|Fluffers and the Continuous Clutch of the Claw
Author: Stewart MacDonald PM
This is the stuff I used to write in public school shined up and edited, of course. This got me writing in the first place, so for all you fans of my other stuff, you might want to check this out and see how I've changed. Enjoy!Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Crime - Words: 2,963 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 09-12-08 - id: 2570772
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Well guys, this is a big thing for me. My first stab at original comedy. Well, that's technically a lie. I don't know if I mentioned this at all before, but I wrote a lot of really off-the-wall stories when I was in public school. They involved Fluffers, a 12 year old cat hero of my invention who constantly battles against the evils of King Crock; along with his self-proclaimed cool-guy brother Tom; the ever starving mountain that is Hoggy Doggy; the komodo-dragon rock star Ripster; and the courageously challenged bottle of talking mustard, Ralph. Together, they formed a team that put my classmates in stitches. The style of humor used here was the paving for my Peach's Birthday story on fanfiction, and people who have followed my career from the beginning will recognize it. Anyways, this is a few firsts for me. The original comedy, as I mentioned before, and the next, it's geared towards a younger audience.
That's right people. One of my stories will contain no four letter words. Though some retarded humor may be a continuing theme, I will try my best to keep this as clean and funny as possible. Please, leave your reviews. I desperately need feedback on this, to see if I still have the humor touch. Enjoy folks.
Fluffers and the Continuous Clutch of the Claw
Chapter One - Home Sweet Home
The scent of fresh, home-cooked bacon invaded the beautiful suburban home in Logwood and charged up the stairs. It then proceeded to awaken the sleeping figure of Fluffers McTavish. That and the fact that his brother Tom was beating him with a pool noodle. "Get up nerd!" Tom hollered, wearing sunglasses even indoors. "The summer beckons!"
"Man!" Fluffers groaned and rolled onto his stomach. "Where did you get that? Do we own a pool?"
"No." Tom said thoughtfully and adjusted his sunglasses. "But the neighbors do."
"Oh, it all makes sense now." Fluffers growled and sat up. "So you stole a pool noodle even with the knowledge that we don't own one?"
"Dude." Tom said, amazed and shook his head. "The potential of a pool noodle goes much further than simple aquatic uses. You know how much damage you can do with one of these?"
"Tons, I'm sure." Fluffers said as he tossed on a shirt. "Now get out so I can get changed."
"With pleasure." Tom cackled and sprinted from the room, brandishing the pool noodle over his head.
Fluffers shook his head and stood. His room was surprisingly clean for a preteen. The walls were a nice sky-blue, as were the bedsheets. Posters of movies were pasted on the walls, usually from comedies involving Will Ferret. A large armoire stood guard beside the only messy object in the room, a desk, littered with papers and pencils. A large window let a large ray of sunshine pour across the beige carpet of the floor and Fluffers stepped into it. He stretched his arms and absorbed the warmth. Two doors lead out of the room, and he headed towards the one on the west wall. In it was a bathroom, where he quickly showered and dried himself off.
He did this amazingly fast, mostly because it was the first day off school for the summer vacation, and every year on this day, his parents celebrated with a gigantic bacon feast. The bacon was like Thanksgiving Turkey, it lasted for weeks after the big day. Add that to the fact his parents ran the most expensive restaurant in town, and you had yourself the best morning ever. Fluffers was flattered his brother had taken the time to wake him up. Even Tom's appetite was held in check by the sacred duty to include everyone in Bacon Day.
He charged out of the bathroom and grabbed his pants and baseball cap. He attempted to put both on at once as he hopped from his bedroom and into the hallway, he succeeded a split second before he reached the stairs, and he cleared them in about two seconds. Half-way down, his father roared past him, not quite on his feet. "Hold the bacon!" He screamed. "I am out of the bathroom!"
Fluffers smiled and shook his head before sauntering into the kitchen. He wasn't surprised to see his brother already halfway through a massive plate of bacon. "Tom, I'll be surprised to see you make twenty."
"I almost hope I don't." His brother laughed, spraying bacon projectiles. "If I die from this stuff, I die happy."
Ray McTavish piled a load of bacon and eggs onto his plate while simultaneously placing a hat upon his head. He turned back to the table as his wife Sophie laughed at him. "Nice moves, Ray." She commented.
"That's nothing, you should see me when we have to do accounting. Then I have to simultaneously write, do math, eat and cry myself into a stupor. That's four things!" He sputtered, now a clone of his eldest son Tom.
"Close your mouth, babe." Sophie smirked and flipped some more bacon. "That goes for you too, Tom."
"Bah!" Tom moaned and fluttered his hand absently. "Then I can't fit more bacon in."
"Why are you getting dressed for work, Dad?" Fluffers inquired as he swallowed his mouthful of bacon. "You don't have to go till ten."
"True." Ray nodded, pointing his fork at Fluffers. "The child makes a good point. Soph, you take this one."
"We simply have to get in earlier today." She shrugged. "You boys will have to do the groceries in our abscence."
"What?!" Tom screeched, aghast. "Dude, that's like, an hour from here!"
"Don't call your mother dude." Ray turned the fork to Tom, and the bacon on the end quivered accusingly. "And besides, it's only two blocks. You won track last year, you can handle it."
"I've shied from that road..." Tom sighed dramatically.
"Yes." Fluffers nodded soberly. "And turned down the avenue of violent video games and couches."
"Now boys." Ray began. "Your mother and I need to be at the restaurant really early today to make sure everything goes well. A food critic is coming in to do a review on the The Bump." The Bump In The Log was their parents restaurant on the east end of Logwood. It was a homey place, but people weren't fooled by the homestyle appearance. It was the best eatery in town, and the denizens of Logwood knew it.
"Oh yes..." Sophie grumbled. "Won't that be a horror movie..."
"Attack of the Food Critics..." Fluffers mused.
"God save us all." Tom agreed through another mouthful.
Fluffers was the last to finish, as he was a firm believer in breathing between bites. He collected the money his parents left on the counter and strapped some seran-wrap onto the mountain of leftover bacon. He tossed it into the fridge and walked into the coat-room. Tom was conspicuous in his abscence. "Tom!" He yelled.
"No!" Tom replied from somewhere in the bowels of the house.
"There's too much to carry alone!" Fluffers, becoming frustrated, added.
Tom materialized in the doorway. "So get Ripster. He's a big dude."
"'Dude'," Fluffers mocked. "He's practicing with his band. He always does from 4:30 till noon."
"Yes, right." Tom remembered, bringing a paw to caress his chin thoughtfully. "To annoy the neighbours."
"Yeah, I'm surprised we can't hear him right now." Fluffers pondered, and looked out the window.
"He's probably taking a shower and a breathing brake." Tom pointed out and checked over the list. "So you are coming with me then?"
Tom shrugged. "May as well. I got nothing better to do."
"No, you don't." Fluffers agreed and swung open the door. They stepped out into the sunlight and Fluffers winced and pulled his cap low over his eyes. Tom just laughed.
"You should invest in a pair of these, little bro." He smirked and tapped his sunglasses.
"Maybe." Fluffers grumbled. "But I would at least take mine off every once in a while."
"Hey." Tom said. "Be nice. I don't diss your preppy gear, so don't diss my coolness." Tom was perhaps overshooting the preppy comment. Fluffers wore a basic white tee and jeans. Tom, on the other hand, was clad in a leather vest, sunglasses, a Lament Of A Melting Snowball tee, and baggy jeans.
"Tell me you didn't just say diss." Fluffers laughed and shook his head.
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." Tom said and kept a brisk stride ahead of him. Fluffers chose to ignore this and followed him. Halfway down Branch Avenue the sound of an electric guitar screamed across the morning fog. The sound was harsh and loud, but it was captivating and the tune it slammed out could not help but grasp one's attention. "Ripsters awake." Tom acknowledged.
"Yup." Fluffers agreed, and then groaned. "Oh Lord, it's the Special Olympics."
By the hydro pole on the Branch/Main intersection lingered three disgruntled individuals. Mart Morella, a rather stupid, hateful yet somehow popular ape, along with his cohorts; Franklin Freeman and Wayne Ivan. They weren't bullies, per say, but they developed a hating of Fluffers because of his high marks and his equally smart mouth. Nobody at Logwood High had a problem with Tom, but after Fluffers established himself as unpopular, Tom became a target. Which was quite unwise, as the combination of Fluffers and Tom was a devestating vocal tag team.
"Hey, hey!" Marty shrieked. "It's the KKK! The Clueless Creepy Cats!"
"Man!" Fluffers laughed. "Are you aware that not one of those words starts with K?"
"Are you aware that kill starts with K? As in I'm going to kill you?" Marty grimaced and shook his fist.
"Awww! Did you pass English this year Marty?" Fluffers said lovingly. "Who's a good boy? Who's a good-"
"Shut up!" Marty screamed in pain. "I hate you!"
"It's okay, Marty!" Wayne comforted and patted him on the back. "He's only a nerd."
"Yeah, don't sweat it!" Tom laughed uproariously. "Don't mind Marty, Fluffers, he's just mad that the poop he flung at his wall this morning won't wash out."
Fluffers smiled and shook his head. "Have you tried soap and water, or do you just settle using your face?"
"Snap, crackle and POP! Bet that burns, Marty!" Tom howled as they power-walked away.
Fluffers wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and sighed. "Oh man, if this is happening at ten in the morning, I wonder how eventful the rest of the day is going to be?"
If they only knew.
Claw stepped into the dimly lit office, closely accompanied by Gerard, King Crock's right hand man, er, turtle. "This is it?" He ran a hand across his scaled head and grimaced. "Not very roomy." It really wasn't. King Crock had promised him a suite in lock-up. This was more of a closet with a desk, a rolly chair, and some filing cabinets. There were also a rack of guns on the wall opposite the door he stood in.
"Naw, Crock's building up his empire. Things'll get better." Gerard sympathized. "But it's got a TV intercom so the bossman can get a hold of you, and vice versa for your men."
"I get henchmen?" Claw gaped as he shuffled across the musty concrete office.
"Well yeah." Gerard explained. "Crock's appointed you as one of his 'generals'. You get pretty much the same benefits as me, and you get to brainstorm ideas for him. I warn you, he's pretty self-concious about his own ideas, and may not want to change them."
"I see. Well he's a pretty sinister guy, I'm sure he has some whoppers." The lizardman turned his head towards Gerard. "How, are his ideas?"
Gerard paused. "Unique." He finally said, and shuffled out.
"Uh-huh." Claw muttered to himself, and took a seat in the rolly chair. Before he could even look toward it the intercom buzzed to life, and the TV showed a fuzzy, but still imposing image of King Crock's face.
"Claw!" He hollered. "CAN YOU HEAR ME!?"
Claw clapped his hands over his ears. "Yes! You don't have to yell, sir!"
"Oh, my bad." Crock adjusted the camera and appeared to check his large fanged teeth in it. "Anyways, how are you liking your office?"
"It's, uh, unique?" Claw smiled a little too pleasantly.
"Yes, yes, I get that often. Feel free to spruce it up a bit, if you want. Throw in some flowers, maybe some geraniums..."
Claw shifted uneasily. This seemed a different individual that had served time with him. He didn't complain though. He was paying well, and promised easy money with the accomplishment of his illicit business. "A poster or two would probably look nice too." Crock went on. 'Might bring a little character into the room."
"Yes sir." Claw prompted.
"Ah, but I ramble." Crock grinned mischeviously. 'I assume you want to hear your first assignment?"
Claw straightened. "Definitely, sir."
Crock laughed, a deep and malicious laugh that was more resplendant of the Crock who had been arrested for murder. "Okay. Assemble six of your finest men, and ski-masks." Claw began writing. "I assume you know the jewelry store on Logwood's main street?"
Claw smiled, and kept writing. "Yep."
"Well, I want you..." Claw broke off into sinister laughter. "Oh, dear me, it's simply too much..."
Claw smiled. "You want me to-"
"Oh yes!" Crock guffawed.
"Paint a large smiley face on the front window!" Crock cackled and slammed his head off his desk. Claw was speechless, and at first thought he was joking. He began to laugh as well, but quickly silenced when Crock stopped laughing and stared at him.
"Can you do this?" Crock asked, deadpan. "For me, for the company?" He stood and raised his clawed hands to the ceiling. "For the world!?"
"What...?" Claw began, and then paused. He decided there was no better course of action then the one he was about to take. "Sir, yes sir." Claw smiled shakily.
"Good man." Crock grinned and apparently pushed a button. The image didn't blink out, but Crock leaned back in his chair and began spinning wildly. He pushed another button on his desk and a strange techno song began to play. "Gerard! Fix me my Frankenberries!" The crocodile howled.
"Um, sir?" Claw interjected.
"Oh, um, Claw! My bad. I'll see you. Keep up the good work!" He apparently hit the right button this time, and the image faded to black.
Claw held on for about three seconds before bursting into laughter. What do you know? Idiots do serve a purpose in this world, he thought. But deep inside, he was worried. He would become the laughing-stock of the criminal world if this got out! Ah well, at least he would get some laughs out of the deal. He saw Gerard march by with a box of Frankenberries and again dissolved into laughter. It would be an interesting week.
Coming back from the grocery store, the boys were loaded up with groceries. They had bought a little more than milk with the money left them, including three boxes of Pizza Pops, a case of Coca-Cola, and some freezies. "Think Dad will care?" Tom wondered.
Fluffers snorted. "Perhaps a little bit."
Tom grinned. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."
"Okay, so explain how you're going to conceal forty freezies from the Mad Junk Food Butcher."
Tom pondered this as they walked, but only for a minute. Before long he changed the subject. 'What was with the 5-0 in the meats section? Everything was annihalated!"
"I know, it looked like the worlds smallest tornado went through." He thought for a second. "Probably some crazed meat theif." Tom went quiet, content with this explanation, as they passed a sign advertising the Logwood Fair. he suddenly exploded.
"What the hell is wrong with our county?!" He exploded.
"What?" Fluffers asked, confused.
"Seriously. Every town in this country is named after a tree of some sort. Living in Forest County has developed an obscene hatred of trees inside my very soul."
"Ah." Fluffers said with a nod. "So this is why you skipped the field trip to the arboretum."
"What? We had a field trip to an arboretum? Whose idea was that?!"
"Obviously not yours." Fluffers laughed and stopped. "Man... What happened?" They were in front of their house, and the side door was visible from the angle. It looked as if five hippo's had tried to stomp through side by side, and succeeded.
"Holy crap, I have no idea. I thought grandma was coming next week?!" Tom said, shocked.
"Seriously, this is bad." Fluffers moaned. "Dad is going to murder us with spoons!"
"Ouch." Tom winced.
"Yeah. Wait, what if whoever did this is still inside?! I mean, we weren't gone that long!" Fluffers looked around and picked up a rake. "Arm yourself!"
"Right!" Tom whispered and darted into the shed. After a large bang he returned with a leaf-blower.
"Dude." Fluffers slapped his head.
"Hey, it's..." He looked at it blankly. "Blunt?"
"Whatever, just don't cry to me when you're stabbed in the eye." He then held his paw to his lips and moved towards the door, where they would face the largest adversary they had ever encountered.