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LT Is Very Cool. |
Noted!
"Hello! Actually, I'm not supposed to speak...damn. Can we do another take?"
~Quantum Leap~
2003-06-21
IT'S A BLATANT CLUE, INNIT?
~
2003-06-03
I GIVE MY PERMISSION to turn the Excel Saga anime into a campy remake of The Wizard of Oz!
~
2003-05-26
I SENSE YOU...SPACE BUTLAAAAAAAR!
~
2003-05-14
Whoa, I forgot about Diaryland.
~
2003-04-15
Excel!
~
A: Yo. Dude.
A: Dude. Yo. Yo, dude. Dude. yo. LT: Eh? A: Tell me a story?
LT: Hmmm, about what? A: Frogs. Pickles. Streetlamps. All in the future. And they can time travel. Using pies. Pie is good.
LT: Once upon a time, or maybe twice, there was -- hold on, must move cat.
Uh. Thrice upon a time there was a frog named larry, but he got crushed by an elephant because he didn't pay attention to where he was going. That's a lesson, kiddies, pay attention or you're gonna wind up a friggin' street pizza.
Where was I.
Once upon a time . . . except that it hasn't happened yet because it's in the future (no, cat, stay off, I'm busy), there was a streetlamp. This was no ordinary streetlamp, with the power to draw moths and provide dramatic lighting in film noir scenes, this was . . . a magic streetlamp.
And his name was . . .
Uh. . .
Eat At Joe's.
Now, one day, Eat At Joe's got sick of being a boring old streetlamp, even if he did have the power to draw pigeons and provide dramatic lighting in romantic comedies . . .
So, he uprooted himself and walked out of town.
Meanwhile, in a ditch by the side of the road, was a cucumber.
It'd been there long enough that it wasn't really a cucumber anymore, it was a new breed of gasoline-soaked pickle, but that cucumber was stubborn and it promised itself that come (stay down, cat) Hell or high water it would remain a cucumber to the end of its days.
Eat At Joe's saw the not-really-a-cucumber in the ditch by the side of the road, and took pity on the poor vegetable. He walked over to it (okay, I suppose it'd be more like a hop, streetlamps don't really have legs after all, unless it conspires to skitter about on its power cords, but they're really too thin to hold a whole streetlamp's weight. . .)
. . . he hopped over to it (creating quite a dust cloud), and, after the dust had settled, offered to help the dim shadow of a cucumber out of the ditch.
But the cucumber was stubborn, as I've mentioned before. It didn't like the idea of accepting help from a perfect stranger, not even when it was a magical stranger, and not even when the cucumber really, really, really needed it.
The cucumber tried to come up with rationalizations for accepting the streetlamp's help. Maybe it could pay him back after it had cleaned up and gotten a job. Maybe it could pretend it was the streetlamp that needed help, not the cucumber. Maybe, uh, ah hell, who cares, GET ME OUT OF THIS DITCH.
Eat At Joe's had remained patiantly bent over the half-dead cucumber, knowing the vegetable's kind for being exceptionally prideful. When it finally came to terms with its unacceptable situation he calmy reached down and hoisted the cucumber up (again, never you mind the physics of such an act, considering streetlamps haven't got fingers or mouths or pincers or whatever. He's a magic streetlamp.)
When the cucumber was finally out of the briny water, dripping and stinking like an old factory, it mumbled some sort of thanks and began limping solemly down the road. Eat At Joe's would have none of this, he insisted the cucumber follow him back into town and rest up, at least for one night. The cucumber was reluctant to accept the help, but in the years it had lain there, shrinking and growing progressively more gross and bumpy, it had apparently forgotten how to walk. So, leaning on the streetlamp's (metaphorical) shoulder, the two slowly meandered back into town and rented a room in the nearest hotel.
(By crikey, that paragraph is huge.)
Now, coincidentally enough, the hotel they were staying at served a complementary breakfast. In the morning the two of them headed downstairs to turn in their key (ignoring the looks it got them -- streetlamp and pickle pair up for night of wild lovemaking! More at eleven.) and sample the "continental" breakfast. Which, it turned out, was an egg cooked several hours ago and a side of french fries, all in an envelope.
The cucumber muttered some very unflattering remarks about the establishment, prompting Eat At Joe's to quickly herd it outside -- but what's this? They serve pies. Oh my. Oh oh my. Eat At Joe's was enraptured. He'd never had pie before (being a streetlamp), but he'd heard so many wonderful things . . .
Digging out the very last of his change, Eat At Joe's bought a slice of pie and, giggline like a schoolgirl, hopped out into the sunlight to eat it. The cucumber also wandered out into the bright, harsh, unyielding sun, but with a considerably more mature demeanor than the streetlamp.
Eat At Joe's sat down on a nearby bench. He opened the styrofoam lid, quivering in anticipation. He picked up the complementary plastic fork (breaking off one of its tongs in the process), and slowly, oh so slowly, reached for the sweet pie-y goodness . . .
When all of the sudden they were both transported into prehistoric Africa, surprising a herd of elephants. Eat At Joe's looked up at the cucumber shrieked, Elephants! We must panic and run screaming! So they did. Unfortunately, the cucumber's warning came too late for the hapless frog, who was squished into a frog-flavored pulp, never to be heard from again.
The End.
A: *lipwobble* What about the pickles?
LT: That was the cucumber. It was pickled. It just refused to admit it.
A: Oh, one of THOSE.
LT: Yeah, veggies are like that.
That's why I like LT.
~Ayrn
How's THAT for content?
