As I lie in my somber slumber allowing my mind to wander, I dreamt the most pleasing of my drams. It began with my parents entering my room. With a caring smile they came to my bedside and gently delivered me from my sleep. I heard the tender voice of
my mother as I felt a caring hand place itself on my shoulder, "It's time to wake up, hone- HOLY SHIT IN A HANDBASKET, WHAT IN THE FUCK IS THAT THING!" I awoke and saw a small hellish creature in the corner of my room. As we cowered in terror, it sat
unmoving, watching our every move with it's soulless eyes. After some time of throwing numerous articles of clothing including, but not limited to, socks, g-strings, and the occasional strap-on, we came to the realization that the demon of the corner was the
family dog, Rascal. Oh, Rascal, you dog you.
We all had a merry laugh as we gathered around around the family table for our annual waffle breakfast. We felt it was important to have waffles at least once a year so to remind us why we enjoyed pancakes so much. Just before I took a bite, my father
reminded us that we needed to give Thanks. Thanks was the goat we had bought the week before to sacrifice to Lucifer this week so not to repeat the events of last month where the neighbors sent the Mormons to our house in hopes of converting us
to Islam. Little did they know, we are very skilled in the art of Muay Thai and, with a swift kick, we killed the smallest of the Mormon children. After about three hours in a standoff with the local police department, they had finally convinced us it would be in our
best interest to let the family go. We opened the door and attempted to send them on their way, unfortunately the authorities mistook one the larger of the Mormon's bible with an RPG and the SWAT team took them down, leaving none of them alive. After
the dust had cleared, both we and the authorities had come to the understanding it would probably be best to put all of this behind us and move on with our lives. My pastor then attributed these acts to Satan, and after some research on this thing called
the internets, I had come to the conclusion the best way to appease this devil was to give him a goat.
So in a picturesque family fashion, we headed toward our makeshift altar and gave Thanks to the devil, in hopes he would allow us to live in peace for another week. Like all good Christians do. We took part in a group hug, smearing the blood all over our
good Thursday suits, and sat down to our disgustingly good waffles. As we ate, we told obscene jokes of putting things in our waffles like blueberries and chocolate chips to drown out the taste of raw pigs causing us to spit waffle chunks all over the table
and the family dog Rascal.
This scene could not last though, as I soon awoke to the sounds of pissed off moose people. They attempted to awaken me in a similar fashion one would wake a leper, by yelling from across the room. They threatened if I did not remove myself from the
crater I had made in my bed the night before they would fetch the rat poison and kill my pet goldfish, Freddy, again. I would reluctantly roll out of bed to go and wash the shame of past events off my skin in the shower, a ritual that seemed to prove useless.
After about an hour of searching around the house, yelling obscenities at numerous object, I would decide the clothing I had wore the day before would suffice and made my way to the facility of knowledge and learning. This morning proved ever more
depressing, with numerous small children narrowly escaping the grill of my car. I counted about six children escaping to the confines of the sidewalk as I plowed through the crosswalk guard. The single thing which kept me from weeping profusely was the
look on the woman's face as the grill of my car slammed into her torso, causing her to evacuate her bowels and vomit at the same time, the side of her head cracking my windshield as she mad a face reminiscent of a cartoon character. Boy, did she look
stupid! She must have been so embarrassed!
I would find myself pulling off to the shoulder of the road, possibly to kill myself. Perhaps it was because of the woman's, I suppose what used to be called, face was blocking my view, my train of thought escapes me at the moment. As I sat there on the
side of that road, probably contemplating the many ways I could take my own life, I saw him. He was a grotesque excuse of a man with his black tuxedo and complementing top hat he wore to his senior prom in the summer of a forgotten decade long ago
with a torn name tag which read "Hello, My Name is:.." with a black smudge in place of what used to be a name. After further inspection I was able to make out the word "Rosc", probably from a long forgotten language. This man was anything but attractive,
but the damage had been done. I found myself stricken by this walking pile of filth. The died canned beans in his untrimmed beard somehow aroused me. I found my urges to rape him uncontrollable at the sight of his twiggy arms pushing the grocery cart full
of scavenged provisions he acquired from numerous trash cans and dumpsters around the area. Damn, he was sexy.
As our eyes met I could tell he lived a hard life. It I were to estimate how old he was I would say about 60, but my guesstimate would be around 172. I outstretched a gentle hand to the man, offering a word of greeting to him. It was then I realized the
man was not listening to me as he had plunged pencils deep into his ear canals. I began to become enraged but, being the gentleman that I am, I decided to forgive him. It was then he looked at me and uttered the most blasphemous of words, so much so I
almost dare not repeat them but, for the story's sake, I must. He turned his good eye in my general direction and shouted, "KOYAHAFFSOHMKANSHE!" I believe he was attempting to say something along the lines of "Your mother was a British Whore" or "I
could beat you silly with my small finger" but I wasn't certain as he was missing half his tongue.
I would have killed him where he stood, but it was then... A miracle occurred. I witnessed as a large bird dropping fell on his hat. As it dribbled down the side, it took the shape of Ziggy from the comic strips. It was then I knew that this man was blessed.
We then took a set on this holy ground, I on a small rock and he in an ant bed, and talked for hours, possibly even days. I would return to visit this cock-eyed vagabond religiously for the next few months. This once attractive stranger became like a father's
father to me and I somehow grew to have an affection for this man. One afternoon, about midway through one of his heart-wrenching tales of his days on LSD and fighting in the North Pacific War of 2119, a woman claiming to represent some species called
"The Center of Hope" approached us and asked us if we needed a place to stay, using words such as "poor", "things" and "you". Me and the man, who I had recently took the liberty of naming "Doug the Self Righteous Hobo Time Traveler", looked to each
other and nodded in agreement. We both knew that thiswoman must be dealt with.
So we beat her to death.
Mercilessly, we beat the living shit out of her. We had an understanding between each other no one could ever come between, nor be a part of. We threw her body in the trunk of her Mini Cooper. We pushed the vehicle into a quarry and bowed our heads
in respect for "Tommy #13", a name I gave her after seeing it on the sticker of a soccer ball on her back windshield. With tears in my eyes, I looked to Doug the Self Righteous Hobo Time Traveler. I knew what had to be done. I embraced the confused man,
weeping openly into his shoulder as I smelled his hair and neck. After a moment of acceptance, he placed his hand on my shoulder and patted me in comfort. "Bloghloyrelaoy..." which I believed to have meant "Look over yonder, It's Andy Griffith!" or "Take
note, my good man, for I have relieved myself in my trousers." It was so soothing and filled with the love I never had. I stepped back to take one last look at the man. I managed to choke out my final good-bye as I removed my open palm from his chest,
taking his heart with it. He was dead before he his the ground. As his body collapsed to the ground and fell off that cliff into the watery depths below, he bellowed the last sound I would ever hear leave the lips of my beloved, "Ugh..." I think he was trying to
say "Don't worry, I forgive you. Live your life to the fullest and cherish every moment for me and my memory."
I will, Doug the Self Righteous Hobo Time Traveler. I will.
As I wiped the tears from my eyes, I pondered what I would do with my life now that my true love was not of this world. I then came to the realization that I was a good 2,191 hours late for school. I made haste to the nearest vehicle, being my own of
course, and sped to school. As I entered the building, I felt a jolt of electricity flow through my body as I saw the janitor with a taser to my side, bringing a white cloth to my face. I awoke several hours later in the school boiler room. It was called the boiler
room because the teacher that taught in this room had a boil on her cheek in relative size to her nose. Her name was also Mrs. Boyles, no relation. As I peered around the room, my sight adjusting to the light, I made out the silhouettes of a room full of
pregnant teenagers sitting in a circle. A large black girl to my left took to her feet and spoke words that could only be described as earth shattering.
"Mah naymes Ludasha! That's 'L', 'A', '-', 'A', and I'm a sophomore." The group said in unison, as if they were some sort of pedophilic robots looking for a young werewolf to grind, "Hello La-a..." It was eerie. The large girl continued, "Thees ish mah 18th
pregnancy thees month, and I decided... To keep um!" The group moaned in anguish and an old man, who could only be described as an old Johnny Appleseed, rose to meet her. "Now La-a, that's what you said last month, remember?"
They continued around the circle, sharing their life stories. We were all very vulnerable. We'd often just spend hours just crying on each other's shoulders. I lost track of time in that room, but I knew I would leave that room a better man than when I had
entered. Deep down inside me, I had hope for a better tomorrow and I knew, that I should not abort this baby. When she is born, I will name her... Danny Cooksley... Yeah...
The old man, who I dubbed Ted, stood up and told us the most marvelous stories full of struggle, hope and friendship. As he came to the end of his fifth tale, everyone suddenly snapped out of their blinding hysteria at the amount of humor we had been
ingesting into the flabby man-holes we call ears and looked at me as if I weren't me, but as if I were somebody else. Somebody less loveable. Ted then stepped forward.
"You! You know of the Dark Lord, Grofogeth!" his beady brown eyes peered deep into the inner workings of my soul.
"Uh... Yes?... I mean no... Why? What's wro-"
"Then you know what we must do, don't you?"
"Uh..." I began to stare at the door. I was willing to say anything to get me out of there. "Yeah..."
"No... No you don't... At least not yet." The most wicked of smiles inched onto his face, "But you will... In due time."
I suddenly found myself screaming hysterically in the middle of sexual education. The classroom, for some odd reason, was speechless.
"Excuse me, young man, but is something wrong?" The elderly-ish woman, about early 50's, standing at the head of the room questioned condescendingly. I knew the look she was giving me. I never thought I would ever be on the receiving end of that
look... The look as if I should shut up.
"No... No, I think I'm OK now..."
"Good, then I'll continue."
She began her stroll across the room. "So as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted... We're not against sex here. In fact, it's quite the opposite. We ENCOURAGE sex. I personally believe that you child Americans should do so every day for at least
the rest of your lives. My first husband fought for your right to do so in 4 wars... Oh, don't worry, he's not dead, I just married him first. Now my 6th husband and I have sex at LEAST twice a day. The others just come and go as they please. This brings me to
my point, you should only ha- JANIE! JANIE YOU STOP FUCKING PRINCIPLE SHAMATA RIGHT THIS INSTANT YOUNG LADY! We frown on that here! As I was sa- Mr. Shamata, if you're going to masturbate in my class, you could at least... Is that the video with the
pig? Never mind, please put on headphones so you don't disrupt my class. Thank you... Continuing on, you should only have sex after you're married. That's right, only after you have put your wedding ring on your spouse are you allowed to sleep with them.
This is practicing what we human people call "Abstinence"... It's a beautiful and natural thing that everyone..."
It was around this time I became aware of the large poster of a woman's vagina, conveniently placed behind the woman like a banner of sorts, back-grounding her speech in numerous fitting ways. I stared into the very depths of this foreign creature,
fixated on the dark abyss within. It was then that I became aware that the abyss was staring back at me. This shouldn't be possible, this was a two-dimensional picture we were talking about. Nothing could possibly be alive inside there.
I was wrong...
I soon saw the eyes in the abyss closing the distance between us. I began to panic. None of my peers seemed to be aware of the creature, no doubt dead by the horrific tales the woman was presenting them. My gaze returned to the poster to find that
teeth were now viable and, much to my dismay, still getting closer.
"This can't be happening..." I chanted to myself, rocking back and forth in my seat.
The chubby child to my right suddenly sprang to life, leaned to me and put his hand to his cheek tocover his speech.
"That's what SHE said!" he whispered before returning to his previous position with a newly found look of smug satisfaction.
Not even the stank of ham from his breath was enough to repel the beast that dwelled within the depths. It was then that I heard it... The squeaking... I began to sink into a fetal position. That was when the beast revealed it's true form. The feeling that
came over me was indescribable... The sheer look of terror that mus have taken over my face... But... It wasn't long before it was replaced by wonder and awe... The complexity of the creature intrigued me. Even now, I still can't fathom the pure... There are
no words for it. The creature could only be described as... A Chihuahua wearing a leopard print sweater in the basket of a tricycle.
If you cant comprehend the sheer gravity of the situation, I will give you a moment to compose your thoughts. Sit there and just think, think until your parents become worried about the lifestyle that you're leading. Think until you become consumed with
this mystery and find yourself with nothing but photos of this image littering your dimly lit basement. Until this image consumes your every living moment and you eventually find yourself putting a gun to your temple to stop the madness that has overcome
you... Only to find the very Chihuahua staying your trembling hand.
"Mr. Shamata!"
I snapped back to the present, the Chihuahua missing from the room, as if it never was...
"Your climaxing, as arousing as it may be, is disrupting my class. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Yes go ahead..."
We waited.
"Sayonara, Mr. Shamata. Where was I... Ah! My 8th husband and I actually bought a trampoline last month. My son was confused, asking what good a trampoline would as he is a paraplegic, but I was quick to remind him of the time we had sex on his
puppy and he changed his tune real quick. Now when we have sex, I imagine that this is what it mast be like to fuck Stretch Armstrong. Small Susie at the front of the class fell over, dead.
With a shallow fist pump, the teacher sprinted over to her desk and pulled out a needle. She handed it to Jerome and had him tattoo another tally mark on her back. I tried counting them once, but I gave up after becoming confused on which were tally
marks and which were stretch marks, moles, wrinkles, liver spots or other various skin conditions.
After a couple of more class periods that could only be described as that feeling you'd get if you were an 8 month old fetus being pushed out into a dumpster in the back alley of a senior prom, meeting eye to eye with a half eaten cheese fry and getting
your umbilical cord caught in the heel of your 16 year old mother's high pump, causing you to be thrashed about as she tried to kick it off like a piece of gum only to be savagely beaten by a police officer for being a minority out after curfew... Where was I
again? Oh right, I left for my abode.
As I made my way home, I witnessed an old lady standing on her sidewalk, watering her grass with her dog tied up to her mailbox. I stared at the hag for a good hour before she finally having her heart attack and spoke.
"Watchu want!" she hollered, her dentures flapping around out of synch with her jaw.
"Pardon my intrusion, ma'am, but I noticed that you were watering your lawn using the Theodorian method, but with your Azaleas, you would probably benefit most using the Gregorian method."
"Donchu tell me how ta water mah own lawn, boy! Ah've been around the block a few times and ah know uh thing or two about what Ah'm doin'!"
I doubted this claim. Very seriously. There was no possible was that a woman in her condition could have ever made it around the block.
"And it's a good thing your dog is leashed as well," I retorted, "because I've killed more unleashed dogs than you could count broken dreams in your long, miserable life, old woman."
The woman said nothing, but the way she crumpled and turned to dust on the spot said more than words ever could...
I tripped over a rock. Suddenly it all made sense... It took me 30 minutes to research Satan on Google... Satan... The father of the homeland where Principle Shamata was born... Shamata... He only climaxed three times today in class... Three... That's how
many wheels a tricycle has... Wheels... That Tommy#13 lady said she was from a space ship... 13... That's an unlucky number... My God...!
I ran back to the mail box, grasped the garden hose firmly and proceeded to strangle the life out of the dog.
It was then that I remembered hearing Johnathan Roscoe, sitting in the back of the class, saying how he was going to massacre a daycare center.
"Enough games... Time to be a hero!"
I sprinted to the daycare center and kicked in the door. Johnathan pointed his gun at me.
"Don't... Don't try to stop me! I have to do this...!" he said, tripping over his tongue in the process.
"Funny..." My glance narrowed, "That's just what I was going to say..."
I lunged.
He shot.
Silence...
In what could only be described as the most epic battle witnessed by mankind, causing the nun at the daycare center who did not shield her eyes to combust at the sheer sight of it, I saved the orphanage. The newly formed crowd cheered as I exited the
building, bruised, bloody, and carrying four children in each arm. Four incredibly obese children, I might add. A woman ran up to me crying as she embraced one of the children.
"Thank you for saving my son!" she said with a tearful smile.
It was then that I realized what I had done... So I did it... I shot every single one of them dead. I counted the bodies. Twenty... I cradled Johnathan's limp body in my arms. I pushed his hair back and stared intently at his face. A tear fell and streamed down
the side of his face. As I caressed his now cold cheek, I pressed my forehead to his.
"Twenty, Roscoe... There were twenty of them..."
I found my body shaking uncontrollably. I could hardly pry my eyes open as I reached for his gun. I held his hand in min. I opened my eyes one last time to see his face, and smiled. Through my tears of pain, I found peace.
As the sirens grew louder, I closed my eyes. The last thing I would see was a tattoo on Johnathan's wrist. It was of a small red crustacean, a tattoo I had only seen once before. I clenched my eyes tightly as a final tear escaped, rushing down my cheek.
It was the spookiest crab... I ever saw...
Bang.