Lethal Helpings

There once was a flabby piece of belly fat named Wigs.

 He dreamed of becoming the biggest and flabbiest of all the belly fats. Sometimes, at night, when his accommodator was asleep Wigs would whisper fat guy thoughts to him.
"Mmm, pie."
And sure enough, the next day the man would be eating pie and Wigs would expand and glorify.
However, one day Wigs discovered that no matter how much pie his accommodator ate, Wigs wouldn't grow any bigger.

 For all the glorious fat from said pie went to his arch nemesis Wurtah, his owner's flabby butt cheeks.

 He couldn't just dangle there idly and let all his hard-earned expansion fuel go to such an illiterate glutton.

During the night he called out to his buttocksical foe.

"I say, good sir knight! Have at you!"

As usual, the lousy bum pretended not to hear.

 "I say!" and he kicked Wurtah. Rather, he tried to, but a belly kicking a butt was never going to work.
Frustrated, he began plotting. Being the quick thinking piece of belly he was, it didn't take him long to come up with the answer.
He hired a really fucking good lawyer who trained under Saul Goodman and got that Wurtah dude shipped to Mexico.

 Wurtah was then replaced by the fit and firm Cpl. Sanchez, who never, ever observed the rules of battle. At first he seemed very out of place on this blob of a man, but Sanchez intended to whip this entire unit into shape.

 Wigs wasn't prepared to deal with someone so assertive. He just did as he was told, running through mud, climbing fences, assembling his rifle blindfolded. It was hard work.

 Before long he developed something like Stockholm Syndrome for the Cpl. But he made himself stop because that made him sound totally gay.

 So over time Wigs the biggest baddest belly fat in town became Wigs the slenderest and most tonediest of belly notfats. He didn't know what to do with himself. Gone were the days when he could turn on 'Dirty Beatz and Mofos' and jiggle up and down with the rhythm.
He wanted to start a new life away from here, and he wanted the Cpl. to come with him. It would be perfect, just a belly and a butt adventuring out the world together.
But Cpl. had other plans for Wigs.

"Wigs," said Sanchez.

"Yes, sir?" said Wigs dreamily.

"I've fallen for someone and I think it's time I settled down and got married."

"Yeeeees?"

 "I wanted to ask you if you'd... pick up the wedding cake for us. I'd do it myself, but you know me. I'm all buts."

 Wigs, always the dutiful one, did as he asked, but with visible wiltage (that'd make a good band name). The cake was decorated with rifles and fences, and Wigs welled up at the memories of the Cpl. shouting at him to move, move, move. Those were the days.
When he got back, he found the Cpl. waiting for him, but no ladywoman in sight.
"What do you think of the cake?" said Sanchez while smoking a cigarette and looking like a hot imprisoner.

 "Looks delicious, sir," he said butt-kissingly. "So who's the lucky... er... person?"

"I am," said a seductively leathery voice.

 It was the seat of a bicycle their gelatinous owner rode.

 "We met shortly after I moved here," said the Cpl. fondly. "You could say we've had plenty of... intimate contact."

They both giggled uncharacteristically.

 If Wigs had possessed a mouth he would have puked a little from the sickeningness of it. Also jealousy. The only thing he ever got shmoodged up against was the ice cream shop window.

 Then some marrying happened and Cpl. Sanchez packed up his bags and moved away with Sleazy McHunkthief.

 And in a shocking plot development, Wigs' old frienemy Wurtah was brought in to fill the position again. And by fill, I mean completely fill.

"Look spry, men! We have a bloating rendezvous at oh oh hundred hours!"

 Wigs couldn't move on. Cpl. Sanchez had made an irrevocable change to his life. After several years he decided to track him down. He told himself he just wanted to see if he was happy.

 On his journey to hunt down this beautiful specimen of hiney, he ran out of money. The only solution he could think of was to rob a bank. So he did.

And wouldn't you know it? Cpl. Sanchez was at that very same moment robbing the very same bank.

But seeing as how they were both wearing masks, they didn't recognize each other.

 They made eye contact with each other. Wigs needed this money to find his hero. Sanchez needed this money to cure all the diseases he'd picked up from the bike seat.

 It was clear to all watching that one of them would have to die...

 And then, just as it seemed like everything would end in tragedy, Cpl. Sanchez gave one of his characteristic involuntary twitches. He'd picked them up in his Cpl. training after an even bossier hotter imprisoner had given him daily beatings.
Wigs knew that twitch anywhere. He'd come to love it and think of it as quirky. He tore off his mask and said, "Cpl. Sanchez!"

 "Rrghfksht... What the hell is wrong with you?! Don't use my real name!"

"Oops. Sorry."

 So the two of them were easily tracked down and arrested.

 They were put in a cell together. Wigs couldn't be happier. The Cpl. was less than enthused.

 Wurtah had no strong feelings one way or the other.

The end

We're a Pavlovian Band

Dasani sat on her bed watching the rain out the window. She was a Pavlovian dog. Seeing the rain trickle down the glass made her keys jingle in excitement.

The rain was pretty monotonous as far as rain goes. It was all one colour and each piece went in the same direction, like omg it was all so mainstream. She needed to get out of here and start a new outkast non-mainstream life. She put on some shades and headed to the most gangsta district of Pavlovia.

There she formed a punk rock band called Outkast. Only the K was backwards for emphasis. Naturally she sang and pretended to play guitar. Her accountant, Walter, played a very polite bass, and the rich homeless guy from Poplar St. played drums.

She played a few kids' birthday parties. Then, at the height of their popularity, there was a croakus in the band and they split up, leaving poor Pavy to whimper alone under a cardboard box to stay dry.

Dasani never had a contingency plan for if becoming rich and famous didn't work out for her, so she had to eat her guitar, because it was easier than finding someone to sell it to for 'real food' money.

She had strange pains in her stomach for a few days, and she coughed up a screw in the night, but it filled a hole.

On the third day, a strange thing happened. She opened her mouth to shout at a young whippersnapper for trying to stick his tongue up her nose while she was asleep, but instead of the words she meant to shout, a new sound came out. It was kind of like what might happen if you replaced someone's vocal chords with guitar strings. Or if you replaced guitar strings with vocal chords. Except less gorey and nicer sounding than either of those scenarios would probably be.

Not being much of an opportunist, Dasani did nothing with this new development and tried to go on living as always.

Her mother called her inside the house. She wasn't a hardcore enough hobo to actually live in the streets, just the back yard. She ran to the door, wagging her tail.

"Well, where've you been all afternoon, little one?"

"Ab" said Dasani

"I beg your pardon?"

This isn’t right, thought Dasani. Her voice was supposed to have more of a Lassie quality, but it now it more closely resembled Robert Johnson. She tried to tell her mother that she needed help, but it only came out in the form of a demonished 10th.

Her mother didn't know what to do. So she called the fire brigade. They made her pay a fine and pick litter for pranking them. She tried to tell them it wasn't a prank, demonished chords serious fucking business, but they wouldn't listen. They were too busy wearing those yellow helmets and looking manly for all the hot single babes around. Around this time, Walter the accountant came looking for Dasani because of some unpaid Boneo tax. When he heard her burp out a chord he gasped in horror. "No! It's happening again!" He ran away screaming.

Dasani decided to pursue him, because it seemed like he knew something about her predicament.

He ran for what seemed like hours, though it was probably only 3 or 4 minutes. She followed him all the way to a disused phone booth, inside of which he disappeared and out from which, 30 seconds later, appeared a werewolf.

I mean, he was a werewolf already, of course, but Dasani didn't really know that until he came out all hairy and toothy and murdery.

"E#!" she yelled in shock.

"You mean F?" said Walter.

"That's what I said."

So they did some running and chasing and Benny Hilling and making out behind lamp posts until they got tired. As the sun started to rise Walter became human again and he didn't look so makey outy anymore. Dasani forgot how bald he was without his hair.

"Minor chord : (" she said.

Since probably around the moment when Walter started chasing her instead of running away from her, he decided he wanted to promote Dasani's beautiful if misunderstood voice.

He was an accountant. He could do these things.

Pretty soon she was playing more than just kids’ birthday parties. They made a lot of money together. But Dasani was upset because she only really liked werewolf Walter, which only happened one night a month. Her music became increasingly depressing and she lost her audience. Soon they were broke again and had to ask their old bass player if he'd lease out the mouldy end of the cardboard box to them.

There they'd make hot sweet furry love one night a month, and the rest of the time Dasani would make excuses like 'i'm not in the mood' or 'i'm on my dog period' or 'i just want to cuddle'.

She had to come up with a plan to make Walter stay werewolf. But how?

After much scheming, with scene dissolves to show a passage of time, she didn't come up with much more than putting moon dust in his cereal.

"What we need is a fresh start, Pavy," said Walter. "Let's jump on a freight train and disappear from here."

She was strongly conflicted between going with his plan and going back inside to watch Dora the Explorer.

Ultimately she agreed. She signaled the affirmative by playing a riff from a Yes song.

Walter didn't get it because she only ever used obscure Yes songs like Dear Father.

But he took her along anyway. They waited by the tracks all day, and somewhere around sundown they heard a train whistle blow in the distance. This was it. Last chance to turn back.

The next few minutes passed with them facing the tracks, avoiding eye contact, each lost in private thought.

Walter was wondering if he was being silly doing this. How could a hot bitch like Dasani ever love him?

She, meanwhile, thought G 7th.

The train finally arrived and they both jumped on and were whisked away into the night.

They planned on staying on the train for as long as it took to pass by somewhere exciting. That meant they had a long time alone together.

Thus commenced the most intense game of thumb-war known to man or dog or werewolf-man.

Afterwards they fell back, exhausted, and lay side by side looking up at the ceiling and breathing heavily.

'Wow, that was amazing,' said Dasani.

Walter lit a cigarette.

The cigarette burned down the train.

But it's okay because they were just passing by a beautiful island in Las Vegas. It would make a perfect place to start a new life.

The natives, as it happened, all spoke guitar chord. This was quite a delightful turn of events at first, but it left old Walter feeling left out.

Jorge tried to cheer him up with a knock knock joke.

"Knock knock"

"I am the one who knocks!" Walter cried, running to his tent and slamming the door.

He wanted Dasani to be happy, and she was happy here, being able to talk and all. But he couldn't speak guitar chord any more than he could choose to be a werewolf. Oh wait, he could choose to be a werewolf. He just didn't see any reason to do it more often than once a month.

But right then and there he resolved to stay werewolf always because he was ashamed of not being able to speak and wanted to hide himself.

When Dasani saw him she went 'phwoar.' She'd always had a thing for hair.

He managed to explain himself with a few dog noises, which she totes understood since she was a dog anyway. So everything worked out pretty damn well even if it was all by accident. They could sit around with their guitar chord friends, and whenever Dasani wanted to tell Walter something dirty like what she'd make him do for her later they could switch to dog speak. And everyone lived happily ever after and there were lots of puppies involved who spoke both guitar chord and dog, and grew up to be successful translators.

My Beginnings are so Samey

There once was a beginning named Samey.

He wasn't very popular because he never did anything different. He just showed up at parties uninvited and ate all the hors d'oeuvres.

He lived in a small apartment in New York. Nobody who lives somewhere that's not New York or LA ever gets a story written about him.

 

One day Samey was stuffing his face with hors d'oeuvres when a suave guy in a suit came and introduced himself.

"Good evening. I'm Differencey." He held out his hand. But then he exploded in a puff of smoke cos of the irony of his introduction being so samey.

Samey kept eating hors d'ouevres. If something good didn't happen soon he was going to get so fat.

              

Just then another suave guy in a suit approached him.

"Good evening. My name is Maximilian Von Shitgrin. I own every oil rig."

"Uh-huh. And why are you talking to me?"

"I just wanted you to know how superior I am. I'll be moving on to better short stories now."

Maximilian went on to star in a Michael Swanwick story. Samey, meanwhile, continued making himself unpopular by stepping on the dog several times in a row on accident.

Finally someone stood up to him.

"Hey, who exactly invited you?"

"Invited me to what?"

"This birthday party."

"Oh, the birthday boy did."

"You mean the birthday girl?"

"Yeah, her. Hot piece of ass, that."

"She's my daughter. She's 8."

"So that’s where she got her good looks."

The guy called security to escort Samey to the nearest dumpster.

               

Samey decided to review his life while he smoked some dumpster pot. After 5 hours of this he came to the conclusion he needed to learn to do parties better. First on his list was to eat a maximum of 3 hors d'ouevres only.

So he crashed another party and put the first phase of his plan into action.

The party turned out to be an eating contest. So everyone thought he was lame and couldn't handle his hors d'ouevres like a real French pansy man.

He got put in the dumpster again.

               

"I can see what's happening here," thought Samey. "No matter what I do it'll be wrong and I'm doomed to be the butt monkey for the rest of my life."

"Well, I'm not going to be entertainment for a bunch of sweaty nerds looking for a cheap laugh. I'm just going to sit right here and have no aspirations whatsoever for the rest of my life / this story."

So he sat perfectly still and didn't even think about accomplishing any kind of goal. No matter what happened to him, he didn't care.

A hot female beginning was suddenly thrown in the dumpster.

Samey looked away with his nose in the air.

"Nope. Can't tempt me."

               

'Well, maybe I can't tempt you. But I sure as hell can rape you.'

So that got some kind of plot progression in that he's now working through his issues with a therapist. And by therapist I mean more pot.

So really not a lot of plot progression.

The next temptation that came along was a chest full of gold.

"The things I could do with that money..." he thought. "I could buy a whole new personality!"

               

He started to reach for it and then stopped himself.

"Oh, no you don't. You're going to have a kangaroo come drop kick me as soon as I try to spend it. I'm not falling for it. If I can just stay boring for a few more minutes you'll give up and I can go back to precious non-existence."

Just then a kangaroo appeared from the sky and took all the gold and spent it on a golden yacht, which was apparently worth less than its weight in gold.

               

Just then Differencey popped back into existence. Cos there was so much irony it was like reverse irony. He bought an iron and earnt a lot of dollar ironing shirts for old people. Samey joined him since he didn't know what else to do with his life now that his plan had failed.

Together they made a great crime-fighting ironing duo.

               

The criminal organization collectively shat itself in simultaneous fear and mockery of this new duo.

When their popularity in the polls started dropping off, the duo hired Adjectivey the kangaroo as a mascot to help the team's image. Adjectivey was all over this idea, since his yacht had recently sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

They established a headquarters at the top of the highest sky scraper in the city because they were all compensating for something.

The mayor called them up and was all like "ahhh we're dying save us blah blah blah" and the duo was all like "there's no need to be sarcastic" and the mayor's all like "no srsly we're dying ahhh help they're stabbing us right now it hurts."

So they reluctantly paused Zombipocalypse II: The Revenging on VHS, jumped in their apathymobile and flew no faster than the speed limit to the scene of the crime.

Meanwhile, down below, two amoebae were playing chess in the park, oblivious to the thrilling climax exploding above them.

“Say, Gary, do you ever wonder if there’s a bigger world out there?”

“Huh?”

“I asked if you ever wonder if there’s a bigger world out there.”

“Oh.”