Ind e-Pen XXXII

The Ind e-Pen
+++vol+1+++BT+31+++

Introduction
================

There are tadpoles in my pool. Tadpoles in my pool! If there was ever a sign of not cleaning something after a rainstorm, it’s tadpoles. They look like itty-bitty sperm (though, technically, larger than life-sized sperm), and I can’t clean my pool now, it’ll kill them! And I can’t kill them, because it will bring back all the horrible images of my friend’s mother’s English friend Joe’s vasectomy! Not that I was there, but my imagination does run away with me sometimes. Oh, well, maybe if I just wait long enough, they’ll leap frog it out of here? One can dream, right?

Polling.

Wow. Last week, when I told everyone about the poll that I created, I didn’t quite expect every person that voted (four of you), to also explain why my choices were silly and suggest other, less silly, choices.
So I’m redoing the poll (effectively forcing everyone to revote). Instead of the answer choices that I didn’t want to do anyway, I’ll put in some of your suggestions. Also, the Grim Reaper. Because he sounds like fun. And, of course, some female choices (seeing as how the Philosopher’s Stone has been a Sausage Fest for a while now). It seems that the fictional Pixel, like his real life counterpart, does not talk to any women.
Hm. That’s kind of sad. I think I’ll go lay down for a while.

One craZy little boy.

Guess what I found? I found a 3-page story that I wrote when I was 13. Wanna read it? Okay, here goes. It’s called The Raccoon.

==========

The Raccoon

Dÿn Stygean was walking through the woods one warm December night. It’s hot, he thought that it was too hot to be -12°C but… who knows? As he skipped along he thought that he saw a small animal, and since he liked animals, he went to go pet it. As he neared it, he saw that it was a raccoon with a small hole in his head.
Dÿn stopped playing with it after around fifteen minutes, when he realized that it was not moving. He inspected the hole and saw that a 9mm gun made it. This made him quite mad, HOW COULD ANYONE do THIS!? He mentally shouted. His sadness quickly turned to rage as he saw that the trees thinned out just ahead to a red building. Well, he thought, IF they didn’t do it; then they must know who killed this poor defenseless creature.
As he made his way there, he thought of the bible, “Didn’t it say, ‘if thou doth findeth thyne deadeth animal, then thou shalt kill thyne’s killer?'” he seemed to remember. After thinking this, Dÿn knew that it was HIS responsibility to kill the person. Driven by his blind rage, Dÿn took out his tools of destruction and walked up to the building. Armed to the teeth (quite literally) he ignored the sign in front: “Saint Beverly’s Private school for the hearing impaired.”
Once inside, he saw a lady turned around facing an odd T.V. that had a bunch of letters being typed on it. He didn’t understand why so, walking up to the desk, he called out, “Hey lady!” She ignored him. Now Dÿn is relatively hard to anger, but he didn’t like being ignored. To cool himself down, he decided to ask about the raccoon, “Hey lady. Didja see who killed that raccoon in the forest?”
She ignored him again.
He started beating the desk, in an effort to draw her attention. Finally, she turned around and started moving her hands and mumbling words. Dÿn was smart enough to know that she was flipping him off in other languages, so he (losing his cool), took out his pump-action, double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun and blew her to tiny pieces. He proceeded to walk around the building.
He encountered several other people that all somehow pissed him off and he… killed them all. “Well, that was pointless,” he said. “Why do I always do this? I’m gonna run out of people to frame… Jonesborough, Littleton, umm… I forgot, but… they’ll start to notice soon.” It seemed that his good intentions always ended badly.
He went downstairs and walked out–
–straight into a bunch of police cars.
“STOP! POLICE!” He stopped, after all, they had said please. He looked around and saw that they all had small guns, guns small enough to… in fact, 9MMs! THEY COULD HAVE KILLED IT! He thought.
“Raccoon killers,” he mumbled as he reached for his rocket launcher. They fired at him, which only made him mad. Oddly enough, he killed all of them and didn’t get shot a single time… weird.
Leaving the scene of the crime, he went on to an elementary school…

* * *

Detective Paul Henricson was shocked by what he saw. He saw at least twenty cop cars go up in flames. I was supposed to back them up. I can’t believe it. Thank you Dunkin’ Donuts! he thought. He saw the suspect walk calmly away without a scratch, and, thinking that there might be cops trapped in the flaming cars, or the flaming building, he ran to go check.
He found that they had all died. He mourned for their extra-crispy, Kentucky fried souls. “D–N RACCOON KILLERS!!! WHO KILLED IT!?!” he heard from all the way across the town. He arrived there just in time to see the suspect walk out of a flaming gun shop. “I BET HE SOLD THAT GUN TO THAT KILLER!!” the suspect said.
Paul was too scared to shoot at the suspect (who was walking toward an elementary school) and instead thought of a plan. He went to a nearby bench and thought for a while. Well, I could do that, but I’d have to die… oh, well, it’s been a slice!
He ran up to the elementary building, preparing to go in. He took one last moment to savor life… when, he saw a bunch of kids walking around. This gave him an idea, “HEY KID! YEAH, YOU! THE ONE WITH THE BLUE SHIRT!” he yelled.
A small ten-year-old boy in a red shirt came up and said, “Who, me?”
“Yeah, you…” Smart, he thought. Then he whispered something in his ear. He took out his bullet-less 9mm and gave it to him.
“I get to… keep this?” he asked, incredulously.
“Yeah, just do what I told you.”
“Okay,” and he ran up to the school, which was now shaking under large amounts of bullets being pounded into it.
Paul waited…
And waited…
And waited…
Then, he heard, “I KILLED THE RACCOON!!”
Paul waited…
And waited…
10.
9.
8.
7.
6.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
And waited…

* * *

CRA-KA-BOOM!!

The entirety of Orange ceased to exist. The sound was heard thoughtout the nation. If anybody cared, it didn’t seem like it. This didn’t even make the news! Mostly, because all of the people that lived there were either stupid, old, cranky, boring, greedy, and/or annoying. And although most people are like that, no one wanted to hear it.
Miraculously, Dÿn survived. He was blown clear to New Mexico and landed in a pillow factory…

* * *

Somewhere in New Mexico:
I hate raccoons, hate them. Oh, look! There’s one!
POW!
I wish I had a better gun, d–n 9mm. I need more firepower. I’ve just about killed all the raccoons that I’ve seen. Now for deer.
He he.
…
…
…
I wonder who’s following me?

==========

Yeah… I recommend you not look too far into that. Other than how I was such a master of the obsurd and ironic at such a young age. Or something equally untrue.

A Small Quiz:

Last week, I said, “[Nikki’s] answer to question three was so vulgar and mean-spirited that it made me alternately cry and chortle for two whole weeks. I’ll see if you can figure that one out.” I suppose Butt *couldn’t* figure that one out, so I’ll explain it. Nikki’s answer said “I’m too lazy to be creative right now Carlos. Make up an answer for me.”
But the answer that I made up for her was so vulgar and mean-spirited that I alternately cried and chortled for two whole weeks… all of which took place last week. Get it, Butt? *sigh* Nevermind.

This Week’s Questions:

1: Who are you going to vote for?
2: What about in this year’s election?

b. If I ran, would you vote for me?

c. For the Philosopher’s Stone election, I mean.
3: When did you write your first story? Is it better than mine?

The Ind e-Pen +++vol+1+++BT+31+++ Introduction ================ There are tadpoles in my pool. Tadpoles in my pool! If there was ever a sign of not cleaning something after a rainstorm, it’s tadpoles. They look like itty-bitty sperm (though, technically, larger than life-sized sperm), and I can’t clean my pool now, it’ll kill them! And I can’t…