MistressofChaos
08-03-2005, 01:44 AM
This is a short story I've x-posted that concerns lemurs, chainsaws, politics, and pie. It's supposed to be humorous. ^_^
A Series of Unlikely Events
Written by Emma, edited by Jared B.
Our tale begins with a lemur in the jungles of the United States. You may be thinking that I, the narrator, am clearly misinformed. But have you not heard? George Bush was going through a rather anal menstrual cycle, and said, “Have you ever noticed no lemurs live in Texas or Virginia? What kind of fucked up country are we in anyway? I must fuck it up some more!” And now, Virginia’s trees are plagued with lemurs that have no natural predators, and why exactly this tale concerns only one lemur instead of the whole populace that bred like rabbits, is still unknown. I believe it has something to do with the fact that there are also highly toxic chemicals in the air, and this specific lemur had developed immunity, thanks to a rather strange childhood.
So anyway, this lemur, Jorge, was contemplating how to eat his tasty food when he heard a rather odd noise originating from some area above him. When he looked up, he was more or less surprised to see a chainsaw coming down toward him. It passed him, and, being a crazy animal influenced by toxication-for-many-a-year, Jorge decided to climb down and pick the chainsaw up. It was quite an ordeal for Jorge to do so since the device clearly outweighed himself. With some equanimity, determination, and proper leverage however, he flung the chainsaw out of the soft earth. In turn this caused a nasty predicament. When the earth released the chainsaw, the object went flying into some random man ambling among the trees. Unfortunately, the chainsaw had somehow remained switched on during Jorge’s ordeal, and it struck the random man in the jugular. Needless to say, the random man died since Jorge had no idea how to deal with the situation. Flying chainsaws, he could handle, but flying chainsaws and random men was just a bit too far.
Yet Jorge felt somewhat responsible for the random man’s unseemly demise, so he thought he should at least know who he was. He found the man’s wallet; his name was John Smith. Psh, how original. Jorge figured that if this Mr. Smith had such a mundane name, he had to be a mundane man. He briefly considered the fact that John’s death wasn’t exactly what you’d call “mundane,” but reasoned that deaths usually contradicted a person’s life. I.e. if someone dies while rock climbing, they usually die from a fall, whereas if someone worked in the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001, they died from an explosion caused by terrorists. Concluding that John Smith was a very plain man indeed, Jorge figured that he wouldn’t go randomly traipsing through the wild jungles of America for no apparent reason. He was clearly looking for an outlet that he could switch the toaster into. Therefore, his house was obviously nearby. The lemur then concluded that John was a man who would walk to the south, since he was rather portly and looked a bit moronic; therefore, “south” means “down hill.” Jorge headed north.
As luck would have it, Jorge found John Smith’s residence, a little bit to the west of where he was walking. At the moment, you see, Mrs. (or Ms. I suppose would be correct now) Smith had just finished baking a pie and placed it on the window sill. Clearly Ms. Smith wasn’t much brighter than her former husband and had no idea that the lemurs in the area could not only easily steal the pie, but also come in through the window and rape her if her lack of intelligence dare upset them. I suppose it’s clear that Jorge had every intention of forgetting how he killed Mr. Smith, and instead take his pie away from his widow. But Jorge felt a twinge of guilt and decided to observe Ms. Smith’s routine instead.
Apparently, the Smiths lived near Conan O’Brien for as Jorge got comfy about a foot away from the window, the man came in. He didn’t look very happy. Not very happy indeed.
“Um…Mrs. Smith?”
“Yes, Mr. O’Brien?”
“You haven’t…seen my cat, have you?”
At this, Ms. Smith gave Conan a rather baffled expression; “Why do you ask?”
Conan decided to get to the point: “Because I saw you stab it with a butcher knife.”
Ms. Smith cackled; “Why would I do thaaaat?”
Now Conan looked uneasy: “That’s exactly what I’m wondering…”
Jorge was alarmed. Perhaps this was why the Smiths married; only a moron would marry a homicidal psychopath.
Ms. Smith gave a look of shock. “But I’m serious, Mr. O’Brien, I don’t remember seeing your cat at all today!”
At that moment, an odd noise came from the oven. All three characters looked to see pieces of rather strange pie on the glass.
“Oooo it should be done now!”
Ms. Smith bent over to open the oven. “Oh piffles, it splattered everywhere.”
Conan looked frightened; “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to an oddly shaped piece of pie.
“Oh that’s an eyeball,” Ms. Smith replied with a calm smile.
She then started to laugh. “Hee hee hee hee would you like a SLICE Mr. O’Brien? Cat meat’s ever so tasty!”
And with that, Jorge decided that the toxins in the air were far too effective and ran away from the house, into the jungle. He then decided to eat mangos and remain eating mangos until a better ending for this tale came along.
So now comes that classy time where I use that ever so cliché ending, “fin.”
A Series of Unlikely Events
Written by Emma, edited by Jared B.
Our tale begins with a lemur in the jungles of the United States. You may be thinking that I, the narrator, am clearly misinformed. But have you not heard? George Bush was going through a rather anal menstrual cycle, and said, “Have you ever noticed no lemurs live in Texas or Virginia? What kind of fucked up country are we in anyway? I must fuck it up some more!” And now, Virginia’s trees are plagued with lemurs that have no natural predators, and why exactly this tale concerns only one lemur instead of the whole populace that bred like rabbits, is still unknown. I believe it has something to do with the fact that there are also highly toxic chemicals in the air, and this specific lemur had developed immunity, thanks to a rather strange childhood.
So anyway, this lemur, Jorge, was contemplating how to eat his tasty food when he heard a rather odd noise originating from some area above him. When he looked up, he was more or less surprised to see a chainsaw coming down toward him. It passed him, and, being a crazy animal influenced by toxication-for-many-a-year, Jorge decided to climb down and pick the chainsaw up. It was quite an ordeal for Jorge to do so since the device clearly outweighed himself. With some equanimity, determination, and proper leverage however, he flung the chainsaw out of the soft earth. In turn this caused a nasty predicament. When the earth released the chainsaw, the object went flying into some random man ambling among the trees. Unfortunately, the chainsaw had somehow remained switched on during Jorge’s ordeal, and it struck the random man in the jugular. Needless to say, the random man died since Jorge had no idea how to deal with the situation. Flying chainsaws, he could handle, but flying chainsaws and random men was just a bit too far.
Yet Jorge felt somewhat responsible for the random man’s unseemly demise, so he thought he should at least know who he was. He found the man’s wallet; his name was John Smith. Psh, how original. Jorge figured that if this Mr. Smith had such a mundane name, he had to be a mundane man. He briefly considered the fact that John’s death wasn’t exactly what you’d call “mundane,” but reasoned that deaths usually contradicted a person’s life. I.e. if someone dies while rock climbing, they usually die from a fall, whereas if someone worked in the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001, they died from an explosion caused by terrorists. Concluding that John Smith was a very plain man indeed, Jorge figured that he wouldn’t go randomly traipsing through the wild jungles of America for no apparent reason. He was clearly looking for an outlet that he could switch the toaster into. Therefore, his house was obviously nearby. The lemur then concluded that John was a man who would walk to the south, since he was rather portly and looked a bit moronic; therefore, “south” means “down hill.” Jorge headed north.
As luck would have it, Jorge found John Smith’s residence, a little bit to the west of where he was walking. At the moment, you see, Mrs. (or Ms. I suppose would be correct now) Smith had just finished baking a pie and placed it on the window sill. Clearly Ms. Smith wasn’t much brighter than her former husband and had no idea that the lemurs in the area could not only easily steal the pie, but also come in through the window and rape her if her lack of intelligence dare upset them. I suppose it’s clear that Jorge had every intention of forgetting how he killed Mr. Smith, and instead take his pie away from his widow. But Jorge felt a twinge of guilt and decided to observe Ms. Smith’s routine instead.
Apparently, the Smiths lived near Conan O’Brien for as Jorge got comfy about a foot away from the window, the man came in. He didn’t look very happy. Not very happy indeed.
“Um…Mrs. Smith?”
“Yes, Mr. O’Brien?”
“You haven’t…seen my cat, have you?”
At this, Ms. Smith gave Conan a rather baffled expression; “Why do you ask?”
Conan decided to get to the point: “Because I saw you stab it with a butcher knife.”
Ms. Smith cackled; “Why would I do thaaaat?”
Now Conan looked uneasy: “That’s exactly what I’m wondering…”
Jorge was alarmed. Perhaps this was why the Smiths married; only a moron would marry a homicidal psychopath.
Ms. Smith gave a look of shock. “But I’m serious, Mr. O’Brien, I don’t remember seeing your cat at all today!”
At that moment, an odd noise came from the oven. All three characters looked to see pieces of rather strange pie on the glass.
“Oooo it should be done now!”
Ms. Smith bent over to open the oven. “Oh piffles, it splattered everywhere.”
Conan looked frightened; “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to an oddly shaped piece of pie.
“Oh that’s an eyeball,” Ms. Smith replied with a calm smile.
She then started to laugh. “Hee hee hee hee would you like a SLICE Mr. O’Brien? Cat meat’s ever so tasty!”
And with that, Jorge decided that the toxins in the air were far too effective and ran away from the house, into the jungle. He then decided to eat mangos and remain eating mangos until a better ending for this tale came along.
So now comes that classy time where I use that ever so cliché ending, “fin.”