Time to Take Out the Trash

 So all the little elves and pirates squished themselves into the time machine to return home. It had been a long day.
 It was an uncomfortable journey. Someone's elbow was lodged in Winston's appendix. But he dared not say anything about it, lest an argument break out and the whole thing started all over again.
 The dumpster finally started to slow down (with respect to time).
 "Fingers crossed, everyone."
 Once it stopped, they peaked out from under the lid to see Neverland.
 It was a dreary, polluted hellhole where everyone worked 8-5 and hated magic.
 "Whew. Back to normal."

The end


 'Where's the time machine gone?'

 Winston was sure he'd left it right here, between the giant purple fluffy and the accidentally. But it was nowhere to be seen. They'd have to put on their best searching hats and get to it.

 Georgeffrey the pirate used his telescope, and the elves listened out for it with their big ass ears.

 They found it up in a tree. Right at the top.

 Because of this, the pirates and elves declared a truce. They needed to work together if they were to conquer their common enemy, the braille toad.
 They attacked it in unison, but it was impervious to even their most potent cannons and pixie dust. Moreover it was lapping them up at a rate of 32 elves/sec² (the pirates never bathed, so they were safe for now). The music was getting tense, the stakes were going up, the hammers were going down, and the lambchops were burning on the bottom. This is what is known as a climax.
 At last one of the pirates, who was an accountant, discovered that the braille toad had income that he hadn't reported to the IRS ("But it's just babysitting money!"). Thus he was taken to prison by the feds to serve 40 years.
 "Looks like you got Al Capwned!"
 Everyone laughed. Especially Winston, who didn't get it.
 "Let's go home, guys."

 When they got there one of the pirates, called Winston (it's funny because it's not a pirate's name. Also he had a parrot on his shoulder called Geoffrey.) accidentally slept with one of the elf's moms, so a feud happened. She was really hot though, so it was worth it.

 The pirates and elves fucking hated each other for like 20 years or something, and by that time the hot elf mom wasn't really hot anymore, and Winston began to regret his actions that had brought the elves down on his fellow pirates. Often an elf would meet a pirate in the street on their way to buy more fantastical elven/pirate things (like ear extensions and shoulder-parrots), and they'd beat the shit out of each other like they were playing mods and rockers. It was starting to wear Winston down. He bruised like a banana.

 Then along came the braille toad. It was big, smelly, and surprisingly hairy for a toad. No one really liked it. It made really bad jokes whenever you took it out anywhere, and it had no fashion sense. It was a step too far.
 

 Just off the coast of your mom is a place called Neverland where creatures of every race lived.
 One sunny day the elf race challenged the ogre race to a baseball game, which they accepted. But on the day of the big game the ogres were eaten by squirrels and went extinct. So the pirate race stood in for them.
 It was a pretty unremarkable game for the most part. Then Hardy the pirate stepped up to the plate. The elf pitcher pitched the ball and Hardy bunted with all his might. The ball flew over the fence and landed in the bed of a speeding El Camino. It was gone.
 The elves demanded compensation from the pirates for losing their ball. It had been signed centuries ago by Wally "The Walloper" Wumpdump. It was worth a fortune.
 "How do we even know that's really his signature? If you want us to pay, you have to prove it first."
 The pirates thought that would get them off the hook, but it just so happened one of the elves had a brother whose friend from elf college totally built his own time machine.
 They all traveled to this time machine, which was revealed to be a dumpster. On the back there was a bumper sticker of Calvin peeing on physics. So the entire two races climbed into the dumpster and set the dial for 300 years in the past to settle this dispute once and for all.

A Very Brown Mess

 Roberta and Patrick were cooking gravy. They hardly ever cooked, though, so they sucked a lot. First the gravy was too moist, then too flaky, then too hairy.

 'Let's go and deposit this through someone's door, like teenage vandals,' said Roberta.
 

 On paper this sounded like a fine idea. What could possibly go wrong? They put all the gravy in a bag with a big dollar sign on it (to avoid suspicion) and headed towards the nearest neighbor's house.
 On the way they were repeatedly kicked by an ostrich that needed money for cigarettes. Their mother always told them the best way to deal with a mugger is to ignore him: He's just looking for attention.
  When they arrived at the castle (their neighbors were mostly kings and dukes), Patrick's legs were pretty crenelated from all the kicking, but at least the ostrich appeared to be getting tired.
 The three of them looked up. The castle was so long its top was penetrating the clouds. It was pretty hot.
  "Okay, let's not charge in there prematurely," said Patrick. "We need a plan...."
 "What are we doing?" asked the ostrich.
 "We came to, uh, conquer this castle in the name of France," he recalled.
  Roberta, meanwhile, had already climbed to the top and lowered a rope ladder made of the guards' intestines. Who knew she was so skillular?

 Patrick made to climb up the ladder-o-guts, but the ostrich followed him.

 'Not you, ostrich!' he shouted it down.

 Ostrich looked down at its feet and stayed in place.

 When he made it to the top, Roberta was waiting for him with the gravy. She was holding it over a winding staircase that disappeared down the castle.

 'This is gonna be frickin awesome!' they screamed.

 The gravy went 'weeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESPLASH' down the castle.

 'Young whippersnappers!' came a shaky voice from below.

 'Cheese it!'

 But they did not cheese successfully. Before they knew it they were clapped in irons in a dungeon at the bottom of the castle.

 They told jokes in an attempt to pass the time before they grew old and died here (because they weren't a very optimistic couple).

 'Okay, okay, I've got one,' said Patrick. 'Why did the salesman walk into the...'

 'OSTRICH!' Shouted Roberta. 

 'No, no, dear, that's penis-talk, you have no idea how this joke goes.'

 Before Roberta could explain how much of a total bitchfacedicktacular Patrick was being, the ostrich smashed its way through the window (because all castles have windows, DON'T CRITICIZE MY WORK!). The sunny sunlight streamed into the dungeon.

 They jumped onto the ostrich's back, and he flew them to safety (again, OSTRICHES CAN TOTALLY FLY LOOK IT UP ON WIKIPEDIA).
 

 Then they all had spaghetti hoops for dinner and went to bed happy. 

 So the moral of this tale is: don't judge an ostrich on him crenelating your legs, because he might turn out to be rather heroic.

Bambi 3: The Carnage

 There once was a professional athlete named Buttinski Faceton who played sports for money. He was known to the world as The Great Bambi.
 One day while TGB was out behind his mansion practicing sports, Satan himself appeared in a poof of blue smoke.
 "Buttinskiiii," hissed Satan snakefully. "I've come to make you a deal."
 "A deal? This sounds too good to be true," mused TGB.
 "Sell me your soul and I'll-"
 "Deal!"
 "...I haven't even told you what I'm offering you."
 "What is it?"
 "I'll make you the best athlete in the world."
 "I'm already the best in the world."
 "Oh."
 "Oh."
 There was a long pause.
 "Wanna hang out?" suggested the prince of darkness.
 "Yeah, alright." 

 So they did what Satan always did on Sundays: they went to an ice-cream bar. His favourite flavour was Fluffy Bunnies and Sugar with Strawberries.

 Buttinski was deflated, like a condom that used to be full of gas but now isn't. Or like a balloon that used to be full of gas but now isn't. Or like someone's face that used to be big but then a cartoon character popped it with a pin.

 He was deflated because when Satan had asked him to hang out, he thought they'd get up to some really adrenalin-full Satanic activities. Instead, here they were, sat at an ice-cream bar like a pair of pansies.

 So Bambi began to plot ways in which he could lure Satan into evil doing.

 Just then, as though it was a sign, a group of humans entered the ice cream parlor. It was some acne-faced teenagers with skateboards. Perfect for human sacrifices.
 "Hey, Satan. I think we got flock of Bible thumpers here."
 "Eh, I'm a little tired."
 "Come onnnnnn!"
 "Okay."
 Satan snapped his fingers and a Monty Python foot came down and squished them. The other patrons rejoiced.
 "Yay," they said.
  The manager offered Satan a job. Bambi didn't want to be left out, so he applied too. Next thing they knew, they were dressed in purple aprons and dishing out moose sundays. Oh, the hilarity potential!

 Bambi had to accept that his plan had backfired. The only reasonable course of action would be to try again, and hope for a different result, thereby proving Einstein a total dickwad (the hairy bastard).

  So one day, while he was being forced to serve spotty fat people ice-cream (sometimes known as spatty fuglies), he made a second trap to lure Satan into. 

 He approached one group of ugly customers and said, pointing to an innocent bysitter-eater (kind of innocent--he once truanted from school), 'That guy said you're fat and ugly and your mom never loved you.'

'WHAAAAAAT?!' blared the group simultaneously. They took the guy down. It was the bloodiest blood-bath the ice-cream parlour had ever seen, and they were a frequent occurrence there.

 'Mwahahaha!' Bambi cried as he watched the onslaught. What a happy day. He was welling up.

Satan looked on, mortified. 'Bambi, what have you done? Where's the love? Here, smoke this, you'll feel better.'
 

 Satan handed him a miniature T Rex. TGB tried to roll it up in paper, but it was very resistant and wouldn't stay still. This kept him busy long enough to get some actual work done. There was a line of customers waiting to be fattened up.
 "Uh, yeah, I'll take a crapload of any flavor ice cream. And can you inject it right into my stomach?"
 While Satan was getting the ice cream, Bambi did some wacky stoned person things. Like mispronounce words. That's funny, right?
 "Okay," said Satan. "It's 5:00. You need to relax. Let's go for a drink."
 So Satan and the professional athlete walk into a bar and the bartender says, "What is this, some kind of joke?"
  While they drank, the strippers shook their booties like a fine bowl of jello. Bambi reached for one of them.
 "Gosh darn it!" said Satan. "You have a wife, Buttinski!"
 "I do? Well, hell, why hasn't she been introduced in this story yet? My socks really need washing."
 After several drinks, they began to get philosophical.
 "Like, what does it all mean, man? You know what I'm saying?" Bambi philosophical'd.
 "See, the different colors means racial diversity. The baby face in the sun is like God making fun of us. And the tellies in their stomachs represents... like, racial diversity and stuff."
  Just then a priest, a rabbi, and a protestant minister walked into the bar. They were carrying pitch forks and headed towards our heroes. 

 Buttinski tried to run, but his few weeks off 8 hours training a day had made him puny and pathetic. He got a stitch and had to sit down. In any case, the bartender turfed out the priest, the rabbi and the protestant minister, because he'd had enough bar-joke set ups for one day.

  'Buttinnnskiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!' shrieked a shrill, piercing, shrill, shrieking voice. Everyone whirled around to the door, even the lapdancers.

 TGB's wife was there. He hid the T Rex roach behind his back.

 Wa-wa-waaaaaa went a disembodied voice.

 She dragged Bambi out of the bar by his ear, while Satan laughed at how under the thumb he is. It also kind of turned him on, though. He wondered if they used whips and shit. He shook his head. 'Don't think those thoughts,' he told himself, 'or you'll go to hell. Oh wait, I frickin' live there anyway!' (wa-wa-waaaa).

 Once home, Bambi's wife searched his pockets and turned out the T Rex. 'And what do you call this?' 

 'Satan made me do it.'

 After she'd raped him a few times, Buttinski texted Satan begging him to come bust him out.

 'I need an adult!' he wailed.
 

 Vrrt vrrrt, vibrated Satan's phone. He opened the text message.
 "I need an afro lute!"
 Vrrt vrrt 
 "I mean adopt, ducking autocorrect"
 Vrrt vrrt 
 Satan stopped checking his messages. He was about to give a speech at the Gentleman's Club.
 "Distinguished lords and scantily clad girl serving drinks. Thank you all for coming. Your support will be instrumental in the fight to blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."
 "Hear, hear!" said some jovial old chap.
 Just then God came in and challenged Satan to a fight. But Satan chose to be the bigger man and walk away. And everyone else got back to polishing their monocles, or whatever it is stuffy old men do all day.

The end 

Some Like It Pot

 

 Once upon a time, there was a chimney pot called Chim. He liked sitting on the tops of houses, towering over the puny humans and being able to see far away lands. But one day, it snowed on poor Chim. It was really thick and cold, and it made his willy shrink. 'This won't do,' he thought. 'I've got to figure a way out of this or I'll freeze to death.' 

  Chim wasn't the type of guy to actually take any action, though. He just complained about things and expected them to get better on their own.

  But a pompous-looking owl appeared in the sky and flew down to greet him.

"Hello, my dear," said the owl. "My name is Freana."

  "Why do you sound like a female? Owls are supposed to always be wise old grandfather figures."

"If we were all males, how have we stayed alive as a race so long? And why do we suck so much at driving?"

  "What do you want?"

  "I've come to take you away to a maaaagical land where snow is warm and rooftops are everywhere."

  "Can this taking me away thing not involve me getting up or doing anything?"

  'Yes, it can. But that's the painful way,' said the owl. So she grabbed him by the delicates with her claws and flew off to the maaaaagical land, Chim complaining all the way.

 When they got there, Chim knew he'd been had. This land wasn't full of warm snow and rooftops at all. It was a labour camp and he was forced to work for evil female owls who whipped him and such, but not in a fun sexual way, just a nasty way.

 He was forced to lug rocks around on chains, with no particular purpose in mind. Oh yeah, other than to build that giant castle that the owls planned to use for their dastardly crimes.

  Chim moved rocks every day for 20 years, except on chimney potish holidays, like Potukkah. The castle was finally complete, towering towerously over all the nearby mountains and basketball players.

 His owl masters planned a housewarming party. They sent out one of those stupid event invitations on Facebook, including to their long-distance friends who obviously wouldn't be coming and didn't really like them that much anyway.

  After everyone arrived, a feather fell from the sky and landed on the castle, which naturally caused it to collapse, or else it wouldn't have been worth mentioning.

 Chim never properly learned masonry, and using mortar between the rocks never crossed his mind.

  By this time the owls were too old to whip him at maximum efficiency. But they were too used to this cushy lifestyle to just let him go.

  So they made him a bargain. If he would wait on them hand and foot, stroke their feathers, cook their meals, clean up their droppings and owl pellets, then they would give Chim access to The Most Awesome Thing.

 Chim had no idea what The Most Awesome Thing was, but he was burning with curiosity to find out. Also, it's not like they were offering a better bargain. If he said no to this, they'd probably just eat him.

  After agreeing to the bargain, Chim was given The Most Awesome Thing.

   

  The MAT came in a long, rectangular box. Chim's mandibles were dripping with anticipation. He tore it open to reveal a lamp on a plastic stripper leg.

 But its glory only satiated him for a few years. Then he got the munchies for freedom. It was time to plan his escape. But it wouldn't be easy.

  After a 'planning escape' Eye of the Tiger montage, Chim had it. He would use the plastic stripper leg lamp. He took it and fitted it to his base, then hopped to freedom. Whenever the owls tried to fly after and peck at him, he'd just switch the lamp on and off and it'd scare them. They were more pussy than owl.

Once he'd hopped away from the owl labour camp, he slowed. Hop, hop, hop went the leg. It echoed spookily. Chim realised he'd strayed into unusual territory. There were lots of rape-looking alleys and fog and rag and bone men. Was this old school London?

  Ha. No, it was hell. He often got those two mixed up.

  His memory was a little hazy, but he was pretty sure you had to be dead to go to hell, and he was pretty sure that was irreversible.

  Had he not really escaped to freedom in such a glorious stylish way as he remembered?
 

 Then he heard Rob Serling's voice over and he knew it wasn't London or Hell. It was the Twilight Zone. He should have known by the crappy special effects and overacting.

 He just had to figure out which episode he was in and then he'd know how to survive it.

 This guy in a hat showed up and was like "Hey I can give you surgery to make you beautiful."

 "But my mom said beauty was on the inside!"

 "You probably misunderstood; her mouth was pretty busy."

 

 Chim ran home crying. But because we're still doing the Twilight Zone parody thing, his house was just a doll house for a giant girl.

 Once he got home, he climbed up the chimney and resumed his position as a chimney pot. He'd rather take snow than evil owls any day. When no one was looking he put a swipe of lipstick and some mascara on, to make himself beautiful. He became the most famous chimney pot in the land, and people came from far and wide to ask him 'how much?'

 The End

DiscomBobulated

  Bob sat on his chair. His chair didn't like it, but it didn't have the wherewithal to defend itself.

 He was thinking some thoughts. Suddenly the chair decided it sure as hell did have the wherewithal to defend itself, and collapsed underneath him.

 'JESUS CHRIST, MY TAILBONE!'

 Like Newton and his apple, the knock to his body suddenly made him a total genius. So he invented a teleportation device.

 That pretty much used up his brilliance, like a car running out of blinker fluid*. So he only used the teleportation device to go to the kitchen to get beer and back to his chair (which was now just a pile of wood and vinyl on the floor) to watch TV.

 Someone knocked on his window, because knocking on doors is so cliche, man.

 He put his head to the sink and said, "Hello? Can I help you?"

 The sink told him to piss off.

 So he pissed in the sink, to teach it a bordering on ironic lesson. Then he went to answer the window. It was a bee. It said its name was Humphrey and it needed more honey plz.

 He took the bee to the supermarket. But while in the car, they got chatting. Turned out they had a lot in common. Bob managed to glance subtly through his eyelashes at its bee parts, and saw that it was a real female girl bee.

 Bob built up the courage to take his chances. I mean yeah it was a bee, but a man's gotta be a man, right? Right?

 He did the ol' arm over the wings trick. Humphrey was so alarmed that she stung him and promptly died.

Bob was beside himself. What had he done? He bought 50 jars of honey to use to build a kind of bee-shrine-memorial in her honour.

 After he purchased the honey, Bob took the long way home through the woods. He stumbled over a mushroom and spilled honey on himself.

 "Aw, man. I spilled honey on myself," he said.

 He came across some baby bears. He picked them up and juggled them.

 They got stuck all over his sticky self.

 He couldn't remove the bears, so he just continued walking while they cried for their mother.

 "I sure am glad to be alive," he said. "Being dead sure would suck. It would be the end of my life as I know it."

 And then, just when it seemed he was home free, a dragon flew down and ate him whole.

 "Haha. Expectations subverted," chortled the dragon.

 While he was inside the dragon's stomach, he had something of an epiphany. 'I shouldn't hate on this dragon,' he thought. 'These are my last few minutes before the stomach acid gets me, they should be filled with love not enmity.' So he opened his many jars of honey into the dragon's stomach, to make it all yummy inside.

 But instead of making the dragon go all warm and fuzzy and loving as he had intended, it turned out the dragon had a dreadful allergy to honey. It puked its guts up, which sucked for the dragon, but you know, we get our guy back.

 'Yaaaaaaaaayyyy,' said our character, whose name I've forgotten.

 Bob

Oh yeah, Bob.

 He felt like his next move should be to take a trip to the seaside, because he wanted to juxtapose honey and the sea cos they totally didn't go together.

 So he went to the sea and juxtaposed the hell out of it with his honey. The poor sea couldn't walk for days.
 

The end

*It’s funny because turn signals don’t use fluid.

A Story You Can't Refuse

Once upon a time there was a nail buffer called Hillary. She was a bit of a whore and super trashy. No one really liked her, except all the nails because they liked using her for their own pleasure.

 Hillary was getting on in years. And rubbing against people for a living had already taken its toll. Her few remaining customers were the loyal ones who'd used her for a long time and couldn't really afford anyone better.

 She went to the store to buy lint. That's what nail buffers eat. Everyone she met was mean to her, and she didn't know why. Then she remembered, "Oh, yeah, nobody likes me. Forgot that."

 This was her daily routine.

 However, things were about to change for Hillary. Her life was about to be turned upside down, shoved in a clothes dryer, pelted with monkey feces, raped, turned back rightside up, and imprisoned for tax evasion.

 Things would never be the same.

 But not yet. First she has to do the same boring things for another couples of years. So get comfy. It's gonna be a while.

 So she did a lot of going to the store and remembering that people hate her. That went on for a few years. And then the thing happened.

 It happened on a Tuesday evening. The kind of time you don't expect things to happen. She was walking home from the store after having bought lots of bright orange foundation, which she planned to pour into a bath and wallow about in that evening. Because everyone knows how much nails dig a buffer when she's bright orange all over.

 But all of a sudden, the ground tripped her over and tried to mug her.

 Some people might call this an earthquake, but not Hillary. She decided to try to sue the ground and claim compensation. It had cost her her best pair of slapper heels (the heel broke). Now who'd bang her without heels to make her walk like a cripple?

 She deliberated on how to go about her quest. There must be some kind of authority who handles all things ground-based.

 As she started walking to the nearest phone booth (this story takes place in the '90s), a wondrous thing happened, why not. She found she could walk 40 miles an hour without her heels. She'd never even tried walking without them before.

 She could also probably have run about 90 miles an hour, but running's a lot of work, you know.

 Hillary did the only logical thing someone blessed with this amazing athletic ability could do: she got a desk job.

 This proved problematic, as every time she tried to walk anywhere, she grossly overestimated how long she needed to walk before turning a corner, so every trip to the bathroom or something inevitably resulted in at least half a dozen fatalities.

 So they sent her to do lots of shady deals that took place out doors.

 On another Tuesday, her boss told her she had to go with Billy "The Fop" Muttonchops to meet Joey "The Wrench" and Sammy "The Nickname" Velocirap at the corner of 6th and Bloated St.

 So she did. But being our Hillary, she just assumed she was supposed to be a hooker. She didn't realise she was supposed to give them money. But all in all, everyone was pretty chipper about the transaction (until those guys later found out they had nail-buffer AIDS).

 They were in fact so happy that they agreed to accompany Hillary on all her missions. And not simply because we need more characters in this story, but also because of some other reasons.

 So on her next mission, after banging Billy, Joey, and Sammy once more in a bin somewhere, she was supposed to wait on a corner incognito. At the appointed time, she was to stick out her leg and trip over a rich guy scheduled to walk around the corner at precisely 8:52am. Then they'd mug him.

This was the kind of clinical execution of eloquent plans that the office Hillary worked at went for.

 The rich guy's coffee that morning had finished one second early due to some atmospheric phenomenon that some science fiction writer would go into great detail to explain, thus he passed by them at 8:51:59.

"Holy Jebus, waddawedo?" cried Billy.

"Emergency backup plan!" replied Joey.

Hillary quickly hit the big red emergency backup plan button, which promptly nuked France.

And not a single shit was given.

 The unsuspecting rich guy, meanwhile, had donated his entire fortune to the "Save the Baby Carrots" foundation.

 The foundation then went super duper bankrupt and retired to a whole bunch of islands they bought off the coast of a whole bunch of exotic-sounding places.

The baby carrots refused to comment.

 Hillary, Billy, Joey, and Sammy felt that it was about time they got around to fucking up the ground after what it did to Hillary.

 So they bought some drills and started drilling.

 'Yeah, how do you like that, bitch?' shouted Billy "The Fop" at the ground.

 The ground wasn't going to take this shit. It rose up and accidentally an earthquake on their faces. Is that bad?

 It was bad enough that all four ended up in hospital. They didn't let it get to them, though. They just broke into the supplies cupboard and totally stole a load of drugs to sell on the streetz. This made them rich enough that they could buy more drills and get back at the ground again.

 When they got there, the ground had already moved on to bigger and better things. There was nothing to stand on.

 The three guys whose middle names are in quotes went home to play old Sega games. Hillary was left alone in the streets of the groundless city.

 She called for a cab, but none would stop. Because nobody likes her.

The end

Arachnophilia

Once upon a time, there was a spider called Harvey who lived inside a cello.

He was an humble spider. He liked classical music, but he didn't go around telling everyone like he was superior for it. His cello house was an ancient cello that was once played by a giant, legends say.

 Now it rested deep in the forest on some old man's property who was too senile to know where he was, much less charge rent. So Harvey got off pretty well.

 This particular night, Harvey was sitting in his F hole drinking a glass of sugar when there was a knock on the door.

 He opened it up and there was nobody there. Only the darkness. Not one to cower in fear at such mysterious things, he set out to investigate these shenanigans.

 Harvey climbed all over his cello, looking for the source of the knock. He looked inside the scroll, and around the back, even under the G string, but he could see nothing.

 'It must a ghost!'

 So he thought to himself, 'What does a ghost want?'

'I know! Tap-dancing!' because a spider tap dancing is hilarious, and anybody would want to see that.

 He put on a show. He even printed his own flyers for the event. It was held in the old bandstand in a clearing of the forest.

 He set out lots of chairs. But nobody came. At least, so he thought...

 But ghosts are invisible and all.

 As he was tapping away some amazing fucking time steps (8 legs, man! think about it!) he heard an EXTRA tap that shouldn't have been there. It was coming up from the floor, as if someone was tapdancing on the other side.

 'The show must go on.' (he remembered that phrase from his training days with Gene Kelly.)

 And so he continued. Once he was finished with the show, and his friend the ladybug (Janice) was flanneling his sweaty brow, he looked up at the 'audience'.

 Harvey gasped and leapt to his feet. One of the chairs was missing.

 "Oh, wait, there it is." It was just two inches to the left of where he thought he remembered putting it. Spiders aren't very smart.

 The audience called out "Encore!"

 He was exhausted, but he couldn't bear to let his fans down. So he did all his best moves. The ghost near him kept responding with an even better move, making him look like a chump.

 After a few minutes of that crap, he said, "All right, that's it! Show yourself!"

 The ghost took on his human form and it was none other than Michael Flatley himself. Everyone ooh'd and ah'd.

 But then the audience got bored because it had been a whole 8 seconds since anyone did anything entertaining, so they all went home to watch CNN or some shit.

 Michael Flatley turned out to be kind of a schmuck. He'd forgotten how to talk after his death, so he always responded with dance moves. This wouldn't be such a problem for Harvey except Michael had declared them friends and went with him everywhere.

 "Well, if you're going to be sticking with me from now on, I may as well make good use of you."

 Over the next few weeks, he planned a bank robbery so he could move out of this crappy cello and move into a giant guitar in Boston. Finally he gave up and just stole an idea from a movie he saw once. Michael, who was good with his feet, would drive the get-away vehicle and nothing else because he'd just screw it up. They couldn't afford a car, so it was just a bicycle.

 Harvey went inside the bank dressed as a clown, carrying a bunch of helium balloons. He released them under the camera so they covered it up. He then bit the security guard and injected a nice, personal dose of venom into him.

 Here's the short version: They gave him all the money and the cops showed up and he locked people in the vault and he negotiated the release of a few hostages and he took the clown costume off and went out with the money strapped to his leg and pretended to be a hostage and then got on Michael's bike and they fled like mad men.

 And so, after this happy event, Harvey was able to buy his guitar in Boston.

 He let Michael come with him to carry the bags. He kept him in a cage and fed him scraps.

 'What new direction will I go in now?' he asked himself. He'd had enough of tap-dancing but he still wanted to do something using his feet.

 He settled on making wine. He crushed his own grapes with his 8 feet. Michael helped.

 

 The "wine" ended up tasting more like feet and grape juice. But maybe this would be a new business opportunity. He marketed this new product as "foot grape."

 Not even his mother would buy any.

 So he held up another bank, only he didn't take any money. He just made everyone try his foot grape.

 It was a huge success. He also got arrested.

 

 While he was in the inside, he met a guy who told him the secrets to making good wine. Human blood! And so when Harvey got out of jail he went on a bloody rampage.

 Soon he and Michael were rich and moderately famous for their wine. They upgraded to a double bass in the Bahamas.

 The Bahamas isn't a place known for its hospitality. Michael Flatley got kidnapped within 40 seconds of moving in. Harvey received a ransom note demanding $14. He just threw it away and got on with his life. Life's too short to pay money for kidnapped ghosts of legendary dancers. That's what his old pappy always said.

 He was already rich now. There was no reason to work. So life was kind of dull. He spent a lot of time playing golf.

 Yeah. Golf. That's about it.

He set up home in the golf holes. He had made them into burrows and lived like a king, occasionally having sex with rabbits.

 This excitement did not last long, though. He considered the futile emptiness of his life once more.

 He got a job making silk shirts for wealthy landowners/pawnbrokers and was soon doing cocaine with his clients.

 It wasn't long before he invented his own formula for cocaine. It was really the same as regular cocaine, only this had chili powder mixed in. Still, everyone loved it. He made billions of dollars in less than an hour.

 Then when he was just walking along, minding his own business, someone saw him and said, "Ahhh! Spider!" and swatted him and he died.

 His family buried him and some guy Harvey never met wrote his epitaph.

 "Here lies Harvey. He did a whole bunch of crap, but there's not enough room here to write it, so screw it."

 The end