The Point of the Story

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Category: Blast From The Past

How To Find Out What Happens When A Scientist Doesn’t Have A Social Life

10 April 2022 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

What happens when the brightest minds are banished to the back of the room?

Indubitably, sparks will fly and things will go boom…

“Hey, Howard, this boredom is killing me back here!”

Alas, my cries of ennui fell upon deaf ears–well, actually they were “ears solely focused on the academic struggles of my plebeian cohort”–of our (mostly) beloved Mr. Raff.

You see, that’s the problem when science comes easy to you: your smart ass gets stuck sitting in the back of your Freshman science class, at the lab tables…with minimal supervision…with nothing to do.

And the teachers at Rolla High School, much like the teachers at any other ‘Merican school–always justified such involuntary isolation with, “Well, we don’t want you distracting the other students, blah blah blah…”

Now riddle me this, Oh Wise Sages: how the heck do you expect us nerdlings to develop proper social skills if you’re always separating our ilk from the regular salt-of-the-earth kids?

Dear Teachers, hear me now: this barbaric anti-social practice of yours? I darn-sure guarantee you it’s just begging for some anti-social behavior in response.

Now, is that what you really want? To create the next generation of evil-geniuses? Do you really want to be responsible for the next Ted Kaczynski?

I didn’t think so…

“ZIP! ZAP! ZIP! ZTTTTTTTTT!”

You know, I gotta be honest: I expected a few sparks to fly, but, man, whew! Let’s just say that my scientific inquisitivity was promptly rewarded with quite the little Fourth of July fireworks display.

And I gotta say, I was a little disappointed that none of my fellow students got to enjoy the fruits of the labor of my lightly burnt fingertips. You know, on account of me being stuck in the back of the classroom and all…

Now, before you go judging me for recklessly endangering my classmates for my own amusement, I just wanna say in my defense: that was probably the most truly scientific event to happen in that classroom all year.

Think about it: what is the true spirit of experimental endeavors? What is the motto of the scientific community? I can’t remember exactly, but I believe it’s something like:

“F*ck Around And Find Out”

the battle cry of curious minds around the world

Yeah,yeah, I’ve heard that somewhere before, and I’m pretty sure that’s what means…right?

So naturally, when a little voice in my awkward little future-physicist head whispered into my awkward little future-physicist ear, “Hey, don’t you ever wonder what really happens when you stick a paper clip into an electric socket?” what do you think I did?

Dang straight:

I f*cked around and found out…

“Whoever the mastermind is, they overlooked one key detail: Mr. Raff is not a smoker.”

I averted my eyes as un-suspiciously as possible, trying not draw the attention of the Mr. P & Mr. B, RHS’s principal and vice principle, respectively.

“Youths, if any of you know who is responsible for this attempted act of terrorism, please tell us now.”

“That’s right, this is no laughing matter: had there been the slightest spark, the entire science classroom–and probably the library, too–would have been blown to high-heaven.”

I continued to act as nonchalant as possible.

“Children, we know that an entire classroom doesn’t magically fill with natural gas by itself overnight. Whoever the culprit is, we can can guarantee you this: we will sniff you out.”

“Heh, heh, nice pun.”

“Thanks! Glad you appreciated it…” Despite the gravity of the matter, Mr. P. had no problem accepting Mr. B.’s complement of his incredible egregious Dad-joke. But, fear not, he quickly regained his serious demeanor:

“Hey! Who’s that trying to whistle all innocently at the back of the room?”

“Yeah, you–sitting at the lab table…”

“…next to the gas valve for the Bunsen burners…”

Misters P. & B. looked at each other in shock as an uncomfortable realization washed over them, before turning to glare at Mr. Raff.

“Dammit, Howard, you’ve gone and done it–you’ve turned RHS’s star student into the next Unabomber!”1Bonus fun fact: Ted Kaczynski was arrested almost at the exact same time as the events in this story happened (+/- 1.5 months), on April 3, 1996.

“Son, a word, please?”

I knew finding myself in a huge pile of deep doo-doo was inevitable from the moment I arrived early that morning at my first-period math class–also held in the science room–only to find the door oddly propped open by a trash can.

But I loved Mr. Raff–he was “beloved’ after all, was he not?–and I had never meant to almost blow him to the Great Beyond. Aww, man, if I wanted to avoid being sent off to Juvenile Detention, I only had once choice: to come clean–no matter how embarrassing the truth may be.

I nervously cleared my throat, not sure if they would find believable what I was about to tell them.

“So, you see what happened was…well, I had finished all my homework as usual, and was sitting by my lonesome there in the back, when heard a little voice in my head. It said, ‘Hey, what do you suppose would happen if you, oh, I don’t know, say, jammed a chunk of paper in the Bunsen burner gas valve2As opposed to “in your ears“… and then turned it on real quick-like?’…”

“Okaaaaay…and…?”

“Of course, I had to test out that theorem…it worked pretty well, I might add–launched them spitwads about a quarter of the way across the room…”

“Sure, but that doesn’t explain why you left the gas on all ----- night.”

“Oh, right. Well, that Voice wasn’t satisfied with just 1/4 of the classroom, hissing into my innocent little hearing-orifice: “You know, you really need to let the pressure build. Why not jam a SUPER-BIG wad in there so it takes a few minutes of the gas being on before it blasts out at a high velocity? Inquiring minds want to know: is it possible to blast it all the way across the room?’ And you can’t ignore sound logic like that, right?”

“Hmmm…go on…”

“So, like any scientist worth their salt, I, um…”

“You what?”

“…well, I kinda ‘f*cked around’…”

*beat*

“…but I forgot to stick around and, uh, you know, ‘find out’…”

Mr. P. let out a sigh that was somewhere in between exasperation and relief.

“Well, today’s your lucky day, son. Fortunately for you, ‘unadulterated dumbassery’ is not a crime…”

“…and as for you…”

The two principals turned their attention to Mr. Raff.

“Dammit, Howard, you may have not created an evil genius, per se–just what appears to be a ‘stupid genius.’ And that’s probably even more dangerous…”

Content created on: 8/9 April 2022 (Fri/Sat)

Footnotes & References:[+]

A Little Advice For Making Jail House Friends For Life

3 October 2021 / / 0 Comments
6 Min Read

“You boys have been found guilty of being incredibly frickin’ stupid.”

“I hereby sentence you little dumbasses to be friends for life…”

“I don’t want to go to prison!” *Sob* *SOB* *S.O.B.* “My daddy always said I had a butt that would make a black woman jealous…”

Our partner in crime was mostly assuredly dead, and my father’s racist and sexist commentary on my body image was only serving to egg on my worst-case-scenario imagination…

Oh, hello! I didn’t see you there! You maybe wondering what I’m going on about, and in that case you definitely need to take moment to check my previous musings, Introducing: Pony Boy and the Treehouse of Prison Time (as always, I’ll wait).

…

Ok, so now it makes sense right? My bro, 1SJ, my cuz, Pony Boy, and the new kid in town, NKOTB, had just been abandoned by my classmate and fellow posse member, Etu Brute, who wanted no part in our scheme to break into an unoccupied house in hopes of stealing any random items we might find inside. And thanks for reminding us all that the average of our Ring of Thieves was right around 11 years old–a key point of context, indeed.

So last I left you, us older idiots had sent NKOTB to break in through a window on the second floor of this house–which he had done successfully–and we had been waiting waaaaaaay too long for him to come downstairs and let us, his accomplices, in through the back door.

Fearing that gangly little ----- had managed to kill himself in the process, I was internally melting down at the prospect of, at only the ripe age of 9, being charged with murder, seeing as how it would be a death that occurred during the commission of a crime.

Oooooh…you can just taste the tension in the air…

“Um, guys, I kinda got lost trying to find the back door. I mean, I made it downstairs, at least…”

At the 6-minute mark, he popped his scraggly-toothed head out the same window he had entered through, and left us dumbfounded with the news of his failure.

It can’t help bring to mind the “You had one job” genre of memes, such as this one taken from the credits of Jurassic Park:

Jurassic World: Dinosaur supervisor demoted after letting everyone die in Jurassic Park Phil Tippett | Metro News
Figure 1: Where the hell were you the entire ----- movie, Phil!?!

…

There was a moment of dead silence before we all busted out laughing. We simply couldn’t resist the temptation to drag his ass for another good five minutes over the fact…um, the fact that…well, just how exactly does one get lost in a 2-story, 3 bedroom house?!? It wasn’t exactly a labyrinthine chateau that he was working with here, amiright? Who let this dumbass into our group anyways?

“Okay, you just stay there,” Pony Boy called up. “We’ll come to you.”

Unfortunately, the back door was locked.

Even more unfortunate was that the front door was not locked, and therefore when we went around front and tried the knob, we were able to waltz right in…

“Man, there ain’t jack-sh*t in here!” You could definitely hear the disgust mixed with disappointment in Pony Boy’s voice.

I guess he was really looking forward to his acts of petty thievery–hopes which were quickly dashed when-surprise, surprise-the house was empty as vacant houses are wont to be.

The rest of us weren’t quite as vested in the whole endeavor, and quickly shrugged it off, taking the opportunity to explore the house like a bunch of curious kittens instead.

It was much to our chagrin, then, when we came back down the stairs, only to be greeted by the lone cop in Rolla. At his side was Sorg, the busy-bodied troll-looking middle-aged man who lived next door, and apparently had been watching us from his porch as we broke into the house.

“Oh, sh*t.” We collectively gasped, acknowledging that we were collectively screwed…

From that point, things were kind of a blur. What I remember so vividly was the all-encompassing sinking feeling of regret that leaves one questioning their life choices.

I also remember waiting outside with the Po-po for our parents and guardians to come, and guess who comes pedaling up on his bike to see what all the hub-bub was about? That’s right, the one person in our group with an ounce of sense in his brain, Etu Brute.

“Haha, you dummies! I told you it was a bad idea!” And then off he pedaled, enjoying the feeling of freedom breeze through his little 90’s bowl-cut, while we were left to sit and ruminate upon the ass-whoopings we were indubitably about to receive.

The real highlight though, was when NKOTB‘s mom showed up–and she was soooooo pissed…

…at the cop.

But not because he had arrested her poor baby. Nope. She was absolutely livid that NKOTB appeared to still be able to enjoy the liberties of a non-criminal.

“What the hell are you doing? Put his ass in handcuffs! Teach that little shit a valuable life lesson…”

“Ma’am, your son is only 8. I don’t think that is either appropriate or necessary. We just–“

“I don’t care what you think! You need to scare his little thuggy ass straight! CUFFS. NOW.”

Sadly for her, she never got her wish. Instead of getting thrown in jail for the high crime of walking through an unlocked door to an empty house, we all just had to go down to the laughably-named “police station”–the back room of the lone hardware store in town–to be interrogated the next day.

Believe you me, that was the longest night of 1SJ’s and my little lives. Sure, Dad was pretty pissed in his own right–I mean, he cancelled all of our “Town Days” for the remaining few weeks of summer, and yes it sure sucked cornballs to have to go labor in the fields for the rest of our vacation.

But, still, knowing that you’re going to have to face the long tall shadow of the law when you wake up the next morning? Nothing like wondering if you’re going to be spending the rest of your life trying not to drop the soap in the shower to keep you up all night with ulcers, amiright?

Looking back, our “interrogations” kinda make me chuckle, but in the moment it was pretty traumatizing. I mean, the copper went through the trouble of separating us, and then–and I don’t why this is what really struck fear in my heart–he recorded the whole interview on tape.

He hit us with hard-ball questions like “Do you know who even owns that house?” and…and…and, um, that’s actually the only question I specifically remember (oh, what I would give to get my hands on those tapes now!).

In the end he was just like “Go, and sin no more.”

Well, he didn’t say that literally. It was more like, “All right you little sh*ts, don’t be going uninvited into other peoples’ house, you hear? It’s a waste of my time, and besides, I don’t really care to be publicly berated for not using handcuffs on minors…”

The point of the story is, first and foremost, even if you’re a kid, there’s no excuse for surrounding yourself by–and taking advice fro–shady characters with names like Pony Boy. Dammit, L’il Mee-Jay,1So that’s the tentative nickname for myself, whenever all my youthful escapades eventually get turned to an animated series: “The Many Shenanigans of L’il Mee-Jay”…has a nice ring to it, no? that nickname should have been your first clue that he was nothing but trouble…

But second and aft-most, if you want to forge a lasting friendship or two, all you need to do is engage in some mild larceny or other milquetoast act of criminal disobedience with some loose acquaintances.

You see, years later when I returned to Rolla to go to high school, that scraggle-tooted mother ----- we call NKOTB, with the little help of braces, blossomed into my high school bestie…also known as none other than the one, the only, Phillip K. Ballz, ladies and gentlemen!

And Etu Brute? You may know him from recent stories surrounding the events of The Crazy-Ass Summer of ’99–that’s right, ’tis The Bard!

Fuzzy feel-good life-lessons aside, in the end though, I can’t get help but always be reminded of this “headline” from the parody news website, The Onion, which pretty much sums it all up:

Content created on: 25 /26 September & 1 October 2021 (Sat/Sun/Fri)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Introducing: Pony Boy And The Tree House Of Prison Time

26 September 2021 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

Oh man, Pony Boy just rolled into town.

You best believe that some horse sh*t is about to go down…

“Aw, crap! Now I’ll never get to be president with this on my record…”

In one fell swoop, I had just ruined my very nascent-yet-very-promising political career. And it was all because of that stupid ----- tree house.

Ok, I admit I’m being a little over dramatic here–calling it a “tree house” is stretching the truth a bit, seeing as how in SW Kansas trees aren’t exactly in ample supply.

It was more of a stilt-house, if you will. You see, someone had put 4 very tall poles in their backyard and built a sweet little clubhouse about 15 feet off the ground on top of them. And then, as luck would have it, whoever this mysterious someone was had decided to abandon their house (and our sleepy little hamlet of Rolla altogether), leaving it all vacant.

And that’s where a bunch of rowdy young vagrants came into the picture…

‘Twas the summer between 3rd & 4th grade, back in the day when my bro, 1 Skinny Jay (aka 1SJ), and I were living in Missouri with our mom during the school year. Which meant that we got to spend our summers back in our hometown of Rolla, KS with our dad.

We had come to an agreement with Dad that every other day we would go out to the fields and farm with him. And in then during the alternating days in between, we would get to live the city-slicker life and spend the day in town at our grandma’s and do fun kid stuff like going to the pool, hanging out at the Corner Stop,1The one and only convenience store in town. and engaging in general youthful chicanery.

Now, we were more than capable than entertaining ourselves on our own, but sometimes we liked to roll more than 2-deep, and on occasion we would form our own little posse to help keep us preoccupied.

During that fateful period back in the Summer of ’90,2Not to be confused with the Crazy-Ass Summer of ’99. we were trolling the mean streets of Rolla with an old classmate of mine–who we’ll just call Etu Brute for now–and a snaggle-toothed kid a year younger than me who had just moved to town–we’ll call him NKOTB (and yes, that is an unabashed reference to those early 90’s pop-culture icons).

Now, I don’t properly recall who discovered the empty “tree house,” but whoever it was was celebrated as a ----- genius amongst us. I mean, it was pretty dang sweet having a hangout spot that not only had a view, but where also we wouldn’t live in fear of being harassed for “trespassing” or whatever the term Old Man Degarmo used when he found out that we had been using the loft of his barn to stash our cache of trashy mags (but that’s a whole ‘nother story).

Yes, technically we were squatting, but we weren’t hurting anybody, and no one seemed to really care. So for a few blessed weeks, we were drinking up the high life, which was flowing like an avalanche coming down the mountain.

Or as the kids would say these days, we had a good thing going…

“Pony Boy? What kind of nickname is that??”

Yes, it was none other than our slightly older cousin, a teenager with such impeccable judgment that he somehow had ended up with the moniker Pony Boy–but for all the wrong reasons, though. Rumor had it that it had something to do with a very stupid dare made in the barns of the Stevens County Fair…and I’ll just leave it at that.

Anyways, thanks to his notorious judgment (or lack thereof, *ahem*), there was never a dull moment when Pony Boy was around, so we didn’t mind when he started hanging out with us.

In retrospect, that was probably our first mistake.

Our second mistake was when we listened to him when he got bored just kicking it in the treehouse and suggested we up the ante and explore the main house on the property.

And by “explore” he meant…how did he put it? Oh yeah, and I quote: “Yeah, let’s break in and see if there’s any stuff like stereos and other sh*t that we can steal!”

Yes, yes, a man above all reproach, indeed.

And since at that point he was the de facto leader of our gang, we were all like “Sure. It sounds like fun…I guess.”

Well, all of us except for that party-pooper Etu Brute, who was like, “You guys are pretty stupid, and I ain’t havin’ no part of your dumbassery–I’m out!”

That left the 4 of us to figure out how we were going to go about breaking and entering at 3…p.m. Yup, we were going to do this in broad daylight. The incredibly brilliant ideas were just flowing like wine that day, no?

Pony Boy, our resident criminal mastermind, eventually decided that NKOTB, being the new kid, should climb up the T.V. antenna and onto the roof of the back porch. From there, he was to shimmy through one of the upstairs bedroom windows, then come downstairs and let the rest of us in through the back door.

A solid, solid plan. What could possibly go wrong?

So up and off he went, surprisingly making it into the house with no issue. Once we saw him disappear through the window, we started eagerly waiting for him to swing the back door wide open for our greedy little asses.

But after 5 minutes or so…still no NKOTB. What the heck was going on? Did he trip over a can of paint in there and break his neck?

Well, sh*t. That would be no good, now wouldn’t it? For serious, here–isn’t it that if somebody dies during the commission of a crime, then all of the accomplices are guilty of murder in the eyes of the law?

Oh, Pony Boy, what have you gotten us into this time?

“Wait!” you say!

“So what happened to NKOTB?!?”

“Will the Hardly-Any-Common-Sense Boys be sent to federal ‘#-me-in-the-a$$’ prison for the rest of their lives???”

“Will we ever uncover the true origin story behind the name ‘Pony Boy’? Like, surely a real pony wasn’t involved…right???”

“And most importantly, does NKOTB–poor guy, Rest in Power–die and have to persist for eternity in heaven as an awkward snaggle-toothed 8-year-old??”

“INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW!!!”

Ok, I get it. You’ve still got questions.

Well, in that case, you’ll just have to tune in next week for the stunning[ly stupid] conclusion…

Content created on: 25/26 September 2021 (Sat/Sun)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Dilbob The Happy Alien

23 July 2020 / / 0 Comments
3 Min Read

Ladies & Gentlemen, Boys & Girls, The Point of the Story proudly presents, straight from my Sophomore year of high school:1Sorry, no refunds.

Dilbob the Happy Alien
Episode One: Dilbob and the Bare Beavers

*See end of post for uncensored version*
“If you can’t read this, then this book is 4 you!”
Books 4 the Illiterate
Copyright 1997
“Stungun-45: the Universal Fermented Beverage of Choice”
Dilbob the Happy Alien is an alien with some real problems. In Dilbob the Happy Alien, Episode One: Dilbob and the Bare Beavers, Dilbob has flashbacks to an abduction by Hippie Earthlings. Whatever they did to him makes him involuntarily shave all his little beaver friends with his teeth. In his first book since the "THE" series (1985-87), B.J. {name redacted] explores the world of that teenages alien known as Dilbob. Episode One: Dilbob and the Bare Beavers is his first installment in the Dilbob the Happy Alien series. Be on the lookout for more Dilbob the Happy Alien Episodes with Dilbob and his favorite beaver, Harrieta. (Books 4 the Illiterate/3 Men & a Lot of Ladies, Book Co.)
The uncensored inside cover, which regrettably included some very explicit spoilers.
Rest in Power, Puppis
Fake Reviews!

Content created on: Spring 1997 & 23 July 2020 (Thursday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

His Name Is Robort Kirk…His Name Is Robort Kirk…

28 June 2020 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

No, the title is not a typo, and no, I didn’t accidentally get all trigger happy with Cut & Paste. Maybe this pop-culture reference from the 1999 hit movie, Fight Club, will provide the context needed for your appreciation of the mirth contained herein:

Okay, with that out of the way, let’s get right to today’s tale…

“My neighbor is a fellow that goes by the name Robort Kirk. He told me that he came from the U.S.S. Enterprise. He moved next door about two years ago. He acts strangely when he shaves because his hair grows back instantly.

Once, I saw him turn into a laser-beam & dissappear. He also has many models that appear to be out of a Sci-fi movie. The two most disturbing things about him is that he has no left arm & a robotic right hand.

Robort is usually depressed. He acts very disoriented with his surroundings. His legs are very short & stubby, so that might have something to do with it. He seems solemn because he never moves his eyes.

I guess he works at NASA because he is building a spaceship module. His probably has no doors, just ports. He could be an alien who android who has a human brain. He builds models in his spare time.

In the future he will finish his spaceship & go back to the Enterprise. I think when he got the brain transplant, they mixed up the programming disk with a disk with data about Star Trek.

Obviously, he will lose his job.

I think he is extremely weird. I want to move! I don’t like him or Star Trek!”

If you’re wondering what in the hell you just read, you’re not alone. Well, you see what happened was…I was doing a little excavating today and unearthed this sacred text:

His name is Robort Kirk. Hist name is Robort Kirk. His name is Robort Kirk…

That’s right, today’s tale was courtesy of a very special guest.

…and it was ME.1Watch this if you don’t get the joke: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-J2YVaXIpKQ&t

Well, to be more specific, it was 8th-Grade B.J., joining us all the way from 1994!

And I have a lot of questions for him, such as, “What the hell are you talking about, man?”

Or “Dare I ask what the assignment was? Let me guess: ‘Imagine someone different than you and describe how you would be an intolerant asshat towards them.’ Am I close?”

Or “Dude, I’ve read much more coherent literature…written by our 7-Year-Old Self.”

Seriously, this was a little embarrassing to read. I thought it was kinda cute when I originally read it, but that’s only because I just assumed that it was something I had written in 4th grade at the latest.

But I was almost 14 when I wrote this.

Amazingly, though, this wasn’t the most embarrassing thing I’ve read today written by 13-Year-Old BJ.

I also unearthed an old copy of the Hutchinson News2One of the most widely-distributed newspapers in the western half of Kansas. Seriously: https://www.hutchnews.com/ from August 1994. One in which contained a Letter To The Editor which eloquently defended the honor of…Rush Limbaugh. I’m not going to say who wrote that letter, but I’m just going to say that I’d really rather not talk about that right now.

Oh! One last question:

“That was your final draft? I’d hate to see what the first draft looked like…”

Well, guess who brought receipts?

Well, here’s a letter to my editor here (have no idea who my writing partner was): “You’ve been extremely helpful./s”3”/s” is Reddit-speak for “I’m being sarcastic, you dumb fuck.”

At least it would have been a fun drinking game where we take a shot of liquor every time that useless turd commented with “How can you tell?” or “So what?”

On the other hand–ooohh! Sorry, Robort, poor choice of words on my part. What I meant to say was, on the bright side, my editor did have a few good nuggets:

  • In reference to what happens when Robort shaves: “How can you tell? Have you been over when he has shaved?” Good point. And thanks for making me feel super creepy.
  • “Why does he not have a robotic Left arm too?” Because, Good Sir, that would just make too much ----- sense. Who are you, anyway? The Logic Police?
  • “So he is not from the Enterprise, he just thinks he is.” Bingo! What a twist! Though in retrospect, I should give him/her much more for credit for actually pulling that key plot point out from my certified word vomit.

Welp! Thanks for taking this long walk down memory lane with me today. I know that it’s not necessarily a good look when I end it with an argument with an almost-imaginary editor from 25 years ago. Though I swear I haven’t been day drinking…again.

I suppose the point of the story is maybe you should be a little more cautious when “digging into the [proverbial] vault.” Just because you share it on a Thursday doesn’t mean that it was something you necessarily should be Throwing Back to.4This was such a throwback that I missed Thursday altogether and it landed on a Sunday.

Oh, yeah, and love your neighbor. How ----- hard can this be?5If you think this is personally directed at you, I would like to kindly point out that this was written well over 2 weeks ago.

Content created on: 3 November 1994 and 11 June 2020 (Thurs/Thurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

The Case of the Cats Cradle

14 June 2020 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

Sometimes, there is no greater pleasure in life than coming across a piece of creative work made by a much younger version of yourself.

Except for publicly mocking it. That is definitely a greater pleasure.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you The Case of the Cat’s Craedle: Extended Deluxe Edition with Commentary. Please, enjoy.

“The Case of the Cat’s Craedle (sic).”1No relation to the music venue in Carrboro, NC.

“…and the Mystery of the Giant Glowing C—.” No, wait, that’s supposed to be a flashlight beam. Well, this is already going just swimmingly, now isn’t it?

Copyright 1988.

You don’t know how relieved I am that I put the exact date this content was created. It would have slowly eaten my mind up from the inside out not knowing.

“Once, three 1st graders went outside for some cases.”

Because, where else are you going to find “cases”? Also: nice gun.

“Then one of the kids shouted something.”

You gonna tell us what that something was, or…? No? Okay, that’s cool. Just leave us all hanging.

“All of the kids looked.”

…and saw the baddest mother-effing cat-punk in the world.

“And I got out my gun.”

“There’s only enough room for one mohawk at this party!” I indubitably yelled as I popped a cap in his ass.

“We gotchya. Bang-Boom-Pop.”

“Bang-Boom-Pop”?!? Hah. That would be a pretty stupid thing to say if it were to come out of the mouth of anybody but a 7-year-old…2Also, I have no idea who “Robert Lewis” is, nor what “Shot of a case” means. So stop asking.

“Uh-oh. He’s alive.”

Dude, is this cat…Jesus?3No. We all know Jesus wouldn’t need no weak-ass parachute to rise again.

You'll be dead any minute!
“You’ll be dead any minute!”

[Insert righteous Hooked On Phonics (TM) slam here.]

But he is going to melt!
“But he is going to melt!”

But is he really? That looks more like a wood-chipper to me.

But one thing that is left is the spirit.
“But one thing that is left is the spirit.”

Well. That really took a turn…

But the spirit got caught.
“But the spirit got caught.”

Care to explain how that happened? This picture of a phallic object tells me nothing…

And it went through the cage.
“And it went through the cage.”

Okay, well at least we know how our trio of geniuses thought they could contain a spirit. Great job, boys!

Bang, Boom, Pop. It blow-up.
“Bang, Boom, Pop. It blow-up.”

Nevermind ill-advisedly using that onomatopoeia again–somebody needs to tell this kid that adding that hyphen really changes the meaning of “blow up.”

A monster!
“A monster!”

A monster?!? Where the ----- did this ass-clown come from?

Bang. I gotchya.
“Bang. I gotchya.”

A dickhead. I literally drew a dick-head. I’m sorry folks. I gotta apologize on behalf of my younger self for this obscene art.

Uh-oh. He is dead.
“Uh-oh. He is dead”

I’m pretty sure this character with the fan-crotch and playing bullet golf was supposed to be me. So…the end?

The End.

Well, that plot went nowhere. I suppose that’s pretty on-brand for me, though…

…meanwhile, The Elder, who is several months younger than me when I wrote this burn-barrel fodder YA fiction, drew this just today:

“Family Going Out To Dinner” (2020) Pen and Color Marker on Printer Paper. Artist: The Artist Currently Known As The Elder.

The point of the story is: keep breeding folks! Eventually we’re bound to produce a generation better than our own. Gotta just keep trying!

Content created on: 15 February 1988 & 11 June 2020 (Monday/Thursday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

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