For reasons I'll never understand, here's another chapter.
-------------------------------------------Sorry about this…
This was ridiculous. Hosiery cannot grow facial hair. It just… can't.
"This is getting out of hand. Come on you guys, lets.." I began.
Suddenly, in the distance, there was a huge burst of light and smoke. We watched it for a few nanoseconds before the sound reached us, which we expected to be deafening. What we heard was the sound of a plastic bag being ripped open quickly, followed by a small *pop*. This enigmatic sound was the predecessor to a huge rain of socks upon us, of all shapes and sizes, and all neatly balled up.
"Take cover!!!" Mrs. Ness called to us. We all charged under the deck, where we stayed for quite awhile till we were sure the … erm… storm was over. Nevertheless, as I climbed out from under the deck, a sock bounced off my head.
"Ouch! God damnit.. wait a minute!" I unrolled the socks, "What the hell?!?! Who puts lead in their socks?!"
"Some very angry leg-wear, that's who." Replied Ness dazedly (once again, I'm not sure the "dazedness" could have been helped.)
That's when we saw it: scores upon scores of pants, marching in unison. Pants of all color, style, size, shape, and sexual preference. It was beautiful in it's own way, although what idiot took the time to iron all those perfect creases is beyond me.
"It looks to me that someone may have gotten a little out of hand with the starch…" Said Mrs. Ness.
"WE ARE THE PANTS. WE SHALL RULE THIS WORLD AND ALL THAT RESIDE UPON IT USING MASTER TECHNOLOGY, GANDOISE WARFARE, AND SHRUBBERIES!" Cried a pair of pants, apparently a leader.
"Shrubberies?" I queried.
"I MEANT RUTHLESSNESS! THE SHRUBBERIES ARE FOR AFTERWARDS!"
"I really hate to break it to you, but um, you're a pair of pants. Rather, several pairs of pants, but even then, pants."
"Insubordinates!!!! FIRE AT WILL!" Cried the Pant-in-Command.
Upon his cry the pants to his left pulled an old Converse High Top out of his pocket, pulled out the shoelace, counted to 3, and threw it at us. We looked at it apprehensively, stepped back, and waited. And waited. And waited.
The Pant-in-Command's number two .. man.. nudged him, "Dud," he said.
"Well, throw another."
"I haven't got another."
"Why on earth not? You had 5 last night."
"Well you know how I like to….. erm.. Target practice, sir."
"Very well, borrow one."
"Oh for heaven sakes!" cired the shoe, and with that it hoisted itself of the ground, smacked Ness in the head and burst into flames, landing on my crotch.
"Ahhhh!!!!!!!!!"
WHAT WILL BECOME OF OUR HEROS?!? TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR THE HEART STOPPING CONCLUSION OF THE SAGA OF PANTLESS MAN!
-------------------------------------------Sorry about this…
This was ridiculous. Hosiery cannot grow facial hair. It just… can't.
"This is getting out of hand. Come on you guys, lets.." I began.
Suddenly, in the distance, there was a huge burst of light and smoke. We watched it for a few nanoseconds before the sound reached us, which we expected to be deafening. What we heard was the sound of a plastic bag being ripped open quickly, followed by a small *pop*. This enigmatic sound was the predecessor to a huge rain of socks upon us, of all shapes and sizes, and all neatly balled up.
"Take cover!!!" Mrs. Ness called to us. We all charged under the deck, where we stayed for quite awhile till we were sure the … erm… storm was over. Nevertheless, as I climbed out from under the deck, a sock bounced off my head.
"Ouch! God damnit.. wait a minute!" I unrolled the socks, "What the hell?!?! Who puts lead in their socks?!"
"Some very angry leg-wear, that's who." Replied Ness dazedly (once again, I'm not sure the "dazedness" could have been helped.)
That's when we saw it: scores upon scores of pants, marching in unison. Pants of all color, style, size, shape, and sexual preference. It was beautiful in it's own way, although what idiot took the time to iron all those perfect creases is beyond me.
"It looks to me that someone may have gotten a little out of hand with the starch…" Said Mrs. Ness.
"WE ARE THE PANTS. WE SHALL RULE THIS WORLD AND ALL THAT RESIDE UPON IT USING MASTER TECHNOLOGY, GANDOISE WARFARE, AND SHRUBBERIES!" Cried a pair of pants, apparently a leader.
"Shrubberies?" I queried.
"I MEANT RUTHLESSNESS! THE SHRUBBERIES ARE FOR AFTERWARDS!"
"I really hate to break it to you, but um, you're a pair of pants. Rather, several pairs of pants, but even then, pants."
"Insubordinates!!!! FIRE AT WILL!" Cried the Pant-in-Command.
Upon his cry the pants to his left pulled an old Converse High Top out of his pocket, pulled out the shoelace, counted to 3, and threw it at us. We looked at it apprehensively, stepped back, and waited. And waited. And waited.
The Pant-in-Command's number two .. man.. nudged him, "Dud," he said.
"Well, throw another."
"I haven't got another."
"Why on earth not? You had 5 last night."
"Well you know how I like to….. erm.. Target practice, sir."
"Very well, borrow one."
"Oh for heaven sakes!" cired the shoe, and with that it hoisted itself of the ground, smacked Ness in the head and burst into flames, landing on my crotch.
"Ahhhh!!!!!!!!!"
WHAT WILL BECOME OF OUR HEROS?!? TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR THE HEART STOPPING CONCLUSION OF THE SAGA OF PANTLESS MAN!