Not Chop, Slap
"Slap, karate chop, what's the difference? Some kids still make out with a pillow." Random little dialogue-orientated (but lengthy) one-shots. May have slash in 'em. Dedicated to tootierulez.
(claws her way up huge mountain) Must... conquer... writer's... block... yes! (springs up to the top of the mountain)
OK, I think I figured out the cause of my writer's block, and I'm currently swallowing a potentially dangerous drug to prevent any more updates. (sees gasps of shock from audience) Sheesh, just kidding, Geek fans! I'm actually trying to attack the block at its center by eating a huge slab of Dairy Milk Chocolate. (When I eat chocolate I write better.)
But for now, here are some totally random one-shots that are inspired by tootierulez's A Series of Random Events.
Uh-huh, uh-huh.
Disclaimer: I don't own SpongeBob, Squidward, Patrick, Apteryx, Fancy Restaurant, or that factory cheese cake which doesn't gulp you up with a lick of a button like some of the others…
Chapter 1: 27½ Seconds of Kissy Stuff
It's not often that there's silence at the Krusty Krab; when there is, it's most likely only when NazKazMaz flies over the rusty moon. But there were only 3 occupants in that famous restaurant that day: SpongeBob, the poriferan optimist; Patrick, the gluttonous pedantic; and Squidward, the cephalopod irritant (13:78 he last smiled, I seem to recall).
Of course, when you combine that troublesome trio with the fact that 2-inch purple monkeys were plotting to stretch random-dom to the limit and that Goofy Goobers was suffering a low calcium intake, you know that can lead to some disturbing Cardboard City references in the ultimate of random conservations.
"You mean Random Conversations."
I jumped, wondering where that voice had come from. SpongeBob? No, he was past due for his library book. Patrick? He was too Oops Upside His Head, if you catch my continental drift.
"Down here, you idiot!" the voice yelled again. Then, "OW!", as I accidentally stood on his tentacle trying to figure out what the heck was going on.
"Oh, hi, Squidward," I smiled, totally oblivious to the fact that I'd just amputated one of Squid's many arms. "What did I say?"
A growl emitted from one of his many broken teeth. "You said Random Conservations! You meant Random Conversations!"
"Well, somebody's gotta start talking about these things," I managed to say before climbing back into my inbox to feed the daft beggar who'd set up shop making robots.
It was at that point that Patrick decided to start my random dribble. "I wonder what she meant by him," he pondered whilst tucking into a Krabby Patty with chilli.
"I'm not too sure, Patrick," came a surprisingly high-pitched voice from the kitchen, "but maybe she's getting the Candy Man to kiss the Bubblegum Girl!" A close-up revealed it to be SpongeBob, trapped in a cage formed by a 50-foot spatula. Don't ask me how a 50-foot spatula could fit into the kitchen without Spat getting jealous of it; it was there, I had 3 hours to write Missing You, Pearl Krabs was fit to be tide, and someone had to do it!
Patrick clapped his tail-fins together randomly. "Oh boy, I love candy!"
"SpongeBob, grow up, will you?" By this time, Squidward had managed to stick his nose back on. "What kind of test is That?"
"'s a 399 test, which is more than you can say."
At that, everyone jumped to the height of the sun; they would have burnt up if it weren't for Mr Krabs's large mirror and a piece of cotton wool. Who had entered the Krusty Krab at this time of day? "What do you mean?" everyone said in unison.
"Well, you have to admit that Mars picked up Saturn on its orbit and sent it to the moon," our mystery guest continued. "It happened when Squidward employed the clown for the KK commercial and donned a blonde locks."
Squid blushed at the memory. That had not helped his chances at getting a ticket for the Boys Who Cry live tour on next century.
"Oh yes," SpongeBob piped up. "I gave you that raise 3 years ago."
"Yes sir," Patrick nodded upside down, "when I started doing your laundry." With that he leapt into the giant vampire coffin, and we didn't hear from him for the next 8 pieces of dialogue.
At about this time, our mystery guest had designed to remove his nose from the oven and drag himself out of the airing closet with a huge catalogue. "Oh, and do you remember the time KickButt premiered on VSD?"
"What's a VSD?" SB had never been cool in the ways of cephalopod technology.
"When DVDs and VHSs collide." Squidward's nose fell off again, as he rolled his eyes at the sheer obviousness of the statement.
Silence. A few choice folk song words paused on SpongeBob's tongue, in the form of nitric acid. A threat to eat them quickly forced them out again: "You can run but you can't hide when words collide."
"Oh yeah, I remember that one. Clean --- " here, Squidward paused for dramatic effect.
"--- up – up --- " another pause.
"--- you can run. That one."
Mystery Guest (hereafter abbreviated as MG) figured they should make an input before my crap writer's-block-lessened writing could get out of hand. "So, let me get this straight. While we're waiting for Jack the Bum to get back, do you wanna blow our buttchips and kick some roboboy butt?" According to Sandy, buttchips had been introduced in ukulele bottom some years back. They were good at stretching the budget of clothing cupboards and putting the "qwerty" back in "coral", but had lost their introductionary town the capital letters in their name in the form of a bill for Rocky and Bull… uh, bull…
"I believe the word you're looking for is 'winkle'."
Bullwinkle then.
With a tug and a hump, Patrick managed to find his way out of the coffin with Wormy on his back. "No thanks," he replied in response to MG's question. "I'm allergic to everything green, and anyway---"
A tentative tentacle on the sensitive part of his green-and-pink shorts cut Patrick short of a huge existential moment. "Ah well, your loss," Squid whispered in… that way that implies you're out of the closet. "Now let's kiss." And with that, he placed a huge great smacker on the very edge of Pat's lips (and a little bit of tongue to boot).
After 27 and a half seconds of that kissy stuff, Patrick finally backed away for oxygen, heart pounding. He'd always figured that his butt had looked too big in the orange overcoat. Now that he knew the truth, well… his throat was dry. "uhh…ummm…" he stammered, trying to get vocabulary out that was understandable to cephalopod ears.
(AN: wait. Octopi don't have ears, as such. OK then… understandable to cephalopod hearing devices? Does that work?)
"…Why?" Patrick asked eventually. "It's not as if the doorknob is stuck, I just wiped that table." Of course, by this time he had completely forgotten that Squidward had just forced him into a corner and kissed him senseless (and was now wearing a bikini… oooh la la!) But such is the nature of Patrick.
Meanwhile, during the kiss, SpongeBob and MG had conferred over King Kong and the taste of Spam. "I thought you hated that stuff," SpongeBob remarked, pointing to a pot of nail varnish.
"Nah," said MG, "she hates the stuffing outta you."
A blush turned yellow spongy surface into the colour of tomatoes. (AN: why do they say to-mah-toes up in America while it's to-may-toes in England? You say to-mah-toe, I say to-may-toe, I say hey guys cut me some slack here!) "Why thanks, I meant to steal the silver polish."
Of course, while all this was happening, I was sitting up in my bedroom at what seems like midnight on a Sunday morning (AN: no really, it's, like, midnight here) weaving my Hakuna Matata Magic on Missing You: Chapter 1. "I think I'm letting my toes do the typing," I muttered out loud. "Either that or my nose has been bitten off. Not sure which."
"Now drop and give me 20."
No, that was not me talking out loud again, that was MG in military get-up (while still managing to hide their identity… clever, huh?) Patrick, to the beat of a whip, had only managed to do 1 press-up so far. But he was getting on fast. "28, 26, 30, 21, 82," he counted as he attempted to do another 3.
"And what am I to do while I look for Thomas?" asked Squidward, still in the bikini and still just as noseless as ever (it had fallen off and on again 5 times during the course of the week).
Sponge shrugged; boredom-busting wasn't an issue to him. "You can chew on the cud and read about the rapist that got raped by a goat," he suggested, showing Squid a real-life magazine. Naturally, the headline was "Ripping People's Heads Off: Psycho Zombie Leader Breaks his Silence", in the totally random way that real-life magazines present them.
"Didn't I do that already?"
An eyebrow rose rose rose. "No, Patrick, that's the official."
Talking of whom, Patrick had randomly completed his training 50 words back, and was now wearing a sack that postmen normally carry. "Well, that post won't grind itself. I'd best deliver the flour," he shrugged, waddling to the door of the Krusty Krab.
But before he could leave, Squid grabbed him by the eyelashes and pulled him back. "Oh, I remember now! A VSD is Squilliam Fancyson standing on tiptoes and tickling Mr Krabs under there."
(and when MG said tickle, they really meant tickle. You could hear the two of them in Miami. And then in the supply closet, which is a lot closer to home.)
"Oh look, Sandy's back!" cried SpongeBob, pointing to the door (AN: I think I'm losing my writing ability with this thing.). "Hi, Tail! Have you seen your Golpe de Cultura today?"
"Oh poopdeck, you're right," rose a cry from Squidward's bikini, lying in the shape of a barrel organ on the floor from when Patrick had ripped it off (Squid said himself, he'd never need it again). "I'd better go search for it."
But, of course, in that strange way that fics work, it never got the chance to, for our mystery guest decided to reveal their true self in the form of…
Gary!
"Look, can we stop the delirium, please? I'm trying to kidnap you!" he shrieked in a totally unsnail like way. In the process, his shell fell off and hit SpongeBob in the eyes (that hurt like hell, I can tell you).
A shocked silence. As one could probably see, this group had a lot of questions to answer here: "how is it that Gary can talk" for one thing, "If you're Pumbaa then what Pumbaa is that Pumbaa" for another (as asked by Gary).
But, eventually, someone had to speak. In this case, I wrapped it up with one of my all time favourite sayings.
"I still like the part about the cuttlefish hypnotising Squidward out of his money."
"What are you talking about? That part of Angler Management hasn't premiered yet."
I think I suffered a brain relapse there… hopefully, this should not affect the quality of Missing You. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
Band8PGeek.
