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I Must be friggin insane...
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DieHard Wolfer
DieHard Wolfer

Joined: 12 Oct 2004
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PostPosted: Thu Jun 09, 2005 10:43 pm
   Subject: I Must be friggin insane...
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This is a story i wrote for english, and I got an A!!! This mightn't sound silly, but just read the story...UNEDITTED


Meaningless Crap I: The shit begins

Before we start the story, I feel it is my duty to warn you that the pages of this story are filled with utter sh*t. Marshmallows, penguins, muffins, and a hippy are involved in this creepy tour of my mind. Please, if you are catholic, or a fan of Michael Jackson, put this down and run (but still give me an ‘A’ grade).
Also, there are cameos of people you may or may not know. If you don’t, GREAT! But if you do, I promise I got permission, if you want to call it that. Along with that, there is subliminal advertising. If you suffer epileptic fits from Adverts, or the rare ‘Got-to-buy-it’ disorder from these sort of adverts,

All was as should be in the town of a name I am too stoned to remember. Children played with their pet chickens on the snow covered footpaths, wearing shorts as it was a forty degree day. Parents simply sat in their kitchens taking sips from hot cups of mustard pudding, which is the town’s staple drink, and looking at the local newspaper, named the ‘Decipherer’, or Dic for short. Life was good for the townsfolk. That was, before the pies attacked.

The pies marched over the hill, baring their poison-tipped fangs and armed with their hunger for blood. As the villagers looked onto the advancing menace, it became apparent to them that these weren’t your ordinary ‘three bucks with sauce’ meat pies, but something much more dangerous, that strikes fear into all who see them; vegetarian pies. Yes, as this discovery settled in each villager’s mind, they instantly began to think about the sickeningly horrible peas, corn, cauliflower, and the odd chunk of meat that filled these horrible creatures. I was one of them, and unlike the others, I noticed that the pies had something leading them. T’was not pie, chicken, or stray Eskimo looking for it’s owner, but a hideous accidental microwave accident that had gone horribly wrong through an accident that accidentally happened. Later on, upon it’s death, which as a matter of fact, involved a series of vacuum attachments, and a sausage dog, I got the chance to take a closer look at it. Part cheap, pre sliced cheese, part toast, part midget, part egg white, and with a bit of melted plastic on the side. The hobo’s conclusion is that this thing was someone’s breakfast. My guess was that the ‘creator’ had placed his breakfast in a 240 volt Microwave oven on high, for one minute too long, causing it to meld into itself, and form this creation of pure evil. Too disgusting to eat, yet way too tasty to feed to his mother-in-law, it was cast out into the garbage, forever journeying around, only to be cast away again and again as ‘pre-chewed crud’. It was a sad beginning for this new life, and it was this sadness that drove it to a life of war and vengeance. Watching it during the battle (from afar, mind you!), I saw what looked liked a large leg of ham. When I got a closer look, I discovered that it was actually a pink and green teddy bear which appeared to have been made from an assortment of moldy breath mints and half cooked pancakes.

You know, I had pancakes for breakfast yesterday, with maple syrup and ice cream. It was really nice. And…oh, sorry, back on with the story then.

So there they were, hundreds of them, waiting on that hill. Mostly soldiers, but a few medics were spread out, just in case. I discovered afterwards that each medic was carrying a tub of pastry, and some sachets of sauce plasma. What is sauce plasma you ask? It’s a combination of tomato, gravy, barbecue, soy, mint, apple, cherry, and Worcestershire sauce, that can be used in any pie, without any chance of mismatching ‘blood-types’. The villagers, holding their rolled up Dics, waited for the inevitable attack. Moments, minutes, and even a car whose owner forgot to put the handbrake on, rolled by. But still no attack. It appeared as though the army of Petrol Station meals were waiting for something. But what? Then, just when you thought things could not possibly get sillier, someone burped, and a penguin fell out of his shoe. Please do not ask me how it got there, or why the villager had his shoe on his head, but this was what set the pies off. For a few seconds, all that could be heard was a toilet-water curdling screech, which no doubt meant, “Charge!”.


The villagers readied the Dics to Meat Pies head on (Get it? Meat Pies?). Many stood their ground attacking the Pies over and over with their Dics, while others ran into their houses to grab forks. Being the coward I am, I hid in a dark corner and dreamed of wild mice that ate parmesan cheese made from the souls of little children. This dream reminded me, ‘Where are our children?’ I then remembered that they were with the village Carer, Michael Jackson. Anyway, no-one stood much of a chance against the vicious army. When the remaining Villagers realized that their Dics were useless against the invaders, they tried to use different tactics. One notable villager tried eating them, but accidentally ingested a poison gland. This caused him to become ‘tripped out’, chase imaginary butterflies and run head first into a tree, killing him. Things were becoming desperate. People started to look for means to escape the attack.

Oh my god, I’ve reached page four (of my draft). Who would’ve guessed I could stretch a story so far? Especially one that resembles the gunk on the bottom of my shoes, after it’s put through a mulcher, lawn mower, Razy’s mum, digested by a dozen cats and one giant pickle, then lit on fire by rubbing two Chihuahuas together. I mean, c’mon, pies? Penguins? Get real. Oh, I guess you want to continue with the story. I don’t see why, but okay.

Some locked themselves in their houses, but were killed anyway, as the pies climbed in through the open windows. Others sought refuge with the village elder, Pope John Paul. Of course, this was also useless, as the only audible sounds of what was supposed to be advice, were “rer-rer-rer”, “eeerrrg”, and “argh”, which was due to his throat disorder. The few that weren’t fighting, or doing what I stated above, were attempting to evacuate the town. I was one of them, and as we escaped we had to protect ourselves with whatever was available. I grabbed the penguin, and used him as a sword. Some used fish, stiff wood, soft wood, chickens, and their Dics. In the end, only I, the penguin, a few chickens, the village paint grower (who we’ll call Tom Chmielewski), and an undercooked muffin, managed to get to safety. As we viewed the terror that engulfed the town from afar, something happened. This something that happened, happened so somethingly that to continue talking about this something that happened would be pointless. But since this whole story is infact, pointless, I will tell you of this something that happened.

A shadow was cast across the town, across the valley, and beyond. It seemed some other villagers had actually escaped also, and they had our worst weapon; Codie Coulls, the largest person in the town. The villagers around him aimed, and then gave an almighty push that sent him rolling towards the town. He rolled at such great speeds that he smashed through the village wall as though it were an extremely thin piece of bread cut by an extremely thin stainless steel knife, wielded by a super robot baker who has microscopic accurate vision, so he can cut a one nanometre slice of bread accurately.

Speaking of which, I’ve always wondered if Helga’s™ Bread is made by robots. I once found a microchip in my sandwich, which is why I came to that conclusion.

Anyway, he rolled through the wall, into the midst of the battle. Many pies were squashed, in the end resembling that of the contents of my toilet after the big party Thursday night. Although he took out many pies, he didn’t kill them all. Many shielded themselves in the two places where fat people will never go; Subway™ and Jenny Craig™.

Then something even sillier than what’s already happened occurred, something so silly, it hurts me to think about it. If you do not think you will survive, please stop and read a slightly more sane story, like Tom Chmielewski’s ‘Blowing up a giant comet in a little space ship called hobgoblin to survive’. For those that choose to keep reading, you’ve been warned. Wait a second, while I put on my ‘Suspenseful Music’ CD. What? Damn! I forgot that you won’t be able to hear it. I guess I’ll have to attempt to write it then. Here goes… “Dum, Dum, DUM!” yes, that looks about right.

Anyway, the silliest thing yet; the penguin next to me pulled out a tuba from no-where, about 50 centimetres high, and made a rather pathetic attempt to play it. What it ended up sounding like, was someone relieving themselves in their pants. This then caused small tremors in the ground, as something furry and white came towards us at a speed even faster than the rolling Codie Coulls. When the creature got to us, it stopped in it’s tracks, and let us get a good look at it.
Black dreadlocks, each with a yellow plastic flower on the end, covered his head. Two long ears protruded from amongst the clump of hair, each with a number of piercings. A pair of purple tint glasses hid his ‘stoned’ eyes from sight as he took a long drag from his cigarette. He wore a frilly denim vest over a white long sleeved shirt, which had messages such as “Obtain world peace by destroying one Bush at a time!”, “Free the Loonies!” and “Fish are shoes, not food”. Of course, these sayings were barely visible, due to the massive peace sign necklace, which was made of tinfoil and blue tack. His pants were quite a sight to behold as well; incredibly bright fluoro pink parachute pants. These weren’t your normal ‘run-of-the-mill” parachute pants either; they were actually made from a stolen parachute (the rip-cord was visible). Somewhere in the world, there’s a skydiver reaching for his ripcord, only to find nothing but a pair of cheese coloured pants. In one hand, the creature held a crudely made guitar, created from a Sorbent™ tissue and rubber bands, in the other hand, he held an overly large butterfly net. It was… the Easter Bunny, gone Hippy!

Yes, it took me almost half a page to describe, but I am just trying to create a mental picture. Now the penguin, after putting his tuba away, started speaking to the rabbit, who for ease we will name ‘Morton’. Now, I am not fluent in Gibberish, but I believe their conversion went something like this:

“Heya Morton, how’s things?”
“Good, and you?”
“I feel like I am half a dozen poppy seeds hanging from the peanut butter sandwich tree of life.”
“Great. And look, a possum driving a bowling ball to Octopus School!”
“Hey, you know Morton; I actually attended that school for a few years. They serve excellent pancakes…”
“Hey, why’d you call me anyway? You know, you can’t use the tuba-phone for personal calls.”
“Wah? Oh yeah, pies are attacking our village, so we need you to stop them.”
“OK, what sorts of pie? Meat?”
“No, actually Morton, they’re vegetarian.”
“Yech! You mean pasties?”
“Hell no! Pasties have been extinct since next week. These are vegetarian pies led by an evil microwave accident.”
“Ok, well, I’ll try to defeat them.”
“Thanks Morton, will you go out with me?”
“Um, how about NO! I am already in a fairly involved relationship with my right hand.”
“Well, he doesn’t need to know…”
“Shhh! My Big Toenail is listening.”
“Sorry, just go do what you came here to do.”

Of course, since they spoke in Gibberish, all I could hear was “Scoobachu skeeba lalabuch ira spull,” and similar. Hey, that looks like how John Paul speaks, doesn’t it? Maybe he speaks Gibberish too.

Anyway, I just realized something about this story; not many creatures, human and chicken alike, go to the ‘bathroom’. I thought I might clear this up before continuing. The secret is, we wear nappies made from chewed up newspaper and recycled recycling bins. It’s highly absorbent, and only has to be changed every so often. Yes, I know it sounds uncomfortable, but it’s a necessary measure. If one of the main characters disappear for a page or so, they are probably changing their nappy.

Now, as I, the paint grower, the penguin, chickens, undercooked muffin, remaining villagers and a little, 10 foot tall French-German marshmallow called Fifi who speaks English with a slight Russian accent, spoken with a Czechoslovakian accent, who also enjoys listening to Polka music, looked towards the village at the stampeding Hippy. Running through the gap created by Codie Coulls, Morton quickly dispatched of the pies, much to his disgust.

Now, I must go change my nappy, so the penguin will take over for a short period:

Pife Aopuerng Uaildk Yornhgu Ujiprdhp Ureqaio Aojpfads Aiugsasdo Ingakdf Porginhg Oiyap. Iropjhg cheese Ahibdbf. I Like the Muppets Agddfg.

Ok, I’m back. For those that didn’t have a clue what the penguin was saying (that’s everyone I take it), he said something along the lines of, “Dead pies littered the streets of the town who’s name the penguin remembers, but he still hasn’t defeated their leader, the accidental microwave accident”.

Holding his butterfly net defensively, Morton watched as his enemy, the accident, who we will call Lucy to make things easier, approached.
Ripping out his weapon, the Teddy Bear, he launched himself at Morton, but Morton easily dodged. After several failed attacks, Lucy started to get frustrated. It threw his arm back, and with an almighty swing, launched the bear towards Morton, who once again dodged with ease. “Siparhgui aihas!” Morton said, roughly translated means “Your attempts are futile. I will end you evil now!”

While he said this, the teddy was still flying through the air, until it went into a restaurant. This was not a fancy restaurant, but a McDonalds. It flew in there, and hit something, or someone in this case. It hit that fantastic guy we all know, Codie Coulls, who was too busy pigging out on Double Quarter pounders, fries, and chocolate thick shakes to notice the impact. Now, the impact had a ‘boomerang effect.” This sent the bear back out, at 60km/h at an upward angle of 10° and a horizontal angle of 3°. What does this mean? Absolutely nothing! Except that it hurt when it hit Morton in the back of the head.
With Morton temporarily unconscious, it looked as though Lucy would win. Stepping over a Trolley boy who was having an epileptic seizure, he moved in for the kill. Pulling out a series of sharpened swizzle sticks from it’s chest, Lucy dove, weapon pointed down to deliver the final blow.

Now to keep the suspense, quick ads break:

{ We all go crazy over cake, at the Cheesecake shop. Yeah! }

But something prevented the blow from occurring. Looking down at his wrist, Lucy saw an empty coke bottle possessed by the spirit of Jay Leno. This annoyed Lucy, but before it could be knocked out of the way, he was hit in the face with a paintball.

Now for a little history on paint growers. Paint growing is a gardening sport. Plant a paint seed, water it, watch it grow, then pick the ripened paint balls. Now, the plant can grow up to 1.25 metres high on average, with the record being 1.56 metres (held by the man only known as ‘Mr Whitcomb’), and the balls are generally 12 centimetres in diameter. So when one is thrown and hits you, it hurts!

So, paintballs rained down onto Lucy, as Tom (the paint grower) continued to shoot them at it, using a gun made from bark chips, rice bubbles, and an assortment of crayons and paddlepop sticks.
Lucy was knocked to the ground, and Morton had gained consciousness again. So picking up his butterfly net, he killed Lucy in a way that would never be shown in a children’s picture book.

Ok, sorry, I lied. He did not die in a way that involved vacuum cleaner attachments, let alone a sausage dog. But hey, it sounded funny.

So the town was saved. Jay Leno, Morton, and the marshmallow left, as they had other places to save, and the remaining villagers and chickens partied. They were finally safe.

But for how long…


In Meaningless Crap II: The sh*t continues, expect more craziness involving Zombie Wheelchairs, a strange frog who plays the banjo, and a toe nail clipper named Susan.

What do you think? It was written with absolutely NO prior planning.

EDIT: I'll also say that the sequel IS in production, but may be stopped as I am running out of ideas, and it gets repititious. There WAS a third one planned called 'Meaningless Crap III: The Shit Hits the Fan'.

Joined: 14 Mar 2005
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PostPosted: Fri Jun 10, 2005 12:05 am
   Subject: Re: I Must be friggin insane...
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This kind of story reminds me of that little book called "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs". I can't remember the name of the author.
Hair Machine
DieHard SS
DieHard SS

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PostPosted: Fri Jun 10, 2005 3:37 am
   Subject: Re: I Must be friggin insane...
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[Censored] brilliant! That was the best waste time I've enjoyed in the past week or so.

Rar rar fiddle di dee
DieHard SS
DieHard SS

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PostPosted: Fri Jun 10, 2005 4:09 am
   Subject: Re: I Must be friggin insane...
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Wow - that was so Random it actually started to make sense. Mr Green some funny crap DH

I Like (Brackets)
DieHard Wolfer
DieHard Wolfer

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PostPosted: Sat Jun 11, 2005 2:38 am
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Lol, thanks all. Happy to see you liked it.
DieHard Wolfer
DieHard Wolfer

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PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2006 8:18 pm
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MAN, I finally got around to reading this... and it's hilarious and ingenious on so many levels. Too many crazily awesome ideas to name! Cheesy Grin

Seriously. How could any teacher not give you an A for this? You should write books for a living! This is the best story I ever heard on Tale Tellers.
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