(1)I held my breath, the air painful in my lungs. It was finally going to happen. I'd have my fame, my fifteen and one-half minutes in the spotlight, my place in the sun, my quadruple scoop triple dip waffle cone with those little crumbly nut things, my brand new car, my... well, this was no time to get ahead of myself, those cones are expensive (especially the little crumbly nut things). An actual piece written by my own hands was going to be published in a nationally distributed magazine! Indeed, (2)"Crop Circles: The John Deere connection" would be my ticket to glory. That's as much as I remember before passing out from forgetting to breathe and waking up... here. _-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_ A Whacked-Out Piece of Curd By: Rags The Inept Wannabe Editing: El Rutt The Ept Be With Prompts from: People _-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_-=*=-_ Detective Peter Mark Anthony Jameson couldn't believe what the chief wanted him to do now. After four consecutive twenty-four hour shifts, along with "voluntarily" running (literally) to McDonald's everyday to pick up lunch for half of the entire department and distributing backrubs for six hours he still expected him to deal with the crazies that the beat cops dragged through the doors in the middle of the night. He wasn't the best detective in the department, but still he felt he deserved to be treated better than the Chief's Wife's pet poodle Fifi (who, coincidentally, he was scheduled to give a manicure to next Tuesday). After shifting in his seat, smoothing out his tie, glancing left and right and left again, and with much effort to show as little frustration as possible asked the man before him a very simple question, but not before checking to his left again just to make sure. "So, what you're trying to tell me mister- , is that you were at home sitting alone watching TV, drinking a fruit smoothie and thinking about some article you wrote and you completely forgot about the six men robbing your home behind you?" "Yes," said looking rather emotionally traumatized. "And you didn't hear them at all even when they took your-", Jameson paused to read from a list of items claimed missing, "diamond studded tennis bracelet, unlicensed, unregistered 1999 Dodge Viper convertible, 60-inch Dolby-Digital Sony Television with full surround sound, Faberge Egg, and ... a playstation2?" "That's right, not a sound. They were very quiet robbers." "Uhh huh..." He put down the pad and stared strait into 's eyes. One of those stares that freezes souls given the correct amount of effort, one of those stares that causes shop owners to give discount prices, a stare that fries eggs sunny-side up in less time than it takes to cook an egg, a stare that makes people ask the question, "is there something on my face?" this was one such stare. "The robbers came right into your third story apartment through the window behind your couch by the end table, in front of the coffee table, across from the divan, while you were sleeping peacefully in a slumberous nap-like state (most likely Delaware), stole all this stuff, left out the window again practically right over your head, and you slept through the whole thing?" "Yes, I can't think of any other way that they could've gotten in! It's horrible I tell you! Oh, my beautiful-" He peeked on the list again to make sure, "Tennis bracelet! Waaaah," and then fell to a sobbing heap on the metal desk of Detective Jameson's office which just happened to be where Mike the night janitor kept his cart, but that's off the subject. "...", was all Jameson said as he glanced left. * * * Meanwhile, someplace completely different a seemingly unrelated chain of events was about to unfold, a man sat at a table surrounded by other such men equally manlike in their manliness and cried like a baby as he drowned his sorrows in amoretto. "... Then what happened, Steve?" Said one such man to another such man who just happened to be the man that was crying in the topic sentence (not of this story, just this particular paragraph). "They... They... They took me to this strange restaurant in Cleveland and made me sit down with them at a table and ... and-and ... and ... WAAAHH!" He laid his head down in a puddle of an indistinct alcoholic substance on the table and promptly began to add to it a mixture of saline solution from his ocular orbits. A man to his right laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and gave it an equally reassuring and friendly squeeze. "Let it out, man. Just let it all out..." Steve, sobbing like an abused, drunken wombat, stood up and reached for his zipper. "No, I meant your tears, let those out." corrected the man with the reassuring hand. "Oh, sorry," replied Steve. Another man, this one with glasses and a snazzy(tm) haircut laid down a clipboard and, in a very reassuring voice said, "It's okay Mike, we are all here to help and support you during this time of angst. Tell us what happened." "Wasn't his name Steve before?" a fourth man interjected quietly to a fifth man at his side. "Shut up!" The sixth man who was not Mike/Steve, Mike/Steve's reassurer, the guy with the snazzy(tm) haircut or the fourth or fifth man smacked the arm of the fifth man, who was not him by the way, and made clear his intentions of not mocking the man with the snazzy(tm) haircut and the bad memory, who he was not either by the way. The fourth and fifth men each nodded once and passed out from confusion directly related to the sixth man's identity, effectively removing their presence from the table all together leaving Mike/Steve (who we now know is actually Steve because the man with the snazzy(tm) haircut has a bad memory that no one likes to talk about), Mike's (no wait, I mean "Steve") reassurer, the guy with the snazzy(tm) haircut and the bad memory and the sixth man who will from now on be referred to as the fourth man for simplicity's sake and my own seeing as I hate complicated support group scenes. Mike blinked a few times as his mind registered the preceding paragraphs, shrugged and related the final aspect of his tale of his kidnapping by aliens who led him to a Yoshinoya and made him part take of strange foods. (3)"They made me eat the baby." It was at this time that Mike's reassurer, the man with the snazzy(tm) haircut and the fourth man (formerly the sixth man) collectively said: "... Ew." "You too?" Said the fifth man (who was the seventh man, being after the sixth man who took the place of the fourth man and there by the law of math or some such law too indistinct or unimportant to remember making him the fifth man by default and thereby forcing everyone to get new nametags). And lo, there was much disgust tossed about in 'I was an Alien abductee turned cannibal' support group #13453-Ohio. * * * MESSAGE FROM THE EDITOR: The author would like to apologize for the confusing material contained in the preceding paragraphs, but he can't right now as he is away on vacation in an undisclosed location. However, the show... err... story must continue, so we bring you this pile of filth from a normally very talented playwright. The following material is not really his best work, but you see his cat has become rather sickly looking lately, coughing up strange things and whatnot and as a result he (the playwright, not the cat) has become extremely distressed and can only write incoherent psycho-babble such as what is contained in the following section. Still, less said the better. On with the ...uh, story. * * * And in yet another place completely unrelated to the previous place but somehow linked to the occupants of the first place in a way about to be explained in the sentence directly preceded by this one. Sorry, I meant to say the next one. Ok, this one sentence right here. No hold on a second, not that sentence, the one after this particular sentence right here. Starting now. Oh wait, no, I messed it up. Look, when you see this symbol "@" the story will begin again. Not that symbol right there; that was the example. Okay, here we go, I'm going to start...now. Detective Jameson was again in his office. Oh no I forgot to put the symbol. There, are you happy now? The whole story is ruined now because you had to be such friggin' selfish readers! When do you ever contribute?? What's with that? Sheesh! Anyways, moving along... * * * MESSAGE FROM THE EDITOR: We here in the highly underpaid editing staff wish it to be known that the playwright responsible for the preceding section has been sacked. The story will now be continued anew with great expense to the publisher. * * * (4)As the car pulled around the bend, a strange creature bounded into the headlights, and was flattened four and precisely one and one-half tenths of a second later, much to its displeasure. Unfortunately, the occupants of the car were drunk and about to die themselves from carbon monoxide poisoning due to someone making cookies in an unventilated kitchen. So no one of any importance really cared. * * * MESSAGE FROM THE EDITOR: Ah, the "real" author is pulling into the parking structure now. So, the story will be continued now in the manner it was originally intended... to... be... uh... written. * * * But that is all beside the point now, because the next sentence is actually the beginning in a long string of sentences from another thing that I wrote and never showed anyone and feel kinda bad about writing something so short so I'm going to throw this in, feel free to disregard blah blah and blah due to other blahs and the nanner blah. Thank you. * * * MESSAGE FROM THE EDITOR: The editor wishes to apologize again to the reader. You see, the playwright somehow unlocked the bedroom window, snuck in through the very same window, unlocked the front door, went back out the window, came in through the front door and made a late addition to the story. However, from this point forward Ben Stein has no advanced knowledge of the questions to be asked... Sorry my mind is wandering. Anyway here is the real "real" author now to further this delightful saga. * * * And now for something completely different. * * * Maro was quite a strange place. Besides the normal shops and stands and such, near the end of the docks where our two friends Feff and Hawk were wandering about a lot of bangbangbang'ing and clankclankclank'ing pretty much drowned out all hopes of conversation. Eager to see what would make such a racket, our heroes bravely strode around a corner of a building to get a look. What they saw was... well... strange. "What the HELL is THAT?!" Hawk yelled with all his might to get over the commotion coming from what they were watching. "Huh?! I can't hear you. What?!" Feff cupped his hand to his ear. "I said. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT??!!" "HUH?" Hawk waved a hand in front of Feff's face and then pointed it at a 15-foot tall black trashcan with limbs. Tinker gnomes were swarming around it doing odd things to this part or that part. Then he gave up all hope of looking to his friend for guidance and just watched the little guys go at it. "I wonder how much that thing's worth..." "I wonder what the hell that is..." Feff stood their contemplating the meaning of such a thing. "Is it a statue? Is it a fountain? Is it a trash receptacle? Is it a paperweight? No ... definitely not a fountain." Just at that moment the gnomes fled away from the metal giant like rats running from water or something else rats tend to run from (like ninjas). Steam gushed out of its joints and air vents. A glint of fire shown through what must have been the thing's head, and then...it took a step forward and then... and then... (Dramatic Pause) It blew up. *BOOOM* (note the high quality special effects) "AAAAAHHHHH!!" Hawk glomped onto Feff's side in sheer terror of what could be happening. Feff was startled but kept to his contemplation... "Hmm ... nope, not a statue..." The explosion was tremendous; parts of the giant flew off in all directions. A faceplate here, a crotch plate there. A steam pipe here, a leg there. What looked like a grill from a '57 Chevy landed a few (by few I mean less than 37) feet in front of Feff, finally ending his meaningless train of thought. Of course, no one knew it looked like a grill from a '57 Chevy; those didn't exist. One lucky passerby even caught the prize winning metal fist with his forehead. No one seemed to care though; they were all busy running for safety. "" Feff ahem'd. "Nnnnnnnnnn--- uh, oh? Uhh ... yeah, sorry." Hawk kindly detached his torso from Feff's thigh and peeked out through squinted eyes. "Never do that again." "I said I was sorry!" * * * MASSAGE FROM THE EDITOR: Available for only $59.93 a minute. Promised to please even the straightest of men. See clerk for details or write to your local congressman. * * * MESSAGE FROM THE EDITOR: The editorial staff (of one) would like it to be known that after receiving a plethora of persuasive letters, faxes, e-mails, and notes attached to bricks hurled through every window in my home (mostly from a certain over-protective mother), I have unanimously voted that the playwright should be given a second chance. Technically, it's his third chance, but who's counting? I am, but no one ever listens to me. I'm just a useless embittered editor. Well, I'm tired of this persecution. I quit. It's time to find a real job. Here's the brain dead playwright again for your enjoyment... ya lousy shmucks. * * * Ahh, Don't I feel better? Yes, yes I do. * * * "That's it!" Detective Peter Mark Anthony Jameson (not to be confused with Detective Anthony Mark Peter Jameson in the office down the hall) exclaimed to no one in particular as he was hit by a marvelous deduction while using his computer. Well, not 'hit' really but you get the point. No, not 'point' really but you know what I mean. No, I'm not 'mean' really but all the same you wouldn't wanna mess with me foo'. Wuzzup to my homies! WEST SAIIIDDEH!!! * * * :)EDITORIAL NOTES:) Hello all! I'm the new editor of the story. The playwright still could not control his inner turmoil or stop being such a whiny brat. As a result of his misconduct, he has been dealt with accordingly... he was shot... in the head... right between the eyes. But, on a lighter note let me tell you a little bit about myself. I hail from Winnipeg, Canada, eh. I'm member of whatever religion happens to strike my fancy. I've already had the chicken pox, twice, (I thought I had it a third time but it ended up only being gout) and I also gave a... what? What's that? Oh yeah, the story. Almost forgot, heh. * * * "I've figured it out! I know exactly the who, how, and why in Mister 's burglary. Now just to hit the 'enter' key and the orders to apprehend the villains will go out all over the county-", The Detective exclaimed as he glanced left. "HELLO!" "Wha-?" Detective Jameson wha'd. Unbeknownst to him, a six foot six inch guy in a clown costume holding an overly deadly looking pair of tweezers had popped into his office, locked the door behind him, called ahead that Detective Jameson was not to be disturbed no matter WHAT kinda noises came out of his office (which the other members of the police department kindly obliged to knowing what kinda stuff the detective was into doing on his 'puter), and, brandishing said tweezers, popped up again just to his right. So what if it was a run-on sentence, what are you gonna do, stop reading? Wait I'm sorry, I apologize most sincerely, please forgive me and finish the story. Only a couple more pages of this drivel left. Did I say drivel? I mean exciting, action packed drama! "I'm Zobo The Clown and I've been hired to say this!" "WHAT THE [explicative] ARE YOU DOING IN MY [explicative]-ing OFFICE WHILE I'M ON THE [explicative]-ing 'PUTER?" Jameson asked politely while he looked to his left. (5)"I was going to make some nice Christmas ornaments out of my eyeballs to show to all my friends, but thank goodness you came along!" Zobo leaned in closer with the Tweezers of Near Imminent Doom(tm), giving them a demonstrative squeeze in a demonstration to demonstrate the demonstratious powers of his demonstraugtimus demonstragulated demonstramotumizer. "BUT YOU [explicative]-ing CAME IN HERE, YOU [explicative ...again] IMBECILIC SNOT- [bad words...tsk tsk] [something to do with the manufacturing of Baco's(tm), a Fender(tm) Stratacastor and an excessive amount of shoe polish]!!!" Came Jameson's tactful response, totally neglecting the computer's 'enter' key and instead, glanced left. * * * :)EDITORIAL NOTES:)Due to unforeseen time constraints (governmental pressure) the epic saga must be cut short, so now we present the "AMAZINGLY FANTASTICLY AMAZING... (Dramatic pause) ABRIEVIATED ENDING!!!" * * * It was at exactly this moment that somewhere in Japan a boy failed to stop the end of the world at the hands of the evil Marsupilian Empire and having failed, the planet proceeded to explode effectively ending all life on said planet, which just happened to be the planet that Detective Jameson, Mike (or what it Steve?), Mike's (Steve's?) reassurer, the therapist with the bad memory, the fourth, and fifth guys, the fourth (actually the sixth) and fifth (seventh since the fourth guy took his spot, that jerk) guys, the eighth guy who was to drunk to appear in this story but was at the table none the less, Zobo The Clown, and Mr. . * * * Yeah, they're all dead. So? * * * :)EDITORIAL NOTES:) Due to an error in judgment Detective Jameson failed to be killed in the last scene and instead, only averted his eyes to a non-right direction. In fact, he went on to lead a long, happy life well past the words "The End". * * * You want to find out who stole the stuff, you say? * * * It was the Gnomes, duh. * * * What? You want the characters to have more involvement in something with a plot attached to it and turn that in? Well, all right then, I'll jus- * * * Oh! Heh, I guess I heard you wrong. Sorry! The End Notes and Whatnot: Thanks a lot to everybody who gave me the crazy prompts (each meant to inspire a single work.. I just decided to use em all and see what happened ^_^) This is the first thing I've even tried to submit anywhere so please don't beat me up to bad. This *was* originally meant as an english assignment, afterall. ^^; Thanks again to my friend El Rutt for prereading and giving ideas and adding a lil bit of Pythonism to the above Curd. That's aboot it. I had fun with this, that's all that really counts, right? The Sunburst Project, Week 7 http://www.chaoseed.com/btr/sbp/ 5/13/00