A poorly written story about AJR, rubber ducks, aliens, and some other... freaky stuff.
EDIT FROM JULY 2024: This fanfic will probably not continue, srry :(
"Don't just call me a sussy baka. Call me your sussy baka."
That was the last thing Edgar Allan Poe said before his brutal murder by his own children. The FBI came to his house, only to find it empty and spotless.
How did the maniacal children clean it in time? The power of the...
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Yep. The ScrubDaddy.
Years later, in 2069, the owner of ScrubDaddy (who Just so happened to be Edgar Allan Poe's great great great great grandson, Pumbaa (yes the warthog)) was sued for 46293637293629738363 trillion dollars because of the murder of 1849.
"Oh, no, sussy sir, you can't sue me!"
"Yes I can, because I'm in the You Sticky Pickle Agency. AKA the YSPA."
"Why not the YMCA?"
"Copyright."
"WHO ASKED"
"ME ASKED"
"Ok, fine, here's the money."
"YES HAHAAHHAHA GET SHREKT"
The lawyer was a scammer. At least Pumbaa could afford the loss, with ScrubDaddy being very popular.
