The Story Corner

It was the first morning (alright, afternoon) that Robbie hadn’t followed me to work since I decided to let him stay with me. I got him a job as the paper boy, which was bound to come back and bite me in the ass since Robbie could probably knock down a house with one of his throws. Anyway, I was losing to the computer, that cheating bastard, at chess as usual, when I noticed a case file had been placed on my desk. Someone sneaky had just been there, and I hate sneaky people, however, I was about to lose my seventh game of chess in a row, so cracked the file open. It didn’t look like anything too major, some gambler lost his loaded dice, oh no, stop the presses.  As soon as the chief walked towards my desk, however, this became the most important case of the century and I headed out the door for our gambler’s house, avoiding any and all conversation with that chipper waste of existence.

Read More

A sound rang out outside of Reggie’s. The other Kevins, Bill, Reggie and I bolted out the door, trying to forget that we could explode and destroy the world at any moment. What we saw was an apparently alien spacecraft, the alien beings standing outside the craft were a dead giveaway. “Do you speak the universal language?” They called. “What language?” I responded, to which they replied, “American English!” “Ah, then yes we do,” another Kevin responded. “We require the matter replicator and the one known as Reggie.” The aliens had just finished this sentence when they, Reggie, and the matter replicator disappeared, glowing with purple light, then the ship zoomed into the sky. “What the hell?” The remainder of our group said in unison. Reggie had been abducted by aliens, we had to do whatever we could to save him and the matter replicator so I could continue eating delicious steak at low, low prices, but that was secondary, of course, to saving my friend… I mean, obviously if I had to choose between Reggie and steak, I’d pick Reggie (except I wouldn’t). 

Read More

I had decided not to go into work, maybe have a little me time. Me time equalled eating Reggie’s delicious steaks and drinking his booze, which is just the best kind of day. It was just Reggie and I because Bill “can’t just get off work any time.” What a dork. My day of meat and liquor ended abruptly when a group of armed men stormed into Reggie’s demanding all of the steaks and access to the kitchen. This aggression could not stand, so I took a swing at one of the men. Upon being hit, he quickly brushed it off and as I readied another devastating blow from my mighty justicefist, he tazed me. I was down, but certainly not out. I shrewdly bided my time on the floor and then sprung up, to see the mob had already left. Clearly, my quick wits had saved the day. “Fat lot of good you did.” Reggie said with a heavy amount of sarcasm which I chose to ignore. “I agree, I am pretty awesome. Why did they steal your steaks, anyway? You can just get new ones.” I replied, feeling my godly biceps.

Read More

Bright and early at 1:30, I was sitting at my desk carving “Kev wuz hurr” into the mahogany for the sixth time. So painfully bored. It had been a quiet week on the lake, no big cases, nothing special, but that made the anticipation worse. The chief, that little twat, wanted to go on assignment with me, and I suppose I had to oblige as he was the assignment… hander-outer. When my phone rang, I answered more quickly than I had ever answered before. “Whaddup, bitch?” I asked, aggressively, like an alpha male. The caller was obviously stunned by the intense aura of manliness surrounding my voice because he took a few seconds to respond. “Um, hi, this is Bob Jefferson, principal of Hamball Elementary. We, uh, had a hamster disappear and were wondering if you’d investigate it for us.” Maybe it was his quivering, feminine voice offending my ears, maybe it was my hatred of hamsters, or maybe it was because I was already hammered, but something made me throw the phone onto the ground and stomp it until it was just chips of plastic. I was about to punch a hole in my computer screen, then I realized that this might be the biggest case I’d get all week so I let it go. That was when I remembered the chief would come with me, and I punched that monitor into oblivion. I sighed, accepting my fate, and told the chief we had a big case. Because I’m a liar.

Read More

I opened my eyes and groaned upon seeing the time on the clock, one thirty in the god damn afternoon. Rising from the floor, I stumbled, guess I was still drunk, didn’t matter, this happened most days. My khakis from the night before were clean enough, but my shirt was stained, must’ve spilled my drink. I tossed on my last clean wife beater and Hawaiian shirt, slipped on my sandals, and made my way out the door of my houseboat.

Entering the station, I felt like all eyes were upon me, they probably weren’t because everyone else actually does work. Chumps. On the way to my desk, the Chief stopped me, “Another late night?” He said with his fucking doofus smile on his face, “Well, I’m glad you made it in today, you’re an asset to the force, pal.” I faked a smile and nodded until he finally let me sit at my desk, I hated that prick. There was a case file on my desk, so I cracked it open, POSSIBLE DRUG ACTIVITY it read, I was interested, super, super interested. 

I walked out of the station and hopped onto one of our jetskis, I had to find those drugs… I mean drug dealers. Riding across the lake on my mighty watersteed, I saw some of this lake’s many beautiful visitors and inbred denizens. I winked at the prettiest ones, hoping for a flash, I got one… from a resident. Gross, gross, gross. I almost ran the jetski aground in my agony. Luckily, I managed to stop the jetski just short of the beach, hopped off and headed to the house of the suspected drug dealers. Knocking on the door, I was greeted by the fist of a giant Samoan “oh,” I said and crap, I thought as I crumpled on the ground.

Read More

A few years after URETHRA came into power, everything was still going smoothly, whole lotta prosperity and stuff, you know how it goes. I was hanging out in RHOMBUS II’s house in Turtle City, because we’re homeboys and also because he was away at the URETHRA summit, and through a series of a events I cannot recount, I found his old war journal. Well, technically it belonged to Rhombus, but they’re pretty much the same dude except one is a Roboturtle and one was a normal turtle. Same memories and stuff. Okay, glad you got that, it’s some crazy shit, I realize. Anyway, I didn’t really want to read it, so I had Greg do it:

Rhombus’ Diary:

To preface my diary, I’d like to state that turtles use the RECTUM (Really Easy Calendar Time Universal Muffin) to measure time. It is our equivalent of a Gregorian calendar, yes I know what that is, you see, we turtle-folk, we remember things. We are also great at acronyms, if you couldn’t tell. And we treat diaries as an open to the public kinda thing, our species isn’t much for privacy. Well, I hope you enjoy reading it a great deal more than I enjoyed writing it. You’ll understand soon.

32/14/12- Today is the day! I signed up for TART, and I’m gonna be the baddest of asses out there, those cows don’t stand a chance! The recruiters told me I’d be a Captain, which is apparently a pretty high rank, so that’s awesome, I must be the best of the best, that’s probably why they’re sending my unit (hehe, unit) and I to the front lines first thing tomorrow, we don’t even have to train or anything!

32/15/12- Got off the heli-turtle and walked to my tent to unpack my gear. As I made my way, I saw turtle after turtle fall, but it was in the distance and I had more important business to deal with. Like not getting shot myself. Priorities. Whoever mounted guns on those four-legged bastards had to be a twisted son of a bitch. Their echoing moos would haunt my dreams tonight. 

32/16/12- My diary entries may get more sporadic from here on out, we’re really digging in to fight these cows. They outnumber us 10 to 1, and that’s just on this front. I feel like the only thing we can do is buy time until we’re overrun and used as fertilizer for their grazing patches. I don’t know how this could get any worse for us turtles. 

32/21/12- I now know how it got worse. See, I’ve never been in charge of anything before, yet somehow I’m in charge of this entire camp. Seriously, I worked at a sporting goods store, and I guess I was in charge of LeRoy and Scamp, but it’s only because they were the only employees shittier than I. Oh, and just so you know, LeRoy and Scamp are here. And I mean right here, reading as I write this. Hey, LeRoy, screw off. The icing on this shitcake, is that these two morons are my lieutenants. Which makes me think, if we’re in charge, what kind of guys are below them?

32/29/12- To be honest, I thought we were going to be overrun on the 22nd. I underestimated idiots. You see, it seems less intelligent you are the better you are with things that explode. LeRoy is possibly the greatest bomb maker in the entire world and Scamp brought 6 duffle bags full of his own dynamite. Yeah, if this weren’t a war I’d be calling the police right about now. They are terrifying. And beautiful. Mostly terrifying. Had some delicious steak tonight, was a little crispier than I care for, but beggars can’t be choosers.

32/33/12- Managing to hold off wave after wave of cow forces, but running dangerously low on supplies. May have to go on a true offensive soon, 6 duffles bags only last so long. Tomorrow we go in guns blazing, blazing like a candle, but like a really bright candle and there are a lot of them… should’ve quit while I was ahead on that one.

32/36/12- We went in guns blazing (as I had said) and cut a swath through the cow forces with heavy gunfire and limited help from explosives. LeRoy figured out that if we retreat into our shells, we can take more bullets, I really have no idea how nobody thought of this before. I mean, we’re turtles, going into shells is our deal and it took LeRoy to figure it out? Turtle Christ, man. Let me put this in perspective, LeRoy scored a 12 on his aptitude test. The test is out of 1,000. And this is the guy that figures out that turtles go into their shells to protect themselves, makes me wonder what the people in charge got on their aptitude tests. Anywho, with this “new” knowledge at our disposal, we were able to overrun cow outpost Delta.

33/4/12- It’s been eight days since I’ve had the time to write in my journal. When we sent in the report that we had defeated the cows, the higher ups believed it to be a trap and sent in a large squad, figuring we’d been wiped out by the superior cow forces. Imagine their surprise when they saw all 30 of my men feasting on cow and enjoying their time off. It was pretty chill. I almost hid from the squad when they asked where the division’s leader was, I mean, c’mon, I didn’t wanna fight any more, I’m a lover not a fighter (actually, I’m more of a seller of sporting goods). But I didn’t hide and I was taken to General Rexford Nomicon (what a stupid name), he told me that my division was staying at outpost Delta… well everyone except for the “outstanding” leadership, LeRoy, Scamp, and myself, who were being sent on a secret mission. Yay. 

 End of Part 1

“I’m tired” Greg said, “Also, that’s the end of this journal. So we’ll have to go on a badass adventure now to find part two!” “Actually, we won’t” I replied, “because it’s on the desk over there.”  “Damn it.” Greg said before we went to sleep. 

It’s been years since the Pudding Incident of myth and the world is green and blue once again. I am the bastard son of Lord Zenotron, ruler of all pandas and men. Unlike most people I grew up, not in servitude, but in the great palace of Pandopolis, enjoying everything that my privileges afforded me. There were great balls, which my father held often. It was quite disturbing, but I mean he was the ruler so walking around without his pants on wasn’t really a crime, seriously, who was gonna do anything about it? Enough about his junk, anywho, I suppose I should get to my story.

For some time I had been developing a relationship with Frank the Machete, not like a p in va-G kinda thing, like a friendship. He often told me stories of the world before the incident (for anyone else this would be considered blasphemy, but Frank was sort of a badass) and how life used to be for people. Namely, how genetically engineered pandas didn’t used to control everything. Frank never liked pandas, like he always said “those goddamn sonsabitches got sumthin up dey sleeves, mark mah words, boy. Deyz, deyz gun try ta ovathrow ya daddy.” Honestly, sometimes I didn’t understand what the fuck Frank was saying, but you find me a machete that talks better than that and I’ll start teaching 3 year olds to speak Spanish, cuz apparently we’re in Dora the Explorer world where everything can talk. So… yeah… Pandas… ah, got it. I had never known Frank to be incorrect about anything other than grammar, and so tried to warn my father, who simply laughed at me and continued holding his balls.

Then, you guessed it, the shit hit the fan. The top general of the Royal Allied Panda International Seafaring Tree Sappers (or RAPISTS) burst into the room with a group of special forces. “What do you accidental ejaculates want?”, Zenotron rasped (he had been chugging hotsauce), the pandas responded, not with words but with tearing my father into tiny pieces and taking control of his empire. I had been expertly hiding this entire time, as I am a really cool guy. So when I saw this shit go down I grabbed Frank and just got out of there. 

We were several miles from the palace when Frank broke our silence, “I told ya, told ya fatha too. Dumsonofabitch, deserved awl dat shit he be gettin’” “I know”, I responded “I know?” Frank replied “son you bout good at talkin as Stephenie meyer be at writin.” 

I had no idea who Stephenie Meyer was, but just hearing the name made me feel physically sick, so I just sort of nodded to Frank and kept walking toward the city’s east gate. I heard of colonies of free humans out there and I just hoped I’d be able to find them before being eaten or something, I dunno I have kind of a limited imagination, I’m sure there’s worse stuff. 

P.S. there is worse stuff

End part one

Read More

One fine October morning, while relaxing in my study, I thought about my personal development into a young man of character. When I was young and well up into my fourteenth or fifteenth year of life, I lived a self- centered and trivial existence. I wanted every new thing, and it would anger me greatly if I did not receive it. But that was before the Earth was pudding.Thunder. I awoke with a shout, for this was no thunder I knew. It was, as I discovered by looking out my bedroom window, the sound it makes when buildings collapse into the pudding that the Earth had become. I believed the pudding to be only a dream. But it wasn’t. This wasn’t a dream, it was fucking real as shit.I ran outside only to find myself submerged in vanilla pudding, which wouldn’t have been so bad if the worms and bugs that had once inhabited the soil weren’t in the pudding. Swimming to the surface, I thought to myself, “why is the ground pudding”, but quickly brushed this thought aside. I don’t know why I brushed that thought aside, but I did, I’m not some perfect damn literary figure, I’m not fucking Edward Cullen, so deal with it.My next move was to get to higher ground, figuratively speaking, as all ground was now an even pudding. I chose the old Mexican Embassy, otherwise known as Taco Bell, surely someone in this factory of culinary delights and Mexican culture would have a high enough level of understanding of food to tell me why everything was pudding. I was very wrong. End Part 1

Read More