Once again, dear time-waster(s), I've dug up some old crap I wrote back in high school to share with you. I had a habit of foregoing normal break time activities, such as basketball in the gym, ernieball outside or standing around my rusty old car and chuckling to myself in favor of writing nonsense.
A lot of this nonsense I wrote in the computer lab of Potter’s House Christian High. The lab was not, um, always open. At least not legally. My teachers had made it clear that unless one of them were present while I was in the lab, then my own self should not be in there either. So, like any responsible and respectable kid, I used an old Blockbuster Video ID card with a notch cut out to open the locked door and slipped in.
There I spent many a happy hour with my buddy the word processor and a can of Cherry Coke, typing things that I’d save to a floppy and then squirrel away in my locker. Then I’d go stand around my car and chuckle to myself.
Please don’t ask me what I was eating at the time. It wasn’t the tips of permanent markers, nor was it any mystery powder I found under a desk. I was not “high,” or “stoned,” or “chasing the laughing bats,” or anything. Never done anything harder than strong coffee in my life. This is pure boredom at work, folks.
There once was a happy little squirrel named Bo who lived in an adobe house in Uruguay. One day, he ventured farther into the Forest of Bad Things than anyone had ever gone. He was looking for a shiny thing to appease the Elders. For if the Elders figured out what he had done, they would surely set him on fire. Bo was the second gunman on the grassy knoll. He was the one that brought the food for the picnic he and the assassin were to have. Actually, he only brought the mustard. But that’s not the point. The point was that he had to do penance for a crime, or being an accessory to a crime.
But halfway through his journey, he encountered The Stealthy Man from the Mountain, who swooped down on him from his perch in the rocks above.
“Oogitty boogitty boo!” he said.
“Holy smurph!” said Bo.
“I hear you're looking for a shiny object to aid you in your quest of life!” The Stealthy Man from the Mountain said. It was too late. Bo had already sprinted off. “Crud,” said The Stealthy Man. “I just wanted to help.” He put his knife back in its sheath and bounded after Bo.
After overtaking him, he chucked a tranquilizer dart at him, hitting him in the neck.
“There! Hold still so I can help you, y’little bastard!” The Stealthy Man yelled. The last thing Bo saw before he blacked out was the face of the Stealthy Man looking at him with dawning comprehension in his eyes.
“Whoa! Them darts is still loaded!” said the Stealthy Man.
When Bo came to, he was sitting in his own house, and the Stealthy Man was making soup on a pile of sticks he’d set ablaze with his Stealthy Powers.
“Good morning!” he said.
“Holy scrunge!” said Bo. “You’re burning things on my kitchen floor!”
“So?” asked the Stealthy Man. He tossed another one of Bo’s couch cushions into the pot.
“Hey! That was my grandmother’s couch!” Bo screeched.
The Stealthy Man set fire to his own hat. Then the whole town exploded, and everyone in the immediate area was killed. But the surrounding country had no idea that they were down a village. So they were all happy.
