So it turns out that Mr. What's his face was just swallowing too much spit and he was choking on that. "Now sonny, we got find our way home so i suggest that we use my vast knowledge of the.....Oh My Great Bessie is that a speck of dirt on my freshly pressed sweater vest!!!" screamed Mr.Balone (I think that's his name). "Hmm dude that's just a bug...." "AHHHHHHH a bug! I have a very dangerous allergy to bee stings.. GET IT OFF!"
Wow he is such a wimp I have no idea where we are but I gotta get home so I can go and get to my job ( yes I have a job, all i do is swing a sigh around for a tattoo shop)
Mr.Capone said that what we should get to the highest point and look out at the....wherever we are. In my entire life I have never seen a grown man cry and complain about dirt and bug's and sweat as much as this little prissy country club man, "OK! I am so sick of hearing about how much you miss Bessie, or how the sweat makes your face red, Just walk up the gosh darn hill or i'm gonna get my whoop on and this experience will not be pretty, so SHUSH!
I didn't hear anything else from that man the entire way up.
When we got to the top of this mountain there were bugs and small furry things every where ( I don't think they were animals) Mr.Sclone pulled out this humungous poncho bug repellant thing that he covered himself in and pulled a six gallon can or repellent (I am surprised he can carry that in his man purse). As I was walking over to the side of the side of the mountain... AH I just fell in this hole.. "Oh My Great Balls of Fire what is biting my leg..is..is that fire ants, Mr.Sir come Help, HELP ME!!!" "OK I am coming first let me sanitize my hands you know those pesky germs can spread diseases like there's no tomorrow" he said casually "JUST COME HELP ME!!!" I screamed "alright i'm finished!" He said with a smile on his face. He Pulled me out of the hole, screamed because all of the fire ants, then sprayed me with about a gallon of bug spray. " I feel like I have a shell" I said "it'll soak in faster than you can say Mr, Malone Has saved the day!"
After my traumatizing experience, Mr. Malone ( I now know his name) sprayed the terrible hole with the repellent and out popped the cutest little thing, it was like a kitten but it was a squid. I started yelling things at us but we couldn't understand any of it ( I think it said it wanted us off the mountain) but Mr. Malone tried to spray it but it bit Mr.Malone!!! His hand was so covered in blood I didn't see it, I think he bit it clean off!!
I asked the little fella, "Hey little guy, we need to get home do you think you could help us?"
It answered in a strange language then nodded yes.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Mr. Malone- Day 1
Author's note: Read this in a British accent
I write this chronicle to inform you of the nonsense that went on the day I met Jamal. The feats that occurred upon the date I now curse may be hard to fathom, but I assure you, I shall tell no lie.
'Twas a typical day for an Britt-turned American living in the Forest Hill Gardens of Queens. When I awoke, I prepared for my prestigious golf tournament with my fellows from the country club. After a brunch, prepared by Mary, my maid, I walked out the door, clean shaven. On the way to the limo, I picked up my newly polished clubs from Niles, my butler.
"How is my dearest Bessie today? Has she got a good shine?"
"Yes, sir. I even used your favorite scent--freshly pressed Indonesian linen."
"A job well done, Niles"
"Thank you, sir"
O how Jubilant I get when I see a freshly polished Bessie. But alas, the good start to the morning would not remain. It turned out my limo had broken down. It seemed as though my only option was public transportation. I cringe at the sound. Gathering my belongings, I started the long walk to the subway in the downtown.
The walk there was not pleasant, not pleasant at all. Juvenile young things kept a' thumpin’ and a' bumpin’ me. I saw many hobos in the park, and many screaming young children. When I finally arrived, I got very lucky; I was the only one in my subway car. But then it seemed my luck had run out, because in walked the most juvenile of them all. Instead of avoid him, like I would have done before my "Poor people have feelings, too" seminar, I decided to take the friendly approach and make small chat.
“So, do you golf?"
He didn't respond, but it must have been because he smelled something repugnant, because he made a very peculiar face at that moment. So I started telling him about my clubs, and before I knew it, it had been half an hour. I could go on for days about my beloved Bessie. The man I was conversing with picked up something dirty from the floor, a book, probably of the "for dummies" collection. He started mumbling something, but I wasn't listening to the words, I was still astonished he could read. All of a sudden I heard a ruckus. Everything around me went dark. When things came back into reality, the other man in the subway car had stepped into bear dung. Typical. We were in a vast valley, nowhere near the golf tournament, and by the look on the other man's face, he didn't seem to know where we were either. So, the masculine man I am, I decided to take the leadership role and guide us to civilization. I looked towards the other man.
"Hey, do ya think this stuff’ll come off if I rub my foot on the tree?"
God help us all.
I write this chronicle to inform you of the nonsense that went on the day I met Jamal. The feats that occurred upon the date I now curse may be hard to fathom, but I assure you, I shall tell no lie.
'Twas a typical day for an Britt-turned American living in the Forest Hill Gardens of Queens. When I awoke, I prepared for my prestigious golf tournament with my fellows from the country club. After a brunch, prepared by Mary, my maid, I walked out the door, clean shaven. On the way to the limo, I picked up my newly polished clubs from Niles, my butler.
"How is my dearest Bessie today? Has she got a good shine?"
"Yes, sir. I even used your favorite scent--freshly pressed Indonesian linen."
"A job well done, Niles"
"Thank you, sir"
O how Jubilant I get when I see a freshly polished Bessie. But alas, the good start to the morning would not remain. It turned out my limo had broken down. It seemed as though my only option was public transportation. I cringe at the sound. Gathering my belongings, I started the long walk to the subway in the downtown.
The walk there was not pleasant, not pleasant at all. Juvenile young things kept a' thumpin’ and a' bumpin’ me. I saw many hobos in the park, and many screaming young children. When I finally arrived, I got very lucky; I was the only one in my subway car. But then it seemed my luck had run out, because in walked the most juvenile of them all. Instead of avoid him, like I would have done before my "Poor people have feelings, too" seminar, I decided to take the friendly approach and make small chat.
“So, do you golf?"
He didn't respond, but it must have been because he smelled something repugnant, because he made a very peculiar face at that moment. So I started telling him about my clubs, and before I knew it, it had been half an hour. I could go on for days about my beloved Bessie. The man I was conversing with picked up something dirty from the floor, a book, probably of the "for dummies" collection. He started mumbling something, but I wasn't listening to the words, I was still astonished he could read. All of a sudden I heard a ruckus. Everything around me went dark. When things came back into reality, the other man in the subway car had stepped into bear dung. Typical. We were in a vast valley, nowhere near the golf tournament, and by the look on the other man's face, he didn't seem to know where we were either. So, the masculine man I am, I decided to take the leadership role and guide us to civilization. I looked towards the other man.
"Hey, do ya think this stuff’ll come off if I rub my foot on the tree?"
God help us all.
Jamal (ebekeniezer) Day 1
Jamal: Yo my name is Jamal, I live in eastern downtown on the south side (right by McDonald) so any way I really wanted to tell you how I got to Narnia, well I was on a bus riding to the north side and right next to me is the old gieser in a whack job golfing outfit blabbing away about his new clubs. Since there was no one else on the old subway train so i just nodded and ignored his words. All of a sudden I found this really old thing with pages and words in it ( a book you say? never heard of it) and I started reading this foreign language and all of a sudden we were flying and spinning and THUNK we landed somewhere who knows where and the old man (Mr. Malone I now know is his name) is screaming and yelling and freaking out. I casually get off the train and walk out. "what the heck, what did I just step in?" I proclaimed " Oh deary I think that was bear dung" Mr. Malone said, then laughing, then wheezing. "Dude are you,are you choking!?"..................................................................
TO BE CONTINUED.....
TO BE CONTINUED.....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)