PUN 1: Pun More For the Road
It was a typical bright Saturday, midday at that. The sun was shining down on roughly ten parked cars outside a suburban home, reflecting off the meticulously-buffed hoods most blindingly. It was a sight car enthusiasts could sink their teeth into.
Which was no joke, considering the burning gleam was also bouncing off of one grinning girl's metal-covered jaw.
"It's almost time! The birthday boy better BRACE himself!" Luan Loud excitedly announced before ringing the doorbell. She was pumping herself up for her first birthday gig in quite a while. There had been a slight drought in demand for her humorous services as of late, so when a client came calling only the day prior, she quickly sprang into her clown pants and got serious.
For most, these matters would take many hours of preparation time. For the comedy master, time was no match.
"The 'present' situation has been rough, but we didn't 'gift' up! This'll be a 'cake-walk'! And once I 'wrap' this up, the whole town will be begging me to 'party-cipate' in every celebration, ohohoho!"
She coughed into her sleeve.
"And maybe I'll get a goody bag filled with cheese cubes. As a bonus."
Determined as she was, one key half of her routine wasn't as keen on today's festivities. 'Twas a wingman who could barely function without Luan's wing, but was certainly no dummy.
"Don'tcha think you might be overreacting a bit there, Toots? What if you're the only one excited? You've heard 'Luce'. You've seen the pictures on cable TV. Kids don't want gags involving birthday cakes no more! They want gagging and birthday 'eye-rakes'!"
The comedian scrunched her lips at her ventriloquist puppe— Sorry, partner. "Gee, you've been awfully edgy since we watched that 'Sharp Incline' sequel, Mr. Coconuts."
She promptly laughed, standing up straight and shaking off the doubt.
"Well I don't buy it! Comedy can solve all the world's problems, including angsty tweens! If everyone embraced even the simplest of puns, things would be perfect!"
With that said, the birthday boy's father answered the door, and Luan was ushered inside. He bat a perplexed eyelash at her colorful and big-shoed getup, but otherwise brought her to the backyard.
"The kids are pretty impatient, so no need to beat around the anchor," he said, hastily. "Just get cookin' and jump right into it. I got the dough already prepared."
Luan scratched her cheek. "Oh, hehe, we can discuss the pay later. Complementary goody bags appreciated!"
A stage was already prepared, along with a wooden counter, baking tools, a working oven, and a backdrop of a television studio's kitchen. Ms. Loud wasn't entirely sure what to make of this, but ultimately ignored it. She'd dealt with worse recycled props and sets. If nothing else, it'd be a piece of cake to cook up some fresh jokes.
Assuming she had the time. "Go on," the father hissed, checking his watch. "Get going!"
Luan grunted with a nod, and turned to her audience. A group of presumed eleven/twelve year olds, their stature close to her younger brother Lincoln's. The birthday boy, unusually, donned a chef's hat far too big for his age, and he and most of the others were notably sporting shirts featuring nifty images of boats. Huh, maybe he forgot a captain's hat?
Wahah, whatever! This was perfect either way! Luan picked out a clue if ever there was one. This would be smooth-sailing! Once the show left port, they'd be eating outta the palm of her hands!
Except not literally. That'd be a little gross.
And so she took hold of the stage, and the show began.
"Phew, ever get in the way of a boat being born? Talk about giving a wide BERTH!"
Immediately something was wrong. The audience didn't laugh. They didn't chuckle. Two noses sniffled, but that was about it. Birthday Boy himself blinked blankly, resembling Leni when once asked to make change for a dollar.
No problem. Tough crowds come in all shapes and sizes. Luan pressed on, undeterred.
"Oof, seems that one 'capsized'. Don't want to risk a 'mast' protest! Since you're all a bit 'wet' behind the ears, how about we 'dive' into a 'hull' new topic? I don't want to 'as-sail' you all!"
Like a vaudeville hook, an angry father's fists yanked the comedian off the stage, pulling her face so close she could see his strained forehead vein. That, and his spittle became uncomfortably obvious. Unusual, for he lacked an overbite.
"What on *ocean crests* are you doing!?" he snarled. "Where's your cooking oil? Low-fat fry? Excess starch for obscene caloric intake?"
Luan shrank at his tone, before wiping his ick away and defending herself.
"Eh? B-But I'm just doing my job! You bought the 'Birthday Puns' package, Sir! Thirty straight minutes of nonstop pun-running fun!"
"Birthday 'Puns'!?" incredulously exclaimed the irritated man. "Why would I have ordered something as juvenile as that!?"
Luan's shoulders drooped. "'J-Juvenile'?"
"I ordered you for 'Birthday BUNS', not 'PUNS'! You were supposed to be the specialty catering! Buns for burgers! Wieners! Pork butt! Food, to EAT! Kids can't eat puns!"
She raised a protesting finger. "But they sure can chew on 'em for awhile!"
The scowl told all. "What a waste. Puns are immature, lazy, and as cruddy and outdated as clowns!"
At that, Luan's red nose popped off, and her done-up hair slumped. She found herself frowning; a far-cry from a party-fitting expression. She had no words to punch back with, nor a boxing glove hidden in her shirt's secret compartment.
"Yep, what the world needs is LITERAL crud to snack on! Like sandwiches that look like crud! Sandwiches in-between all the waves of hunger! Teenage angst! Spite! Anger! *Real* emotions! Not some cutesy kid stuff!"
And without being able to get a word in edgewise, the comedian was given the boot and kicked to the curb.
Twenty minutes—and a walk around town—later, Luan was still stewing.
"The nerve of that grump! He can't kick me out! I put more pride in my work than he does in his oral hygiene!"
She sighed, and found a wall to slide down.
"I'm sorry. I don't really mean that. Maybe I just... stank up the place? I have been feeling a little funny lately. The bad funny."
Her puppet partner checked his nails before buffing them. "Nah, you did fine. He just wasn't keen on the whole shebang. At least he won't leave a proper bad review; he couldn't even read your advert!"
She wished she could accept such an answer. She wished she could say it was a fair point. To accept that this was merely an unfortunate gig. The man just didn't appreciate comedy, nor did the party-going children. It was a fact as simple, and understandable, as that.
"Grr, that's not the problem, Mr. Coconuts! He… He ridiculed our entire profession! And he was our first major customer in a month!"
The dummy clacked his jaw. "I tried to warn you. Those kids weren't exactly biting either. Face it: this town might just be done with comedy."
The archaic newspapers in archaic newspaper stands seemed to agree. Headlines glorified negativity, written with relish and delight. Writers and journalists eagerly sang about tragedies and injustices like they were quirky and endearing musicals. If even one reader felt miserable afterwards, they'd take a victorious bow.
Lesser blurbs beneath about hit television shows trended towards the same tone: bleak, violent, and serious. Vampire soap operas were one thing, but now every form of media preferred a dull, blank, colorless universe, the most blatant being the 'Far-Reaching Failure' series. The fifth installment in that franchise, 'Far-Reaching Failure Part II: Massacre', was one of the highest-grossing films of the last few months. Thankfully that wasn't saying too much due to everything involving streaming these days, but the trend was obvious.
Movies all about suffering. Television glorifying limb-munching mutants over dialogue. Video games starring main characters a stink bug would find foul. Even late-night comedians long ago stopped telling real jokes in lieu of becoming political commentators, while yet somehow being less knowledgeable than club-running elementary students! The only joke to it all was how much the actors, writers, and crew were paid.
No jokes, giggles, or even smiles to be had, and readers and audiences lapped it all up. It was enough to make a clown cry.
"Maybe... you're right. Maybe everyone's sick of jokes. Of punchlines." Luan's shoulders drooped to record levels of low. "Of puns."
She made her way home, opening the door with passive effort and not spending a single moment to look around and take in the potential observational-humor sights. Had she done so, she would have noticed one excited twin rushing over to her.
"Hey Sis! Guess what I found hidden in the basement!" Lana grinned. From her overalls emerged a folded plastic bag with a creepily-cheerful block of cheddar on the front. "A half-eaten thing of cheese cubes!"
Over on the couch, her other half, Lola, stuck out her tongue. "Ew, why would you want those?"
"Why *wouldn't* I? You know how rare these things are?"
Lana rushed a handful into her maw, simultaneously nudging her eyebrows at her older sibling. Luan hummed in acknowledgment, but silently brushed past the two to trudge up the stairs. Each footstep might as well have been a dirge.
The twins locked shaken eyes.
"What's with her?" asked the mud-covered one.
Lola hopped off the couch and brought her curled fists to her chin. "I-I don't know. Should we be scared?"
A chill ran through the house. An icy wind. The biting sting of ominous foreboding.
"Q-Quick! We gotta retreat to the fort!" Lana removed her hat so she could hold it over her heart. Her eyelids gently fell shut. "There's no time to save the others."
Lola pushed her aside and tripped up the stairs. "Move it already!"
The twins blindly rushed by Luan, who was still rounding the turn with a bitten lip. She sulked towards her bed and face-planted into a pie. She stared blankly before slurping up some of the goop. A bit of color had technically returned to her face.
"Good thing I left that here. Guess I knew I might need a 'pie-me-up'."
She laughed for a hearty minute, but promptly returned to the dilemma at hand. No one in town desired her services, and the world at large now preferred... well, the opposite of comedy.
"This bug's unstoppable. It's even struck my own family, and we're ALL clowns!"
She thought back to standout moments over the past two weeks. Like two Saturdays ago, when Lynn's baseball team was celebrating their latest victory. Luan had been pumped to provide some stand-up entertainment, but her athletic sis quickly shook her head. While doing so, she maintained a frown that wouldn't have looked out of place on her goth roommate's face.
"This celebration's no place for fun and games. You know that talk-show host guy with the creepy glasses? Ooh, and the chin mole?"
Luan tapped her mole-free chin. "Frowner McDowner, winner of late-night television's 'Most Non-Comedic Intellectual' award?"
"Yep, that dude! Well, he had a sports expert on: this guy who broke three legs in one football game. Said positive reinforcement is bad mojo. Have fun after every victory, and—" Lynn swiped her palms. "PHWOOSH! You're already stinking up the next game. I'm talking skinned knees and thrown hurl-bags from the bleachers."
"O-Oh, I see," mumbled the comedian. "Well, what can you do instead?"
"De-motivational speeches of course, to make us all feel bad! It's genius!"
She leaned in close to whisper, a smug grin temporarily replacing her adopted frown.
"He says depression is like constantly chugging five energy drinks without the crash. Or, you'll always be crashing? Eh, I forget."
Lynn leapt away and hopped onto the table. She brought her fists high, commanding her team's full attention.
"Point is, I ain't losing cuz of no good stinking winning attitudes! Repeat after me, maggots: Victory's hopeless! Teamwork is crud! We're gonna lose!"
"Victory's hopeless!" the rest chanted in unison. "Teamwork is crud! We're gonna lose! Ooh-rah!"
That was far from all. There was of course the Wednesday afternoon where Lincoln's room had been left wide open when Luan had been heading out. Her kid brother was sitting on the floor with his virtual-reality helmet on, blasting away demons in some new game. Every other second was accompanied by explosions and bloodcurdling screams.
"I'll bloodily avenge all the friends you just suddenly wrote out of the series!" he heroically boasted, expertly navigating the mature fray.
Above him, sitting on his mattress, was their mutual older sister Leni, who was using Lincoln's back as a cushion for her feet. She frowned at her phone, its speakers also playing endless screams of agony and fear. She tapped the screen every two seconds, noticeably confused. Ah, it seemed she was streaming something online.
"I don't get it! Fiona warned me this show was too dark, so how come I can see it just fine?"
The boy ducked under a virtual fireball, then retaliated with a properly-aimed hand-cannon. "You know this isn't your room, right? Gah, and how are your sandals d-digging into my spine!?"
Sensing her throat tightening with concern, Luan hatched a spontaneous idea. She pulled out a witch's hat from her trusty tricks pack and knocked on the door frame. Neither looked up, too engrossed in their fictional stimulation.
"H-Hey guys! Wanna hear a new joke I've been brewing?"
Leni tapped her screen some more, while Lincoln fired super omega death bullet after super omega death bullet. Luan cleared her throat and asked again, and fortunately two was the magic number.
"Nah. Jokes won't bring my comrades back," a grizzled war-torn Lincoln snarled between shots. "Only the unrepentant cycle of vengeance can."
Leni likewise shook her head. "I can't right now either: I'm finally getting what she meant! Monsters stormed the orphanage, and now there's dark red paint *all* over the screen!"
This continued until dinner, the grim universes before them capturing their attentions like joy never could.
They were all lost causes.
And the heartbreaks would keep piling, for an even worse moment occurred just yesterday. Luan was playing with Lily in the living room, when family dog Charles scampered in, shooting both of them expectant looks. Hunger? A request to play fetch? Luan couldn't say, although her baby sis latched onto the latter idea. She giggled at two discarded pieces of trash: one white and yellow packet of premium clown noses, and one black wrapper for vampire fangs. Lucy again.
Charles waited, and Lily reached. Luan's heart swelled with pride, knowing which choice would be made, and yet her forehead couldn't stop sweating.
"Our connection's no joke. We're on the same wavelength," she whispered. "Please, choose the clown. Choose the happy."
A giggle. Two blinks. A wagging tail. Perspiration and desperate wishes.
So Lily grabbed the black wrapper and threw it at the dog. Charles happily intercepted it in the air and chewed away.
Luan shivered at the memory, before shaking it away and wishing it to never return. Darkness and gloomy preferences were overtaking her family as well as the world, and not even comedy seemed capable of stopping it. It was a true blue tragedy.
Well, for her, and possibly everyone unaware of the change. However, Luan suspected one person was loving this.
Lucy.
She of the gloom, doom, and tomb. The spooky Loud sibling was no doubt relishing this brave new world, having already embraced the darkness from... well, always. Rather than side-splitting humor, her solutions to problems were either seek isolation from humanity, or find refuge in a spell book. A curse or two would always raise her spirits.
She was a trailblazer in that sense. Or, maybe she always knew this day would come, and she's been preparing for her whole life? So she wouldn't wind up a sad fool who could no longer make people laugh with whoopee cushions and spray flowers? Maybe that was the best way to cope all along?
"Cope?" gasped Luan, shocked at her own thoughts. "No! I shouldn't have to cope! But if I don't cope, I'll just mope."
Mr. Coconuts returned, speaking with his fists to his blocky hips. "And you'll look like a mighty fine dope! You're setting yourself up too easy, Toots."
The comedian sighed. "What do I do, Mr. Coconuts? If we don't act fast, we'll lose our audience, probably for good! Well, for bad, hehe." She pinched her forehead. "What if we soon wake up in a world where nobody appreciates light-hearted humor? I can't let that happen! Everyone needs to appreciate puns again! Every last person on Earth, before it's too late!"
Now, the dummy didn't seem too keen on fixing any hypothetical situation at the moment, but he did also have a soft spot for his... Hmm, second-in-command. As such, rather than speak in tongues, or make a pessimistic quip, or simply crack a joke in poor taste, he instead seemed to make an earnest suggestion.
"Sure seem... desperate there. If the situation's so helpless, why don't you *make* everyone addicted to puns, eh?"
An absurd suggestion, but one all the same.
Luan cleared out her ears, fearing she heard wrong. "'Make' them? How would I do that? They're not ordering birthday parties anymore, or prat falls, or mime security vaults, o-or—!"
Coconuts slapped her. "Panicking is not your shtick! You're gonna need to try every funny little trick in and out of the book if you wanna win the crowds back, Doll! If their noses are stuck in grim media, then you gotta be willing to be the grim tweezers that pulls out their boogers!"
"Ew."
"It's snot appealing, but it's whatcha gotta a-choose!" The wooden expert folded his sleeved arms and grunted. He demanded respect with his words of wisdom. "Try starting at the source. You're blaming Foot-Luce for this dark trend, aren'tcha?"
L-Lucy? "N-No! I... I don't blame her..." the confused girl answered, sinking protected teeth into her puffed lip.
"Work with me! Take a page outta her spell-book for a change and see what hatches in that giant noggin." He indeed knocked on said giant noggin. "It's a shot in the dark, but it's better than being shot in the dark!"
Luan tapped her head, gentler. "How could acting like Lucy help me?" The answer struck her like one of her roommate's chords. "'Dark' arts! A literal spell book! She's probably put Royal Woods under hundreds of curses by now; why can't I give it a try?" Her arms tightly squeezed her loyal dummy. "Oh, Mr. Coconuts! I knew your obvious wordplay wasn't just a cheap joke!"
He snorted, clacking his teeth. "It wasn't that obvious."
The duo rushed over to Lucy's room, where neither she nor Lynn currently were. Both were away from home at the moment; Lynn was 'not celebrating' with her friends, while Lucy was... eh, attending some weekend poetry workshop? A funeral? Stalking a retirement home? Luan could pick and choose from a multitude of excuses. Whatever the answer, she'd probably be home by supper tonight, which provided a few ample convenient hours of snooping for curse-wrought tomes.
"Time to see what secrets are buried within," Luan sinisterly snickered, before prying open the coffin besides Lucy's bed. It was empty, as were the two leaning beside the window. And the one below the dresser. And the one stashed with Lynn's laundry beneath her bed. And the one in the clos— Alright, there were as many coffins in this house as there were spiders. None held a spell book.
However, now was not the time to fold. The comedian held her head high and discovered the bust of Edwin, resting peacefully above the spooky girl's pillow. An index card served almost as a coaster for his stand.
"Aha! Is that a clue?"
It was: a crude diagram of the house, with dotted lines leaving Lucy's room, traveling through the ventilation system, and finally taking an elongated route to the ladder in the hall. Other paths seemed to branch out and head down dead-ends, such as the stairs or Lori's and Leni's room, but only this one reached a blood-red 'X'. Diversions, all meant to hide the true secret. Poorly.
Luan's eyes lit up at once. "Aha! A dead drop! The attic!"
Of course! Lucy's many hideouts—well, among the most recent ones in memory—included the darkest corner up there! Sure enough, a treasure chest awaited, tucked under spray-on cobwebs and a plastic skeleton.
"At least, I hope it's plastic."
Mr. Bones was pushed aside so that the comedic duo could open the pseudo-buried secret. Just one problem impeded that plan.
"It's a tightened chest, Toots. Completely locked. It's no open secret!"
It was no orthodox lock either: instead of a keyhole, there was an indent shaped like a hand. A puzzle; a conundrum; a brain-tumbler.
And again, easy-pickings. "Mr. Bones's hand! A skeleton key! We're on a roll! Gosh, it's almost like Luce has a sense of humor!"
A tome, weathered and only occasionally dusted, was the treasure resting inside. It predated the house, if not the English language.
Fortunately, it was written simple enough for an elementary schooler to understand, so Luan had no trouble scouring its splendors. Using the nifty table of contents, she located the 'Brainwashing for Kiddies' section and scrambled together a quick spell that encompassed her desires. Turns out curses work like art stencils.
Using her quickly-studied knowledge, the comedian held her left fist to the air and shouted a chant that every dark spirit the next city over could hear.
"People who prefer to groan; fingers in an ice cream cone. This city needs a new tone: give the world a funny bone!"
The sky darkened. Clouds rolled in. Warm drops fell. The pets around the house whimpered and hid. The twins' pillow fort went into complete lock-down. Leni somewhere wore her sunglasses. Luna in the park found a cake left out in the rain. The wind picked up. Lightning crackled. Thunder boomed at Royal Woods's core.
… And the spell did nothing. She ventured downstairs and checked the nearest window, and people on the streets were sulking and frowning and imitating gruff protagonists. Dogs wore grizzled eye-patches, neighbors muttered dry sarcasm with every parting, and cars drove only at low speed. No one was jinxed, nobody lost their voices, and certainly the world hadn't come to appreciate comedy.
"Dang it."
She slumped from the window and slithered to her bed, plopping the book down with fire in her eyes.
"I'm too clean to curse. Guess this'll take more studying."
But hours passed, and magic didn't strike. No amount of chanting, singing, humming, grunting, whistling, or any other assorted oral gerund did the trick. Predictably, Luan simply couldn't become a witch and cast a spell. While it may have worked for others, it certainly didn't work for her.
Tired and dejected, the comedian walked out and headed for the stairs, desiring a delicious juice box. All she could do was hope she'd feel better about this by tomorrow. Her worries would be proven false, people would want to laugh again, and jerky fathers would hire her and, well, not be jerks. Resignation was her only option.
Her foot touched the first step down, and that's when she heard a shout coming from an all-too familiar room. To be precise, it was the dwelling of the home's two youngest members, Lily and—the annoyed voice in question—Lisa.
"Dang it! Ushlesh piecsche of junk!"
Luan quickly snooped. The young brainiac's door swung open, and two short arms immediately threw out a massive mechanical chair. Her first impression was a bed at the dentist's fused with an electronic stationary bike, aided along by the monitor at the head. However, two rather curious aspects made this a complete oddity: what appeared to be a scale on the right arm—as in, 'scale of justice' scale—and a blue and black visor dangling like a crib mobile over the dark computer screen. That last detail resembled Lincoln's VR headset, actually.
All in all, Luan was staring at a true hodgepodge of confusion. Had it looked organic, she'd have run away screaming in fear that her sister created a living breathing blight against humanity. However, Mr. Coconuts must've sensed more to it than a confusing background detail, as he nudged her side with a sturdy elbow. Fortunately she seemed to share the intuition, fancy that.
"Gee, Leese," said she and her bouncing brows, "what is that thing? Something you'd like to CHAIR with the family?"
The short child scoffed. "Pleashe. I preshently lack a tashte for juvenile pundigrionsh." She gave her glasses a fair wipe. "Huh. Apparently I'd rather utilizhe obsholete and shuperfluoush language than humor the thought."
Silence wafted over the two until Luan could remember how to speak.
"... Yeah. Um, the chair?"
This approach, Lisa was more likely to 'humor'. She took a look down at the mystery machine just to frown. A bored frown, but a disappointed one in any case. "Jusht another failed experiment," she soundly lamented. "Trying to change the world. Free humanity from the toilsh of overemotional attachmentsh and tendencies."
It still wasn't too clear—'it' meaning *everything*—but Luan felt it wise to pry. "What exactly went wrong? What's a chair going to do?"
"Firsht of all, thish ish no 'chair'," corrected the genius, falling hook line and sinker for the expositional request. "It ish a device utilizing an augmented reality peripheral to showcashe and shtudy parallel univershes."
Okay, a VR helmet that apparently shows alternate worlds. But not a video game. Sure, she understood so far.
"My planned field of inveshtigation was on alterationsh to reality brought on by the theoretical collective unconshcioushnessh. Explore abstract conchepts, delve into caushes of trauma, manipulate mankind's thought prochesshes..." She eyeballed the monitor, and shook her head. "Inshtead, I ended up with a machine that concocts meticuloush rechipes for cheese cubes."
Curious, Luan knocked on the seat a few times. The screen lit up with a bing, and indeed a sheet of paper with cheese cube recipes printed out from beneath the seat. She pocketed it with an innocent giggle, even as Lisa narrowed her eyes.
As for how it worked...
"Using the 'Cognitive Meashuring Apparatus' here—" Her finger pointed at the cliché scale. "—one can dock an object of note—be it a popular appliance or family heirloom of significanche—and the helmet will tap into its shupposhed reshidual energy readingsh. Then, how the item is viewed or mentally percheived by the applicable populace of the world will be preshented in a visual setting mosht shimilar to reality as we know it. Ash in, a literal represhentation of its importanche to them, or any hokey shymbolishm it stands for."
The monitor binged again, without provocation. Two new recipe pages emerged.
"But again, cheese cubes on 8 1/2-by-11 paper. Atrochioushly worthlessh for schience."
Finished, Lisa felt no need to stick around and thus shut her door, leaving the worthless trash behind. Uh, the machine.
Well then... That was more confusing than Luan anticipated. Not that she should've been too surprised. Either way, she still grasped the gist: this totally-not-a-VR-bike was to have the potential to show alternate worlds based on items. In theory, placing a beloved doll, such as Lola's unicorn, on the scale would show a world that reflects what the item meant to someone. If Lola loved her unicorn, the world would be... super pink and happy, probably? Or, maybe it'd provide insight into the owner's own mindset in general? Seeing inside of Lola's head... Luan shuddered at the thought.
Point is, it was capable of amazing things, if it worked. Which it apparently didn't, but what did the genius perfectionist know?
"Worst comes to worst, it'll help me with lunch snacks," mused the comedian, deviously stroking her chin. "But if Leese did better than she realized, this... may just be my chance! Curses by themselves didn't work, but maybe super-complicated science can help with my troubles, at least a little? I can see a world that's filled to the brim with comedy! Everyone'll be joking 'til they're choking! Then I'll be... I'll be...!" Her face rapidly shook. "I dunno, more inspired I guess! This'll be a morale boost like no other! I'll make that grump of a father eat a pun sandwich yet!"
So she lugged the heavy device to her room—thankfully Luna was still out—and readied it for experimentation. Lisa would surely come through where Lucy's hobby failed... but then again, the lure of magic was too tempting to completely ignore. Besides, the scale needed some item to create this 'reality', and science alone couldn't get it to work exactly as Lisa wanted, so why not test it with something near-and-dear to Luan which also had a 'curse' put upon it?
Also, she spent an awful amount of time writing that curse. It had to come in handy eventually!
Thus, she grabbed a readied whoopee cushion, placed it directly on the platform, and repeated her well-crafted chant. "People who prefer to groan; fingers in an ice cream— Bah, you know it by now!"
With that done, she took a seat and donned the helmet, doing everything in her power to lid her boiling excitement. The device snapped on. The monitor began to work its technological magic. The whoopee cushion tipped the scale. The engines where the inner mechanisms of the bike pedals should be whirred louder and louder...
Mr. Coconuts hid from any perceivable view. "I've been burned, grilled, and chopped enough times to know where this is going! Are you really sure—"
And he shut up as the device began to steam. Luan felt it just in time to reach for the helmet, but by then it was too late. She heard a crack from within the visor before a multitude of shocks zapped her system. Her covered eyes grew dizzy before everything went dark.
On this day, it would seem even unconsciousness proved her point.
But as for the dawning of the next...