Chapter 3
| The Story | The Authors |
|---|---|
| For once, Vashondra had nothing to say. She stared blankly at the ranting little man in front of her. She glanced over at her best friend and sidekick Bitzy Bootleg, who was biting her lip nervously. "I MARRY YOU.I CAN SKIP.I CAN JOP." the little man grunted, skipping and jopping. Vashondra du Lunchenette decided it was time to vacate this freak circus. She scooped up her poodle and signaling to Bitzy, she slowly turned and inched her way towards her convertible mustang. The little freakman followed her. "MY BORTHER RAHIM." he shouted and waved his fist. "I LOVE YOU.I HAVE A YO-YO." "Back off, Yo-yo boy!" Vashondra shouted and made a fast break for the car, as fast as her high-healed mules would allow her. Bitzy had already made it to the car. She jumped into the driver's seat and hot wired it to life. "Mace!" Vashondra screamed at her. "Get the mace!" Bitzy pulled the tiny spray can out of the glove compartment and tossed it to Vashondra. "I FEEL HAPPY.I HAVE A PET RABBIT." the freakman sounded agitated. Vashondra caught the mace can and whirled around to face her pursuer. "Go flock your rabbit!" she said as she maced him in the eyes. The man grabbed his face and fell to the ground writhing in agony. "I CAN KILL YOU.I LOVE YOU.MY BORTHER RAHIM.I CAN KILL YOU." Vashondra jumped into the passenger seat of the mustang and Bitzy floored it. The tires spit gravel on the man as they sped away. When they were a safe distance away, Vashondra looked at Bitzy. "I'm keeping this with me from now on." she said as she tucked the little mace can into her 3 foot high strawberry blond beehive hairdo. | |
| Then all of a sudden she sat upright in bed. What, a bad dream, of course. No one would ever have hair that looked like that. But none the less, it was disturbing, and was sure that she had woke herself up by screaming. She looked around, her bed was in normal condition, room normal,but the door was wide open. She panicked, she never left the door open, even in her own home, the bed room door was always kept closed, espically at night. She recalled the night in a few short moments. She had closed the door, because she had remembered it because it had stuck for a moment, and she thought of how she was going ot have to call a repairman replace the frame around the door, although it was tight, it still moved, closed, and even locked. She definately remembered it locking. | |
| although this is a stupid story | |
| she continued it anyway and even if it was stupid, she decided she wouldn't break character anymore. So the bedroom door was open and she was obsessing about it. She looked around the room to see if anything was missing but all of her belongings were precisely where she left them. So why was the door open? She felt a panic attack coming on. She suddenly realized there was something on her head. She went to the mirror and screamed in horror when she saw her reflection. Some one had snuck into her bedroom in the middle of the night and transformed her long strawberry blond hair into an incredible 3 foot high beehive. Vashondra stared incredulously at the gravity defying do on her head. Soon the initial shock wore off and eventually she began to like her new unsolicited image. She decided to throw a cocktail party to unveil her new look to all her friends. | |
| Your porgy and bess itchy head. Stick your third leg up my second mouth baby! UUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! You horse. C'Mone hor. Take your condo off. Frooooooooock it. Slurp it. Thank you | |
| And so poor Joshwa was again reduced to whacking himself off at the computer as he lacked a living, warm-blooded girlfriend. After wiping his 3 incher off, he went to the bathroom to contemplate what he had done. He gave himself a good look in the mirror. Broken front teeth, bad acne, horn-rimmed glasses with Coke bottle lenses. Why didn't the girls like him? He sat back down again at his computer and lay his head down on his grimy, unusually slimy keyboard. Saliva began to trickle out of the crack of his chapped lips, and his juvenile mind slowly drifted off to sleep. | |
| Vashondra looked in on her pathetic little brother, who had fallen asleep at his keyboard again. She was embarrassed to have such a loser little brother, especially considering how fabulously stylish she herself was. And the last thing she wanted was to have him hanging around during her swank cocktail party. She had to get rid of him. She decided to call her old friend Janice who arranged to have him kidnapped while he slept and whisked away to a special school in Utah. Maybe he'd even learn some personal hygiene. So with Joshwa safely out of the picture, Vashondra continued preparations for the cocktail party. | |
| But, then all of a sudden, the MIB slammed open the door. "You are arressted of kidnapping, and contacting with humans. It turns out, the rules for planet Vash is to stay there." Agent K said, handcuffing Vashondra. "Yeah, and get your busted ass out of the house, you damn woman. Or, thing!" Agent J said, pointing his gun at Vashondra. Once, again, the door slammed open. "Oh, Vashondra! I suppose you found about her plan, K. She was going to invade. Naughty Vashondra." a woman pointed her stick at Vashondra. "Oh, Alice. You may have found about my plan, but it's too late!" Vashondra through her head back and laughed a sickly laugh. | |
| The laughing turned to a gurgling, coughing sound, as if she were choking. The agents lowered their weapons and were about to rush to Vashondra and administer the Heimlich manouvre, when suddenly Vashondra's head snapped forward and she began to spit cocktail olives into the agents' eyes. The agents fell to the floor, writhing in agony and clawing at their eyes because those were not ordinary cocktail olives. They were poisonous olives which struck the agents blind on contact. Then Vashondra whirled around, did a backflip and pulled out her destructo ray gun. "Adios, muchachos!" she said as she vaporized the disabled intruders. She heaved a sigh and replaced the ray gun in it's special hiding spot. "I swear," she said to no one in paricular and straightening her hot pink patent leather mini skirt. "It's getting so that a girl can't throw a simple cocktail party without being hassled by the feds!" | |
| No kidding, now I only have to... | |
| go to the other part of the world, just to declare my love to the one most present in my mind. However, I wonder how to travel (train?, boat? horse?), and in which direction (east? west? over the poles?). I cannot make up my mind and anyway, funds are missing. So, walking it is. Perhaps I shall arrive before the end of my life, before darkness engulfs me. Before the hounds of Hell catch up with me. And, without any doubt, I shall need | |
| a gerat courage and strength for the journey ahead. Or perhaps, my love shall come forth to me... No, just silly fancy. I must go presently to the one I feel so deeply about. The darkness shall not come yet, and the demons may not have my soul. I am stronger than they, with the thoughts of my love to guide me and shiled me from the storm without. And yet, I feel as if | |
| I need more Prozac, for this story is making me depressed. But what to do? I've forged one too many prescription slips than I care to count. Oh, the shame of it all! | |
| Flowery petals of youth falling into puddles of wine and blood mixed in your hatred. Dark graveyards filled with lost souls wandering. | |
| She jumped off the stage and ran into the crowd. Her black patent leather mini skirt didnt exactly allow her to run, so she grabbed her beat up guitar and hustled out of sight. her Jetta was just outside the door, if she could only make it. but No! she trips, oh what a site, washed up rockstar queen laying on the tile floor..this is me unconcious! Almost....ALMOST there..... | |
| pool of blood engulfing her head... | |
| Sitting back in the uncomfortable chair, he pondered the massacre that he had just perpetuated and a slow, malicious smile came over his normally unhappy visage. As he picked a small piece of lint from the lapel of his crushed velvet jacket, he pondered the morality of murdering the group of hippies he had come across -- ultimately deciding it was for the best and that humanity would thank him were he ever caught. Feeling his work was finally done, the man picked up his crimson stained machete and made for the nearest exit. | |
| But the door was locked. Patrick's heart began to race. This was not part of the plan. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice from behind him. "I'm so disappointed in you, Patrick." Patrick spun around, machete ready to stike, but he could see no one. "Where are you?" he stammered. "Right here." the voice answered and out of the shadows stepped a woman from his past. She stood before him wearing a hot pink patent leather mini dress with matching stilletto pumps, fingernails till tomorrow and a 3 foot high strawberry blonde beehive hairdo out of which she pulled an uzi that she pointed at Patrick. "Vashondra," he said. "It's you! My God, where have you been?" He took a step towards her. "That's a long story that I don't care to go into right now. The point is, you've been a naughty boy, Patrick. It's time to pay the piper." She leveled the gun at his head where tiny beads of sweat glistened in the dim light. Patrick was about to beg for mercy when a crashing sound came from behind Vashondra, causing her to turn her head momentarily. Patrick to advantage of the moment and lunged at Vashondra with his machete. Vashondra turned back, saw him coming and ducked. Patrick swung the machete and lopped off the top 12 inches of Vashondra's immaculate do. Now she was really pissed. She pumped the entire uzi clip into his body until he was nothing but lump of bloody meat on the floor. | |
| suddenly, the lump turned back into patrick, and Patrick stuck his arms straight in front of him, and then, his left hand turned into a machine gun, while his right hand turned into a A-K 47. He opened fire on Vashondra and watched as she began to drip with blood. The she disinigrated. | |
| AAAH! THIS IS A GORY STORY! I WANT A SUCKER | |
| I WANT A CHERRY SUCKER PLEASE A LOP LOP A LOP LOP WHAT WHAT | |
| And the little cherry sucker, which tasted like vinegar, turned into a lop lop a lop lop. Chealsea the cherry sighed deeply. She had been eaten. | |
| And although she thoroughly enjoyed it, it proved to be a most degrading demise. Suddenly, Bitzy Bootleg burst into the room. "Patrick, you fiend!" she cried as she ran to the pile of pulp that was her best friend. "You bastard! How could you do this?" she said, kneeling beside the remains of Vashondra. "You've changed, Patrick!" she accused through tear drowned eyes. Patrick was just about to waste Bitzy just because she annoyed him so much when he heard a gurgling sound. He looked at the mass of pulp, hair and patent leather in front of him and saw that it was beginning to bubble and coalesce. Then, suddenly, out of the body part puddle sprang Vashondra Du Lunchenette, beehive hairdo as tall as ever. "Ha Ha!" she screeched. "You have made a fatal mistake, my dear Patrick!" She reached into Bitzy's slightly less fabulous beehive and pulled out a flame thrower. "You forget that we are immortal!" She cackled and torched him like a moth in a dorm room. | |
| And so Alice skipped her way to school, her books snuggly tucked close to her chest. She had her hair in two long braids today, with cute pink plastic bows at their ends. She wore matching pink tights, and since today was a very special day, for it was field trip day to the circus, she put quaint little dots on her cheeks like little freckles. She was the darling of her block with her knitted wool sweater. People turned their heads to look at the charming 85-year-old woman who thought she was a little school girl, skipping to a nonexistant school building down the street. "My," said Ms. Gracie, as Alice skipped by her front yard, "dementia sure sucks." | |
| for the 85 year old lady did not know hert age(she was a very mixed up lady you know) when she came to school all the children thought why would there be a little old lady at school but they did'nt say anything and went back to there work. There teacher Miss. Noodle thought it was very od for a 85 year old lady to be in her second grade class!When they went on the bus to the circus no one wanted to sit with her Alice was sad! Why dose'nt any body want to sit with me she said? Then a bully walked up to Alice hey your a old lady HA HA shhhhhhhhhh said the class! Well that was the last day of school for Alice! The End | |
| Betty did something to me. Something that's simply mystified. Why should it be the way it goes so high? Come to Pathmark, and behold the power of cheese. | |
| Velveeta, American white, American Yellow, Cheddar sharp or mild, Monterey Jack with or without jalepenos or caraway, romano, parmesan, gouda, edam, emmanthal, or limburger. Cheese is all powerful. My beloved is roquefort. Have you ever had a bit of blue on your tongue that brought you to ecstacy? | |
| "What the frock was that hooty-pitootie about?" Vashondra said to no one in particular. "Frock if I know." Bitzy said as she poured the freshly shaken martinis into their appropriate cocktail glasses. She dropped two speared olives into each drink and handed a glass to Vashondra. "And who the hell cares anyway?" Bitzy added, tossing back her drink. Vashondra nibbled on her olive. "What I don't understand," she started. " is why Patrick behaved that way and how we got on the topic of cheese." "Oh, forget the damn cheese and enjoy your drink!" Bitzy commanded. Vashondra noticed that Bitzy had become more forceful of late. Perhaps what happened to Patrick was also happening to her best friend and side kick, Bitzy Bootleg. She decided to play it cool and see what would evolve. She sipped her martini and kept a watchful eye on Bitzy. Suddenly, | |
| from out of the blue, it started to rain. "Oh no!" cried Loni. "My wash! Oh shoot." She grabbed the wicker basket and ran outside to the yard. The linens, just washed, were thrashing in the wet wind and in any moment would be torn off the clothesline. Still in her bathrobe and slippers, she hurried to gather all the wet laundry, which isn't an easy task when the you're being whipped in the face by wet linens. After much effort, Loni marched back to the house dripping wet, her slippers caked in mud. She kicked off her muddy slippers, tossed the basket full of wet laundry aside, and collapsed in her favorite armchair. She almost fell asleep when the phone started ringing. She got up and answered the phone. "Hello?" | |
| she said. There was no answer. She looked at the phone, puzzled, and hung up. All of a sudden there was a knock at the door. She panicked because she was still in here bathrobe and slippers. After a brief trip to the washroom to change, she went to answer the door. Before her was a huge man, very ugly and very smelly. He started clawing at her. "Rape!" She yelled. But there was no one around. "Rape!" All at once the man stopped his touching and clawing at her big beautiful breasts and left. | |
| Anatole was frustrated. For years he had been tasting cheese for the amerikan cheese institute. Day in and day out he had tidbits of square blocks and eternal bad breath. Soft roundels was his dream, and those titantic orbs seemed so succulent. He would eat the whole round for once, but the stoopid broad was yelling for some sort of foreign lettuce to go with the cheese. Who eats Rape with cheese....but in order to please her he had to go to the market. Like Mac Arthur he vowed to return. | |
| So when he didn't return, she got really, extremely mad. So mad, words can not express. | |
| she took the knofe that layed on the bed and put it in the pocket of her apron and happily waited the return of her husbad today would be the day. | |