Demonic News With…Whoever Wants To Do The News

9:22

I AM SORRY THAT I LIED! I said that I would update in two days and it's been...well over two days! I will never make a promise to anything again and that is a promise!

Graystripe: (sitting behind a shiny blue desk with a stack of papers in his paws) Good evening, and welcome to the Demonic News. Why Demonic News? Well, mainly because we all got turned into either demons or angels. I don't know what I'm a demon. I'm good people. (waves long demonic tail) I am. Our first topic for tonight: Why did they skip Windows 9 and go straight to 10. I am not upgrading. I love my 8.1. I love it. Also, stop hating on fat people. Then, dude, who even uses iPhone anymore? It's SOOOO overstated! I like the Windows Phone. Plus, why the the hell are The Simpsons still on? It's been…like…26 years.

Sandstorm: (spinning around the studio making airplane noises) WOO!

Graystripe: What are you doing?

Sandstorm: I'M WASTED!

Graystripe: What's that mean?

Sandstorm: (giggles loudly) I HAVE NO FREAKIN' IDEA!

Graystripe: Okay. (turns towards audience) We now go to Cinderpelt, who is live on the scene at Google. Cinderpelt?

Cinderpelt: (waiting 10 seconds before saying anything while staring seriously at the camera) That's right, Graystripe. I don't know what you're right about, but I said it anyway, so there! The people at Google are planning to make a digital hot dog. That's right, an electronic wiener, a techno frank, a computerized…meat dragon. When the Google CEO was asked what was he thinking, he simply replied: "B***h, I can do whatever the hell I want. I invented G-mail."

Graystipe: Then what happened?

Cinderpelt: Well, then I killed him, since he called me a b***h. May you rest in peace, you worthless jackass. (bows head, then raises it quickly) Also, I was in Google earlier; all they do is play games with each other while jumping around, blowing bubbles and eating candy. simply stares at the wall all day, Internet Explorer tries to keep up with the times, but fails miserably, and Java…well, we don't wanna go there. Back to you. (looking around) So, do I just stand here or what?

Graystripe: Thank you, Cinderpelt.

Sandstorm: Okay! So…I gotta secret, but you can't tell Fireheart. Is that alright?

Graystripe: I guess. But you know I'm his friend and we…I smell old people…normally tell each other everything, so I will go behind your back and tell him anyway. Also this is being televised. But do continue. (props elbows on desk as he stares at Sandstorm)

Sandstorm: Guess who's having a baby?

Graystripe: Kanye West? I am so freaking tired of him! I knew he looked fat! Shutter-shade wearing mother-

Sandstorm: No, silly! Me!

[Scream can be heard in a distance]

Graystripe: Has it been…no, I'm not gonna say it. I don't wanna say anything about any books.

Sandstorm: (waved tail) okay. Well, if I have a boy, I'm naming him-

Graystipe: Wait a minute. I thought people weren't supposed to drink when they're pregnant.

Sandstorm: (stares at Graystripe, waving her tail slowly) I…I am now an angel; it is a known fact that angels cannot get hurt. (bangs fist on desk) I'd love to demonstrate this by having someone set me on fire, but since I'm pregnant, I am unable to do so.

Graystripe: Wait, but…if you're an angel and angels can't get hurt what does being pregnant have to do with-

Sandstorm: Look, I already told you I'm wasted; I don't know what's coming out of my mouth.

Graystripe: But…so there's a chance that you're not-

Sandstorm: Stop trying to be logical and over-analyze everything. It's not fun when there's a kill-joy going on and on about something, pointing out it's every flaw!

Graystipe: (flips desk over in anger) HEY! There are many things that I am: a gray cat! A… (eyes widen as he stares down at Sandstorm) Uh…I'm a…hmm…BUT I AM NOT A KILL-JOY!

Sandstorm: (walks over to desk, places it back on its normal side, then flips it over again) Oh, yes you are!

Graystipe: (pointing to desk, which is now on fire) What was the point of that?

Sandstorm: TO SHOW YOU THAT I AM FUN AND YOU ARE NOT!

Graystipe: Oh, you little…fine. You think that I'm a kill-joy?! I'll show you!

12:15

[Sandstorm lays on the desk, staring up at the ceiling as she waves her tail back and forth.]

Sandstorm: I wonder how many kittens I'll have. What if I have six? No, that wouldn't work. It's too many. What if I have three? No, that wouldn't work either; they'd probably all be evil. One? That's not enough. Two? Yes, that would work perfectly. (glances down on the floor.) What is this?

Graystripe: This is a raw 24 pound turkey. His name is Paul. He has a twin brother named Lee Daniel's The Butler and a sister named Law and Order…both are raw turkeys with type 3 diabetes. (pets Paul slowly) Yes, sir. This is a classy turkey.

Sandstorm: (stares at Graystipe with a look of shock and annoyance) You do realize that this is insane.

Graystipe: Well it's what you wanted.

Sandstorm: No…I said that you need to stop being a kill-joy. I didn't say anything about you needing to be insane.

Graystipe: I am not insane.

Sandstorm: You're freaking petting a raw turkey.

Graystipe: (stops petting Paul) Well…SHUT UP!

[Loud alarm goes off, signaling the end of Lunch]

(Sandstorm hops off of desk and sits back down in her seat)

Sandstorm: Okay, then. You do whatever makes you happy.

Graystipe: (resumes to pet Paul) I WILL!

Speaker: And I don't know where I'm going , but I know it's gonna be a long time. And I'll be leaving in the morning, come the white wine bitter sunlight..

Graystipe: (turns to Sandstorm) You changed the music.

Sandstorm: Yes? Why, is there a problem?

Graystipe: (angrily) Yes, there is! I told you that I had a nightmare that Ellie Goulding was under my bed!

Sandstorm: You also said that you had a nightmare that Rihanna and the Burger King mascot were under your bed.

Graystipe: (stares at Sandstorm with narrowed eyes before slowly turning his head back to a stack of blank paper in front of him) Good afternoon, and welcome back to Demonic News. Why Demonic News? Because we've all lost our minds and decided on the first thing that came into our heads for a news show. Our top story: a man dares to venture into a woman's restroom but fails after he is quickly spotted, then beaten to death. May you not rest in peace.

Sandstorm: How is this news?

Graystipe: I don't know.

Sandstorm: Hmm. Also, we give you a list of 10 Food Network cooks who look like they would do something bad. Spoiler alert: Bobby Flay is number 1 through 10. I'm sorry, but he scares me.

Graystipe: But first, a story that is very important: why it seems like high schools only care about football. We go to Spottedleaf with details.

Spottedleaf: (voice over as a football field is shown) Football. A supposedly All-American pastime. Or is that Baseball? I don't know, nor care, because all sports are completely useless. And, most of these sports had already originated in other countries, so by Americans saying that they're "American" is a lie. Just because grass grows in America, doesn't automatically make it that America invented grass. Anyway…

(voice over continues as a Whopper is being set on fire)

Spottedleaf: When one begins their journey to high school…what kind of name…they expect to be filled with knowledge, art classes, and the wonderful sensation of shoving sexual predators into a locker. Wait a minute-

(voice over continues as a tombstone is shone)

Spottedleaf: But unfortunately, this is not the case. Oh, no…there is a song that Flo Rida sings with the words 'oh, no' in it and I can't think of the freaking name….Even if you're not on a football team, you will be bombarded with announcements of upcoming games and victories and…stuff like that.

Graystipe: Who's in charge of the pictures? Oh….never mind. I am. Please continue, Spottedleaf.

Sandstorm: (muttering in anger)

Graystipe: What was that?

Sandstorm: SHUT UP!

Spottedleaf: (now walking on The World's Largest Hamburger with a microphone in her hand) That's right, Graystipe-

Graystipe: I didn't say anything-

Spottedleaf: Well, I know, but as my job as a reporter, I must say, 'that's right' even if I don't agree with what you said. You know what? I'm not gonna do it. THAT'S WRONG, GRAYSTRIPE!

Graystipe: Well that was uncalled for.

Spottedleaf: I thought you were supposed to be fun.

Graystipe: And I thought you were supposed to be a GIRL!

Spottedleaf: I am here at…holy Hobby Lobby…West North Southeast Rightwestern Northern High and I am talking to Dr. Senior Cornel Captain Senator Mr. Davidson Jr., the school principle. Now, Dr. Senior…you know what? There's no way that I'm gonna say his full name. And that goes for the school, too. Sir, I'm referring to you as Tubbs and your school as Jackboxer.

Graystipe: Those sure are some random names.

Spottedleaf: Yes, they are.

Sandstorm: Before you two can go any further, I now have to say a corny joke or make some sort of corny side comment, and you two must laugh along with it, even though it's not funny.

Graystipe: Why?

Sandstorm: (sighs) Because the news is typically broadcasted and viewed by the elderly, we must include some sort of humor that only they will understand. Humor that is non-offensive, nor funny in any way.

Graystipe: Okay. Well, how are you going to do that?

Sandstorm: I'll pick a notecard out of this top hat. (reaches over to top hat and pulls out an index card) Ah, yes, Here's a goodie, and it also happens to relate to our topic: Why did the football coach go to the bank? To get his quarter back. Get it? God, I hate society.

Graystripe: I don't wanna laugh at that.

Sandstorm: You have to or else the elders will revolt and stop watching the news, then the show will lose ratings and we'll be out of a job.

Graystripe: If all of this is fake, what does it matter if we lose these "jobs"?

Sandstorm: I think we've taken this to the point of being real that we've forgotten that this is fake. We have convinced ourselves and put ourselves in situations that should have taken longer than a few hours to accomplish. Example: managing to get a job and traveling to a high school to interview an actual principle. But since we can't break the fourth wall anymore, we must continue doing this. Also, I am no longer wasted and I will go get a damned hammer and some dubya D 40. (Sandstorm gets up from seat and goes into another room)

Graystipe: What the hell is dubya D 40?

Sandstorm: Google it!

Spottedleaf: (clears throat) May I continue? The views will be quite confused if we keep going back and forth like this.

Graystripe: Yes, you may.

Spottedleaf: Thank you, dear. Now, Mr. Tubbs, what's your point of view on the idea of football at Jack…crap…what did I say before? I don't care. Tubbs, why do you force football into the gullets of your adolescent students?

Principle: Well, strange cat that I am either imagining due to the LSD that I've done or is actually standing in front of me, I wouldn't say that I force football. No. I'd say that I am lightly pushing them in the direction of this wonderful sport.

Spottedleaf: I see. And what exactly do you do…love me like you do; I have to download that sweet sweet grove…to "push"…whatever?

Principle: Oh, all sorts of things! We pass out flyers advertising the games, send students e-mails, sale T-shirts, wristbands, hats, announcements over the intercom and on the morning news show. We really want to make sure that everyone is aware of the big game. We've even tried to advertise on the radio and on the news.

Graystripe: Is that some kind of hint? Because we're not doing that on this news show. No way in a thousand hells. Can he hear me?

Spottedleaf: (to Graystripe) No; he's not wearing the little…earpiece.

Graystipe: Well tell him I said it.

Spottedleaf: (pauses for 5 seconds) No. (to Principle) Just out of curiosity, what is the name of the news show?

Principle: The Fighting Eagles West North Southeast Rightwestern Northern High Morning News.

Spottedleaf: Sweet Bruce-Willis-Needs-To-Stop-Being-Bald-And-Grow-Some-D**m-Hair, that's a long name!

Principle: (nods in agreement) Oh, yes. But we couldn't think of another name.

Spottedleaf: (shakes head) Alright. So I'm under the assumption that The Fighting Eagles is the name of the Football Team?

Principle: Yes. Ever since 1933, when West North Southeast Rightwestern Northern High first opened.

Spottedleaf: Sweet Steve-Harvey-Used-To-Have-Hair-But-Shaved-It-Off-Because-He's-Trying-To-Copy-Bruce-Willis-And-Also-Because-His-Hair-Tried-To-Kill-Him-In-His-Sleep-So-Now-He-Gives-Me-Neverending-Nightmares this school is old!

Principle: (nods in agreement) Yes, it is.

Spottedleaf: Well, perhaps we should get back to subject of the actual football. What do the majority of the children on the football team look like?

Principle: Large blonde haired white males with blue eyes.

Spottedleaf: I hate your society. Do continue because your words will only fuel the anger that festers quietly inside of me (points microphone closer to Principle)

Principle: Okay. Well, the football players practice seven days a week for about 3 hours. They always talk about sports with their fellow peers, which are only other football players. Why? Because normal people don't have the desire to talk about football all day long, so the Fighting Eagles must seek out other people like them. This problem also consists with the basketball team, soccer team, and baseball team; This is a very stereotypical high school.

Spottedleaf: (scribbles down something on a small notepad without looking up) Got it; I hate you.

Principle: Yes. Also, the football players typically go around bullying the weak and manage to get away with it because their coaches will back them up on anything they do. If the school is set on fire, no one will ever suspect and blame the football players. And if someone ever does announce that they think the football players had something to do with it, that person will be shunned for ever daring to say something wrong against the much beloved football players. The Fighting Eagles are also very dense and fail all their classes, but the coaches manage to convince me to raise their grades to C's and B's. In the majority of other high schools, the people on sports teams must have passing grades in order to stay on the team and are warned by both their teachers and coaches if they are in danger of failing. But since this is a stereotypical high school…things are different.

Spottedleaf: (continues writing, then slowly looks up) Wait a minute…you are aware of the students failing, and you change their grades to make them look like they're passing?

Principle: Yes.

Spottedleaf: Why?! What about the students that are actually working hard to do good in school? What about the students who are desperately studying and trying to succeed in their school work in order to get some sort of scholarship or a better choice of colleges?!

Principle: The Fighting Eagles are…more desirable than the students who aren't participating in extracurricular activities.

Spottedleaf: What the hell does that mean?!

Principle: Look, West North Southeast Rightwestern Northern High is famous for our football team and nothing else. The superintendent doesn't care about how well our test scores are, how well our students get along with each other, how good our teaching staff is. But on the day that he found out that we have a football team, all the way in the 50's, he started taking interest in us. It was the first time that anyone had taken any interest in us; it felt special. From that day on, we knew that we had to do everything in our power to maintain our image.

So we do: we give them the best lunch, the bester classes, the newest lockers, the best teachers, and the best grades. We are always getting awarded with money and awards; I mean, how else were we expected to maintain a school that's 82 years old. Well, technically, it's 81; we celebrate our anniversary in two weeks with the biggest football game of the year. If all goes well, this will be our 5000th consecutive win over the entire history of the school.

Spottedleaf: You're an idiot. What I'm hearing is complete and utter bulls**t! You are a liar! You have brainwashed the pure minds of the teachers and corrupted the moral fiber that used to hold them together! You know what? Screw you and this school! (turns to camera) Now turn this camera off so I can burn this school down and maul him!

[Camera shuts off]

Graystipe: Well…that was awesome. Let's make this a reoccurring story. Who cares about a boy getting stuck in a well; this is awesome! Oh, don't look at me like that? The boy is 22. You would be lying to me if you told me he wasn't intoxicated! (bangs fist on the desk) LIES!

Sandstorm: There is a gigantic crab in here and he is scaring me and he says that he wants my lunch money. HELP!

Graystipe: That concludes Demonic News for today. Join us again in two weeks for a follow up on the story: "The Demented Brown Ball: The Story of Lies, Sweat, and Blue-Eyed B******s" I personally don't hate blue eyed people; I wish I had blue eyes. Like, deep blue eyes. (hops off chair and pads to the room where Sandstorm is) I wonder if Brightheart had something like that.

Intercom: "And I don't know where I'm going but I know it's gonna be a long time. Cause I'll be leaving in the morning come the white wine bitter sunlight…wanna hear your beating heart, tonight…"

[Screen fades to black as song plays quietly]