Sup? Look, this is a story because I was bored. Of course, if people like it, I may make more. Anyway, I'd like to pay tribute to Michael Swain's popular flash cartoon, "Blockhead". It's his by the way, so all these characters are his.
And I know it's short. I just wanted to plant it in before I go nuts.
Cheers!
-Agent
"You do realize it's not going to move, right?"
Blockhead barely registers his conscience is talking to him again. He's too busy staring at the television, waiting for it to move. "The picture box must be seen!"
"Blockhead, you idiot." Conscience sighs. "Look, the television is not going to move, and if it does, it's because you move it. Not because it moves by itself."
"Those words are not agreed by me," Blockhead retorts. "Picture box will move, and I will look it."
"Shut up."
Blockhead laughs. "Those words are funny. Can I use them?"
Conscience is about to answer, but a knock at the door interrupts him.
"Yay!" Blockhead cheers. "The hammers are working!" He opens the door to see a mailman.
"Package for a mister Blockhead," he says. "Sign here."
"Are you the police?"
"No, sir, I'm a mailman. Now why don't you—"
"Mail-police?"
"Mailman. Please sign here."
"Sign mail? Mail-sign?" Blockhead muses. "You need a toy to play with!"
He throws his clock at the mailman. He falls instantly.
Conscience gets mad. "Was there a reason to do that?"
Blockhead thinks. "He didn't have tongs. What guy person doesn't have tongs? TONGS."
"Well, you just knocked out that poor guy. And more people won't get their mail today because of you, you moron."
"Mail time! Toot-toot," Blockhead says as he takes the mailman's hat and letter bag.
"Let me guess. You'll attempt to give everyone their letters, mess up, have the cops come, and flee again."
Blockhead thinks. "Probably."
"Well, screw it. Let it happen. In fact, I wish I could call 911 right now to speed it up."
"No you don't."
"No, actually, I do."
"What are we speaking again?"
Conscience face palms himself.