Prologue

"The time has come," the walrus said, "to speak of many things."

"REEEAALLLYYYY..." Said Alice, backing away slowly. "Um, like what?"

"Why, shoes and ships and sealing wax, and whether pigs have wings!" He proclaimed proudly.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Have you ever seen a pig, you blubberbound pile of lard? Yes? Well, unless you were smoking some heavy stuff, I'm willing to bet it didn't have wings."

The walrus looked bewildered. "What a little twerp," he grumbled, and was promptly eaten by a polar bear.

"If you can still hear me," Alice shouted at the polar bear's stomach, "buffaloes don't have wings either! It's all a sham!"

The polar bear grunted, and, defying several basic parts of its genetic makeup, ate Alice. "Nobody likes a wise ass," he said, and shuffled off to the North Pole for his noonday snack of elves.

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Prologue 2

All is darkness...

Nothing but the inky black void, enveloping me, stamping me, and mailing me to Tahiti...

Who am I?

Where am I?

What am I?

When am I?

How am I?

Quite well, thank you, except that I seem to be melodramatically floating in this black void. And, I appear to be asking myself idiotic questions.

Hey, doesn't the very definition of a void imply it can't BE a color? So how is this void black?

Good point, that.

I am floating in the non - colored darkness...

And then... for no apparent reason... I see the light...

The blinding light at the end of the tunnel... I am saved! My ordeal will soon be over... I move towards it, hypnotized, staring into the light...

ZZZZZAAAAAPPPPPPPP!

Meanwhile, back in the material world, an exceptionally stupid fly had just flown into a bug zapper.

That's what you get for being melodramatic.

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A word of warning (137 words, really)

Welcome to the most bizarre thing ever written without the aid of caffeine, pixie sticks (stix? Who knows? Who cares?), or similar "insanity aids."

Disclaimer 1: Stupid earthbeings, it is I, hemo the magnificent. If thou art pure of mind and spirit, please go away now. You disgust me.

Disclaimer 2: Oh I dont own any of the characters although I wish I could cause then I could have hot steamy sex with them heeheehee fangirl/boy giggle... oh wait, I do own them. SWEET! Plagariase them and I shall stuff a live chicken up your nose! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Disclaimer 3: Stop reading the damn disclaimers already.

Disclaimer 4: By the way... if you want to have hot steamy sex with my characters there is something deeply and truly wrong with you. I mean that sincerely.

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The staff jumped onto the turf, looking insanely perky. They had to. It was their job. At least the damn mascot could be cursing people off under that costume, and no one would be able to tell the difference.

"Alright everybody!" they yelled perkily to the crowd. "It's time for our middle-third inning contest!"

The crowd did not seem quite as perky about this idea as they were.

"We have three contestants here! Bob Hirthforth, Tom Belcher, and Fred Baum will all have one chance - and one chance only - to win the grand prize... A 100$ GIFT CERTIFICATE TO LADY FOOT LOCKER!!!!!!!!"

The perky staff oohed and aahed at this announcement, acting as if a gift certificate to a women's shoe store was the holy grail of prizes for three beer bellied, middle adged men to win.

"Now the rules are quite simple," said the announcer, lowering his voice. "All you have to do is stand on home plate for exactly 5.3 seconds. IF, during that time, A METEORITE from the 763rd ring of Saturn SMASHES you into a bloody pulp where you stand, you will win our... GRAND PRIZE!!!" The perky folks went crazy again. "Our first contestant will be mr. belcher. Are you ready, sir?" He asked perkily, as Belcher got into position. He nodded and the announcer, apparantally breathless with anticipation, said: "Alright! Ready... Get Set... GO, TOM, GO!"

Tom Belcher stood there for a few moments, bewildered, before the announcer again bellowed in his ear, "OHHH, tough LUCK, Tim. Our next contestant is Bob Hirfoth. Are you EXCITED, Bob?!?"

"Um... sure, I guess..." he said.

"Ready, Bob? Get Set... GO!"

Bob stood there, straining with all his might, trying to draw with his personal magnetism the nearest asteroid.

"OOOHHH! Good TRY, Bob! And now, for our last contestant - Fred Baum! Good LUCK, FRED! Ready... set... GOOO - OH MYGOD!!!!"

Suddenly, a meteorite the size of a pickup truck slammed to earth at home plate, squishing Fred flat.

The perky people quickly recovered from the shock.

"OHHH FRED, SOOOO close," crooned the announcer. "But I'm afraid this particular meteorite is from the 764th ring of Saturn, NOT the 763rd. But good effort, all AROUND!"

He smiled perkily. And the story ended anti climactically.

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THAT WAS STUPID, WASN'T IT?

"WASSSSUUUPPPP?"

"WAAAAAASSSSSSUUUPPP?"

"WWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSUU - gasp - UUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPP?"

"Drinkin a bud, watchin the playmate olympics."

"Drool. Drool."

The agent ducked behind a bush, taking careful notes. He had been observing this strange behavior for the last two hours. It was time to report.

He spoke quickly and quietly into the two way radio watch he had bought off the back off an old spiderman comic. He had noticed that nobody ever really talked back, except for Dick Tracy, who said in a gruff voice "Crime doesn't pay" when you pressed the little button. But he knew they were listening. They were always listening.

He was shaken from his thoughts at the sound of quiet footsteps approaching. Spinning around quickly, he found himself face to face with the last person he had expected to see.

"It - It's YOU!" He choked out in terror.

"Yes," said the mysterious voice, whose identity was not revealed to the clueless reader° in a desperate attempt to keep their tiny attentions spans focused on a largely pointless story. "It is I."

The spy paused, briefly confused. "Oh, wait... I've never seen you before, have I."

The mysterious figure also paused. "No."

"I'll just get back to my spying duties, then." The spy said, walking back to the window to observe his targets.

"Just out of curiosity..." The mysterious figure said. "Why exactly are you spying on an ugly, beer swilling man screaming unintelligibly into his cell phone and watching the Playmate Olympics?"

"AOL made me change my profile from hot sixteen year old girl to fat, unattractive spy person," The spy mumbled as he continued to... well... spy.

"Pervert," muttered the mysterious figure, before mysteriously dissapearing to go lurk somewhere in a dark alley.

"Bud." croaked a frog. "Weis." croaked another frog. "Er." croaked yet another frog. "SUCKS." they all chorused in unison. "Kicking us out into the cold, hard swamp for some drunken fratboys yelling strange things at each other."

"Bastards."

"Yeh."

Then, out of nowhere, a giant chihuahua appeared and swallowed them whole.

"That's stupid," croaked one from inside the strange dog's stomach, as the stomach acid slowly wore it away to nothing.

"Yeh."

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BOB, THE UNABLED PERSON

In the magical land of Prygonia, where almost everyone was happy, there lived a man named Bob. Bob was sad. For in Prygonia, all prejudice and hatred had been forgotten, and men lived in peace and harmony. People skipped daily through the fields, playing with happy little butterflies and singing songs about love and joy. And all the men had expressed their feelings and lived in a much more harmonious way with all of mankind.

Yes, it was true that persecution no longer existed in this wonderful land.

But Bob was still sad.

All people in the land could take jobs based on their natural talents now, regardless of race or creed.

But alas! Poor Bob had no talents.

Bob was an idiot. And it seemed there was no place in this paradise for a poor, sad moron like him.

Every day, Bob sighed piteously as he watched the able people go about their duties, ensuring Prygonia’s stability, protecting the country from famine, and ensuring the harmony of all mankind.

The leader of the land, Sir Pefectalot, came across poor Bob one day in a field as he rode, and felt his heart break for the poor, downtrodden, unhappy idiot.

"Sir Bob!" he cried from his horse. "Why art thou so depressed? All of my subjects should be happy, or else I am not fit to rule this wonderful country."

Bob looked up at him and explained his tail of woe. Later, he explained his tale of woe.

Sir Perfectalot was moved by Bob’s tragic tale, and at once rode off to the Senate.

"Gentlemen!" he cried. "We can no longer stand idly by as our stupid countrymen are trampled into the dust! Do something, I implore you, to ensure the untalented are no longer held back in life!" A murmur ran through the senate. Luckily, Senator Jebson was able to catch it by its tail of woe before it could smash into something valuable.

Two days passed as the Senate debated. Finally, on the third day, the people with no abilities act was passed across the land.

No longer, it decreed, could those with no talents be prevented from taking jobs. Soon, the once-downtrodden idiots strode smiling towards Sir Perfectalot’s castle, only tripping over their own feet once or twice, knowing that no longer would they have to demonstrate any kind of work ethic or knowledge to acquire lucrative jobs. Bob himself lead the smiling parade into the castle.

Within minutes, the idiots were given essential jobs all over the country.

Two days later, the economy collapsed, Sir Perfectalot’s castle imploded due to a faulty plumbing job, a war erupted between two rival factions, and all the happy little bunnies and deer in the forest were slaughtered by poachers. Within a week, the kingdom lay in ruins.

AND THE MORAL OF THE STORY IS:

Doors do not go moo, but cows do.

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I am the rabid chihuahua! I warn you, puny mortal fools: I COME FOR YOUR SOLES!

ESPECIALLY DR. SCHOLLS SHOCK ABSORBERS! HA HA!

Rosie O’Donell, Kathie Lee Gifford, Regis Philbin, Ronald McDonald, the taco bell chihuahua, and other assorted monstrosities: FEEL THE WRATH OF MY BURRITO OF FURY!

…

Maybe I did use a few pixie stix…

THE END! TA DA DA DA DA DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

*Yeah, I’m talkin to you! You talkin to me? I’m talkin to you!