Twice upon a time, little Jonny was eating a plate of cheese puffs as he sat in his bubble tree. His mother was sitting, and his father was sleeping. His face was roundish and purple. He was being choked by a robin.
“I, in the name of robinhood, accuse you of gruesome consumption of my babies!” said the robin.
“I, Jonny, do not care about your babies, nor did I gruesomely consume them,” said Jonny.
“Thy face is purple, art thou alright?” asked the robin.
“No,” said Jonny.
“Oh,” said the robin.
There was a moment of tawdry silence, and then;
“I think I’m dying,” said Jonny.
“Indeed you are,” said the robin.
Indeed he was. But then, an alien ship floated down through the mendacious atmosphere, meaning there WAS no atmosphere, because it was mendacious. Mendacious means not telling the truth, or lying. The atmosphere was mendacious, so it wasn’t present.
AS I was SAYing, Jonny was dying. But then an alien ship floated down through the mendacious atmosphere, and landed meticulously in the bubble tree. A laser turret extended from the top of said UFO, and then it shot a laser and fried the robin.
The robin fried.
The robin died.
So Jonny lived, and he decided that curiosity killed the cat, which meant if he hadn’t eaten the robins he would have lived, and he lived, and he had eaten the robins. So curiosity did NOT kill the cat, which meant he was probably curious, quite authenticly, so he might as well see what was up with the flying saucer.
He went to see what was up with the flying saucer.
As he was climbing farther up the bubble tree, he saw that the remains of the annihilated robin had turned into pink butterflies. He contemplated this as he climbed, seeing this as a sign of doom.
In Jonny’s religion, Moothicolhollistiksimationletry, they have a holy book called the “Shrrinkpololol.” In this book, in the chapter called “What You All Must Take As Signs Of Doom”, it says, “among having your city destroyed and your grandmother choking on a piece of lemon rind, pink butterflies are among the worst kinds of Signs Of Doom.”
He climbed, and he thought of other strange things contained in Shrrinkpololol, such as that aliens resembling baked potatoes are bad.
Then, as Jonny was staring at it, the alien ship opened up with a sound like a hundred thousand people say “typewriter”, and aliens resembling baked potatoes srhoopmed out, waving their tentacles in apparent greeting.
Jonny hesitated, then said “hey! Are you guys friendl-”
But then one of the four aliens interrupted him by shooting his left nostril with a Death Fart Laser gun.
Jonny was in excruciating pain. His left nostril was searing with the bad smell of the Death Fart Laser gun that the alien had shot at it. It smelled like.... There are no words to describe what it smelled like. It smelled.... Bad.
Apparently the waving tentacles hadn’t been a greeting.
When Jonny awoke, he was floating in a diaper tank, which was a tank full of transparent diapers. He could clearly see everything that was going on through the diapers.
The aliens were eerily staring at him.
Jonny stared back at them.
The aliens stared. Jonny stared. They all stared.
Eventually, the suspense was too great, so one of the aliens started picking its nose.
Jonny wept. There is nothing, nothing else in the entire known universe, as beautiful as an alien of the sort in this story picking its nose. It is more beautiful and extravagant than a summer sunset on the ocean, a dove, a baked potato, and the smell of piano keys combined, and even more so than that. It is magical and beautiful. I said that already.
The story is bad, and I am ashamed to tell it. I shall, however.
The alien which was picking, or rather digging around in, its nose, saw Jonny crying and pulled out a garish yet pretty booger, reached through the glass as if it were air, and put the gross, sloppy, pretty booger in Jonny’s hair.
It was pretty sticky looking. Jonny let out a ghastly shriek, making him sound more like a mouse than a pubescent male.
Then the aliens recited a poem, which went like this:
Hello, thou people
Thou dost smell
We thinkest thou
Should ring a bell
We reach the end
With floogles flying
We are, to sanity,
Goodbyeing
We ride the air
Like empty steed
From the wonsler
We got a thneed
We are now quoting
Doctor Seuss
Before we came
We shot a moose
I do not think
That pinkies rot
Now put your cell phone
In the slot
Of bees and knees
And trees and fleas
For frees.
For frees.
This twenty-four line poem scared Jonny so much that he went insane, and spent the rest of his life telling everyone how fat they were. Including you, person. You are fat.
