I wrote a story once about the sun going out. I don’t know what happened to it…I thought I had posted it; I hadn’t. I thought I had saved it; it hasn’t been saved. I don’t know where it is. Maybe I’ll find it. Anyway, I started to rewrite it, but then…I don’t know. Something happened. I began to branch off into a completely and utterly inane and stupid vein that dominated the story. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Anyways, this is the result. (Please note: the ninja vampire monkey thing is a joke from a story I wrote for…this certain female friend of mine which is on a different computer at the moment. I’ll put that up tomorrow, and hopefully you’ll all get it. Anyways…read on.

***

The day the sun went out, a cry went up among the world, and there was much to be feared.

The best scientists in the world joined together in a heartbeat to try and solve the problem, and soon were ready to make an announcement based on their findings. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite have the comforting tone that world leaders had hoped.

“The sun,” said Professor Van Hurink, the head physicist of the German government, “has ceased to burn. In other vords, it SHOULD be like zis…”

He turned on a handheld flashlight and pointed it at the news cameras that faced the long table of scientists.

“…but instead, it’s like zis.”

He flicked off the flashlight, and glared at the reporters, one of which was raising his hand.

“Yes, mister reporter?”

“I’d like to hear the opinion of one of the other scientists based on your theory, Professor Van Hurink,” said the young man.

“Certainly!” said the German jovially. “Would any of my fellow colleagues wish to reply?”

“I would,” said Professor Brown, from the American government. “My opinion is…we’re all doomed.”

A murmur of incredulous voices began to slither through the crowds, and the scientists nodded approvingly at Professor Brown’s opinion. Finally, a female reporter spoke up. “Professors, what can we expect in the weeks to follow the sun’s burn-out?”

Dr. Yurich, a mid-thirties female environmentalist from the Russian council of sciences, cleared her throat. “You can expect the gradual plummet of temperatures, the freezing of lakes, rivers, and most likely in the long term, our oceans, and all vegetation to eventually die off due to the freezing conditions.”

“And the sun will relight…when?”

The scientists either (a) looked about one another nervously, or (b) laughed nervously.

“Well…it…won’t, really. It’s pretty much dead,” said Professor Brown.

“I see,” said the female reporter. “And that’s?…”

“Bad.”

“Oh.”

Indeed, the meeting wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

***

“So, we’re going to eventually freeze into little Popsicles and drop off the face of the Earth, eh?” said Mori, playing with a yo-yo.

“Looks like it,” said Brandon, flipping through an issue of Cosmopolitan.

“Why do you read that crap?” asked Mori off-handedly.

“Ashleigh got me started. Says if I don’t, I’ll never know how to be a true man.”

Mori blinked twice. “Oh.” Then, stirring for the first time in two hours, he crossed the room and fiddled with the heating gauge. “It’s getting cold in here.”

Brandon glared at him.

“Sorry.”

Brandon put down the magazine and stretched, causing his bones to crack and groan in protest. “I dunno. I for one enjoy cold weather, but…well…it’s thirty-eight degrees outside.”

“That’s nothing spectacular,” said Mori, picking back up his yo-yo and staring at it with much concentration. “I mean, Wisconsin gets that cold every winter.”

“But we’re in Southern California!” said Brandon. “And it’s July!”

Mori shrugged. “Details, details.”

Grumbling, Brandon pulled on his heavy trench coat over his medium and summer trench coat and stood up. “I’m going to go out and get some soda. You want anything?”

“An electric blanket,” murmured Mori.

“An electric blanket,” mimicked Brandon, causing him to get a yo-yo thrown at him. “Hey!”

Mori laced his fingers in his lap and whistled. “Wasn’t me,” he said innocently.

“Nerd,” muttered Brandon, opening the door and walking out.

He stepped outside and surveyed the odd-scene of his next-door neighbors shoveling the sidewalks. In some areas, this would not have been odd, but in Southern California…it was freakin’ nuts.

And the sun’s only been out for three days, thought Brandon. Wonder what’ll happen come Monday?…

He opened the door to his car and sat behind the wheel, placing the keys into the ignition. After a few minutes and whir whir whir whir whiring, the car finally rumbled to life. Quickly, Brandon turned the heat all the way up and pulled into the street.

Los Angeles had never looked more peculiar. Kids, unsure whether it was OK to have fun or not given the crisis at hand, stood outside in the snow wanting to play but refraining. The sky was a dull reddish from the slightest suggestion of a glow from the red orb hanging over the Earth.

And the thermometer in my car says it’s twenty-three degrees.

Brandon sighed and pulled into the parking lot of a nearby grocery store. Getting out of his car, and managed to leap out of the way just in time to avoid being hit by a shopping cart that was zooming by him.

“Hey!” he yelled at the kid pushing it rapidly. “Cut that out! Crazy little bastard…”

“It’s not his fault,” said another boy, walking along behind him. “He licked the handle, and his tongue got frozen.”

Brandon blinked a few times. “He licked the handle? Why?”

“Frost!” said the boy, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And then I gave the cart and nice big push afterwards.”

Brandon nodded, thinking back to a similar incident involving him and Mori visiting Lake Tahoe that also included the bumper of Mori’s car.

But that’s another tale to be told another time.

“So…” began Brandon, owing to the fact that the kid was still staring at him. “You…uh…like buttons?”

The kid suddenly opened his eyes wide. “OH MY GOD! NINJA VAMPIRE ZOMBIE MONKEYS! OF DOOM!”

Brandon’s eye twitched. “Noooo way. I ain’t going through THAT shit again.”

“SHI-TOY! HI-YA! MOO-GOO-GAI-PAN!”

Brandon turned to see an army of monkey’s in black ninja-robes flipping towards him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is supposed to be a story about the sun going out! It’s not one of the usual stupid, insane, totally unrelated Samurai Platypus stories!”

“That’s what YOU think!” yelled the lead monkey. “But we have express orders from the author to attack you HERE AND NOW TO CRUSH YOUR HEAD!”

Brandon rolled his eyes. “And why would you have orders like that?”

“Because I’m bored and want to shake things up a bit,” said a tall, bespectacled eighteen-year old with messy hair wearing a black coat as he casually walked out of the grocery store and around the corner.

Brandon closed his eyes and swore. Loudly. “Well, now what?” he said, looking back at the army of ninja vampire zombie monkeys.

“Of doom,” corrected the lead monkey.

Of doom.

“Well, I suppose that we…fight. Or something,” said one of the monkeys, looking at his fingernails.

“Yeah, we could do that,” said the lead-monkey. “Though the union might get pissed if we leap into that without telling them.”

“That’s true,” said one monkey.

“Very true.”

“Call the union rep!” yelled one monkey finally!

“Yes! The union rep! The union rep!” chanted the others.

Brandon sighed and sat at the corner while the ninja vampire zombie monkeys worked out an agreement with the union rep. Finally, he was called back.

“OK,” said the leader. “We’ve been given the OK to kick your ass.”

“Not if I kick yours first,” pointed out Brandon.

“Ah. Well, good point. But our contract with the author clearly states that we aren’t allowed to remain in the story if our asses get kicked.”

Brandon raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

The monkey nodded.

Brandon grinned and cracked his knuckles. “Then bring it on, chowder-heads.”

A bitter fight scene ensues! Punch! Kick! PUNCH! KICK! Left! Right! RIGHT! LEFT! KICK! PUNCH! BITE! SCRATCH! HISS! X! X! Y! A! THREE HIT COMBO!!

Finally, only Brandon remained standing. He was bruised, bleeding, and covered in monkey-drool, but at least he was triumphant.

“Now, as agreed upon in your contract with the author, I BANISH THEE!” he said loudly, pointing his finger at the mass of monkeys that lay writhing on the ground.

“Noooo!” screamed one as it got sucked into a black hole.

“Aieeeee!” screamed another.

Brandon grinned evilly.

“AH! MY HEAD!”

“MOMMY!”

Brandon grinned wider.

“I REGRET NOTHING!”

“ROSEBUD!”

Brandon grinned from ear to ear.

“I LAID EGGS IN YOUR BRAIN!”

Brandon frowned as the last monkey disappeared with a pop. “M-m-monkeys don’t lay eggs…” he said slowly.

“That’s true, young Brandon,” said a wise sounding voice behind him. “Monkeys most certainly do not lay eggs.”

Brandon turned, his eyes wide in surprise. “Gandalf?”

“No. Ian McKellan,” corrected the man.

“Oh. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Ian McKellan sighed. “I’m afraid that, due to that grievous error, I must destroy you.”

“Oh really?” said Brandon with a smirk. “I just took out an entire hoard of . ninja vampire zombie monkeys and -”

“Of doom,” corrected Ian McKellan.

“Er…right. Anyway, you’re a sixty- or seventy-something year old British dude. How are you planning on destroying me?”

“With my amazing mutant powers of metal manipulation.”

Brandon blinked. “Oh. Dang.”

***

Ring. Ring.

Mori picked up the telephone. “Hello? Oh, hi! Yeah. Nope, I haven’t seen Brandon in a while. Huh? No, he left his cell phone here. Yeah. I don’t know. He went out to get a soda and -”

CRASH!

“Uh, could you hold on for a second? I think maybe I heard him in the living room.”

Mori set the phone down next to the cradle and walked towards the living room. “Brandon? Is that you?”

Suddenly, a blur of screaming tall white male rushed past him, nearly knocking him over. It was followed by a blur of floating pink VW Bug, a blur of shiny glittery floating steak knives, a blur of man-eating floating belt buckles, and a blur of seventy- or sixty-something old British dude laughing evilly.

Mori walked back to the office and picked up the phone. “Brandon’s not available at the moment, can I take a message?”

“Mori! Help me out in here, please?”

Mori sighed. “Please hold.”

He walked into the kitchen and saw Brandon being held against the wall by the belt buckles as the steak knives just barely missed him, and the VW Bug waited for it’s turn in his eventual demise. Needless to say, he was a tad surprised; Brandon had some pretty raucous house guests, but this was a first.

“Do you expect me to talk, McKellan?” said Brandon angrily.

“Ha ha ha! No, Mister Menard,” laughed McKellan. “I expect you to…well…actually, yes. I expect you to talk. Tell me about stickers.”

Mori had seen enough. Picking up a large and heavy metal pot from the stove, he proceeded to beat Ian McKellan senseless until all the levitating metal objects had clattered to the ground uselessly.

“Thanks, Mori,” said Brandon before crashing to the floor in a heap.

“Phone for you,” said Mori, taking the yo-yo out of his pocket and leaving the room.

Brandon walked into the office and picked up the phone. “Ello ello? Oh, hi Ashleigh. What? No, I was out fighting off ninja vampire zombie monkeys and…what? Yes, yes, of doom. Of course. Anyway, yeah, the monkeys and Ian McKellan. Huh? No, not Gandalf, Ian McKellan. He tried to kill me with his metal mutant powers. No, he wasn’t Magneto, he was Ian McKellan. Yes, the actor has evil metal mutant powers. What? Um…hold on.” He covered the receiver with his hand. “Hey, Mori!”

“What?” came a return yell from somewhere in the house.

“Want to go see a movie tonight?”

“Uh…what movie?”

Brandon uncovered the receiver. “What movie?” He listened, then covered the receiver again. “Finding Nemo 2: The Fish Filet Fiasco!”

“Sure!”

“Yeah, sure. We’ll meet you around…what…eight o’ clock?” said Brandon back into the receiver. “OK then! See you at eight!”

He hung up the phone and began to walk towards his bedroom. “We’re meeting her at eight!” he called to Mori.

“Who at eight?” called back Mori.

“Ashleigh!”

“Why?”

Brandon blinked. “The movie!”

“What movie?”

Brandon shook his head. “Bloody git,” he swore Britishly. “Finding Nemo 2!” he yelled.

“Oh! Weren’t we going to see that with Ashleigh tonight?”

Brandon gritted his teeth and walked into his room. “I need a shower,” he said aloud. It was true; he was feeling slightly…gritty after his battle against the ninja vampire zombie monkeys (of doom) and near-death encounter with Ian McKellan.

“Step one: towel,” said Brandon, taking a fluffy towel from the linen closet. “Step two: clothing.” He selected clothing. “Step three: turn on water.” He turned the shower handle counter-clockwise, starting the flow of blood to pour from the faucet, and stopped.

“Why,” he asked nobody in particular, “is my shower pouring blood?”

He leaned closer to the red liquid and stuck out a finger, getting a small amount on his extremity. Then, he brought it up to his mouth and touched it gingerly to his tongue.

“Yuck!” he yelled, pulling his hand away. “It’s not blood - it’s cherry Kool-Aid! I HATE Kool-Aid!”

“WHAT?” yelled a loud, booming voice.

Brandon shielded his eyes just in time as a wall exploded, and a giant, walking and talking pitcher of red Kool-Aid with arms, legs, eyes, and a mouth burst into his bathroom.

“Did you say you HATED Kool-Aid?” boomed the Kool-Aid man.

“Yes,” said Brandon simply. “And you have to pay for that wall.”

“Make me.”

Brandon picked up a chunk of concrete and heaved it at the pitcher, cracking it and causing his red liquid insides to pour out like…well…blood.

Suddenly, Mori ran into the bathroom with a plastic imitation-ceramic pot. “Brandon!” he panted. “You’ll never guess what I’ve done!”

“I just killed the Kool-Aid man,” Brandon pointed out, in the off-chance that Mori hadn’t noticed.

“I’ve created genetically-altered cucumbers that will help me take over the world!” finished Mori.

“The floor is covered in his Kool-Aid blood,” said Brandon loudly.

“They’ll grow up and respond only to me, their surrogate father!” yelled Mori fanatically, foaming at the mouth.

“The bathroom is in shambles, and I’ve committed homicide!” yelled Brandon, equally fanatic.

“I named one NIMA!” shrieked Mori, reaching the breaking point.

“Then Camerin picked up the salad-shooter and went to work on the cucumbers!” sobbed Mori, his purple Emperor of the World robes in shreds. “It was awful!”

Brandon shrugged and returned to his issue of Cosmopolitan, ignoring the emotionally distraught being in front of him. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and no doubt, another plot complication had arrived.

“Helloooo?” said Brandon, opening the door.

Standing there, looking forlorn, was Rahul. “Hello.”

Brandon raised a single eyebrow once more. “Hello, Rahul. How are you?”

“I am fine.”

The stood in silence for a moment.

“Can I…help you?” asked Brandon.

Rahul shook his head, looking almost…mechanical. “No. I require nothing at this time.”

Brandon stared at Rahul curiously. “Is there something that you wanted?”

“No.”

Brandon nodded slowly. “Well then…I’m just going to…close the door.”

“OK.”

After staring at Rahul a few seconds more, Brandon finally shut the door. “That boy is freakin’ weird,” he said, returning to the living room.

Suddenly, the front door exploded outward, and a cloud of dust filled the air. “What the hell happened?” yelled Mori, standing up and dusting himself off.

Brandon walked over to the pile of rubble and surveyed the scene. “Well, it would appear that Rahul was a robot,” he said, picking up the wrecked remains of his mechanical head. “And I guess our little encounter at the front door overloaded his excitement matrix and made him explode.”

It was Mori’s turned to look confused. “You guys exchanged a sum total of nine sentences. How could that possibly overload his newly-discovered robotic brain?”

“He’s a product of Boredonia Robotics,” clarified Brandon, reading the label, “and he’s programmed to be dull. We just over stimulated him.”

“Oh.”

There was silence.

“I want onion rings,” said Brandon finally.

The End