Duck and Cover

REQUIEM FOR SOME ICE-CREAM

A cool breeze ruffled PooperScooper's hair as he looked out at the calm sea. He breathed in, enjoying the smell of the air before putting his helmet on and starting up the bike. As he was riding along, he thought various thoughts. Though he couldn't get away from one thought. The thought, of Kashluk.

It started to rain, the water on his face cooled him as he pushed the bike to 120mph. Faster and faster, he kept accelerating. The rain mixed in with his tears, he couldn't stop thinking about Kashluk and the total oblivion it brang. He screamed "KASHLUK!" to himself, hoping it would ease the pain of his obsession. The bike kept speeding over the horizon, like a missile heading for Kashluk's house.

Later he sat underneath a tree and stared at the night sky. He had lit a small fire and was about to go to sleep when there was a disturbance in the bushes. "Kashluk?" he wondered. A shaky old black man stepped out of the shadows. "May I join you?" said the stranger, his eyes bulging out of his head. Pooperscooper nodded, watching the strange little man bringing out a cigar. "My name...is Blargh." whispered the stranger, whistling through cracked teeth. "What happened to your eyes?" The man didn't have any eyelids. "I lost them in the Vietnam war. I had to survive on the eyelids of dead comrades for a week." PooperScooper nodded, lifting up his shirt to reveal a solid gold body. "I lost my body in 'Nam." The two veterans nodded at each other.

The bike sped along, PooperScooper and his new friend perched just above the powerful engine. "Where are we going?" screamed Blargh, tears streaming down his face in the wind. PooperScooper was silent then without warning, elbowed Blargh in the face. The man backflipped off the bike and his head splattered along the ground. PooperScooper grimaced, he was so near to Kashluk now he could feel it vibrating around his golden body.

PooperScooper walked along the lawn, his body quaking. He had reached a house with a single door in it and what sounded like a guitar played loudly inside. Punching down the door, he stepped into a slimy corridor. The smell of sugarless gum was overpowering and tears welled up in his eyes. A bare lightbulb lit a stack of furniture that Kashluk seemed to have barricaded himself into the house with. Above all this, the guitar kept wailing.

Punching his way through the furniture he had reached the main room. There was a pool in the centre with glow-sticks floating on the top, illuminating the whole room. In the centre of the pool lay Kashluk, playing a guitar and floating on a rubber ring. PooperScooper grabbed a nearby speaker and threw it against a wall and this seemed to awaken Kashluk from his soldier metal rave. The man was dressed head to toe in leather, but there was no mistaking that bulge. This was Kashluk alright.

"Kashluk..." The two nemesii stared at each other. One armed with a guitar in his fortress of Finnish might. The other had a solid gold body and the strength of two small men. "I've been waiting for this moment since I entered your house. You have done a great injustice to me." Kashluk played a few chords on his guitar. "Grandma didn't let me watch Yu-Gi-Oh." sighed the fearsome Finn. "I see your point." Both men nodded, they had heard this philosophy before.

Pooperscooper pulled out a toaster and hastily slammed in two slices of bread. Kashluk scrambled underneath the ring and pulled out a piece of sandpaper. He pushed the ring along the water with his hands, sandpaper swinging menacingly. PooperScooper started to shake in anticipation as Kashluk neared the waters edge. "Come here." whispered the leather-clad swell guy. There was a clicking and Pooperscooper smiled. The toast shot through the air and Kashluk received both barrels in the face. "Grandma...I have avenged you."

THE END

Bwahaha, pure genius.

You should write a book that includes a good deal of your tales, it would be like the new Grimm's fairy tales, or something.

S4ur0n27 wrote:Well, it makes me work

Ha ha ha civil servants don't work.

Could have been worse. When are you going to follow suit and succumb like all writers do, and write yourself into one of your . . . works, Meg ?

kashluk was jaws and I was the sheriff. FYI

This was just sad. Sad, sad, sad.

I likey

Spazmo wrote:

S4ur0n27 wrote:Well, it makes me work

Ha ha ha civil servants don't work.

Chit

Awesome, megatron, keep them coming

I'd like to have some of that stuff Megatron's having.

nutmeg?

Black tar nutmeg!

The clock struck midnight. ApTyp checked the solitary window. It seemed liked day time. The clock must be wrong. He made a note of it and went back to his business. With bleeding fingers, he dabbled with the creation in front of him. An avatar of fingernails. He grinned at it madly, caressing it's shell with a fingernail-less digit. There was a knock on the wall.

There was a knock under the floor. ApTyp stopped. He checked the clock, it was 3 in the morning. He unfolded himself, leaving a toenail on the desk. "Who is it?". There was no reply. He walked to the bathroom, wincing with each step. He sniffed the air and could smell the aroma of something familiar. He checked the toilet and the tub, though there was nothing there. Lie in the tub. He stared at the raw fingers and noticed one had turned yellow. Infected. He sniffed at it gingerly before going to sleep.

The banging woke him up. Right behind his head. Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he sat up. There was more banging, above the ceiling. "Is there a rat?" He tapped the ceiling and it felt soft. He tapped a little harder and some dust drifted down. Walking into the other room he picked up a chair and brought it back and then stood on it, examining the ceiling. After several minutes of sitting and standing on the chair, ApTyp started to dig.

The clock struck 11, breaking ApTyp's concentration. He had dug away most of the ceiling with his raw hands. Sitting on the chair, he washed his hands in the bath. He noticed a nail had started to grow again in his thumb, so went to the other room to add to the fingernail avatar. There was a knocking on the wall. ApTyp stopped, mid-pull. The knocking started to get more powerful, shaking the wall. "Hello!" ApTyp shouted. Then silence.

ApTyp heaved against the floor-board and felt it rise though something was on top of it. Instead of giving in like he had previously, he kept pushing and heard a great ripping sound. He laughed, his hand waving around the new area when something grabbed it. "Hey...hey! Let go!" He pulled against the force but was just lifted off the chair. Dangling in mid-air, he was pulled further up. Thrashing wildly, his head bounced against the plaster and dust cascaded down. There was a pin-prick in his arm and then he was let go, falling akwardly on the bath. He checked his arm and noticed a spot of blood where he had been pricked by a needle. He looked back up at the hole and saw an eye looking down before it disappeared.

He lay awake in the bath, staring at the hole. His arms throbbed and all his limbs ached. His head kept pounding. But he stared up at the hole, trying to sleep with his eyes open. The clock struck midnight again. Counting the seconds, he smiled when the pounding started. The whole room shook, the banging seemed to come from all around him. Giggling, he stood up and jumped onto the chair. With his aching arm he scraped away at the plaster, clawing at it with his bleeding fingers. Screaming now, he wrenched another floorboard up, putting both arms in. He dangled in mid-air slightly when he felt another set of hands grab his. Both of them pulling, ApTyp disappeared into the room upstairs.

He sat in the darkness, listening to the heavy breathing. He could make out a shape, curled up in the blackness. "Who are you?" he gasped. There was no answer. The form crawled around and there was a click. Bright lights hummed on. ApTyp was blind momentarily, the stark whiteness of the room turned his pupils into pinpricks. The blur standing by a lightswitch slowly came into focus. The more the image became clear, the more the terror built up. "No...no..." An unimaginable horror. His heart pounded away in his rib-cage, he lost control of his bladder. Before him, stood Beautiful Exitium. ApTyp was locked in his blank stare. His dark eyes reflected nothing. All there was now was Exitium.

THE END

You still haven't explained how to write Pals.

you get junkies to write it, thats why its only funny to the criminal element here at dac

I would try reading PALS but Megatron's stories are better.

That wouldn't be especially challenging.

Someone seriously needs to compile The Megatron Collection. In PDF Format, of course.

the last one was very cool.

Megatron wrote:, pissing and shitting at the same time.

Megatron wrote:he lost control of his bladder.

A childhood trauma, maybe?

http://www.emedicinehealth.com/articles/8806-1.asp
http://www.bladder-control-forum.com/
http://www.poise.com/learn/faq.asp

Yes, as a baby I often shat myself. I also saw my mothers vagina when I was born and my head touched it OMG And I also spent the previous years wriggling around my dads testicles. And then his dads testicles. And then HIS dads testicles! I had a tough childhood mate don't make fun of me or I'll give you stomach cancer.

Megatron has looked into my soul and quickly drew me a portrait. Then he asked $20 for it, the scamming bastard.