Sunday, April 29, 2012

Mighty Putty - Dictated by Dr. James "Kangaroo King" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "The Princess" Johnson

First and last paragraph from Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
   My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt - sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.
   Onlookers gave disgusted scowls at the sight of a 34 year old man weighing 316 lbs in a shirt more fitting for a 16 year old girl and a women's parka, but I wanted to be my own me, so I took pleasure in their disappointment.
   "Mom, would you roll the windows up and turn the air on? My hair is blowing all over the place," I yelled frantically. She retorted, "Oh, calm down, Norman. We're almost to the airport, you're lucky I'm letting you pick up your friend there." I was taken aback at her disrespect for my wishes. "I told you to call me Hammer of Don, mom. I know no Norman."
   She shot back, "I named you Norman Leonard Finklestein the day you were born, and that has been your name your entire life."
   "Has been!" I yelled, "But it isn't any more! My chosen and respective name is Hammer of Don, and once I scrape together the required funds, I will have my name legally changed."
   I was upset with her, but the feeling fleetingly left my mind as we rolled up to the airport. "What's up Hammer?" shouted my friend, Larry, with his trademark lisp. "Oh, not much, but this old hag is really raining on my parade today," I said while pointing at the woman I once called my mother.
   "Hey!" yelled my mom from the front seat. "Don't talk about me like that! I am your mother and you will respect me!"
   Larry and I rolled our eyes, but it was okay because this weekend was going to be a blast. We sat in the back seat on the way home, giggling and joking while we traded Magic, Pokemon, and Yu-Gi-Oh cards in the back seat.
   "You'll never guess what I found!" yelled Larry, suddenly. He pulled Exodia the Forbidden One, a rare Yu-Gi-Oh card. "I was walking in the park one day," he said, "When out of the blue, I look down and there it is, Exodia staring me right in the face. I pushed over an old man, threw a baby out of the way, and stepped on some kid's hand to get to it as fast as possible.
   An envy so great I couldn't possibly compare it to any existing standard welled up inside me. For a moment I considered opening Larry's door and shoving him out, while I kept the card for myself. My mother would be in shock, of course, and I would need to take the wheel. I never actually received a license or permit, but I drove a go kart once, and hit only a few things for the many long feet that I drove it.
   After some long thought considering what the most legal and peaceful way to obtain the card would be, I decided I would offer money for the acquisition. I quickly plunged my hand into my mother's purse, digging around for her wallet. I needed that money, so I tossed a comb, a bunch of key rings, some gum, and some pictures out the window as I dug frantically into the abyss.
  After slapping her hand away numerous times, I finally got what I wanted. I opened the wallet and grabbed a handful of hundred dollar bills. I offered the money to Larry, and he accepted graciously.
   "Hey, you can't just give away my money!" the old hag yelled from the front seat. She was always a pushover, so where others would have stopped the car and smacked me silly, she just shook her head and kept driving.
   Suddenly, Larry pulled a book from his fanny pack. "This is Twilight," he said with a dorky smile across his face, spitting in my eye. "It's basically the greatest book ever."
   "Yeah, I've read it," I said. "It was pretty cool. Who's your favorite character?" I inquired. "Jacob Black," he said back to me. Rage began to boil inside, because I was on Team Edward. Suddenly, I just blocked him out. It was pure silence. Then I took the form of a ball and rolled from the car.
   If the silence in my head lasted I would never go back. I wouldn't be the first to choose this form over the other. Maybe, if I ran far enough away, I would never have to hear again...
I pushed my legs faster, letting Jacob Black disappear behind me.

New Ideas

Alright, let's admit it. This blog is pretty dang stale. One of the problems is, obviously, that I don't write nearly often enough. I am aware of this, but we have yet to see whether this will change or not. Another problem is starting the stories. I often have a little trouble beginning my stories and coming up with a good plot to base the parody of sorts on. To curb these issues and hopefully make overall more interesting stories for the few readers I may or may not have, I will try beginning my stories with the first paragraph of an already existing story, whether it be a short story, novel, etc. so long as it's a popular story. I figure it's all fair game because taking from a serious story could in theory be a good, effective way to start a parody. So, from now on (at least temporarily) this will be the course of action.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

InstaHang - Dictated by Dr. James "the Jack" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Baxter" Johnson

My original plan was to write a 100% factual story once a week. Promise you won't be mad.... but I sort of missed my mark, in that I haven't written in the last 11 months, and that story was 3 months after the last before it. Not to mention, not all my stories have been 100% factual... they've been about 213% factual. So, without further uhdoo, here's my story.
There was once a General of the Chinese army. He was a wealthy man, and often wore suits with a high thread count, as wealthy men do, because he was wealthy, had plenty of money, and was loaded. He also liked to look presentable, okay? Get off the man's case! Unfortunately, he didn't want to be a general. He was drafted into the military at a very young age (living in a communist country), and he excelled quickly. What he really wanted was to be a truck driver in the United States, and experience nagging dispatchers, irritating DOT inspections, live away from family and friends for long periods of time, and eat greasy truckstop food. But that is another story entirely, and does not have its hand in this one. The general's mother was a famous cook, and had her own show on the Chinese equivalent of the Food channel, the name of which roughly translates to, "What, You Don't Like Our Communist, Government Provided Food? Network". The name was forced by the communist government, and the government seemed to be hostile to the channel. However, the government officials did enjoy forcing their inferior wives to make the food displayed on the channel, and so it stayed. But his mother was long away from her job at the WYDLOCGPR Network, as she was on her death bed. The General came as soon as he could when the news was delivered to him by a small Chinese boy who was later beaten for diverting from his pre-scheduled day, as every communist child had. He leaned in to his mother to listen, as she struggled to gasp for air, every breath becoming weaker and weaker. "Son, I left," she said, stopping to cough and pull in enough air to speak. "Would you please speak up, mother?!" shouted the General, putting his female mother into her rightful place in the Communist Chinese system. "I left you a gift." she struggled to say. "Would you just come out with it mother, and please annunciate, I don't want to be here all day," said the General. His mother was taken aback, but she continued, "I left you three tons of my famous chicken. I even named it after you. It's kept in a vacuum sealed freezer so it will last." She looked at her boy with a proud expression on her face, but he just looked confused and angry. "You're just leaving me chicken?! What a parting gift that is!" her son shouted. He continued to throw over her bedside table and storm out of the room, his mother breaking into tears. What a tragic moment that would have been, right? Well, it was pretty bad, but fortunately for her she got better in a matter of days, and was thriving after a month. The General paid no mind to his mother's recovery, however, because he had work to do. Or so he thought. He sat for days, pondering what to do. There had to be some infidel to attack, right? Some evil military force, maybe a country talking smack, or a group of innocent civilians expressing their desire for an actual republic, as their name suggests, instead of a communism. But nothing came to mind. He sat pondering, while his right hand man, Ying-yang Ping-pong awaited his orders. "Sir," Ying-yang said, "what exactly are we going to do? You've had our entire military at attention for days now, but we have yet to hear one order other than to ready for battle." Ying-yang Ping-pong had a point. The General responded, "Hold it Ying-yang, I need to ponder." He sat in silence, thinking about what he could do. "Ying-yang Ping-pong, my right hand man with a ridiculous, stereotypical Asian name," the General said. "Would you please order an attack on all civilians who want a republic?" Ying-yang sat for a few seconds, with a concerned look on his face. "So, you want open season on anyone who is not a government official, sir?" The General thought it over, and changed his mind. "No, I've changed my mind," he said. "I know," responded Ying-yang, "the narrator has made it quite clear that you have changed your mind. The General was concerned by Ying-yang's schizophrenia, but shook it off and continued. "We'll attack China, those communist pigs!" the General exclaimed. "We are China," said Ying-yang. The General was confused for a moment, then realized how correct Ying-yang Ping-pong was. "Russia?" he asked. "No," responded Ying-yang, "that will probably cause a nuclear war." He thought for a moment. "United Kingdom?" he asked. "Nuclear war." "Iran?" he continued. "Nuclear." Ying-yang retorted. "United States?" the General asked. Ying-yang said nothing, he was just in shock by the General's insanity. "Sir, would you excuse me?" asked Ying-yang. "I thought you looked a little antsy." the General replied, "Do you have to pee?" Ying-yang left the room. The General sat for a few minutes, then a few men in suits entered the room. One said, "Sir, you've been relieved of your position, as you have suggested going to war with the country whose name is not spoken. They would utterly crush us, and we know it. We are not suicidal, just power hungry." With those words, the General was out of work. He got home, but General Tso yelled with a disheartened, angry look and a baffled tone, "Who the heck ate all my chicken?!" But he noticed that the perpetrator left their pants. In it he found a wallet, with a torn library card that had the remains of a name, ending in "siah Johnson". He was angry, but upon finding a Zippo lighter in the pocket, he was overjoyed, and played with it to his heart's content. This alone was enough to constitute the overused, almost expected ending of, "and he lived happily ever after." But don't fret. He died in a house fire started by the lighter only three weeks later.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Total Pillow - Dictated by Dr. James "Mountain Top!" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Shilo Buff" Johnson

Alright, so I haven't written anything in the last five months. Okay, I lied, I've written tons of stuff. School work, I've signed stuff, done more school work, wrote comments on Facebook, did backbreaking schoolwork, "accidentally" updated tons of statuses as comments on my sister's Facebook in a completely incoherent fashion to what she had written, did pointless schoolwork, and did some homework. But I haven't yet updated my blog. So I will now proceed to inform of what happened yesterday. I was on my way to the NYPD headquarters (New York Peace Destroyers if you remember correctly, New Yummy Pickle Dip if you don't) to offer them a peace treaty. It was a scroll ten cubits wide and fifty long when fully extended. Its paper was made from the wood of a St. Helena Gumwood, a rare and endangered breed of tree, the dowels at each end were made of ivory from the tusks of rare Cambodian elephants, and it was written in Latin with the blood of Conan O'Brien serving as ink. It roughly translated to, "Hey, sign right down there on that line at the bottom of this page for peace. Thanks." I had it printed out at Walgreens for a dollar. I marched right inside and lay the scroll down on the table. I translated and explained the rarity and importance of every material that went into the scroll. Once I had read the message, I laid the scroll down on the table for the goon at the desk to sign, and even provided the quill. He gave me a strange look, then put on his reading glasses and carefully looked over the paper for a while. After a few seconds, he looked up with a chuckle that took my soul to hell and back, then to Chuck E. Cheese's, to Menards to buy a hammer, and then back again. He asked with a vial tongue, "Are you serious?" After about five minutes of uninterrupted locked eyes and an unforgiving glare that stared into his wretched soul, he cleared his throat, then piped up, "There's a mental clinic just down the road, I'll have a ride arranged for you shortly. I exploded, "I have no quarrels with the fellows at the mental clinic! It would be trivial to have them sign this treaty!" After a few awkward moments he replied, "Treaty, huh? Looks like a bunch of scribblings on a piece of green construction paper with a blue crayon, glued to a dirty stick." He mocked the fine construction of my scroll. I went outside and walked down the street to the mental clinic. I marched inside the doors just as firmly as I had at the NYPD, then slammed the treaty on the desk and demanded that they join me in war against the putrid nation of the Peace Destroyers. The woman at the desk gave me a sinister grin and said, "Well alright then, let's just do that. Do you have any relatives at home?" Of course. She needed recognition of my noble status to ever think of joining me in war against such a foul gang as the NYPD. I replied, "Yes, as a matter of fact my father is at home, he shall be able to tell you of my nobility." She replied, "Alright, can I have his phone number?" I gave her the information she needed. She went into another room for about five minutes, then emerged with a line of soldiers wearing their nation's color, white. They strapped me into my command chair, then brought me to my room, padded as to absorb shocks from any attacks on the fortress. From there I commanded them for the rest of the night until I was released to go home. When I walked out I could tell we had won, because none of the blue colors or copper badges signifying the infamous NYPD could be seen for miles. I threw a homeless man out of his box behind my house and went to bed in it knowing I was a champion.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Bug Remover - Dictated by Dr. James "But you're not a doctor" Johnson.- Typed by Josiah "Just trust me" Johnson

Today we're going to tell you about Lucky Timmy. This was an assignment Josiah had for school, and I don't feel like listing every parameter, but the just of it is Timmy has to have two broken legs, fall into a well, and either get out of the well or die. He can't use any tools, people, animals, ghosts, or spirits to help. So here is the assignment:

Lucky Timmy, as his friends called him, was crawling to the hospital, with his two broken legs. He was heading to the emergency room to treat his stomach ulcer and brain hemorrhage. It was the middle of the night in freezing rain. Timmy had been crawling along for hours now. He started losing strength in his arms when he heard his schizophrenic voice, Kyle, who sounded just like James Earl Jones, say, "Timmy, I'm thirsty!" "Well, what do you expect me to do about it," cried Timmy, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little busy at the moment, Kyle!" Timmy's conscience, Jimothy, piped in, "Kyle, could you keep it down? I'm still trying to evaluate Timmy's life choices that lead him to this situation. By the way, Kyle, the majority of us subconscious beings are hungry, not thirsty." "Shut your yap, Jimothy," retorted Kyle. Timmy, eager to resolve this feud before it resulted in a subconscious fist fight, said, "Alright, Kyle. There's a well over yonder. I'll crawl over there and get you something to drink." So Timmy picked his torso up again and began to crawl towards the well, already developing hypothermia due to the freezing rain. Timmy's life sucks. Finally, Timmy reached the well. He hoisted himself up using the last of his upper body strength. Unfortunately (I'll bet you didn't see that coming), the well was slippery due to the rain, and Timmy plummeted into the well and face planted at the bottom, well below the surface of the water. Timmy was dazed and eventually regained consciousness underwater. He was in agony all over his body, but he specifically noticed that the top of his head was freezing. Timmy climbed the rocks with his hands because he could not swim well. Finally, he reached the surface. He looked up and could barely glimpse the top of the well. He felt something dripping down his face and realized the freezing he had felt underwater was due to the large open gash in the top of his head that he must have sustained when he face planted. Timmy began to wonder how he still had enough blood or physical energy in his body to actually be alive at this point, but he quickly shoved the irrelevant thought out of his head. He had more important things to worry about. After several minutes of silent recovery, Kyle broke the silence. "You know, on second thought, I'm not really thirsty anymore, Timmy. We can leave now." "Kyle...I hate you," replied Timmy. "How many times have I told you to stop listening to him," said Jimothy. "Would you guys be quiet so I can think," yelled Timmy. He began to look for something to grab onto to pull himself out of the well. Timmy grabbed the first rock, tightened his grip, and began to climb. It took him a few minutes, but he eventually got himself high enough that he was out of the water -still in the freezing rain - but out of the water. Timmy was gaining confidence in himself. It wasn't very often that one of his plans succeeded...obviously. Suddenly, one of the rocks he was holding onto broke loose from the wall, and Timmy plummeted back into the water, again smashing his head on the rocks. "You're pretty much screwed," said Kyle. "I'm hungry, Timmy," said Jimothy. In sudden blind fury, Timmy took the rock and threw it as hard as he could against the well. Unfortunately, it ricocheted and hit Timmy's skull. The rock hit with such force that it caused the brain tumor to explode and his stomach ulcer went erratic. "You should have been on the baseball team," said Kyle, cheerfully. These were the last words that Lucky Timmy ever heard.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

EggGenie - Dictated by Dr. James "Papfroidle" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Oh Snap" Johnson

The other day I was driving my Lincoln, then I thought, there must be something better. After all, my car barely gets dented in an accident, it has remarkable low end torque, and has lots of trunk space and interior leg room. So naturally I wanted something more. So, I went home and decided to look for cars for sale. I found a Mustang in perfect condition for $100. It was obviously too expensive. Then I found a Porsche 911 for $25. Again, I didn't want to sell the farm just to buy a car. And that's not a figure of speech, I just didn't want to sell my farm. So I continued on to find nothing but junk, Hemi Cudas for $500, Vipers for $30, a Saleen S7 for free... I just ended up with a headache. Who knew it would be so hard to find something good? I turned on the TV to watch George Lopez, who is not at all cocky or vulgar, and he is funny like he thinks he is. Then a commercial came on for a Kia Soul with three hamsters driving it and the commercial made great points like that the Soul is better than driving a cardboard box, a toaster, or a washing machine. in fact, here's the commercial at hand: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfJnqbudMzs
Naturally I decided to buy one. After all, they start at under $14K, and they have nearly as much metal as the average stapler, which is a lot for Kia. And, if you ever get a flat, you just take a spare right off a Hot Wheels car and pop it on. Plus they're great for storage. You just drive any ordinary weight vehicle over one and slide the conveniently flattened car right under your bed. The car is nearly as high quality as the Chevy Corvair that was so great it got heavy acclaim in books such as Unsafe at any Speed by Ralph Nader. So, anyway, I went straight to the nearest Kia dealership and walked right inside. To my immediate shock and awe, there were no large hamsters. Only normal size humans... I walked right out the door, realizing that the entire appeal was the hamsters. Then the next day I saw this Toyota commercial....

Monday, August 16, 2010

Aqua Shot - Dictated by Dr. James "Pilates" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "The Mosquito" Johnson

I used to work as a football coach for Applebee's. Yes, they have a football team, and yes, this is a 100% factual story. As far as you know. So the first day on the job the team and I were gathered in the restaurant. "Alright, Billy, you submerge around to the 9th line and throw the ball to Jimmy, then Jimmy will papfroidle the ball to Carl..." "Uh, sir, what you just said didn't make any sense. And nobody here is named Jimmy, Carl, or Billy!" snapped Billy. "Yeah!" agreed Carl and Jimmy. "Listen guys, I may have never worked in any sort of sport, watched any sport, or in any way was affiliated with a sport or gained knowledge of one, but believe me when I say that I know exactly what I'm talking about. Now, Frank, Carl is going to yodel the ball around Rufus to you, then you go for the slam dunk." Frank complained, "Coach I'm not named Frank, and with all due respect, you're not making any sense!" "No, Frank, the other team is just getting in your head, don't let them do that. Especially since if Jimmy can't make it, say he dies, then you'll have to papfroidle the ball to Carl." He asked, "Is that going to hurt?" I responded, "It's going to be more excruciating than giving birth to 50 children at the same time in 5 seconds with every bone in your body broken! Now lets get on the bus and go to the game!" We all boarded the bus. I was dead set on winning, although the team seemed to have other things on their minds, as they all looked very confused. One of the players piped up, "Who are we playing against, anyway? After all, we are a team for a restaurant!" The truth was, we weren't really working for Applebee's, there was no Applebee's team and therefore no game, and I knew nothing to do with football. I responded, "We're facing Burger King. We're working for Applebee's here, a very prestigious, and might I add existent, team, and I know everything there is to know about football! We're going to win, you believe that!" We arrived at a Burger King in Pennsylvania, and I decided I'd just throw the ball at customers and yell things at the players and they'd play. I was right. After being kicked out I had a lot of explaining to do. But I decided to explain nothing, and instead I got on the bus and went home. And that was the end of that day, and that "job". The moral of the story is, I have no clue what a papfroidle is, but I made it up and it's fun to say. Sound it out if you can't pronounce it.