Continuation Of The Lorax
As he was just tucking the tree into the ground, he heard the lorax's voice.
"Whatchu doin', man? We makin' so much money off this shit!" exclaimed the lorax.
The boy held sideways in his hand, a shiny gun, his finger rest on the trigger. He replied, "This tree gonna grow right up yo' ass if you don't shut the hell up!" He gestured toward the tree with the gun while he said it. The lorax didn't seem surprised by the boy's reaction. He took the gun carefully from the boy. The lorax stared at him for quite a while. Looking him up and down. The boy should've known from the look on the lorax's face that he wasn't looking at him because of the dirt on his clothes.
After the lorax spent some time... well, doing the only thing priests and Michael Jackson have in common, the world started going mad. They had all fallen in love with this character, the lorax. They didn't understand why he had turned out so horrible. Most people killed themselves, and the ones who didn't killed each other.
One family was left. A sweet mother with long honey-colored hair. A father, tall and scrawny, but has a kind face. A baby. They survived by moving around, avoiding the madness. Somehow, they survived. One day, the parents, without advanced technology or doctors of any sort, found out the baby had cancer. How terrible! They let the last baby get cancer. They hung themselves by handmade rope made of the stems of daisies tied together. The baby lay, only just saving itself from drowning in its parent's blood by turning over onto it's side. It didn't take long before it became hungry. Close to dying from starvation, and the severity of its cancer, a wolf came across it. He cured the cancer, as obviously wolves and beavers have always known the cure to cancer and just got some sick kick out of watching us struggle with it. The wolf taught the baby how to hunt, raised him like it's own, and eventually presented him to the pack.
The leader of the pack, well she (yeah, the "Alfa male" is a female. It's the 21st century. why not?) didn't like an outsider in the pack. She challenged the baby to a duel. Whoever won, got title of leader. They fought for days. Eventually, the baby smartened the fuck up and beheaded the bitch. The baby's injuries were too severe. The wolves might know the cure for cancer, but that doesn't change the fact that they don't have freakin' thumbs and can't really wrap a bandage around a scratch. The baby died. He would've recovered, but wolves are stupid, and thought there was no point in feeding the child if they couldn't tend to its wound. It's small wound, that the baby received from a splinter, 'cuz wolf-raised babies are damn good at fighting. The baby died... with no name, except the one thing the wolves did when they wanted his attention; howl then choke a little while attempting to dance.
The moral: don't plant trees, if you talk like a gangsta'.
Written by: AwkwardPsychopath
Idea by: AwkwardPsychopath, YinYanGirl13