Monthly Archives: April 2011

Gumballin’

He applied the last bit of mascara, the last dab of lipstick, and took a deep breath. Now, he was ready.

How could he not be? He had waited for this moment his entire life. He was finally going to show them. He smiled.

Aviv delicately lifted his gumball jar and stepped outside. Today he would finally claim the record as his own.

He looked around. Flashes were popping off everywhere. And people were screaming, “Aviv! Aviv!” He smiled. But where was Gertrude?

Where was the love of his life on the day he needed her the most? ‘She’ll come.’ he thought. She had to. He couldnt do this w/o her.

Gertrude, though, was glued to the TV. The coverage of the Royal Wedding was so enthralling, she lost all track of time.

She knew Aviv would need her but just this once she wanted 2 live HER life; she was tired of being “Aviv’s GF” never just Gertrude.

Pushing thoughts of Gertie aside, Aviv closed his eyes and put the first gumball in his mouth. The crowd became silent.

At home, Gertrude reflected on their path. They met at Columbia. At the time, she was the “it girl” and he the introverted type.

The last person to attempt the record for most gumballs in mouth at once choked to death. Aviv now tempted a similar fate for fame.

Gertrude suspected Aviv was doing this to prove he could be as “it” as she was when they met – but none of that mattered to her.

Tempting fate with competitive confections consumption seemed somehow so childish to her, she wondered how they would live it down.

And why, she wondered, had he taken to wearing more cosmetics for these gummy stunts? He already ruined her newest lipstick.

Few people knew the stunts had strained the relationship. The role of stuntman’s girlfriend was played with ease, if not pleasure.

She could even overlook the spoiled cosmetics, though it struck her as clownish. It didn’t help that she was unnerved by clowns.

Aviv took the 2nd gumball out of the jar, holding it up to the crowd for dramatic effect. “Put it in!” they chanted. He did. Alone.

W/ a gumball in each cheek, his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for her. With a slow blink, he reached for the third gumball and…

…grimaced as he slipped it in his mouth. Aviv was careful not to smear the lipstick, it may be the closest Gertie would be today.

The record was 13 gumballs. The irony of the death during the previous attempt and the unluckiness of 13 was lost on no one.

Especially not Gertrude. She knew the risks. After all, it was her father, Michael the Magnificent, who held the gumball record.

He’d held the title for most of her life, yet had never talked about it. Not odd, since he was mute after a freak gumball accident.

During the Chicago heat wave of ’95, a gumball machine exploded. Hit in the throat, the doctors couldn’t remove the silencing orb.

It was now a daily reminder of the true dangers of the sport. The gumball: capable of bestowing such fame and such sorrow.

As a bead of sweat slipped down Aviv’s brow, he pressed on toward his goal. 4, 5 and 6 were no problem, but gumball 7…

…proved trickier. He puffed his cheeks out, then slipped it under his lower lip. The crowd gasped, barely able to comprehend this.

But Aviv knew. It was this exact move that, years earlier, transformed little Mikey into Michael the Magnificent.

Gertrude knew too. She and a young Aviv used to watch her father’s exploits on YouTube every day after school. They idolized him.

But after the accident, things changed. Gertrude shut down, but Aviv’s admiration grew stronger. Aviv devoted his life to gumballs.

It was a near obsession to Aviv. He’d loved her since childhood & his drive for a new record would prove it. Little did he know…

that Gertie was home, watching Prince William & Kate exchanging vows..over gumballs! It brought back a flood of memories. Too many.

She turned the TV off and picked up a gumball. Enraged, she whipped it at the ground, but it bounced back up & hit her in the face.

Momentarily shocked, she thought of her father, and her eyes welled up. She got up quickly, dumping the gumballs into the trash.

She pressed her hand to her head and felt a warm, sticky drip….

First, her dad’s gumball accident, & now this? Who was next, Aviv? Gertie couldn’t let that happen. Not w her dad already a mute.

As Gertrude looked at the clock it blinked 11:11. On the other side of town, Aviv was now sweating, on gumball 11.

Picking up the 12th gumball, he quickly scanned the crowd for Gertrude. No luck. Maybe she didn’t care. His hand went to his mouth.

He slowly inserted #12, & the crowd suddenly grew quiet. A young girl’s jaw dropped in disbelief. What was happening to Aviv?

His face was trembling, as he was trying his best to hold on, 12 gumballs stuffed into his mouth. He couldn’t turn back. Not now.

Gertrude was on her way. She knew what this meant to Aviv, but couldn’t shake the weird feeling in the pit of her stomach…

Luckily, she lived less than 11 minutes away. She walked into the dark theater and could see Aviv on stage. Still, a weird feeling.

Aviv didn’t see her. This was to be his moment. He reached for #13 & Gertie cried, “STOP! For the love of all things bubbly!”

But she was too far away and the roar of the crowd was too loud. His forehead was sweaty, his hair oddly tinged green.

Aviv narrowed his eyes & squinted. “Gemewfgfhocxivjkefweiogrfd” He tried to speak. He couldn’t say a word. Gertie ran towards him.

She ran to him. She had seen his reaction and regretted it the moment the words left her mouth.

Throwing her arms around him, Gertie begged Aviv to stop. “You remember what happened to my father, don’t you?!” she pleaded.

Aviv looked at Gertie & held her in his arms. As he put #13 into his mouth, what followed surprised everyone, especially Aviv.

The 13th gumball and all preceeding gumballs burst forth from Aviv’s mouth straight into Gertie’s face.

Aviv paused his chewing for a moment, then, out of nowhere, a bubble started forming from his lips. Gertie watched him, skeptical.

“How do you have more gum?” Gertie asked. “Easy,” said Aviv. “Regurgitation.” He brought up a piece he had swallowed yesterday.

14, 15, 15… 15 – Aviv felt an overwhelming gag reflex he’d never ever felt before. #Huhhhhggggghhhhgnnnughhh

Sixzzz… Nghuh… Teen… He was pushing through…

…Thru the spasms – but there was no air. Just an unyielding bubble. Sealing him off from the world.

The bubble continued to get larger, enveloping Gertrude. Aviv kept going. There was the Bubblicious. And Topps baseball card gum.

Aviv motioned under the bubble for Gertie to get the gum scraper. He didn’t want the same fate as her dad, aka Bubble Boy.

Gertie fought against the bubble’s pull, eventually shaking free. The bubble kept growing, so Gertie didn’t have much time.

Her scraper was never very far, considering both her dad & boyfriend were gumballers. There were plenty of mishaps thru the years.

She went to the car and grabbed it, then came running back. The bubble was even bigger, now that the Big League Chew was out.

She fought her way through the crowd, which was now clamoring for the exits. The bubble was getting bigger by the second, and it…

…knocked over some stage props. This massive bubble of every piece of gum that Aviv ever chewed just kept growing and growing.

Gertie got in position and raised the scraper as the bubble approached her. She needed to save Aviv. And she needed to do it now.

With ferocious might Gertie plunged the scraper into the bubble, popping its contents all over the crowd. But Aviv..

didn’t make it. He had suffocated under the bubble that was congealed over his face.

Gertie rushed to the pink and purple slimed Aviv but resisted the temptation to do CPR. It was just too much.

Gertrude fell to her knees. “Nooooo!” She tried to close his eyelids, but they were already completely sealed by the gum.

After an hour of hearing Gertie’s sobs, the crowd picked up the gum mummy Aviv and carried him to the nearest hill.

A somber ceremony was held while Aviv was buried. However his grave marker would never hold the title of “Gumball Champion.”

It’s now 2021. Gertrude’s son, Aziz, is attempting to break the world gumball record on the exact stage where Aziz died.

Gertrude’s in the 1st row, cheering him on, chewing a mixture of Big League Chew and Bubblicious. Big Aziz would be proud.

THE END

Competitive gumballing? Who knew it could be so dangerous? Not me. And definitely not Aziz. But you know who did? Gertrude. What a woman.

Thanks @hiaubs for the photo, and thanks to @vineyardlola, @steeb2er, @melmo3, @nella22, @hiaubs, @hwtibbs, @jsetlak and @thatgirlmari for writing. Good stuff.

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Sticky and Sweet

This is a tale of love. Of resiliency. Of an ordinary chocolate chip pancake looking for her soulmate.

Stella thought to herself, “I hope my soulmate has a whipped cream topping,” as she logged into pancakedate.com.

She had no nuts & realized by virtue of that fact she was considered inferior.

As she searched, she had an idea: What if she went on a diet and became one of those sexy, french Crepes? Thin, delicate….

But it was not to be. With pancakedate.com’s new screening the word “crepe” immediately put her onto the…

…swingers pages. This was unacceptable. She was looking for a soul mate, not a fling. She applied a little syrup & kept perusing.

Suddenly, an IM window opened, beckoning her toward her destiny.

“I like what I see,” said Trevor. His tagline read “Rooty Tootie Fresh and Fruity.” He was a sexy, plump blueberry from Kalamazoo.

“Hi,” Stella typed nervously. She hadnt been in the dating scene since before she met Raul, a two-timing strawberry from Nantucket.

Trevor was a berry, just like Raul. She didn’t know if she wanted to go down that road again. Just as she was about to respond…

“Click here,” the virile blueberry propositioned. “Find juicy fruit like me all over StickySyrup.com.” Stella sighed wearily.

“Ugh.” She remembered the last time she naively clicked a link IM’d to her. It took a lot to get over the BerriesNCream.com fiasco.

Despite 27 syrup flavors of compatibility, PancakeDate.com was delivering rubbery sides of bacon. Then, a blink! A new…

..IM window opened. “Hey there,” it read. Stella searched her new suitor’s profile. It was Chad, a stick of butter from Toronto.

Mmmhm, butter. I haven’t had me some butter in a long, long time. “Hey darling!” Stella typed lustfully….

She wanted some friendly, socialist Canadian butter. “May I see your pecans?” Chad asked. Stella blushed, embarrassed to be nutless.

Just then, her IM box from Trevor blinked again. “barenuts.com,” he wrote. Stella ignored him as she hesitantly responded to Chad.

“My pecans are being shelled right now, but I’ll show you my bananas,” Stella typed into the box. She paused before hitting ENTER.

She felt a tinge of anxiety. What if Chad changed his mind? She wasn’t invested, but had already imagined them on a plate together.

Boldly, she hit ENTER & waited for Chad to respond. She could see he was typing – and for a long time. Was he writing her a poem?

Her anticipation was interrupted by another ding from Trevor. “brownsuga.com,” his IM read. Disgusted, she ALT-TAB’d to Chad’s box.

And lo and behold, Chad was indeed writing an ode to ! No one had ever written a poem to her before.

“Berries are red, Berries are blue. You look delicious. Would love to fill you.”

Chad was one savvy banana. He knew how to distance himself from other fruits. This poem was just one of his ways to be sweet.

An IM window didn’t convey his feelings, though. He was ripe to make Stella feel better than the day she was made.

Yet his poem went on: “Imagine me and you out on a date / I make you appealing while on a plate”

Chad’s prowess at poetry, and his appeal, were slipping. And at that moment another IM window popped before Stella…

“Hi there,” Brad wrote. “I’m a single white bag of powdered sugar from CT.” Stella curiously clicked on Brad’s profile.

She liked what she saw – skier, loved the White Stripes, White Men Can’t Jump. And Chad was playing her, lying about who he was.

“Nice poem,” she wrote Chad. “But I thought you said you were butter.” She continued. “Don’t ever pancakedate.com IM me again!”

Chad tried writing back that it was a Freudian slip, but the IM never went thru. Stella blocked him, turning her attention to Brad.

Brad was pretty much ignoring her. He was 29 minutes into his 30 minutes or its free guarantee, hungry and hopeful.

But Trevor? Trevor was relentless. He IM’d again. “scrambledeggs.com,” it read. Stella learned to ignore him. She waited for Brad.

Stella decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She typed, “Moguls?” It bounced back. “User not found,” it read. Brad’s trial expired.

Stella felt like giving up. All the suitors on pancakedate.com were either duds or too cheap to pay for a real subscription.

And then just as she was logging out an IM window appeared from Brad.

Stella slammed her laptop shut. “Screw pancakes!” she yelled. It was time to be bad. Time for the forbidden carb: the Waffle.

Oh, waffles. The last time she had indulged in such sinful pleasure was when she went to the Waffle Bar on Armitage. So much syrup.

But it was time to go back. So she got dolled up, spread some apple compote on & headed out. The only problem? Raul was a regular.

She wondered where Chips was, it had been a while since she had seen her. As she picked up the phone to call her, it rang….

She answered. “Hello?” “Uh, hi, Stella. I’m really sorry to call you out of the blue. It’s me, Trevor.” He cleared his throat.

As soon as he finished, the call waiting beeped….it read “Raul: Don’t Pick up!”; Stella of course, did….””Raul..?”

“Behbeh, I meece you,” said Raul in his thick accent. Stella didn’t know what to say. She was flattered but had Trevor on hold.

But hearing Raul’s voice melted the apple butter off of her. Trevor could wait. “Raul…why are you calling me? Where is Mila?”

“Meela has, how you say, leaf trimming,” Raul said. Mila was his latest fling – a lean, orange carrot with long, green leaves.

“Lovely!” she said. But Raul had other thoughts..He needed to get Stella alone. He had unresolved issues. Not so lovely issues…

Stella agreed to see him because her heart needed it. Raul understood that this was his one chance to finally kill her.

Stella clicked back to Trevor, intending to say she was going to see her ex. But Trevor said something so sweet, she reconsidered.

“From the moment I laid eyes on you, I could tell I fit you,” he said. Stella, being the pancake to his blueberry, blushed.

Meanwhile, Raul growing with impatience hired the biggest fork he could find to do the dirty deed he had planned out for so long…

She missed Trevor but he was too busy with work to notice her back then. “Do you want to go for some whipped cream?” she asked.

Trevor was happy Stella didn’t push him away after all these years. “Allons-y!” He whisked her away to Paris on his private jet.

Meanwhile, the fork arrived at Stella’s house. Too late. She was gone. Raul was furious. He sold the fork to a pawn shop for $3.22.

Stella was gazing out at the Atlantic when Trevor returned with a jug of rum syrup. “So, what was with all of those awful links?”

“What links?” he asked. “The ones you sent me on pancakedate.com,” she responded. “I haven’t been on that site in years,” he said.

At which point it all became clearer that saving passwords and then selling a computer…

…wasn’t so smart. “I knew I should have sold my Mac to that Indian spice,” said Trevor. The plane started its descent.

As the plane landed, the flight attendant, a bottle of grand marnier, welcomed them to Paris. Trevor nuzzled in Stella’s nook.

Blueberries and a pancake – they really fit together. Trevor and Stella went on to live a fruitful life together

THE END

Man. I’m so happy for Trevor! The pervy link sender (we all know it was really him) from Kalamazoo got his pancake!

I’ll be honest, when I tweeted the first line of this story, I thought it might end up being a dud. But I am happy to say I was completely wrong. It is absolutely amazing. So funny. So awesome.

Thanks @nella22 for supplying the photo. And thanks so much to all the writers. We had 13 (including me). Special shout out to new writers @damnfineAD, @swanieson, @marzlet and @lesliestaysup. And to those who’ve written before – @foiledcupcakes, @nella22, @thatgirlmari, @FeliciaCago, @jimmydoestea, @hwtibbs @jsetlak and @rickmurray – you continue to crack me up. Trevor and Stella would thank you too, but they’re busy frolicking abroad.

By the way, Jake (jsetlak) sent me this tweet that makes me laugh every time I read it, so I wanted to share:

“I think “ALT-TAB’d to Chad’s box” needs to become a colloquialism for some weird online sex act.”

Ha!

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Saved by the Wrestler

After years of tinkering with the teleportation device, it was go time. But where were Zack and Slater?

Zack & slater soon realized that on this wizardry ride, the doors didn’t open on the right… They opened on the LEFT!

“The left side opening doors must have freaked them out,” thought Dr. Belding, the world’s leading teleportation expert. “Wusses.”

But Belding was no teleportation expert. It was a front for him to get back at Morris & Slater for the years of Bayside hijinks.

Across 2 oceans Lisa & Jesse were trying to get in touch with Zack & Slater. They’d found the cure but needed 2 go back in time…

to secure a weld which would later prove troublesome. They also need Scrunchies. Jesse was so excited, but so scared.

So they went back to the Max, where Kelly was leading the cheer squad in a Bayside fight-fight-fight chant.

Lisa told Jesse to get it together as she put the Scrunchie in Jesse’s hair. “Do you really want Slater to see you this way?”

Back at the Max, Kelly was in heaven. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” she screamed. The squad of 3 responded. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

As Jesse and Lisa watched Kelly, it only felt like they time-traveled. “This is so high school,” Jesse said before pole dancing.

Lisa, who’d been nearly unseen since her Bayside days, was glad to be back. Her stirrup pants matched her earrings. Life was good.

She steered Jesse away from the coat rack she was holding and into a booth near the door. They had to find the bad weld on the…

…phone Zack carried with him. If Belding gets to it first, Zack will be in danger. Lisa tightened the belt on her leather jacket.

“I don’t know if I can help him,” Jesse said to Lisa. She was still smarting from Zack beating her for Bayside class president.

Out of nowhere, Max turned on the jukebox & turned on “The Sprain.” Lisa got her groove on. Screech was watching from the corner.

Screech knew a lot about welds but was too infatuated with Lisa’s rhythmic moves to focus. Luckily, Violet was nowhere in sight.

What Screech didn’t know was that Belding had kidnapped Violet. He was going to use her to get Screech to fix the weld, or else.

Mr. Belding had Violet tied up at The Malibu Sands Beach Club. He needed to lure Screech there. But how?

His first thought was a trail of beanies. But it was windy and he thought the propellers might cause lift off. A call from Violet?

Belding called Aaron Spelling to ask for a ransom, but he was on the Love Boat on vacation. Candy picked up and…

…said, “Ha! My daughter hates me. Keep her!” She hung up on Belding. His next move was to call Screech & put Violet on the phone.

Meanwhile, Candy went back to wrapping her dog’s birthday presents & twirling around her McMansion. She didn’t know Screech had…

…a crush on her daughter, not just her SBTB character. Candy wrapped a chew toy as she thought more about it. “I’m a bad mother.”

Luckily, Candy had a background in espionage. She managed to traced the call and summoned her chauffeur. “Take me to Malibu Sands.”

While at the Max, Screech’s phone rang. “Samuel?” Violet asked. There was no time for pleasantries. “Belding’s holding me hostage.”

Violet hung up the phone. Screech was confused. He had no idea what to do. By a stroke of luck, Slater & Zack walked into the Max.

“Belding’s looking for you,” he said. Zack was wearing Converse high tops and Slater a black tank top. “Hey Preppie,” Slater said.

Screech told Zack he needed to fix the weld on his phone before Belding did. Out of nowhere, Belding showed up with Violet in tow.

There was a stand-off. Slater pulled his clothes off, revealing his wrestling jersey. He locked up with Belding.The others watched.

After some traditional greco-roman grappling, Slater suplexed Belding, breaking his clavicle. The principal let out a girlish yelp.

“Ahhh!” yelped Belding. “You give?” asked Slater. “Ahhh!” yelled Belding. He was in too much pain. Kelly started cheering. “Fight!”

Finally, Mr. Belding mustered out an “I give.” Slater released him and watched Belding roll around on the floor in pain. “Owww!”

Screech grabbed his chin and pulled on his skin. He was wearing a mask. He removed the mask, revealing that it was actually Zack.

Zack and Slater embraced. Kelly kept yelling “Fight fight fight!” Jesse continued pole dancing. Bayside was saved.

THE END

Mr. Belding as a criminal? I’d say as a killer, except we never really found out what he did. But it was good to be back at Bayside. Thanks to @kevinegan80, @hwtibbs, @foiledcupcakes @nella22 and @StephenKlinck for writing with me. It was a fun one.

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All’s Good in the ‘hood

Forensics had just arrived on the scene. The markings were still fresh. But what did they mean?

They snapped from all angles. Nothing revealed itself at 90 degrees or 270. But at 180…

…Det. Rogers couldn’t believe his eyes. “The W!” he yelled. He pulled a smart phone out of his cardigan pocket & made a call.

“Brisco? Rogers here. It’s the W. But which? You head to City Center, I’ll take the other.” He sped off towards Lake Shore.

He waited for his partner, Det. Sloan, to pickup the phone & kept trying to decipher the code. “W-I….H,” he kept reading. Wish?

His gut instinct was that it was a copycat, picking up on details in the paper. But they hadn’t released info about the graffiti.

Rogers, being old, had narcolepsy and could fall sleep at any time. And when he did, he often dreamed that he was on Law & Order.

Adding to the confusion was the missing third letter. Public and police dept. speculation swirled. Whole word or acronym?

Rogers, who prefers “Mr.” instead of “Det.,” took off his shoes. He didn’t solve hundreds of cases in the neighborhood by accident.

Mr. Rogers sat in his chair & pondered. “Maybe King Friday can solve the 3rd letter mystery,” he thought. He rang for the trolley.

The trolley call startled Det. Daniel Tiger Sloan, who was by the clock tower, scrupulously checking each picture Det. Rogers sent.

They went thru the alphabet 1 by 1 to decipher letter 3. “Let’s start with A, children,” said Rogers. But no children were around.

Across town, Det. Fairchild was undercover. Fairchild AKA “Lady Elaine,” was linking the WI_H crimes to trolley graft & kickbacks.

An informant known only as Donkey Hodie flipped the pic 180°, now seeing TAIM aka The Dragon Reborn: http://blyp.me/gnfhIG

All the photo flipping made Rogers dizzy. So he & Tiger continued through the alphabet. “N,” said Tiger. Rogers followed with “O.”

“Stop with the letters!” yelled Hodie. “It’s TAIM.” Rogers, who along with his narcolepsy had trouble hearing, kept going. “V.”

Rogers then fell asleep and dreamed of a cold case from 1986 with the same cryptic code- he was on to something whilst asleep.

Hodie woke him up again. “Come here. You’re not gonna believe this.” Mr. Rogers put his shoes on & followed Hodie over to the…

…iPad he opened to the Mazrim Taim Wikipedia page. “We’re searching for a dragon?” asked Det. Daniel Tiger, who was on speaker.

Meanwhile, Lady Elaine followed the trolley paper trail. It eventually led her to one for dragon detailing. “Ok, toots,” she said.

Hodie knew Dragon Detailing was known for being a chopshop, and employing those of ill repute. But this was different…

… that crime scene was as gruesome as it was calculated; extermination with extreme prejudice. The dragon connection worried him.

All that graffiti, Hodie noted, meant that the perpetrators wanted credit. Almost showing off. Maybe that’d be their downfall.

As night approached, Det. Mr. Rogers got a phone call. He pulled his phone out of his cardigan and saw the Caller ID: King Friday.

King Friday was panicked. “Queen Saturday is dead & so is Prince Tuesday! Oh dear!” Det. Rogers’ jaw dropped. Was TAIM responsible?

“TAIM is responsible,” Rogers said to Friday. He conferenced in Lady Elaine. “Got anything?” he asked. Rogers was all business.

“Did Daniel Tiger eat any SPAM! lately?” Elaine asked. Rogers paused for a few seconds before responding, “At lunch on Monday!”

The lightbulb went off. “Is it…?” asked Rogers. “Yep,” said Elaine. “Tigers Against Imitation Meats. They’re behind everything.”

Rogers realized he hadn’t seen Daniel once during this whole investigation. Was he indeed involved?

But since they went thru the alphabet together on the phone before, Rogers just asked Tiger. Tiger hemmed & hawed & hawed & hemmed.

Shy Daniel didn’t know how to respond. “Can you please repeat the question?” whispered Daniel Sloan Tiger into the phone.

“Were you involved?” asked Det. Mr. Rogers. “Yes,” said Tiger, meekly. “I had to prove my TIAM loyalty after we had SPAM! Monday.”

“But you had already pledged loyalty detective squad, Daniel! Which is it? Us or them?” Det. Mr. Rogers interrogated, leaning in.

Daniel Tiger could still smell the SPAM! on Rogers’ breath. “Yum,” said Tiger. Rogers used his breath to keep Tiger from fleeing.

“ANSWER ME!” Rogers demanded, breathing fiery SPAM! flames at Daniel like a dragon. “US OR THEM?!” he demanded.

The evidence was all coming together. The graffiti. The cardigan. The sneakers. The train set. Rogers was the leader of TAIM!

TAIM’s calling card was easy to find: two quotation marks, or “sneaky laces,” as gang members dubbed them. This was Rogers’ work.

Just then, Lady Elaine came running in, screaming. “Get away from Detective Mr. Rogers!” But Rogers took Daniel Tiger hostage.

Rogers gripped Daniel Tiger tightly in his cardigan-enveloped arm. Lady Elaine begged him to stop. Rogers breathed on her.

Daniel smelled the SPAM! on Rogers’ breath and again dreamed of imitation meat. “It smells great,” he thought.

Lady Elaine made eyes at Donkey Hodie, who was behind Rogers & Daniel. When she coughed twice, that was the sign to ambush Rogers.

Hodie had plenty of practice being an ass. He ran straight behind Rogers & kicked him hard. Rogers fell. Daniel flew into the air.

Lady Elaine grabbed Daniel, & Hodie went to see if Rogers was alive. As he got closer, all he heard was snoring. Rogers was asleep.

Donkey said, “I’ll take him to Mr. McFeely’s place so the cops can pick him up.” Lady Elaine smiled and held Daniel Tiger tightly.

As Donkey loaded Rogers in his car, Rogers began speaking in his sleep. “Brisco!” yelled Rogers. “Wait up!” Donkey shook Rogers.

Rogers looked at Donkey, confused. “Where am I?” Was he going to have to explain his sleepwalking behavior in court again? Oh dear.

“You’re in a better place,” said Donkey. “Wait. I’m dead?” asked Rogers. “No – I mean in my car, where you cant start any trouble.”

Hodie looked at Rogers w/pity. “Poor old man doesn’t even know he commits so many crimes in his sleep,” he thought. He drove away.

The cops were waiting at McFeely’s. When Hodie & Rogers arrived, they cuffed Rogers, charging him w/ murder. And bad breath.

THE END

Hilarious story. Brought back a lot of memories. Thanks to @LegallyErin for the photo that started it all. And thanks to @thatgirlmari @Chrisa_Hickey @hwtibbs @jsetlak @Siding1IL @foiledcupcakes for helping me relive the good old days when I would take my shoes off, sit in front of the TV and go to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. And when I say the good old days, I mean last week. Just kidding. Maybe.

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The Secret of the Creeps

They landed in the middle of the night, sending armed guards out to patrol the field. All was quiet.

This new planet reeked of banana and unrest but General Chick McPeep, the fearless leader of this abandoned squad…

..had a potassium allergy. “Gereddsh ma gheglkv!” he screamed to his lieutenant. A soldier ran to get the General’s breathing mask.

Unfortunately, breathing masks hinder order-barking so the General cast it aside in order to lead. “Troops!” he chirped. “Find the

terrain map and fan out!” McPeep had trained his troops well; they quickly sprang into action. Only Private Chirpington did not. He

was younger than the rest & his curiosity had gotten him into trouble before. Little things distracted him – twigs, lights, leaves.

Something glimmered, just over there. He hopped, hesitated, hopped again, then gently parted the grass with his beak.

And what he saw filled him with terror. Staring at him with hunger and violence was a giant eyeball attached to a…

horrid face. Under the eye sat a gaping maw, rows of teeth glinting despite the darkness. Chirpington froze, his mind racing.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch the teeth of the horrid faced native,” Gen. McPeep’s orders stated. But Chirpington was too curious.

Chirpington stepped closer, torn between fear and growing curiosity. He timidly stretched out a wing. His heart pounded. Just then,

Corporal Featherton showed up. “What IS that?” Featherton chirped. Chirpington’s wing was inches away from the native’s teeth.

With fascination and horror, they realized they were surrounded. By an army of menacing yellow marshmallow chicks.

Chirpington was horrified. He’d heard stories about the marshmallow Peeps, who were known for blank stares and terrible tempers.

Featherton, meanwhile, was drawn to them – a moth to flame. “Aww, they’re kinda cute.” Petting one on the head, it snapped at him.

And then he remembered the rest of the story: the legendary race of deceptively adorable but deadly Creeps.

“What do we do?” asked Featherton. “They’re so cute, I just want to squeeze them.” Chirpington, though, was not the soldier to ask.

Just then the General intervened and with a decisive thwack of his baton, he drove the Creeps back into the grass. “Our mission is

NOT to play with the Creeps, but to uncover what their secret is,” he exalted. General McPeep was referring to their lack of aging.

“But but,” Chirpington started. McPeep thwacked him again. “Enough chirping Chirpington!” This was the distraction the Creeps needed.

They came flying out of the brush from all directions, throwing blinding clouds of pastel dust. “Retreat!” called McPeep, before

falling to the ground. Chirpington knew he had to do something. McPeep was covered in a light yellow film that was hardening fast.

Things weren’t looking good. Pastel dust was flying everywhere. Chirpington’s comrades were covered in light blues, pinks, yellows.

To us, it’s just sugar. To the Chicks, it was a candy coating that’d force them into submission, then turn them into confections.

He rushed over to McPeep, who by now was gasping for air. Featherton was rolling in the dust to shake off the pink haze on him.

The expression on McPeep’s face glazed over, now identical to the blank countenance on each and every one of those damned Creeps.

In the commotion, the horrid one-eyed creature had returned and now lumbered towards Featherton, jaws open wide and eye narrowed.

There were roughly elevenish ways out of this ordeal, but would there be enough time to pull off any of them? http://blyp.me/hLWSkU

“The Ziploc method would take too long,” thought Chirpington. “And I’m out of popsicle sticks, so burning’s out.” Time was ticking.

The Creeps’ secret wasn’t hidden somewhere in the fields of plastic grass surrounding the landing site; it was the DUST itself!

If only he’d thought to bring the egg cases, they could have waited out the attack. Alas, they were left back at the site.

And with no furry Dahgs in sight, no one could be relied on to eat the Creeps which strayed from the larger group.

Even a Caat could have proved helpful, though they couldn’t be controlled and were known to indiscriminately bat at small objects.

The horrid face, now seen to have not one but two eyes (and banana breath) abruptly began devouring Creeps, one by one, meaning…

… that there was hope for the remaining Chick troops after all. But would the face come after the dusted among them next?

Chirpington remembered what General McPeep taught him. “When face to face with face, peck nose,” was one of McPeep’s many lessons.

The face moved in on McPeep, now yellow and soft. Chirpington waddled himself in the way. “On guard!” he chirped, voice trembling.

The face kept moving closer. It was again inches from Chirpington. This time, though? He started to pecking at the face’s nose.

And with every peck, the mystery was revealed. A purple parchment emerged, with letters that spelled out the truth.

One by one, letters were revealed: A…Y…I…R….P. what could this mean? Chirpington held his breath.

The letters kept appearing as he scanned the page. Alone they meant nothing but they were the key to defeating the ruthless Cheeps.

Another yearning, I revealed… peanuts!

A…Y…I…R….P…A…Y…I…R….P…A…Y…I…R….P…A…Y…I…R….P. The letters kept scrolling faster and faster.

Not the brightest chick in the coop, Chirpington couldn’t decipher the code, even with Featherton whispering it before solidifying.

“Another yearning, I revealed…peanuts!” whispered Featherton. It finally dawned on Chirpington. He was gonna need some peanuts.

Chirpington remembered seeing a peanut by McPeep’s pastel dust-frozen body. He leapt to it just as the face was about to close in.

The face followed, and Chirpington nudged the peanut out from under McPeep’s marshmallowy corpse. “Now what?” he wondered.

But not much longer. Face’s two eyes began bugging out, and it pulled back. Chirpington had no idea that face had a peanut allergy.

Defiantly, Chirpington rolled the peanut toward face. Face backed off. “That’s right!” chirped Chirpington, puffing out his chest.

With face having moved on and Featherton, McPeep & the rest of the chicks solidified in pastel dust, Chirpington accepted his fate.

No Creeps were left, but there was plenty of pink pastel dust ammo. Chirpington picked up a casing, emptied it & covered himself.

He would be in a better place, just like Featherton and McPeep. A tear fell from his eye but froze before reaching his beak.

So did his wings. And his legs. And his claws. Chirpington was becoming a Creep. His head became marshmallowy, as did his body.

The Chicks had finally uncovered the Secret of the Creeps. They would forever be preserved in a pink & yellow pastel dust.

THE END

Whoa. This one had it all. Chicks. Creeps. McPeeps. Two-eyed faces. Potassium allergies. Peanut allergies. Dahgs. Caats. So funny. Thanks @kikiandkyle for supplying the photo. And thanks @FeliciaCago @hwtibbs @inediblejewelry @jsetlak @foiledcupcakes and @rickmurray (inadvertently) for writing with me.

Maybe this should be an Easter story? Actually…maybe not.

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Chicken and BISCUITS

He’d already missed his court date once. It couldn’t happen again. But the memory loss was setting in.

His small apartment was strewn with post it notes to remind him of what he was supposed to do, his new court date among them.

“This worked for the guy in Memento,” thought Jack Bauer. But the memory loss struck again. “What’s up with all these post its?”

The worst was when lapses struck while he was composing a note. On the far wall were half finished notes he couldn’t decipher.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. “Open the door, Jack,” said a woman. Jack was confused. He didn’t recognize her voice.

But he did recognize that smell… Pizza? Tacos? Sushi? What WAS it??

Chloe walked in with a bucket of KFC & coleslaw. She looked familiar to Jack, but couldn’t place her. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“I’m your parole officer, we’ve been through this” she said as Jack grabbed a piece of chicken and thought..parole officer?

“Since I know you won’t remember, I’m also your sister.” She was unshaken, pecking him on the cheek as she went to the kitchen.

Jack kept eating his chicken as he read a post it up on the wall. “I like Extra Tasty Crispy,” he mumbled to himself as a reminder.

And that explained the “Extra Tasty Cris….” that was written on the wall in sharpie next to the phone…

Jack finally got up with a wing in his mouth to open the door. As the door opened, there was a woman who looked…

…like Chloe. She stopped him. “You just opened the door, Jack. Remember?” “No, I don’t,” he said. Chloe was in for a loooong day.

The look on his face made her eyes roll.That or the wing hanging out of his mouth. “Napkin?” She asked, wiping his chin.

Sneaking out the back and knocking again was just one of Chloe’s ways to amuse herself by fucking with him.

She was neither his sister nor his parole officer. If KFC was open already, he must’ve missed his court date by now. Again.

“On second thought,” Chloe admitted, “this mess calls for a Wet-Nap.” She tore one open and the smell of rubbing alcohol hit him.

For 2 seconds, Jack had a flashback to his torture in China. They used wet naps & opium to try & get him to talk. He never did.

Memory issues made the present fuzzy, but the reason for his torture was still clear to him: smuggling art from the Hunan province.

But how could a man with memory loss pull off the biggest art heist since the Thomas Crown Affair? Easy – Chloe.

Before they met, her reputation proceeded her. Her work was clean & quick. The press named ‘La Chat Noir’ in over 32 global thefts.

Interpol had been after her specter for years. Yet, they only had anecdotal leads. He’d known her to put out false stories for fun.

Like the one about her Club Med Couples Escape to Ixtapa. Within minutes, Interpol moved in, only Chloe was nowhere to be found.

Another story Chloe once used? That she’d be hosting an open mic night in Quebec. Interpol swarmed there too but again…nothing.

She needed Jack for her next heist. He was the only one who could navigate the museum & its hundreds of security guards & lasers.

But Jack, still in the throes of memory loss, couldn’t remember where the museum was…let alone Mexico.

Luckily, he didn’t need to remember where Mexico was, since the museum was in China. Too bad he couldn’t remember that either.

Jack woke up mid-flight. Window seat. Nothing but clouds. Story of his life. Wondering, Who’s this woman seated to his left?

He asked her for a drink. “Right away, Jack.” She stood & headed toward the back cabin, glancing briefly at the man seated in 4F.

Suddenly, it hit her. Seamus O’Reilly, the head of Interpol, was in 4F. But he was fast asleep. So for now, Chloe dodged a bullet.

Chloe got a water bottle from the back, then ducked into the lavatory. She unscrewed the sink panel to retrieve a black duffel bag.

Meanwhile, Jack was left alone, waiting for a drink he didn’t even remember asking for. “Man, I wish I wrote it down,” he mumbled.

He reached into his pocket & found an entire stack of post-its. All different colors & messages. “Black duffel bag!” one said.

And why am I married to Adam Sandler?

A purple one said, “Sink panel. Lavatory.” Jack was piecing things together. He went there, passing O’Reilly, who was drooling.

And the next post-it read, “By any means possible, keep the bag out of Chloe’s hands.”

Jack hoped he’d recognize Chloe. He should have drawn her face on a post-it note. He headed to the back of the plane when suddenly,

he saw a woman step out of the lavatory clutching a black duffel bag. He didn’t recognize her, but he knew what he had to do.

He had to pull out another post-it note to remind him. It said, “When you see a woman with a duffel bag, wake up the Irishman.”

Jack wondered how he’d find an Irishman. He looked left & saw nobody. He looked right. And there was O’Reilly, between Lee & Cheng.

Jack suspected this man was Irish by the corncob pipe and top hat over fiery red hair. But the next post-it confirmed it: 4F

Jack reached over Cheng to wake O’Reilly up. “There’s a woman with a duffel bag.” Seamus turned to Lee & said something in Chinese.

Lee nodded. Without hesitation, he grabbed the bucket of KFC stowed under his seat & ran towards the back of the plane.

“No thanks,” Jack said as he patted his stomach. “Had some earlier.” But this was no ordinary KFC bucket. Lee’s gun was inside.

Lee & O’Reilly knew what they had to do-distract Chloe & retrieve the Picasso. Jack could help, but only if he had his memory back.

Lee grabbed the gun but it was covered in grease. Delicious grease. It fell to the floor and discharged one lethal bullet at …

…the goats stowed above the seats in row 24. Chloe heard the gunshot, and she came running out of the lavatory.

Through screams, goat blood, and chaos, she found Jack. She ripped apart his post-it notes. “Biscuits,” she whispered in his ear…

“Biscuits?” he repeated. “No!” she screamed as Lee and O’Reilly handcuffed her. “I said Risk IT!” And suddenly he remembered.

BISCUITS was code for “Beat Interpol STAT. China Understands I Thieve Statues”. But it was too late. Chloe glared at Jack sternly.

Jack’s memory came back fast. “Crap! I missed my court date!” Chloe snickered, and O’Reilly stifled a laugh. Lee openly mocked him.

Jack looked at his watch. “There’s still time!” He pulled a parachute out of his bag and opened the door. “Jaaack!” screamed Chloe.

Jack nodded at Chloe & winked twice. That was their sign. They’d meet at the Peach Pit in 13 days. Without warning, he jumped.

Just like that, Jack was gone. O’Reilly and Lee handcuffed Chloe to seat 4A, while Cheng cleaned up the goat’s blood.

THE END

Wow – this was awesome! 13 writers (including me) contributed on this one. Thanks @AgentLuke for supplying the photo. And thanks to @ParkRidgeDDS @hwtibbs @LundieP @foiledcupcakes @nella22 @brianpinkley @Chrisa_Hickey @jsetlak @thatgirlmari @FeliciaCago @kikiandkyle @jimmydoestea for writing.

We may have just written Season 8 of 24.

 

 

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Justin Time

She cleaned the pool, mixed drinks & waited for her guests. The party was going to be off the hook.

Melania was starting to wonder if Donald had finally lost the plot with his latest design for Trump Copehagen.

“Have you finally lost the plot with your design for Trump Copenhagen?” Melania asked. He was combing his hair and didn’t hear.

Trump had bigger things on his mind: how to get rid of Melania, once and for all? He needed to call an expert, someone discreet…

Just then Ivanka stormed in. “Did you take my hair straightener again? That toupee will fall off once you jump in the pool anyhow!”

Donald nodded. Ivanka’s tirade was code for “I loosened the hinges on the diving board.” Melania wouldn’t be a problem much longer.

And thus something was indeed rotten in the state of Denmark. Poor Melania wouldn’t have long to enjoy her own party. But why?

Melania, a former Slovenian Olympic diver, was doing some ballistic stretches in the house. This would be her shining moment.

As guests arrived, Donald & Ivanka continued speaking in code. They couldn’t let Melania out Donald for being a Justin Bieber fan.

“Ut-bay I-hay ant-way ustin-Jay ieber-Bay o-tay e-bay y-may ool-pay oy-bay!!” Melania screamed into the phone while stretching.

Melania had been wanting Bieber for herself, and it floored her to see Donald fawn over him. But who was she talking to?

Suddenly, Melania heard a crash, followed by a deathly scream! She rushed downstairs and grew dizzy when she saw…

…Ivanka holding a bottle of Ambien. “Tired yet, Melania?” Ivanka asked. Donald laughed while fanning Justin Bieber on Facebook.

She did feel the need, and her guests still hadn’t arrived.”Sure, gimme two!” and as Ivanka slipped her two “Ambien”,some1 knocked.

Ivanka opened the door to find Justin Bieber’s mom holding a boom box. “I’m a little early, but I’m here to party!” she exclaimed.

As she threw back the pills with a swig of Trump Water, Ivanka shreiked “That wasn’t Ambien, and there are no guests because…”

“…Mrs. Bieber told them to go home so you can dive.” Melania was confused, but Donald didn’t care. He kept grooving to “Baby.”

“But I just put out the crudités & mojitos!” Melania said desperately to Ivanka. She started to panic, but just then…

Mrs. Bieber changed the boombox to “Never Let You Go.” Donald, Ivanka & Melania had a dance party. “Love this song!” yelled Donald.

mrs. bieber headed towards the pool. the others followed. ivanka said to melania, “you should show us your skills!” donald agreed.

Melania got on the diving board & started her approach. She leapt once, but the board buckled just like Ivanka and Donald planned.

Melania fell into the pool, screaming at Donald to help. He looked at Mrs. Bieber. “I don’t want to get my hair wet,” he shrugged.

The back gate opened. Justin Bieber came running in, and he dove in to save Melania. Donald squealed like a little girl. “Justin!”

Donald watched Justin, a former lifeguard, save Melania. His heart softened. He knew he could no longer go through with his plan.

He sat the Biebers in his boardroom. “Biebers – what you did today changed everything. Well, except how much I love your music.”

“I’ll always love your music. I want it around all the time. Melania doesn’t know yet, but we’d like to adopt you.” Donald smiled.

“Mom – can I?” Justin asked. She nodded yes, with a line he knew pretty well. “Baby, baby, baby, oh. Thought you’d always be mine.”

Justin leapt into Donald’s arms, still soaking wet from Melania’s rescue. Donald was happier than Ivanka when she got her 1st BMW.

Donald still couldn’t believe it. He mouthed to Melania, “Justin Bieber, our new son. Oh my god! Oh my god! OH MY GOD!!”

THE END

Thanks to @danielzarick for supplying the photo. And thanks to all the writers on this story. It was a good group – @kikiandkyle, @nella22, @foiledcupcakes, @jsetlak, @thatgirlmari and @FeliciaCago. Who knew the Trumps were such big Bieber fans?

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