If we Took the Bones Out, it Wouldn’t be Crunchy, Would It?

I was beating a watermelon with a melon baller yesterday -- you know, the buzz buzz. The ... thing! You use it to cut the hair! Anyway. I was using that thing sometime in the past when I came upon my 6th grade writing journal. While flipping through it, I found the following story, which tells the chronicles of a fictional superhero and his fictional endeavors to do fictional things to fictional people. Because most other superheroes are at least 79% real. But that’s beside the point (Frood, 54). Commentary [looks a-lika dis-a.]. But you could have figured that out for yourself. Without further ado, Invisible Inc. proudly presents the archaic, nonsensical tale:

Everything was swell in the town of Metalopolis. Twezer-guy [shouldn’t “Guy” be capitalized?] (also known as Mr. Tweezer, his alter-ego) was sitting at his desk, quietly performing surgery on a pencil who had an inflamed appendix.

“There. You are now safe. [I am breathing air. This is a hospital. I perform appendicitis on patients who do not have insurance on my desk. Me like clouds.] Nurse,” he called, “take this inflamed appendix to a quarintine area before it explodes.” [Appendixes can do that? I’ve ought to videotape that sometime. Maybe FOX would buy it.] The nurse decided she’d have some coffee... [Wow. This hospital sure knows how to take care of its patients properly. “Come on in. Just lie down on that sheet of butcher paper there and we’ll slice open your abdomen over some doctor’s desk, showing no regard whatsoever for hygiene, containment of hazardous materials, or your successful recovery after the surgery.”]

“What’s the charge?” asked Mr. Pencil.

“No charge¾ I work for free.”

Suddenly, there was an explosion from the coffee room. “What was that?” asked Mr. Pencil.

“Uh ...” [Just goes to show that you shouldn’t dawdle when you’re carrying around an inflamed appendix.] Suddenly, Mr. Tweezer was interrupted by a radio bulletin. [I want a radio in my office. Even though I don’t have one. I'd keep it next to the butcher paper.]

*The evil WOOD-SPLINTER has entered the city. Police have tried to remedee the situation, but all that was left was their eraser pistols. Detectives went to investagate, but all that was left was the ballpoint ink from their innards. A TV camera crew was sent to report a story on the incident, only to be ripped into 5 seperate pieces each [that’s gotta be unsettling]. Our radio story coverage crew [best name ever] will give us more information as they check out the site to see what happened.*

Dashing into a nearby bathroom stall [eew...], Mr. Tweezer Tweezer [like Mario Mario, only tweezier] transformed into: Tweezer-guy! DOOT-DOOT-DOOT-DOOT-DOOT-DOOT! [That literary representation of a musical idea is so misspelled.] He crashes through the ceiling, and hears the cries [Cries? Does he upset them in some fashion?] of the electrical appliances below:

“It’s a toaster!”

“It’s a pie!”

“No, it’s not!”

Well, it looked like a pie to me.”

“It’s more of a pair of scissors.”

“I think it’s a duck.”

[I wonder where the hell I got the idea for that.]

“A duck? No, it’s not!”

“Wait ... It’s TWEEZER-GUY!”

“YAAAYYYY!”

Will Tweezer-guy be defeated by the Wood-Splinter? [Maybe!] Or will he emerge triumphant? [Anything’s possible!] Will his adoring crowd break into another sensless arguement? [Trick question: no one adores Tweezer-Guy!]

TUNE-IN NEXT WEEK AT¾

SAME TWEEZER TIME...

SAME TWEEZER CHANNEL!