A semi-recent story written last quarter during Physics 155. Hey, I need some new filler...
 
 

    Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a wild and untamed beast. This beast was known throughout the surrounding lands as "Ralph the Dog". Ralph would roam the forests and woods of the land searching for processed foods, or blatantly sexual men's magazines.

    One day, while he was stalking the latest issue of "Maxim" through a patch of thick underbrush, Ralph stumbled across a deserted camp. Rummaging through the camps debris, Ralph found a discarded laptop. Although Ralph was a wild untamed creature, he knew a little of electrical knowledge, having been struck my stray lightening over 20 times during his lifetime. Pawing at the laptop, he successfully removed the battery. Thirty minutes later Ralph was at the river, charging the battery using his crudely built hydroelectric damn.

    After testing the battery's charge on his tongue, and then allowing time to recover from the shock, he used his tiny paws to place it back into the laptop. Searching around the campsite yet again, Ralph not only found a credit card, but also a Cat5 ethernet port in one of the surrounding coniferous trees.

    Wiring up the laptop, Ralph was instantly connected to the "Internet", an entity he has only vaguely read about from discarded AOL discs tossed along the highway. A few seconds later, he had punched in the number on the credit card, and was approved for his Adult Check id.

Epilogue

    Ralph currently owns the worlds largest streaming/multimedia/e-business/adult content provider web-portal. Although his site pulls in millions of dollars worth of revenue each year, the majority of this money is spent on thesauruses in order to fully describe his site to search engines.

About the Author

    Emperor Chang loves all sorts of music. Most of the music he enjoys involves mistuned guitars and bongo drums. However, the simple sound of dripping water or an approaching police siren can be enough to raise his soul to a heightened sense of awareness.
 

Another couple of short stories written either during my spareblock (when I should have been studying) or Computer Science 12 (when I should have been coding lame bubble sorting programs).
 

I don't know quite how I started this one, but it seemed too short so I added some thoughts to the end that I had in my head at the time.

    One day I was walking along the road known as Douglas. It was not a particularly sunny day, in fact it was fairly rainy. Then suddenly it begain to hail, large solid chunks of ice. They repeatedly struck my head, causing many successive concussions. It hurt. Then I raised my hands to the air and shoke my fists at the heavens and it finally stopped hailing. Well, actually, it just stopped hailing ice and began hailing taxis. That hurt even more than the ice. Then I started kicking at the air and whirling my arms around like two small windmills. I suppose this was when God became very frightened and decided to stop. In fact He not only stopped, but He
was so scared that He required a change of underwear and He even quit his job. Isn't it neat how something as simple as hail can result in a Godless universe. That is so cool. If I live to be a million, I will never weed again. Coffee Macs is our friend. However it is not the friend of the health board. In fact, quite the opposite. The lone ranger was a rebel. I think he was hooped up on druggies. Tonto was the intellectual of the series. Styrofoam cups are pretty neat, but they are no replacement for approved jock-straps.
Towels are the tools of Satan himself. Messy hair is a bugger of a fasion no-no. Bull-whipping telephone poles with light ropes is frowned upon by the police. Wholesale is a place on earth.
 

    Many moons ago something happened. It was just the sort of occurance that you would expect to happen on Vancouver Island. The great physic Nostrodamus was the first (Jojo was the second) to link Vancouver Island to the underworld. Since then scientists have been studying the intense magnetic field surrounding the small island. Their results were inconclusive, which didn't mean much anyway since they were working on no premise at all. Anyhow, the strange occurance happened on a day not unlike the day labeled as "Saturday". The sky was cloudy, the temperate was "chilly", and there was the odd smell of highly toxic rain that fell from the sky.
Demons and child stars roamed the streets in large packs, pillaging and spewing cute catch phrases. Convenience stores were open for only 20 hours a day, and small imported German cars bred and multiplied with a fever. The centre of this evil could be traced to a  single establishment: a certain Coffee Macs. Flames lept from the roof of the restaurant, blood drained from its windows, terrible screams and wails could be heard from inside. The price of the Honest John special had been increased by 5 cents.
 

The following are a few stories/journals I wrote in a hurry for English (11?).

    Ruff, He said. God that is. Hence the capital H in He. Normally God did not do this sort of thing, buit it was one of those days. It has been one of those days, infact, for weeks on end. he decided it would be best to be alone at this time, and had locked Himself in a closet, located in Heavens Rec. Room. Ruff. Ruff again. Scratching His behind, God raised himself, and straightened his flannal PJs. Ruff. He was hungry. Unlocking the door, and peeking around to make sure no Angels were about, he tiptoed passed the pool table. Unfortunatly, it was sort of hard to miss the Almighty One tiptoeing around in brown and blue flannel PJs, and soon a small crowd was about him. Ruff, He said, and the Angels scattered in fear. "Just a phase", one Angel said. Running full-tilt, Good took a flying leap off the clouds he had been riding on. Ruff. God did not commit suicide that day. He fell for many minutes, and soon, hit a pile of rocks on the coast of British Columbia. Bouncing many times on the hard rock, he finally stopped on top of a large sheep. Bahh...ump, said the sheep. Ruff...ung, said He. Plucking bits of bloody wool from the bum of his flannel PJs, he stood up. Ruff..stupid sheep, said God. Still hungry, He searched for the nearest EatFoodYum restaurant, the only restaurant approved by God, but noone else. Seeing as no EatFoodYum was legally allowed to operate on the mainland, God was forced to catch a ride on the back of a duck, across the Juan
de Fuca straight, to Duncan, the home of EatFoodYum. Ruff...glub, glub, said the Messaih. Having used the duck, he smashed his brains on the rocks (the ducks that is): he was just that kind of God. Ruff, yum, God drooled, as soom Gods are known to do, when thinking about EatFoodYum burgers. Hitching a ride with an overweight trucker, in a Mac truck, cristened "Big Mama", He was on his way. Not that God needed a fat trucker, himself cristened as "Gristle Boy" to take him to the nearest EatFoodYum restaurant. He liked the large man with the greasy shirt, and his truck with the mattress in the back. Not that God was homosexual or anything. Far from it, He just enjoyed typical CBists. Ruff...breaker..breaker, said He.
 

    To Be Contiued...........................
 

    Once upon a time, there existed a small creature(tm), shaped like a ripe fruit. What kind of fruit is unknown, since it is grown in a foreign land. He existed in the ninth dimension. There, in the ninth dimension, the small creature(tm) survived eating two dimensional sub-atomic particles. Although it sounds impossible for two-dimensional objects to exist in a ninth-dimensional world, he made it possible. He was just that kind of a small creature(tm). Although he lacked any appendages, or orifices, he possessed a vast amount of bread clips. One may feel, if existing in the second dimension, that bread clips may be a rather useless object to collect. However, in the ninth dimension, they are quite handy, as it were. Small creatures(tm), such as himself, have been known to create new galaxies, new solar systems, new universes, and yes, even the odd rootbeer slushie, with the right bread clip.

    To be continued......................................
 

    A long time ago, a presence that made itself(tm) known to the land existed between Duncan and Langford. This presence, manifested itself(tm) in the form of a student. The student, a rather ignorant lad, picked up the presence while visiting the lavatory at the Saanich Fair. To this point, the presence had only infested the lower behind of the mentally inebriated student. The student, having a cranium consisted of nothing more than oatmeal slushies and fruit loops, figured the large pulsating organism in his rear, was only part of "puberty". He raised the issue to many of his friends, who strangely enough, moved to other parts of the country shortly after. His parents, distraught over the size of his back-end, and almost to the point of bankruptcy due to the costs of hemmeriod cream and new slacks, planned his death. The poor student, having sh..........aving cream for brains, had not picked up on the clues, as he gulped down his bitter tasting fruit loops. Jolting from his highchair, he clutched his buttocks, as a pain ripped through his lowerend. The presence, detached itself from the students rear-end, and rolled out the door. The poor student did not survive the viscous attack of poison, but the presence, now free, soon became the schools computer room manager(tm).
 

This is yet another unfinished story, it just happens to have been writen on a few coasters while at a local bar awhile ago.
 

Once upon a time there was a little man named Emperor Chang. He lived on the side of the highway, and sold clumps of grass to Japanese tourists. Although he had good money, he would spend all of it on cheap, small import cars. After driving them for a week, he would drive them through Gyro Park and into the oceans icy depths. he had done this so many times in fact, that a new island had been created. Soon, he had moved to the man-made island. Within a month he had set up a small dictatorship, with a typically high tax rate and tractor pull stadium. Emperor Chang had enslaved the pot-head community, and was utilizing them as cheap
labour to manufacture sub-standard chia-pets. A year later, he had built the strongest economy known in the freeworld.

I wrote it out on two paper coasters from The Monkey Tree Pub using a little red pencil I stole from those stupid Keno displays they have at every table. I kept the red pencil and one extra coaster, so someday I may actually finish it.

Check out pictures of number one, and number two.
 
 

Wow, I can't believe I found this one. I finally decided to clean my room after many months, and found this on the bottom of one of my many bins full of crap. This was the very first story I can remember writing of this "genre", and it was way back in grade 11. I was in what used to be the temporary computer room (the school was having renovations), and two ninth graders were trying their best to harass me. I was really bored so I asked one of them his name, and then decided to write a short story about him, which I did while they watched. I'm glad I decided to print it out. Anyhow, here it is. Note: I've left it unedited. I probably added a few more mistakes while re-typing it, but I feel it makes it all the more enigmatic, don't you?

    One day there was a small boy named Rick, and he was a good little boy, who always always helped people who wrote stories. Suddenly, he lost his temper and killed many of his fellow students, with only his large piece of cheese. Within minutes, he has killed all of the students attending school that day, including the teachers and staff. Since he has killed everyone, he was rather bored, and decided to drive to his next destination, Thrifty Foods. Feeling wholly unoriginal, he mowed them down with his can of beans, leaving a crimson trail of tomato sauce. The manager, wondering why this boy was slaying his best customers, decided to talk to the vicous murderour. Rick, not liking the managers tone of voice, took a meat loaf to the side of his head. As the sauce poured from the  managers head, Rick remembered how hungry he was. Scanning the isles, he found a rack of week old ham thighs, and proceded to ram them into his Nikes. Now walking around with increased height, he could see the whole of the store, and spotted a small child caught in the frozen dinner section. Running as fast as his ham-rammed-Nikes would take him, he found the small boy with his foot caught in a HungryMan tv entree, struggling for his life. Using a small toothbrush he got along the way, he hacked the package off of the poor boys leg. Soon the Police came, and found what Rick had done, and he became a national hero. Rick recieved an award depicting him on a bob-sled wearing long strang of noodles, and a large vat of rhino lard. Needless to say, he was very happy. The End.
 
 

I wrote this story a few months ago to assure one of my employers that I was infact (semi)literate.
 

    In the distant past, many years before the invention of scratch-n-sniff stickers and the unexplained popularity that was My Little Pony, God formed a bagel from the dirt, rocks and mud that was found around His ramshackle grass hut, and He saw that it wasn't too shabby. Then, feeling pretty damned omnicient, He sunk His crooked brown teeth into His new creation and exclaimed, "This bagel tastes like poo!" Spitting out the unchewed portion, He then ran His tongue along the ground to remove the taste, and followed up by squatting on a mossy rock and starting a rambling conversation about the unfortunate lack of quality fast foods chains with a
disinterested daffodil.

    It was over two thousand years later that the bagel would come of it's own and show some early signs of popularity, at least with those with a distinct lack of taste or smell. For a short period of time the bagel was used as a cheap replacement for the somewhat more expensive wagon wheel, until it's inconsistent irregular shape proved to be dangerous during high-speed chases. Later, it was used as an alternative for approved "Depressingly Small Child" life jackets, that is until it was found that the holes, being much too small, would asphixiate the child.

    Today, the original recipe put forth by God has changed very little. The addition of unstable radioactive isotopes, copious amounts of crude oil and a small portion of government approved LSD has helped to improve it's taste and digestability. It is recommended, however, that if you are to injest any bagel products that you obstain from eating any other food 24 hours before and after doing so. Induced vomiting may stop the enivitable massive internal bleeding and migraines. Although it has been offered as a possible remedy, Tylenol will do jack-squat.

About the Author

    While he finds pleasure in writing simple childlike stories, EC's lifelong dream is to someday enter the Olympics and win a gold medal. Unfortunatly for him, drooling is not an offically sanctioned Olympic sport.
 
 

    It had been a fairly average day for Martin Oxygenpump, the weather was pleasant enough, and the three cylinder engine in his Spring still only barely kept up with traffic. He had been driving for the last few hours, making a final run to Nanaimo before he headed home. Martin would make a few trips up island everyday, transporting mammoth jars of Applesauce, as well as a handful of senior citizens. The senior citizens had been kidnapped from the many “Retirement Centres” found in great abundance within Victoria. Forced into slave labour, they would often be put to work in factories, warehouses, or as bodyguards at the company Bingo Palaces. When no longer of any use, the elderly captives would be sold as sex slaves on the Asian market. The little car had just passed the Duncan city limits, and Martin was pleased at the time he was making. Since he was ahead of schedule, Martin decided to pull over for a rest. After stopping, he banged on the side of the trailer and waited for a second. A series of moans and cries for help came from inside, which at least meant they were alive. He had made a note of drilling air holes after the morning run. Stepping away from the trailer, Martin took his place in line at the public port-a-potty. A quarter of an hour later, a strange groaning and creaking noise could be heard from inside the small trailer. The door of the trailer began to splinter, and finally it burst open with great force, releasing its captives. When pillaging the “Life Style Retirement Community”, Martin had neglected to notice that one of its residents was none other than Jack Lelain. Jack had used his extensive physical strength to not only escape the trailers confines, but impress the female captives. After yelling at the toiler to hear its echo for more than twenty minutes, Martin left the port-a-potty feeling wholly unrestricted. Half wondering if the newspapers in the trailer might need to be changed, he walked around to the back of the trailer. On the ground, amongst the trailer doors remains, was an open package of Depends Pull-Ups. Inside the trailer, two of the applesauce jars had been broken, and the third was completely missing. It was when Martin was using his 20 channel CB to call head office that he noticed something further down the road. Stepping out of his car, he squinted hard, then finally put on his glasses. On the road ahead was a wrinkled man wearing a blue nylon jump-suit and riding a large jar of applesauce down the freeway.

About the Author

    EC lives within Victoria, but is often found wandering aimlessly in nearby cities. When not writing, he finds time to walk and talk with the animals, and occasionally with other humans. Although this is normally reserved for his parole hearings and psychiatric evaluations.
 
 

    A long time ago, in a land not far from Brentwood, there lived a little man. To be more specific, he lived in an old abandoned barber shop. There he would spend a great deal of his time reading magazines, learning morse code, eating fruit and trying in vain to run Windows 95 with 4 megs of ram. On the odd day he would gather up the courage to venture into the big city. However, on this particular day, he had decided to take a trip to the world famous Butchart Gardens. After following the three hundred “Butchart Gardens yadayadayada Next Left yadayadayada” signs he had arrived at the gas station directly across from the tourist trap. Making a quick pitstop, he took the opportunity to pick up a few rations and supplies. Among these were three Wonderbars, two bottles of Jolt and a few boxes of Frosted Sugar Coated Runts. Walking across the road, having almost been hit by a passing brown Volvo, he continued towards his destination. Then he walked, and walked, and walked, and walked, then he stopped for no reason and started twitching uncontrollably, then he walked some more, twitched, walked, twitched, walked, ate some Frosted Sugar Coated Runts, fell down, twitched, twitched, twitched, twitched, and then walked the rest of the 1/4 mile to the front gate. There he was met by an aging and bloated security guard, who could really care less about a small man drinking cola and twitching sporadically, so he let him in. Once through the front gate, the next people he met were the Gardens much hyped mascots, Major Bludd and Optimus Prime. Although it was not readily apparent why these mascots were chosen, the small man knew there must be a intelligent and well educated marketing engineer behind the promotional campaign. After this brief encounter, the small man veered left and took a handful of maps from the information booth. Sitting infront of the souvenir shop, the small man folded the maps into many interesting and profitable shapes. One looked vaguely like a killer whale, another almost like a salmon, a beaver and the last paper sculpture was a mildly
convincing can of Lucky Beer. After arranging the sculptures in an artistic fashion, they were quickly sold to American and Japanese tourists.

To be continued........................................................................................ (at some later undetermined date)

A quick note about the author

    Emperor Chang lives only a few stone throws away from Brentwood. He feels a strong psychic, physical and sometimes sexual connection to Brentwood. EC’s short stories are an intrical part of his psychological development and therefor must be viewed in that context. While all his stories are written in crayon, those that are legible are often typed on computer by his Nana. Those that are illegible are burned before his eyes along with most of his precious childhood toys.
 
 

    After starting one story on my Commodore 64, I found it was turning out longer that I wanted. I then started another story on an Amiga 500, which I also found was running too long. This was written on an IBM, which provides no inspiration at all, hence the short story. The other storys are still works in progress, and will be released later. I can't devulge too much information, except the working titles are "Black Death: The Legendary Journeys" and "Bah bah and Neh Neh meet Emperor Chang".

    This is a story that takes place in the very near undetermined future. You have the power to change the story, and prevent it from ever having happened. Or you can sit on your fat ass and do nothing. However, keep in mind that this is not one of those
chose-your-own-crappy-inimaginative-garbage-spewed-from-a-talentless-writer-novels. It is nothing more than a pathetic attempt to keep you, the reader, interested in an otherwise sad attempt at literature.

    There is a warning. This story portrays a bleak and icky future, where mankind just feels all crappy. The future is a graphic, and really greasy place, it is advised that those with sensitive stomachs cover their eyes during the gory parts.

    Jus Jus clung to the back of the semi-trailer, then lept to a Volvo in the next lane. The driver swerved in an attempt to shake him free, but Jus Jus smashed the rear window with his fist, and tossed a small grenade inside. He jumped free just as the car exploded into flame, carrended into oncoming traffic, then slide into an orphanage. Recovering from a rolling fall, Jus Jus pulled a fully-automatic weapon from his flak-vest, and began to fire randomly at passing motorists. After destroying 6 school buses, 9 passenger cars with small babies, and a large bus full of senior citizens, Jus Jus was run over by a large tank.

The End

About the Author

    Emperor Chang lives, as always, on the majestic Prospect Lake. There he spends most of his free time talking on the internet to other pathetic writers like himself.
 

This is a really old one, influenced by the great Alex McGillvary. Incredibly stupid, the only humour is from its ridiculousness.
 
 

    One day, Macramé the Elongated and his faithful sidekick, Bowel Boy the Stiff, were meandering through the forest of Appendexia, making their way to the lair of Evad the Penetrator. As they traversed across the rough, moist terrain, two figures appeared out of the shadows. They were: Maharg the Indecisive and his companion, Bladder Lad the Moist. Both having the same putrid, stanched hatred for Evad the Penetrator, they decided to join forces. Mounting their saber tooth hamsters, they rode to Castle Grey Matter, headquarters of Evad. Within mere parsecs, they had arrived at the vial Evad's lair. The entire castle was constructed of plush smurf dolls, held together with oatmeal, and the perimetre was surrounded with large metal toilet brushes. Even before they had reached the front gate, they were attacked by Evad's evil henchmen, The Gonad Guards. After slaughtering the guards with only the use of their toes, they proceeded to cross the bridge that hung over the Trench of Eternal Cheese. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, an impish creature, covered with only a starched loincloth, appeared in front of the entrance. "I am Evad the Penetrator's male friend, who wishes to meet my master, and does he possess the sacred Holy Shoe Horn?", the pathetic creature wailed. "We wish to vanquish your master from the face of Lepritus! He must be punished for the many foul, moist, sensual deeds he has put upon the good, although gay, people of this land! I possess the no Holy Shoe Horns, but I would be willing to give up my extensive collection of rare studded parakeet collars.", Maharg exclaimed. "You will have to deal with my vicious can opener first!", the imp threatened. The impish creature raised a rusty can opener in front of himself, poising for battle. The group of adventures, unfazed by this, drew their mighty glo-stiks from there sheaths. With one swift crack, the glo-stiks were lit, and they were ready for battle. After circling around each other for several nanoseconds, Macramé decided he had enough and poked the imp in the belly button. Because of his whimpy frame, and lack of balance, the imp fell into the Trench of Eternal Cheese, flailing his stick like arms as he sank into the synthetic ooze. As Evad watched the slow, cheesy death of his male friend from his penthouse, a long, high-pitched sound came from his left foot. The sound, being so loud and high pitched, rendered the adventures unconscious as well as breaking many bottles of Evad's pickled loganberry supplement. Feeling a bit peckish, Evad decided to have a snack before he finished off the adventurers, and preceded to clean the remains off the floor. The adventurers made their merry way into the castle, that now reeked of many previous meals of hog lard diced with side portions of possum nail clippings. Pushing their way through the piles of Commodore Monthly magazines covered in soiled loin cloths, and climbing up stairs made of aged edible pulpy mass crates, they eventually found one large room, full of discarded single-sided disks, with a sole occupant. That single occupant was Evad, busily working on a squalid commodore, creating his next great BASIC program. As he lifted his face away from the computer, the adventurers could see how sickly white Evad's face was. After staring at the intensely bright screen for years he had characters burnt all over most of it. His sickly, scrawny, twig-like arms barely hung to his shoulders, and the tips of his fingers were raw from his years of constant typing. The feet on this pathetic creature were
grotesquely swollen from walking around his trash heap of a home in no shoes. His lack of bathing was evident as a swarm of flies revolved around his barely living carcass. Being somewhat sickened by Evad's appearance, Macramé took it upon himself to end this dismally pitiful excuse for a barely living creature's life. Evad, sensing the danger he was in, prepared for battle. Holding aloft his formidable bread stick, Evad uttered the words, "By the endowment of Grey Matter, I have the power of 64 k!". Without warning, the bread stick turned into a repulsivly large monster made completely of spilled milk. Macramé and Maharg, deciding that this wacko had done enough, fished through their fanny packs and found two large rolls of Rosy's best paper towel. They threw them at the monster, and it was consumed by the very absorbent, yet cheaper than the leading brand, paper towel. Awestruck by this, Evad made a mental note that after he had taken care of these homosexuals, to switch brands. Before Evad even had the chance to retaliate, Bladder Boy dropped his bottle of hair spray on the floor, spilling it in Evad's direction. Macramé lit a roll of toilet paper he had been hiding under his arm, and ignited the pyrotechnic mixture. Evad's dry, twig-like body burst into flames, as he made a desperate grab for his fiery commodore. Being the imbecile that he was, Evad tried to put the fire out with gasoline. Since that didn't work he tried to roll in a
sandbox of gun powder, hoping to deprive the fire of oxygen. As his body went up in a sickly green cloud of smoke, the adventurers agreed he had died a fitting death. After this victory, the adventurers went on to create a series of idiotic, psychoticly deranged stories involving a character named "Dave". They all eventually died from a rare disease called "Tajinderhermaphroditus", caught only by eating raw sloth.

This story isn't one of my favorites, but it does have its moments:
 

    Long ago in a land usually reserved by loud obnoxious beer drinking rednecks, there lived a man of girth, physically and mentally. He drove a large car, ingested large amounts of food, fired his 44 at little kids who were stupid enough to pass his house, and he amassed a large stockpile of chemical weapons. Oh, one other thing, he was missing a lung or two, so he wore a really cool looking mask on his face. Umm, let's see, he was also missing one hand, an entire leg, and he wore a set of braces made from the chain of a Pioneer. Did I also mention that in place of a hand, a body saw was clamped? Apparently not. Anyhow, one day while mowing his ample lawn, the post man tossed an envelope in his general direction, and ran. Puzzling over the piece of mail, he rather dramatically ripped it open with his teeth. Contained inside was a letter asking if he would please attend the local annual monster truck rally. Upon reading this, he scratched his head a couple of times, and for good reason. You see, for some reason, the other citizens of the town he lived in tended to avoid him. But being one to never miss a monster truck pull and Japanese Car Crush(c), he decided to attend.

    On the day of the monster truck rally, our friend decided to make a good appearance. Having oiled the chain around his teeth, replacing the blade on his body saw, putting a new coat of varnish on his wooden leg, slipping on a pair of platform shoes, and replenishing the ammunition in his arsenal, he was ready to paint the town red, or any colour that took his fancy. Stepping outside, he took a deep breath, took a few seconds to admire his brown grass, and stepped into his Ford LTD. The engine roared to life, the eight track belted out Abba, and he was off to the stadium.

    Upon arriving, he noticed that most of the fans had parked far from the stadium. Strange, but not unusual for uncultured rednecks. Striding confidently, he headed for the ticket booth. With pride, he handed the letter he had received to the attendant. Grinning, the spotty face teenager directed our friend to a large entrance way. Our hero happily followed the directions. He did however noticed something else that was odd, no loud diesel engine noise. Shrugging, he confidently walked into the dark entrance.

    He soon came upon a large wooden door that happened to be closed. Reaching out, he smoothly opened the doors, only to find that it opened to the stadium floor. Before he had a chance to turn around and find his way to the bench seats, the door slammed shut, in cliché fashion. The look of fear from the other citizens was gone, and had been replaced with evil grins. Suddenly, before another thought could enter his head, a door not unlike the one behind him, opened on the opposite side of the stadium floor. Out of it a man of equal girth to his stepped. Well, to be honest, he was about twice the girth, give or take a few tonnes. The man was a strange looker, having long barb wire hair, one forearm made out of polished steel, the other a robo-clamp thingie, normal legs, an array of high calibre weapons protruding from his upper torso (not unlike that guy from C.O.P.S), and teeth only an inbred mother could love. Could this be another townes counterpart to himself? Perhaps two cities had decided to deal with two unwanteds with a direct confrontation. Our hero would have thought longer, but that tended to cause headaches. Always up for a good fight, whether fair or unfair, our friend, approached the mammoth of a man. Without warning, a quick swing on the part of his opponent, sent KENNY (our hero's new name) pealing himself off the stadium wall. After a quick recovery, Kenny threw himself towards his opponent, performed a few failed somersaults, pulled off a few lame karate kicks, and actually managed to land a decent punch on SHINNY's left cheek. Unfortunatly, ass fat tends to lessen the effect of a good punch, and Kenny soon found himself against the now familier wall. But this time, before he could recover, Kenny felt the crush of Shinny's robo-clamp around his torso, squeezing ever tighter. With quick trained reflexes, and about 99 percent luck, Kenny was able to stick his body sawblade in Shinny's eye socket. This however, turned out to be rather unfortunate, as the blood pouring rather profusly from the eyesocket, was libel to drown him. He did find a way to squirm his way out, yay for our hero, etc. After distancing himself from his opponent, Kenny reached into his leisure suit with both hand, and pulled out a
pair of large automatic rifles. Opening fire, bullets ripped through the massive body of Shinny, spraying ridiculous amounts of blood upon the stadium audience. Suddenly, however, the shooting stopped, as Shinny dropped a rather large fist on top of Kennys head. To make a long story short, Shinny ended up with no legs, arms, teeth, hair, or means of reproduction. Kenny became Fist of the West Star, blah blah, respected, love slaves, blah blah, etc. You get the picture, typical happy ending for insanely equipped man of great girth. The real story, however, comes later, after his incident. I would tell you it now, but that would leave me shit to write
later.
 

Sorry in advance to any Americans that may read this:
 

    If mankind ever had a story to warn him of the dangers that lurk deep within the human mind, this was or is the one. It begins, many years long past, centuries and millenia ago, when men were not recognized as men, trees talked, flowers danced, and gophers gave birth to ripe lucious fruit. These things did not come about the way most had thought, from evolution. This theory belonged to the morons of the time. No, the earth and it's bounty was created through a process simply known as SplendaBlendalution. Put simply, the earth, it's creatures, plants, the universe and all others things were created by a enormously large blender. It is also well known
that one being, a creature composed purely of sound, light, carbon, flesh, marrow, red bloodcells, fingernails, hair, and freshly squeezed florida orange juice was the one to press the button. He gathered all he could find within his surrounding, threw it into the blender, hit the "whip" button, and left to take a leak. Then, voila, the universe was born from the thick goey mess, planets formed, life evolved, plants, animals, then came the Americans(c). Out of the seething cauldren of life came the Americans(c), ignorant creatures unaware of all other life around them save for the odd british comedy. Luckily for most other life on the planet, by good fortune a
large celestial object fell to earth and totally destroyed the land mass known as the USA. Everyone cheered, and the story went on. It was about this time that that wacky creature that created the universe came back from the john. He took one sip from the universe, spat it out, and flushed the rest down the toilet.

THE END

A Short Autobiography on the Author

I live, breath, and eat Victoria. I mean that literally. I often write while completly sober. In fact, I'm always sober. Unless you decide to count cleaning fluids and mouth wash.

Holding your breath can be a great way to earn respect, money, or the attention that you feel you need. Great places to hold your breath are: a Church, in the lobby of the Capital 6, at Mc Donald's after eating a burger, at a school assembly, while driving or on a bus, at the checkout line in the local supermarket, while standing next to a MP with a gun to his head, or in court. Holding your breath is completely free and you can practice it anywhere. It requires no special equipment and can be a fun and amusing way to attract the police or ambulance crews.
 
 

Prologue

    This story was written for a nice dancer I met at the Red Lion. Mostly because I asked for her bear and she seemed extremly offended by the suggestion, even though it was a literal request. Sorry!

The Story

    Once upon a time on the fog-shrouded land mass known as Vancouver Island, there lived a small, yet all-seeing bear known simply as "Spoon". Spoon lived at the very top of the Mayfair Mall clock tower, there he could watch his servants milling about in their daily lives. Although master of all he surveyed, his only problem was that noone recognized him as their unquestioned ruler. For the five years he had been living in the clock tower, he had not once recieved one sacrifice, no pieces of parchment with shakey handwriting asking for his forgiveness, not even an FTD Friendship Bouquet. One day he had decided to vent his rath on the surrounding community, starting with Mayfair Mall.

    Shimmying down the copper siding, it was not long before he had lost his grip and fallen the rest of the way to the bottom. Fortunatly little Spoon was a 70/30 blend of cotton and polyester, and the fall had only dazed him. When Spoon awoke a few minutes later, he found that he had apparently been picked up by a little girl, and was now being cradled under her arm. Flailing his limbs frantically, he tried to free himself, but her tremendous strength held him in place.

    A few minutes later, the small girl had stopped to buy an Orange Julius from the concession area. The girl had made the mistake of putting the little bear down while she drank her vile concoction of various unregulated chemicals. Grabbing this opportunity, he jumped from the chair and ran as fast as his little legs would allow. Amazingly noone saw him as he ran directly into Radio Shack, ducked under the customer sensor, and made a beeline for the back of the store.

    Luckily for the bear, all the salemen were in the back watching hilarious security tapes while he scrounged the store looking for various parts. Taking a box labled "Crushing Mashing Stomping Monster RC Truck", he removed the excessivly large remote control vehicle from the collection of molded styrofoam pieces. Slapping some nifty add-on accessorys onto the ample truck frame, the little bear ripped the plastic roof off the large RC truck, and climbed in. Grabbing the remote control, Spoon sped out of the store, not unlike Gizmo in .......that..movie.

    The small bear had no problem being noticed as he barreled through the mall, knocking over shoppers and generally causing widespread panic. It wasn't long before Spoon had lost control of the vehicle and crashed into one of those little booths set up in the middle of the mall that sold beads and cloth with weird patterns. Shaking his head, Spoon looked up to see a large bodied security guard peering down at him with disapproval. Before he could run away, the security guard picked him up, walked him to the entrance, and swift-booted him out the door.

    Still dizzy, Spoon quickly recovered when he hit the grill of a large Mac truck heading down Douglas street. Gripping the grill with his tiny machine washable paws, Spoon finally let go when the driver pulled into the Red Lion. Stumbling around in a daze, the small bear made it into the bar, where he collapsed on the floor. A few minutes later a kind dancer picked up the small bear, and he was soon incorporated into her act.

Epilogue

    Unfortunatly the small bear never was able to convince the inhabitants of Victoria that he was their benevolant Master. However, the bear did eventually become the dancers talent agent. The dancer, ironically, later became Mistress of all she surveyed, and is now leader of a majority government in Manitoba. We are not completly sure of what happened to the security guard, but we're fairly certain that he's now a waiter at Coffee Mac's. The little girl grew up and is currently part owner of Victoria's own Sports Bowl.
 

I think this was probably written the same day I drank an entire cup of concentrated McDonalds(c) orange drink:
 

    This is a new story. Not an old one, like the others that I may have written before but now they are old, so forget them, okay?

    It was a day in the fine and upstanding city of Richmond. Not a special day, or one of any importance or signifigance. It was a very early 11 am in the morning, and most of the people in the small city were at work, working, I think. Little did they know that soon it would be lunch time, and they were in for an even bigger shock. Yes, there is a shock to this story, don't be frightened, I assure you that it isn't all that scary. It seemed that for some silly reason all of the Subway workers in the city of Richmond had gone on strike. Something about cleaning toilets, or something. That didn't really matter, because it was the poor workers of Richmond that were
most affected by this. Some, having worked in a tall office building for a few hours in the morning, had jumped off the roof, and onto the hood of the nearest Volvo. Others did the usual tearing out of their hair, and such. Even some others took their anger out on small animals, like squirrels, and little chickens. Still some others ran to the local fish market and beat themselves on the head for many minutes with fresh Salmon(c). After a few hours of this wacky crazyness, the Mayor turned on the really big alarm in his office, and called in the National Guard, or whatever it's called in the silly old country of Canada. Within days the National Guard or whatever
it was called, came to the rescue of the city of Richmond of the country known as Canada. For some nutso reason, these people with large semi-automatic weapons from our capital began shooting all the people who had turned hysterical. Some people they kicked, and some they just hit with pillows quite forcefully. After seeing that his plan had not worked, the mayor called upon the collective powers of local highschool chemistry teachers to make a big bomb. They did, it was dropped, and everyone died a really horrible, smelly, squishy death, except for me, because I wasn't stupid and I left. So there. Nyah.

The End.
 
 

This one is very short, and maybe someday I'll finish it:

    In the beginning, God created man, and vice versa. Then He created cable TV, towels, the Beta format, and other nifty gadgets. As a follow up, He slapped together a few animals, plants, rocks, and named it Vancouver Island. On approximatly the seventh day, He felt like a little cruisin', but whoah, no transport. So from the earth, rocks, and sticks, He formed the Power Ram, and He saw it was good, and the small animals that escaped it's massive tread also saw it as pretty swell. Motoring up and down the island, He would visit Costco and Coffee Mac's, pretty much ignoring the rest of the world. This went on for almost a week, when one day He locked the keys inside while visiting a local Wendy's.
 

This is very short and incomplete, and I have been meaning to finish it:

    In the near future mankind is far removed from the progressive beast we know today. Men and Women have grown into stagnant beings, ruled by an all-powerful force led with a single man's vision. Normally this wouldn't be quite so bad, but the singular ruler was none other than the infamous Dave Thomas. Not satisfied to simply be the owner of a restaurant francise, he had finally achieved his goal of moderate world domination.

    Deep within the bowels of the nation, inside an almost impenetrable shed, he ruled the majority of the world with an iron fist. Those that opposed his rule were usually forced to endure marathon yogic flying exercises. Gangs of roving thugs on bicycles would terrorize and generally make the good citizens feel all bad.

    However, there was still hope in a collection of rebels nested far away from Bad-Guy central. The Rebels had set up a temporary command centre on the Westcoast of Canada, within the burned out building that formerly was known as The Curry House. There, they had spend the majority of their time divising ways to reclaim society, as well as
 
 

    In the very near future, a few years after nothing in particular happened, deep in Random woods, there lived a group of suspicious men. Inside a wide hole they had made their home, hidden from the city the only other life for miles were stray animals that had yet to be run over by American tourists. Most of their time was devoted to thinking of ingenious ways to fool society, the remainder was spent eating, sleeping, and stripping bark from trees. Every odd day they would run around the woods throwing sticks at each other, falling down, crying and crawling back to the hole. After three years outside of civilization the men had really only come up with one good way to disrupt society, and Amway had beaten them to it.

    It was about this time that the price of end-user petrol had increased dramatically. The small group of men had decided to be the saviors of society by developing an alternate fuel source. They had thought of rearing pigs for methane, possibly using wind turbines, but ultimatly they decided on a more practical method of creating usuable energy. By using a special distillation process, they could extract the precious sugar from surplus Kool-Aid.

    This would require a trip to the city, so the men packed all the necessary goods for such an adventure. Sticks, rocks, dirt, moss and bark were loaded into homemade grass backpacks. They set out early in the morning, determined to reach the city by nightfall. To their great surprise only three hours later, they had reached their destination. Apparently within the last few years, parts of the forest had been replaced by urban society. They were now standing infront of a moderatly sized shopping complex, marked by a sign that read "Trafalgar Square".

    Beyond this, there was vast array of gas stations, convienience stores and Thought Shops. The men knew that convienience stores  would not stock Kool-Aid in the quantitys they would require, and a quick scan around the immediate area showed no signs of a supermarket.

    They had decided it would be best to split up, one group went west while the other group went east.

To be continued....................................maybe
 

Here is an example of my very childish writing (even more than usual):

    This is a revised version of the Mellotop story. Mainly because I recently read the damn thing and I hated certain parts in it. So I'm changing it, because I can.

    It was a really stupid week in that sunny month of August when a small boy named Tommy found a great deal of trouble. It was trouble, but not that ordinary kind that little boys normally get into at his age. It was trouble involving international politics. He had come across the trouble quite unex- pectedly while using the facilitys at UVic Cinecenta. Tommy had popped in for a quick pop out when he found a large collection of papers with all manner of strange writtings on them, simply floating in the toilet. Being a normal Canadien boy, Tommy reached in and took the papers. He dried them under the hand drier, then used them to clean his bum, since the washroom was out of the normal papers. But before using the papers as improvised two-ply, Tommy had taken a quick glance at the strange scribbles on them, inadverantly memorizing their contents. Feeling over satisfied with his accomplishment, Tommy left the Little Boys Room(c), and returned to his seat in the theatre. As Tommy left the late night showing of "Poo Poo Meets Neh Neh, Man-Dog-Sheep of Mars and Convenience Store Clerk", he saw a large man dressed in fine ArmAAAAAAknee fashion run screaming from the washroom, pants around his ankles, speaking in tongues, and drooling on the floor. Who was this man? Why was he running into the hall drooling everywhere? Was this Tommys long lost father? Before these questiosn could be answered, the crowd of movie-goers ran towards the man, beating him senseless and generally being pretty rude. Tommy, as the only little boy in the vicinity, felt it was his responsibility to knee the strange man in the groin. Instead, the large man pulled up his pants, buckled his belt, and reached into his expensive looking briefcase. Out of the briefcase the strange man pulled a large automatic weapon, shot Tommy rather excessivly in the head, and killed all the other movie patrons, their dogs, cats, etc. Well, what the hell did you expect? I wasn't going to develop a plot, for Christ's sake. Senseless violence, that's what really makes a story. None of this stupid, "boy has big adventure, knees bad guy in the groin, or gets his supersmart dog to do it", not in this story. Give me the "lunitic runs out of washroom, pulls machine gun out of his briefcase, kills innocent children, dogs, cats, sheep, and steps on a few flower beds" type of story, now that's entertainment. Everyone who makes or goes to movies like Beethoven (1 or 2), Problem Child (1,2,3), or Free Willy (1,2 or the frigging cartoon) should be shot, hung, driven over with a large North American automobile, spoonfed Whiskey, spat on, pushed around a bit, and kicked in the groin. Ahhhg, there are some other movies, but I'm too, ahh, drunk. So shut up.....ahhh, go and ....ahh, get some old man to kick you in the groin...ahh, yah.

A Note About the Author:

    After returning from an extensive stay at the Hotel Glendale, EC has returned to his first love of arts and crafts. Occasionally, when the nurses allow him to handle pointy objects like pencils, pens or chalk, EC "composes". Other times he writes crude messages and offends the staff and doctors. When he's a good boy, EC eats Wheaties. When he's not, he is strapped to a large chair and spoon-fed Grape Nuts with Whiskey.
 

This is one of my more serious attempts at literature. I think I wrote it for English class, probably to get out of doing a test.

Nobody knew what had happened. Carefully closing the trunk lid, I listened as the engine
started, and the car rolled away from the gas station. Traveling for what seemed like two
hours, the driver finally pulled off the highway and down a steep embankment. A few more
minutes down the road I felt the car spin wildly around me, as my body slammed against
the rear of the trunk.

 An undetermined amount of time later, I woke and found that I was still inside the
sedan, hunched up at the bottom of the trunk. The car was moving, but not under it’s own
power, and slightly raised. There had obviously been an accident, and now the car was
being towed to some backwoods scrap yard. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a pen
knife, and used it to pop the latch. Waiting until the car had slowed, I pried open the trunk
lid, and fell onto the damp gravel road.

 I spent the rest of the evening and part of the night scrambling my way through the
woods that paralleled the road, trying not to be seen. Eventually the undergrowth became
too dense and difficult to move in, so I took a chance and used the road’s grassy shoulder.
The rain from the night before had been furious, and although it had been sunny for most of the day, the
trip through the woods left me completely soaked. I sat on a mossy rock and taking off my
coat, I stared at my surroundings. Further down the road large trees sprang up, and it took
great twists, but I could tell that it led to a small town near the mouth of the valley.

 Wringing out my coat, I was about to start moving when two headlights came
around the corner behind me. I was at least forty feet from the forests safety, but the
headlights had yet to land upon me, so I fell behind the rock. Within a few seconds, the
light flashed over my hiding place, and I heard the car begin to slow down. The next thing
heard was the Sheriff's loudspeaker ordering me to come out quietly, then the sound of
gunfire as I ran towards the woods. By this time the sky had darkened, and there was only
the dim remnants of twilight to see anything by. To him I must have seemed a black blur,
dodging wildly to evade his shots. Twenty feet from the forests edge, my right leg went
numb, and I fell into the wet grass.

 Struggling, I pulled myself off the ground, and made it another five feet before
losing consciousness. My stay in the hospital lasted for two weeks before I was sent back.

by Emperor Chang