Spooky Scary

"Time to get into my car," said Little Joe, having walked from the mall to his automobile through the dark parking lot on Halloween night.

"Hee hee hee," cackled Cannibal Steve, the wittiest and most enigmatic edgy emo cannibal ever conceived by the talentless marketing committees in Hollywood.  He was hiding under the automobile and plotting, just then, to slice Little Joe's ankles with his straight razor.

"Gee," said Little Joe, "I hope no evildoer hiding under the car is plotting to slit my legs and turn me into cucumber sandwiches.  Better unload my glock just in case!"

So he put like eight bullets into Cannibal Steve and left his dark and edgy ass to die in a twitching, bleeding mass.

He was just driving home when Gritty Bob cackled in the back seat.  He was a spooky scary serial killer who had escaped from the ultra high security insane asylum Little Joe worked for, and he was planning on Killing Little Joe and turning his skin into yarn he would knit doilies with.

"Gosh," said Little Joe, "I certainly hope there are no spooky scary serial killers in the back seat of my car.  I guess I never checked, so I better throw a hand grenade."

And so he did. Gritty Bob tried to put his shirt over the grenade, but that was ineffective.  It blew off both his arms and one of his legs and coyotes later ate him.  Little Joe's car broke down on the way home on account of the holes in the gas line and the fact that it no longer had rear tires. He was walking home, but there was somehting he did not know.  Bicycle Mask Bruce was stalking him through the bushes, breathing loudly.  He was going to attack Little Joe with his machete for reasons that were never explained to a satisfactory level.

"Gee," said Little Joe, "I certainly hope no psychotics are going to hop out of the bushes and kill me.  Better release the tiger!"

Just then he released his tiger, who threw Bicycle Mask Bruce around like a freaking rag doll, tore his limbs off, and tied his intestines in a pretty bow.

"That was not the tiger I was thinking of," said Little Joe.  "I wanted the tiger with the saber teeth."

Just then he released his other tiger, which was like ten times bigger with teeth the size of a bus.  It tore through Bruce's still-living skull, spattering his grey matter all over the trees.  Little Joe kept walking, but eventually he ran out of food and died.

Which just goes to show.

Sparklebean and the Power of Dreams!

Once upon a time Tom Cruise was sound asleep in his forty million dollar bed in his five hundred million dollar castle on his private continent on his private tectonic plate that his Scientology "volunteers" custom made for him somewhere in the Pacific.  He was just drifting off into dreams when something awoke him from the window!

"Whoosh!!"

"Omg!" Cried John Travolta,  emerging from Tom's closet with his Grease underoos about his hairy Italian ankles.  "Wtf is that, Tom??"

"It is I, SparkleBean!" Spake a bear,  floating through the window like a cloud.  Sparklebean was quite tall with fur the color of a blue raspberry jolly rancher and paw pads the color of a green apple jolly rancher.  "I have come this night to teach you the power of dreams!!"

"But Sparklebean I know their power!" Thomas Cruise insisted.  "I was just dreaming of both the Olson Twins feeding me Dodo eggs in a ten billion quadrillion dollar platinum-plated mansion in my own custom galaxy somewhere on Orion's belt."

"Gee golly I think I still have Orion's belt huuhee," said John.

"Those are but foolish fantasies, Tom!"  Sparklebean chided. "Foolish, petty, shallow things.  You have grown slothful, Tom, and your acting has paid the price!"

"It has?"

"Oho yes, Tom.  Once you drank deeply at the chalice of dreams.  You walked the azure shores of Twilight's Reach and danced in the incensed caverns of the Undying Empress.  Back then you made such films as Top Gun and Rain Man because you hungered for the impossible.  The people they bathed like daisies in your reflected glory and a golden age was ushered in.

"Then you became rich and your dreams mired in the mundane.  Your acting lost that hunger and imagination and you made films such as Far and Away and Eyes Wide Shut and lo the public lost faith in the once great Thomas Cruise!  Now... now I fear they will never accept you as Jack Reacher!"

Tom gasped at this.  "Spirit, please tell me.  Is all hope lost?  Can events yet be changed?  Can I still become the demigod that is Jack Reacher?"

Sparklebean drew a heavy breath.  "It is possible," spake the bear.  "Indeed, it is why I am here.  Do you hunger for the old days, Tom Cruise?"

"I do!" Spake Thomas Cruise.

"Will you do anything to become Jack Reacher?  Even pursue your dreams beyond the haunted shoals of Evernight, where radiant nudibranch feed upon the screams of stillborn babies, themselves eaten by horrid, eyeless porpoises?"

"I shall!"

Sparklebean hopped up and down, clapping giddilly.  "And what of you, fat Italian?  Will you assist your friend in his quest of dreams?"

"Geezers you betcha!" Cried Travolta.

"Then we shall begin!"  Sparklebean wove his fuzzy blue paws in the air and they felt their reality fade away like dirt in a shower.  Before them was a field of flowing golden wheat, bordered by  forest of amethyst trees.

"I... I remember this place!" Said Tom.

"You do!"  Spake Sparklebean.

"I have been here before."

Sparklebean clapped his fuzzy paws.  "Yes!  You have!"

Tom whistled and from the cotton candy clouds slipped a marvelous golden dragonfly with a horn like a narwhal and a bridle made of fluffy clouds.  Tom climbed into the stirrups and signaled for his friends to follow.

"Come now," the Top Gun star said.  "I know what I must do."

"Huzzah!"  Cried Sparklebean.

Long did they quest from the Hollow Mountains to the coral forests of Buccaneer's Doom.  They danced at Midautumn's Ween with the glimmering and anthropomorphic dandelions of the Million Lakes and fought legions of gibbering forkit-beasts in the yellow tentacle rebellions on the crystal moons of Betelgeuese.

Finally Tom bowed before his blue guide.   "Friend Sparklebean, I have renewed my hunger and imagination!"

"Hooray!"  Cried Sparklebean, hopping from foot to foot and  pounding his paws in the air.

"I know now what it means to be Jack Reacher.  I have done much and am ready to return to my humble forty million dollar bed."

"And what of you, Greasy Italian?" Sparklebean asked.  " are you prepared to go home?"

"Oh geegolly yes," spake John.  "I think I left a roast cooking in Tom's closet."

Sparklebean laughed heartily and patted them both on the back. "Well, friends, then my work here is done.  All ye need do to return is touch my wiener. "

"Uh," said Tom.

"Err..." said John.

"Go on," Sparklebean encouraged.

"Your wiener?"

"Indeed!"

"And by wiener you mean..."

"I want you to box my beef baton."

"Ah," Tom nodded sagely.  "Can't you just, you know, wave your arms again?"

"Oh my no!"  Sparklebean laughed.  "That's just to GET here.  To return to the human world is much more difficult prospect. It requires you both bounce my Bilbo Baggins.  Feel free to say hi to Merry and Pippin while you're down there."

"Both of us?" Tom asked.  "I'm pretty sure you just wanted John to do it before."

"M-me?"  John stammered.

"Come now, I've rejuvenated your career, have I not?  Taught you that dreams are even more important than mundane wealth and fame?"

"Well, yes."  Tom said.  "Of course."

"Well Tom, MY power source is you boys dangling my dingleberries!"

"Erm," said Tom Cruise.

"Well,"  said John Travolta.

"Sorry boys, I don't make the rules, you see!"

"If it's REALLY the only way to get out of here..." said John.

"It seems very suspicious that a blue bear would be molester-powered."  Said Tom Cruise.

They approached slowly and were just about ready to part his long, blue fur when a squeaky voice cried out: "Aha!  I've got you now, you charlatan!"

"The King of Candyland!"  Cried Sparklebean.  "It's so, um, GOOD to see you, your Majesty!"

A small, portly man with a beard of cotton candy, an enormous ruff made out of bitto-honey and a crown that seemed to be made out of praline zipped in on a magic carpet of twizzlers.  "It's good to see you too, Rufus, or as you preferred to be called, Sparklebean!"

"I can explain!"

"Tell it to the macaroons!" the King scoffed. "Get him, boys!"

Just then, Tom Cruise and John Travolta noted two or three dozen multicolored gumdrops hopping over the hill. They were going to warn their molester friend, but saw he had already taken off at a gallop.  Sadly, he was just an anthropomorphic bear and had bones and fur to slow him down.  The jellies came on him like a confectionary landslide and soon had him encased in their gelatin.

"Good work," said the  king as the gelatinous bob that encased Sparklebean rolled towards him.  "Take this criminal back to the palace.  He has much to answer for!"

"Is he going to be OK?"  Tom asked as the blob hopped away.

"Oh he's the LAST thing you should worry about," the King said.  "Let me  guess.  He promised to take you on a magical dream quest to restore your love of acting or some nonsense."

"Uh, yes."

"But then he can't get back.  Not  without you diddling hi skittles anyway."

"Well... sort of. Yes."

"Yes, my boys.  It looks like we got here just in the nick of time.  That  bear was not Starbright or Stickybear or Sparklebean or whatever he's calling  himself  now.  He is  Rufus, Dreamland's only molestation-powered bear.  And now that we have him, I'm going to make sure we put him away!  Forever!"

"That's great."  Tom Cruise said.  "So it's not like he could get us back anyway."

"Oh no," the King said.  "He could."

|"But that doesn't matter," Travolta said, "'Causefore you guys will be able to get us home now!  Yippee!"

"You guys??  Oh no.   I'm afraid that's just not possible!"

"What??" Tom Cruise asked.

"You boys are humans!  You EAT my people!  Bite their heads off over easter!  It would be like asking someone from your world to help Adolf Hitler if Hitler were also a cannibal who bit the heads of bunnies who were minding their own business.  Besides, we just can't do it.  Rufus could, but unfortunately, to protect children like you, he's going away forever."

"But then how are we going to get home?"  Tom asked.  "We're movie stars!  We'll be missed!"

"Guys," the King said, "I can't telll you how angry this oversight makes me.  Maybe this represent a moral gray area.  Maybe we should have let Rufus send you boys back before - AROOOO," with a horrible yell, the King of Candyland gripped his gut.  He doubled over just as a powdery jet of pixie stick dust exploded from his royal anus, rocketing him through the air back towards Candyland.  "CONFOUND MY IBS!!"  Was all he could say.

Tom Cruise and John Travolta sat about for quite a while.  They were hopeful, and they still had some jabberwock jerky, which they split as they played tic tac toe.  In time they became impatient and began to wander.  They wandered through the forest of the Jub Jub birds where the Grus distilled moon juice in primordial vats.  They wandered through the plains of Pamelcras where the golden spirits of children play.  They wandered west of Westerling and East of the Great Sunbird, who  rests on the cliffs of morning.

Finally they came to a town where they were surprised to meet who else, but Tom Cruise.

"What ho, Tom Cruise," Tom Cruise in peasant garb said, tipping his feathered

"That was weird," The Tom Cruise we know as Tom Cruise said.

"You can say that again," John Travolta said.  "It was strange.  It was also whacky."

"Hey John," Pulp Fiction John Travolta said, touching his greasy forelock.

"Whoah," the John Travolta we contextually understand as John Travolta said.  Just then they passed through a crowd of John Travoltas who were waiting in line  for Tom Cruise to get out of a portajohn.

"Wow," said Our Tom Cruise.  "What is this place?"

"You must be new here,"  Far and Away Tom Cruise said in a terrible Irish accent.  "This is the land of Tom Cruise, where all the world's dreams of Tom Cruise go once they are dreamt into being."

"And I'm here too," Said John Travolta.

"Yes, you are."  Said Far and Away Tom Cruise.

"But I'm not dreamed," Our Tom Cruise said.  "I'm the real Tom Cruise."

Far and Away Tom Cruise laughed in a whimsical fashion.  "Och, laddy, by my phony accent we ALL say that for starters."

"No," Tom insisted.  "I was brought down here by Sparklebean the bear, who was just arrested for reasons I'd rather not get into.  I need to get back into the real world so I can continue to make films that will make more of you guys."

"Yeah, me too!" Insisted John Travolta.

"Sparklebean," Far and Away Tom Cruise removed his cap.  "You don't mean THE Sparklebean, the molestation-powered dream bear!  HE brought you here from the Waking World??"

"He did!"

"Then you gentlemen must meet the leader of all Tom Cruise Land, Tom Cruise Some Sixteen Year old Dde Dreamed up Back in the 80's.  We call him Dan."

And so they went into the tallest tower of the tallest air force base on campus, where Dan Tom CruiseSat on a thrown of really attractive, oily men playing beach volley ball.

"Sire," said Far and Away Tom Cruise, "I bring to you Tom Cruise and John Travolta from--"

"The real world," Dan said, taking off his shades and fixing them with his irony stare.  "I already know."

"Look... me... we need to get back," Real Tom Cruise said.  "Our physical bodies are probably suffering by now, and without me to create epic movies in the real world, who will dream you guys into being?"

"I'm afraid that's impossible," Dan said.  He snapped his fingers and a mostly naked Val Kilmer brought one of them a paper.  "Read this." Dan said, tenting his fingers.

"What's it say?"  John Travolta said.

"Oh wow," Tom Cruise said.  "It says here that John Travolta and Tom Cruise died in Tom's one hundred billion dollar mansion.  The cause of death was... smoke inhalation."

"I guess I did leave that roast on," John Travolta said.

"Yes," Dan said.  "With the true Tom Cruise dying, I'm afraid our Tom Cruise utopia will slowly fall into decline, and then fade away altogether."

"Can we at least stay here until it does?"  Tom asked.  "The King of Candyland wouldn't let us go with him."

"Very well," Dan said.  "But I'm afraid I can't offer you much."

"Why not?"  Tom asked.  "I am the real Tom Cruise!  I should be in charge here!"

"Ah but," Dan said, "all the Tom Cruises here were dreamed up with traits that were ever so slightly superior to yours.  I, for instance, have muscle tone and a great dick.  Far and Away Tom Cruise has a slightly more realistic Irish accent."

"Faith and begora."  Far and Away Tom Cruise said with a nod.

"What will happen to us, then?"  John Travolta said.

"You'll have to earn a living like anyone else.  I've heard there are jobs down in the massage parlors by where the furry conventions meet."

Our Tom Cruise and John Travolta complained, but  there was nothing for it.  That very afternoon Tom Cruise found himself massaging the fuzzy pelt of a purple bear.  It was somewhat like Sparklebean, but whereas Sparklebean's fur smelled of daffodils and awesomeness, this pelt smelled of mothballs and vomit and alcohol and had splotchy stains all over its legs.  It was also fat and saggy, as far as bears go anyway.

He got tipped, but he had to do things he wasn't proud of, which just goes to show you that sometimes things aren't fair.  Even in Dreamland.

THE END??

With Liberty and Also Justice for All

It was the Revolutionary War.  The British were horrible human beings who would not discover any redeeming qualities until Downton Abby, and the Americans were boss-ass motherfuckers who impaled Harry Potter villains with flagpoles and were fucking awesome towards anyone who wasn't a white male, and towards white males too, but in a less sexist way.  But even among this boss and always correct super-race, there were two particularly pimp individuals; an Australian cop bad-ass from a dystopic future who could read women's minds and kill aliens, and a vampire super spy messiah who also killed aliens.

This is the story of the aforementioned men.

"Well, Mel Gibson, I have returned from having hot heterosexual sex with Lady Blakeny and also drinking her blood," said Tom Cruise, "and one of her maids, whom I also banged, told me that robo-King George is amassing an army of hessian orcs, which he intends to use to capture Washington DC!"

"Washington DC!" Exclaimed Mel Gibson, awakening among a pile of babes and freshly minted American dollars.  "Crikey, mate!  That's my glorious homeland's capital!"

"Isn't that Canberra?"

"Into the Gibson carriage!"

And in they hopped to the Gibson carriage, which was made out of titanium with a boss chrome exterior.  Its OS was Google Chrome, an it was pulled by two boss armored bison.  Mel Gibson and Tom Cruise rode towards Robo King George, who made mighty clanking and grinding noises as he got within sight of the White House.  His orcish horde spread out before him like a really dirty shag carpet that was covered in syphilis, bullying townsfolk and trampling grass and convincing puppies that their mothers never loved them.

"WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL!"  Gibson bellowed, pulling out his twin muskets, Justice and Liberty, which he held like a pimp G money gangsta boss sideways, spewing a hundred and thirty two rounds per second at the tyranical robo-Brit.  

Everything slowed down and the frame rate got all janky as Tom Cruise whipped out his triple-barrelled  long rifle.  He shot Mel a dirty look for pimping out that "liberty and justice" line so early, and simply shouted "YAAAAAGH" and fired the rifle like a motherfucking minigun.  Together they hosed down orcs in redcoat uniforms like motherfucking dominos.  One orc was sawn in half, and the head of yet another exploded liek a zit filled with both blood and bits of bone, while still another shouted "YAAA" and was blown into the air as a flaming bullet hit a propane tank behind him.

Just then a well-suited young gentleman in an exquisite powdered wig appeared on the roof eating a toasted crumpet with strawberry jam.  They shot at him, but the bullets bounced off his force field of smugness.

"Here now," said Prime Minister Pitt the Younger, "we shan't have any of that.  You dirty colonials will always be under our boot, you know, and you shall always have slavery too, because we British apparently invented that shit, and forced it on you, even though you will continue to have it long after the success of your little revolution."

"We will have FREEDOM!"  Mel Gibson cried, but just then Pitt the Younger (who was also a magician if you weren't paying attention,) snapped his fingers, and both the buffalo were wearing top hats and monocles and saying "wotwotwot!"

"He zapped our bison!"  Tom cried.  "He turned them into British!"

"You FIEND!" Mel roared, firing his weapon impotently at the prime minister.

"Tootle-oo!"  Pit chortled, blinking out of existence.

"We have to get off!"  Mel shouted.  

Tom gave him an odd look.

"Off this carriage!"

"YAAA!"  They cried as they lept towards the camera and the carriage exploded, for some reason, in the background.  The bison were okay.  One married My Friend Flicka, and the other was roommates with the dog from Milo and Otis.

Our heroes, meanwhile, looked up just as a thankfully myopic redcoat passed by.  "We will have to tell George Matthew Broderick Washington!"  said Mel Gibson.

"We will have to sneak through enemy lines!"  Said Tom Cruise.

And they did!  But we won't bother with any of that being sneaky shit, because this story is just too boss like a motherfucker!

Fast forward like two days to George Washington Matthew Broderick looking at some sort of elaborate toy soldier shuffleboard in his war tent at Valley Forge!  It had pictures of Rocky on the wall, and a Furby bought from Walmart, as any good American tent should.

"Hmmmm..." mused George Matthew Broderick Washington, stroking his beard in a boss way like Colonel Sanders.

"Sir!"  Tom Cruise said, rushing in and then saluting.

"We have news from the enemy front!"  Mel Gibson reported, also saluting.

"At ease, gentlemen."  Matthew George Washington Carver said, returning the salute with a flourish.  "What have you to report?"

"There is a giant robo King George headed for motherfucking Washington DC sir."

"Washington DC, you say?"

"Yes, sir.  Motherfucking Washington DC."

"Oh my god!"

"Sir?"

"That's what that twenty-story monstrosity is that is just now approaching our proud nation's capital behind that massive army of orc redcoats!  My God, men!"

"Uh?"

"I thought it was a zamboni!"

"Yes, Sir."

"I thought they were going to polish the streets!"

"Right.  Well.  We also determined that Prime Minister Pitt the Younger, who is a wizard, is helping him."

"A wizard!"  George Broderick Matthew Washington Avenue stroked his beard.   "Well then, if you'll pardon the anachronism, we will need to step up our game!  We will need to bring our overacting to the HNL!"

"Uhm, sure."

"I am putting you men on assignment.  I want you to go out into the backwaters of Kentucky and go to this location."  He handed them a map parchment that had a big red X in it.  "There you will meet a man who can help you."

"But couldn't you just summon him here, General?"  Mel Gibson asked.

"Yeah, I mean time is sort of of the essence, Sir."  Tom Cruise said.

"Silence!"  Bellowed George Avenue Broderick Matthew Perry.  "I must command this country from this, my base at Valley Forge!  This STORY cannot LACK historical CREDIBILITY!  Now leave me in peace!"

Two days later they were at a weird, creepy shack out in the Appalachians.  Bad acting could be heard from inside.  Tom Cruise gave Mel Gibson a quizzical look.  Mel shrugged and knocked on the door.

A bizzare head with a receding hairline and swollen bugeyes popped out of the door. "WAAAAAAA!!!"  It cried, bobbing around on its adam apple like a buoy with herpes.  "WAAAAAAA!!"

"Holy crap!"  Cried Mel Gibson.  "It's Nicolas Cage!!"

"I AM -- THE SORCERER-- AND YOU --ARE-- MY APPRENTICE!"

"Nick, we need you to come to Washington DC, where giant robo King George, his  army of orcs and royal wizard are endangering the very future of freedom and McDonalds!"

"I CAME HERE TO PARTY!"  The head insisted.  "PAR-TAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"  It prnounced each A individually because it was boss like that.

"But Nick, think of all your movies!  Remember Shitty of Angels? Britain would NEVER allow you to film that shit!"

"LET'S ROLL!"

And so they borrowed Will Smith's train and headed off to Washington DC like a bunch of boss-ass motherfuckers. The sun's dying rays fell across the locomotive, and across the cold steel of Peace, Justice, and whatever the hell Tom Cruise called the triple-barreled longrifle he had custom made by slave labor in his Scientology bus. Flames exploded from their five barrels and a veritable revolving door of lead tore through the ranks of the orc redcoats and their conveniently-placed propane tanks.

Just then Pitt the Younger appeared by the smokestack.  "Well well," Pitt said, running a gloved hand over the enormous pipe.  "Looks like this raging bull will have to become a John Bull, hahahahaha ah hahahaha."

"NOT -- SO -- FAST MOTHERFUCKER!"  Nick snarled, climbing on to the roof of the locomotive.  "YOU ARE PLUM LOCO IF YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING TO BRITONIZE THIS TRAIN!"

Pitt clapped his hand, and an enormous flock of bees swarmed from his powdered wig like an inverse tornado.  They improbably (given the speed of the locomotive and wind and shit) wobbled in place for a moment like a semi-erect penis before converging on Cage, swallowing his lanky form whole.

"Oh go ON!"  Pitt chided, "say your precious catch phrase!  You know you want to!"

"LOOKS LIKE YOU CAN --TRAIN--" said Cage, suddenly emerging from the maelstrom, his head-bobbing and arm-flailing became so intense that his overacting repelled the stinging, honey-gathering insects.  "AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS AFTER ALL!"  He shouted, deflecting waves of  bees back at the Brit.

"Clever pune," Pitt said, pulling a stinger from his now-swollen lip.  "But can you so easily deflect TIM CURRY??"

Tim Curry just then appeared in a top hat and shit.  "Hello, Prime Minister."  Tim Curry said in his typical suave, Tim Curry fashion.  "What seems to be -- OH MY GOD, THAT IS NICOLAS CAGE IN A DAMN BEAR SUIT!"  And before he could even move, Nicolas Cage, now wearing a bear suit, delivered a proper uppercut that lifted the wide-eyed Brit from the train and directly into the oncoming path of Tom Cruise's bullet stream where he was torn apart like a motherfucking pinata.

"Damn you, bear suit Nicolas Cage!"  Pitt spit.  "I would do more, but it's tea time and I need to go get England ready for Charles Dickens!  I'll get you some other time!  SOME OTHER TIIIIIIME!"

And with that he vanished.

"FULL STEAM AHEAD MOTHAFUCKAS!" Furry Cage cried.

Tom Cruise and Mel Gibson looked primo pimp boss from the windows of the locomotive.  Millions of orc redcoats died every millisecond from their seemingly infinite spray of bullets.  Even Pentium computers from the future could not measure their boss pimp killing spree!  It was just too dope.  "I've decided what to name my barrels!"  Tom Cruise cried.

"What?"  Mel asked, picking the head off an orc drummer boy and thinking 'let's hear him play Rule Britania now, motherfucker.'

"Red, white, and blue!"  Tom Cruise replied, ricocheting a shot off one orc's spinal cord and driving it up through three other orc's brains, killing them all and simultaneously giving them all orc AIDs.

"That's pretty good!"  Spake Mel Gibson.

But sadly, their buddy shenanigans could not last forever, as the massive and evil boot of robo-King George came down upon the locomotive, pinning Mel Gibson inside.  

"Mel!"  Cried Tom, pulling at the tangled metal that held his friend.  "Hang on, buddy!  We're going to get you out of here!"

"No," Mel coughed.  "This is the end for me.  I can feel myself getting cold like a beer int he fridge."

"HAW HAW HAW," Laughed the evil King George.  "SO MUCH FOR FREEDOM!" 

"Yeah," Mel said, pulling out his suddenly-glowing muskets one last time, "Well don't TREAD on ME, MOTHAFUCKAAAAA!"

And with this he shot King George like eighty million times, and the robot exploded, crushing Will Smith's train as Tom Cruise and Nicolas Cage lept like pimp motherfuckers to safety.

Two weeks later they were back in Matthew Washington Irving's wartent being debriefed and also telling George Washington Matthews how the mission went.

"It's sad that Melford Gibson had to die," the guy who killed Godzilla said.  "Still, we know he went down a hero, and that nothing short of the evil king of monarchy itself was able to take him down.  We shall remember him forever by cooking dead cows over charcoal and lighting off cheaply made Chinese fireworks..."

"Mel Gibson, reporting for duty sir," Gibson said, just then walking through the tent with a snap to his salute. 

"You look like shit, soldier."  and indeed Gibson did.  His shirt was torn, and he had some soot and blood artistically smudged across his face.  "How the hell did you survive?"

"That's the America way, Sir."  Gibson reported.

Nicholas Cage and Tom Cruise applauded and threw roses.

"Good Man, Good Man," George Washington Matthew Mcconohaughey Rickey Martinez said.  "Do you have anything else to report?"

"Slavery is over, sir.  In fact I went back in time so that it never started, thus revising history TO THE EXTREEEEME.  Our economy is now rainbow-and-jellybean-dependent.  Women also have the right to vote, the alien threat has been eliminated, we found the true meaning of Christmas, and I personally shot AIDS in the fucking face whilst banging some hot chicks.  And it's all because of America."

"You are one boss ass motherfucker."  The Very First President said, lighting up a Marlboro red and putting on boss sunglasses.

"Happy Independence Day, Sir."

How Secret Life of an American Teenager Should Have Ended

"How can you say you want to not be together and only be friends," Jack said from the opposite side of the dinner table, the incandescent light glimmering off his letter jacket.  "We've always been together, Grace.  Do you remember that time in episode one--"

Grace twirled her blonde locks, a look of either confusion or constipation spreading across her pretty face.  Crappy music from five years ago seemed to erupt from nowhere like an anonymous fart as  the scene faded into a montage that showed the first time the young couple held hands, their first kiss, the first time they discussed the implications of her promise ring.

Tom heaved a sigh as stale footage of his adopted sister making out with the football jock streamed across his reality.  This was why, despite the title of the show, no one had any secrets.  All these damned flashbacks interrupting reality showing you your hot adopted sister in her bra and panties.  And what about him?  What about Tom?  He'd carried the show for like a hundred seasons now; always ready to hop into the story as the heart warming comic relief or moral compass.  He'd been there since day bloody one, but not a single damn flashback or character development montage.  He let his spork fall to his plate with a clatter.

"Tom," his mother said, "Grace was just having a montage."

"Hey everybody," he said, "remember that time I made a sandwich?"

"Sunshine Lollipops" began to play as Grace and Jack's first coupling faded into a montage of Tom dribbling a bed of lettuce over a substrate of dusky pumpernickel.  This roughage was soon followed by perfectly symmetrical slices of cucumber, pearly white mushrooms, and two emerald slivers of green peppers placed to center at a jaunty angle, glistening dewily in his memory of that fine day.

Grace cleared her throat.  "Jack, do you remember the time we--"

"And then I added cheese." Tom added.  And indeed there was cheese.  Perfect scalene triangles of aged, smokey cheddar; a creamy, rich yellow comforter over a box spring mattress of leafy green.

"Grace, I love--"

"And then I added mustard!"  Tom added.  Reality zoomed in as Tom's spork spread a layer of gritty dijon over the top of his creation.

"Oh my God!" Cried Amy, who just then appeared at the table.  "Tom TOTALLY made that sandwich!"

"Yes,"  Tom said.  "And remember that time I hired a prostitute?  Off the internet?"

And then they cut to the time Tom did this thing.  Only not Betty, that hooker with a heart of gold who kept showing up as a regular character for some reason.  It was a previous, unfilmed sequence with a hooker portrayed by that chick who used to have red hair, but was now a blonde, giving him a dirty sanchez.  A scene that his agent had muscled into the contract, but was never meant to be viewed by man nor beast.  For some reason, "Sunshine Lollipops" was still playing.

Grace vomited, Tom's mother passed out, and Jack left the room to take care of business.

"Oh my God!"  Amy cried.  "You also know how to use the internetz??  You could so easily provide for a family!  I'm so leaving both the nerdy kid AND pompadour hairdo guy for you!"

It suddenly turned out that Amy was wearing a wedding dress (a real one; not the shitty one they picked out in the show,) and Tom was wearing a top hat, and also heart boxers with suspenders.  And galoshes.  And with that they piled into Tom's Monopoly car, and looked boss driving into the sunset whilst gummi bears and Monopoly dogs the size of Datsuns hopped about the veranda like they were on the motherfucking moon.

Tom Cruise Fights Aliens in Space

It was a Tuesday, and everything in Tom Cruise’s life was awesome.  He had $1B sunglasses, was the tallest most hetrosexual bachelor in Hollywood, and Suri’s playhouse had a mailbox that was worth more than most towns in Minnesota.  Oh yes, and aliens were attacking.  Aliens from space.

“Go faster, John Travolta!” He said.  John slammed the gas pedal to the floor.

“Vroom vroom!”  Spake his Ford Prius as it shot like a mighty, salmon-colored bolt of lightning-coated gunpowder down San Francisco’s mysteriously empty roads.

“Head for the Golden Gate!”  Tom cried, firing his twin Desert Eagles at the alien ships that loomed over the city like enormous, technological, looming things.  His gun’s names were Katie and Nicole, and he held them sideways in each hand, firing one after the other like a true gangsta G money boss.  The wind sung through his perfect hair, and he looked very tall and rich in his designer sunglasses.  “It’ll be up to let the sailboats past!  We’ll jump it!”

“But it’s a suspension bridge, Tom!”  John cried.  “It won’t go up!  NEVER!”

Tom sighed angrily.  Grabbing control of the wheel, Tom jerked John’s Ford Prius towards the bridge’s enormous suspension cables.  There was a thwump as the tires gripped the braided steel wire, and they wildly spun round and round the cable.

“Yee-HAW!”  Tom cried as he shifted the Prius into overdrive.  The car’s engine roared like a dragon that just found out it was adopted, oil smoldered, rubber smoked and bubbled, and the Prius careened up the cable at over a million miles per hour.  Time slowed, and for a while, they became their own grandparents.  Suddenly, they reached the top of the bridge and launched off the cable and into low orbit.

“Omigod!”  John Travolta cried.  “It’s the flagship!  It’s black and spikey like Justin Beiber’s hair!  Only black!”
They parallel parked on the ship as Tom Cruise continued firing his Desert Eagles like a boss.  Then they broke out and crashed through a hatch.  

“Haw haw haw!” Bellowed a mysterious voice.  It came from a figure with big, bug-like eyes, a dome-shaped head, and a gold cape like Bella Lugosi!  It also had moon boots and a belt buckle.

“Xenu!”  Tom Cruise cried.  “How did I know this alien force would be led by the one man who is nearly as tall and fabulously powerful as I?”  

“It’s not only me!”  Xenu bellowed.  And so it wasn’t.  Tom saw that he was immediately surrounded by an old man in a beard and a sweater.

“Sigmund Freud!”  Tom gasped.  “The father of psychology!”

The old man laughed.

“How could you do it, Siggy?”  Tom asked.  “All Scientology wanted to do was free earthlings from their Thetans!  All we asked was a three billion year contract and a donation of several hundred thousand dollars!  Then you came about beforehand and wrecked it all with your psychology!”

“And me too!”  Said a guy with a nose.

“Who the heck are you?”  Tom asked.

“Joe Psychiatry.  The guy who invented psychiatry!”

“You’re bad too!”

“This is the end of you, Tom Cruise!”  cried Xenu.  “From here on out, people will not believe in the invisible space people I blew up in a volcano five billion years ago!  Guided by my false ‘sciences,’ they’ll blame their problems on fake things, like the death of their spouse, and horrible childhood experiences!  And there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

“I’ll stop you!”  Cried Tom Cruise.

“What are you going to do?”  Xenu asked.  His laughter filled the chamber.  “There’s two of you and three of us!”

“Then I’ll even the score!”  Said a voice!

“Michael Bay!”  Everyone cried.

“And with the help of Michael Bay I’ll transform into -- a giant metal tank-man!”  And so Mecha Cruise charged in and dealt Xenu a mighty blow that sent him careening across the room.

Xenu picked himself up, dusted himself off, drank a Red Bull, and clapped his broad hands loudly.

“Why are you clapping?”

“You fool-- the moment you set foot on this spaceship I set it to self destruct in five minutes!  We’ll take you down with us!”

“Yeah?  Well, no sacrifice is too great to stop you! I would expend every last drop of blood to see you dead and gone!  That’s why John Travolta will transform into a super megaton bomb!”

“What??”  Said John Travolta as his skin turned into metal and radioactive bits.

"And blow you all up!"

"Aieee!" John Travolta cried, emitting a bright green glow.  It was terribly painful.

“We’ll remember you, John Travolta!”  Tom cried, picking up Michael Bay in his arms and forcing open an airlock.  “We’ll remember you as we plummet safely to earth!  Farewell, my sweet knight! Goodbye, my prince!”

And so, with the spaceship a radiant and radioactive ball in the background , Mecha Tom Cruise and Michael Bay free-fell through the stratosphere to the safety of the earth below them.  Tom’s glasses looked just awesome as they landed in Charlie Sheen’s hottub among many beautiful women.

Ruthy's First Rufie

Rufie was lying on her belly in the Cambot household, her teenibopper legs lolling up in the air as she scanned through prerecordings of the other children's daily television allotment.  "Fruit on fruit contact!"  She cried, deleting the last fifteen seconds of Veggie Tales.  "False legume idols!  This is a clear violation of FCC Rule Deuteronomy 14:33:22!!"

"Hey there, Ruthie."  Rufio said as he came into the room just then.  Rufio lived in her house and was just a wee bit older than her.

She wobbled her legs in what was probably a mildly suggestive way.  "Hey there Rufio," she said.  "How would you like to get me some grape Shasta?"

"Oh, I think that's only for adults, Rufie," spake Rufio.  "You know what they say about teens and the evil of stimulant addiction."

"Er, I'm pretty sure it's caffeine free."

"Can anything ever be TRULY caffeine free, Ruthie?"

"Stop being such a square and get a blessed pop."  Rufio gasped.  It was the first time he had ever heard young Rufie use such language.  Rufie batted her sparkly eyelids, her bright fuschia lips like happy worms doing yoga spread into a smile as sweet as honey that was also produced by worms that were perhaps crossbred with bees.  "Why don't you get one for each of us?"

"Gee," Rufio said, coming back into the room with the Shastas. "It sure is nice living with you in the Cambot household, Rufie."  He said, sitting down next to her.

"Can I see your soda for a sec?"

"Sure.  Say, you sure have a lot of brothers and sisters."

"Yes.  Here, you can have it back."

"It's fizzing now.  It tastes fizzy.  Say, am I your brother?"

"I don't remember your backstory, David."

"Well, I love you all the same."

The remote slipped from Rufie's sebaceous grasp.  Did he just say what she thought he said?  Perhaps her heretofor unquestioned methods were purposeless.  She slid her right knee closer to him.  "Rufio..."

"I love Pastor Cambot too."

"Ah."

"And I love the dog."

"Mmm..."

"Do you know what I love the most?"

"Huh?"

"That theme song that plays every time we're about to have an adventure and learn more about family and being considerate of one another."

"Oh no."

"It goes like... you know... where can you gooooooo when the world won't..."

Ruthie sighed.  It was obvious the rufie she'd surreptitiously inserted into his Shasta like a man slipping a very small penis into a sleeping prostitute was obviously not going to kick in fast enough.  She took her can and blackjacked him across the back of the head.  Since it was only aluminum, she had to continue beating him for a bit, then finally picked up a pillow, then a chair to rend him unconcious.

"Gee,"  David said, waking up.  His head felt like it was full of grape Shasta.  Drugged grape Shasta.  It was also on something soft like a tumor.  A tumor shaped like an alluring girl's lap.

"I see you're up."  Rufie said.  He suddenly felt good.  And also hard.  "I took the liberty of taking off your pants."

He looked down, blinking at his purple manpipe came into fuzzy view.  A vague blur of well-manicured purple fingernails glid over it.  It was scary like a velicoraptor, but also sexy like a velicoraptor with boobs.

"Rufie stop," he tried to struggle, only to find his hands and ankles bound with a slinky.  "Where are we?"

"Someplace we won't be bothered, Akira."

He recognized the vaulted ceiling, and the wooded pews.  "Gosh, Ruthie, we're in your father's church."

"Shush now," she whispered, her dyed blonde hair, brittle like really sexy corn flakes, whisking over his bared chest as she planted kisses down his body.  "It'll all be over soon."

"Oog," he said.  "That feels good.  And also slippery like herpes."

"Mrbbbl," she said, her mouth full just then.

And then they had sex.  It was pretty okay, but he bled a bit.

Little Billy and the Polka Dotted Trousers

A look of utter malevolence and contempt crept across Tom Cruise's broad face like a communist spy as he approached the Orange Julius cart.

"It's been a while," he said, his voice hollow as an abandoned dumpster as he took off his sunglasses.  It had indeed been such a very long time. The flashbacks were stark, polarized, black and white; a grainy image of a much younger Tom, his lips stretched into a far less malevolent, open-mouth smile, his nubile hips, clad in Daisy Dukes, wrapped around the bulk of a pink, merry-go-round emu, his young abs bulging through his Pac Man tee as he waved to the camera.

"You've done well for yourself," said Tom, shaking the grainy image from his head.

The cart, predictably, said nothing.

"Saw you now and then when I took Suri to Taco John's or Panda Garden."  Tom walked around the side, running his fingers along the metal corners.  "She's that age, you know.  You remember when I was that young?'


He flashed back to his own perspective; the coolness of molded plastic between his legs, the merry-go-round pole in his right hand, his left waving back at an Orange Julius cart holding a Polaroid.

Tom laughed.  "Yeah, we went to the pinball arcade.  You got me that  posh Hawaaiin shirt from Chess King.  Yeah,"  Tom chuckled, jabbing a finger at the cart.  "Yeah, yeah I guess I did look just like Magnum PI.  Then you took me back to the food court for my first smoothie."  His smile was rapidly decelerated, like a Lamborghini plowing through a soup line of orphans.  "Yeah, I sure was green.  Never had one before."

"You have to mash the blender buttons harder."  Said the Julius cart.

"I'm trying," spake Young, Monochrome Tom, "but I find I have to bend over and gyrate my hips a titch to get my arm at the proper angle."

"Oh yeah," the cart mumbled as the ice sloshed about.

"I'm terribly sorry for the trouble."

After a further moment of gyration, its voice was husky, its breath heavy and humid as an abandoned refrigerator.  "Yeah, now pull the cup out of my dispenser."

"Shall I put in a straw?"

"Right through the lid, kiddo. Slide it in nice and deep and suck that sweet, sweet nectar."

'Slide it in nice and deep.'  The seemingly kind words sank into Older Tom Cruise's brain folds like a burning pirate ship that had herpes.  "I was just a kid," he seethed through gritted teeth.  He took the napkin dispenser and launched it  five, six feet, maybe even a yard, across the food court. "How could you do such a thing?"

The cart remained stolidly silent.

"I'm kind of a big deal now," Tom said.  "I was in Far and Away.  And Days of Thunder."  He swept his arms across the service counter, scattering oranges for tens and tens of inches.  "I threw a grenade into an alien ship's vagina!  I can take you down, Orange Julius Cart!"

"How does it feel when someone does THIS?"  He demanded, opening and shutting the minifridge door.  He moved the juicer to a slightly oblique angle.  "Doesn't feel good, does it?  Don't like it, DO you?"

He vaulted over the counter, running his fingers over the yellow molded plastic exterior.  "Don't have much to say now, do you?"  he jabbed his crotch into the metal corner guard.  "You jerk!"  His voice cracked against the tennis ball in his throat.  He ground his crotch in deep, running his hands across the sticky counter.  "How do you like it now, huh?  How does it feel?"  Despite the torrent of tears and mucus, his bunny was close to the train station.  "Ergh!"  He cried.  "This is how you made me, Orange Julius cart!  This is how you made me!"

There was an explosion of colors in his mind, and a torrent of one very specific color in his pants.  "Who's your wingman NOW, Goose?  You want me to show you the money, Cuba?? WELL HERE'S THE MONEY SHOT, YOU CRIMINAL!"

"Hey yeah," said John Travolta, behind the camera.  "That was pretty hot, but, uh, wasn't it the Orange Julius cart in Long Beach that did all that stuff?"

"What?"  Tom asked.  "Aren't we in Long Beach?"

"No dude.  You told the slave -- I mean chauffer -- to drive us to, uh, Oakland!"

"Oh," said Tom, dabbing his zipper with scattered napkins.   "Well, sorry about that."  He spake to the cart,"But what you just saw was SLANDER!  And we'll SUE!"  You could still hear him cry as they dashed away from the encroaching security guards "We'll SUUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEE!"