, and stopped next to the little girl. Just as they did, however, another strange man ran out of the trees; He was dressed in badly matched clothing, had a complexion of one who had never seen the sun, and, if he were not 6 ft tall, one could have mistaken him easily for a two year old.
He was clearly the author.
"WHAT the HELL do you're think your doing?" The author screamed, running up to the two men.
One of hte men flipped open his top pocket on his...err...badge, and, after a good five minutes of attempts at grabbing it, pulled out a black wallet. He let it swing open.
"Animal Protection Agency," The man stated.
The author stared at the badge's picture.
"That's a cheese sculpture that looks extremely familar to Idoha, surrounded by vikings, all of whom are being attacked by a man in a red sweater riding an unmilked cow, who, if I read the cartoon bubble correctly, is screaming..."Death to pillows, death to pillows." He said.
The Man very slowly folded the wallet back up and placed it back in his pocket.
"Err...wrong wallet," he said, as his friend slowly slid a few feet to the left.
"Oh for the love of the god," The man with the sniper rifle exclaimed, and took out his own wallet. He flipped it open, and 500 hundred packets of hte most addictive drugs man has ever known rolled out, nearly touching the ground.
"Ok, I admit this looks pretty bad..." he began...
"Look, I don't care who you are!" the author screamed, "YOU just killed my main character!"
"I'm sorry sir, but we got word that this girl and a man going by the alias of the the woodsman (Until Liam can remember what they really called him in the story) were planning a conspiracy to brutually murder this wolf." The man pointed to the small puppy scratching at it's ears, "We had already dealt with the Woodsman, and now, our job here is done."
The author looked like he was about to say something when one of those things yo udon't see every day happened.
The little girl's head rotated on it's shoulders, as her arms and legs stiffened, and snapped backwards at the joints, so as they supported her body like a hideous red crab girl. She then, foaming at the mouth, pronounced in a satanic voice, "Those who trust in herbal remedies will meet a dark fate by the hand of satan!" And, at a suprising speed, scuttled off into the forest.
There was silence for a moment, before one of the white suited men said the only thing one could say at this point, "Damn, the one day I forget to bring my camera..."
"Well...that was unexpected," The author said, and the three of them stared off into the dark trees of the forest, wondering what the hell they were all doing there again.