(Hippies Will Be The Death Of Us All: A Collection Of Short Stories)
(The "Imagination" Chronicles)

Madison yawned lazily, clicking the off button on the television. Reruns could entertain a normal fourteen-year-old to death. The problem was, Madison wasn't normal.

"Hey!" She shouted triumphantly, remembering the present her friend had given her. A homemade comic book of pure joy: Triangleman!

Dashing to her basement she scrounged around madly, searching under every piece of junk that was overflowing from her room. Okay, so she's not a very organized person. Or tidy. Or sane. Which leads into our next point.

Now, when you get completely bored, you all do amazingly weird things to amuse yourself, correct? Well, even if you don't, pretend that you do.

Madison defeatedly gave up her quest and plopped down on the floor. Suddenly, as if it were glowing with pure and holy light, as if part of some corny television show, there it lay: The heart and soul of all children's amusement. A very large cardboard box.

Come on now, you know you used to do this, or maybe you still do, like I was five minutes ago, being the reason for this story.

She literally shrieked with complete and utter joy, as if a little Canadian leprechaun had just given her a pot of gold. Yes, Canadian. Why? Because Canadians kick ass. So, in case you haven't figured it out yet, I am American. Damn it! Anywho, back at the ranch-

In fact, she jumped for joy! Jumped for joy right into the box, can't you just imagine it? And suddenly she understood. The meaning of life! It was so simple, so clear! But then, Madison being Madison, a very forgetful little tenth grader (And little she was, only five foot two. On a good day of course.), forgot. Luckily in the process of forgetting she had an idea.

"I will use my Imagination," she emphasized 'Imagination' very slowly and carefully. I believe she is possessed.

And suddenly, there she was!

Oh you'd never guess this, because another thing you need to know is that Madison has very dull fantasies. Original, but very, very dull. Perhaps that's why her mother always thinks she's on drugs. The whiner.

Posing dramatically, she rolled into a ball sticking one arm into the air.

"I am soap on a rope!" She proclaimed silently to the world, for soap on a rope cannot talk. And the box you say? Well, all soap on a rope must have packaging.

Then, suddenly, "Imagination" seized her once again. She lay down in the bottom of the box, took hold of her feet so her body made a circle and somehow started to turn while still being on her side, on the ground.

"I am filthy laundry in the washing machine!" She proclaimed silently to the world, for filthy laundry, though dirtier and un-soap like, cannot talk either. How strange. And the box? Well, the laundry machine of course.

By now you must see where this is going. So now is your chance to run away mumbling about how terrible and pointless this is. If you continue, you will only delay the inevitable further. I pity you for reading this.

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INTERMISSION

(Yes, intermission. Go get yourself some candy and pickles. And could you bring me a peach please?)

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I thought I told you not to read this. Oh well, can't hold me accountable, but I guess that doesn't matter anyway. I'm just the writer, you don't listen to me...

Madison continues to spin, around and around and around. She is getting very dizzy and cannot see clearly. Suddenly! She stops, breathing loudly, because she is out of breath. Ever so lightly, her foot taps the side of the cardboard.

An explosion is heard! When the smoke clears, everything is gone. Oh poor Madison, perhaps you can find something else to go on adventures with!