Tag Archives: Made-Up Stories

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, POSTSCRIPT: ALSO, THE FUTURE OF COTTON CANDY BEARD

1 Jul

Soooooooo, what did everybody think of this little story experiment? I hope you had fun with it. I sure did, though I’m not sure how I feel about the final product. I made a conscious effort not to read the passages as I wrote them, except for confirming character names so I didn’t have spelling inconsistencies. Obviously, in my head some characters would have been more developed than they ended up being, but there were a few fun surprises along the way. I never would have guessed Becky and Leopold would have had as large a role as they ended up having, but I suppose it’s not surprising, given my mindset these days.

Anyhow, I asked for theories on the last installment as to why Cassiopeia Birnbaum was not harmed by the laser blasts that struck her chest. I received a grand total of six (6) theories, so thanks to all who contributed. Which is to say, thanks Nick Clark! I think my favorite theories of yours were numbers 4 and 5. That Trentoteps missed and Cassie was struck by the notion that she should pretend he hit her. It ties in with the Unreliable Narrator concept I kept mentioning early on and then apparently forgot about. And of course, if she was able to breathe on the moon due to her genetic make-up, it would make sense that she was impervious to lasers, though perhaps to only lasers shot from the metallic fist of a Space Mummy. Other lasers are fair game.

But, let’s talk about what all you Cotton Candy Beardos want to address, and that is what’s in store for stories for the future! Not much, really. Well, okay, that’s not entirely true. Beginning next week, I’ll be posting material best described as ephemera. Stories and poems and song lyrics from other places (including a few family friendly pieces from my previous, more adult-centric humor blog.) I’ve really enjoyed revisiting these, and I think they are among my best writing, so I hope you enjoy them.

In August, the updates will be more sporadic, probably only one a week or so. But I know there will be a Nefarious Dr. Wilhelm Skreem and Edgar Euphonium, and a Fishy Flummoxing Snooper Spies. After that, I’m afraid the website might be quiet for a bit, as I prepare for a Major Life Change. But never fear! Cotton Candy Beard will not be dormant for long, I’ll see to that. And in the meantime, you can go back and re-read your favorites of my over 100 (!) posts. Thanks all!

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, PART THIRTEEN: THE FINISHENING!

29 Jun

One of my favorite songs ends with these three lyrics repeated a handful of times:

“Your head is on the moon. It’s not necessary to breathe. Forever is a long time.”

The reason I am reminded of them is what happened after we left off our intrepid heroes. Cassiopeia Birnbaum had just catapulted herself onto the housicopter in order to confront Trentoteps. In a fit of anger and fear, Trentoteps lifted the housicopter further and further up, up, up into the sky, and yet further still, up farther than the housicopter had ever travelled. Further than anyone thought the housicopter could travel. Until it reached his home. That is to say, he took the housicopter to the moon. With Cassiopeia Birnbaum inside.

But don’t worry! She doesn’t die. Somehow, the genetic combination of baboon and scarecrow allows her to survive in the atmosphereless atmosphere of outer space. This shocks her just as much as it shocks the Space Mummy, who was certain his surprise trip would spell her demise.

“I was certain my surprise trip would spell your demise,” Trentoteps said to Cassie. “But since you can survive in the atmosphereless atmosphere of outer space, I will have to demise you some other way. Like this!” He shot a laser beam from his metallic fist. It struck Cassie in the chest. She gasped and fell to the ground. But she still did not die. What was it that protected her this time? I don’t know. Perhaps you can come up with an answer! Leave a theory in the comments and we will discuss it on Friday! Fun!

In the meantime, though, Trentoteps got more and more frustrated as he tried to destroy poor Cassiopeia Birnbaum. Cassiopeia got more and more confused as her body continued to not be dead. And back on Earth, Leopold Birnbaum got more and more distraught as he watched his daughter buffeted by laser beams through a telescope he yoinked from Count Hawkula’s secret stash of telescopes.

“You put that back!” Count Hawkula shouted from his prison atop the mizzen mast. “And let me down! I can see my house from here, and it is an ugly sight! I hate my house! Hate it!”

“You will stay there until the authorities arrive and arrest you for all the stolen goods in your river boat,” Walter said. “And once you are as good as incarcerated, we’re taking the flea circus on the road. We’ll become famous, no thanks to you!”

“Arr! You know, if I get my housicopter back, I’ll gladly be your manager/mode of transportation. And my bird Becky went to Clown College!” Vincent Fishbein said.

“Brawk! It was Yale Clown University!” Brawk!”

“Excuse me!” Vincent Fishbein said.

“Gentlemen! Talking animals! We can wrap up these sub-plots later! Right now, we need to help my daughter. Who can help me get up to the moon?” Leopold Birnbaum said. Just then, the police arrived to arrest Count Hawkula for robbery, kidnapping and illegal comb over. They also brought an ambulance in case anyone was hurt, and a fire truck.

Meanwhile, on the moon, Trentoteps was having zero luck with his laser beams. Zilch luck. And so, he grasped Cassiopeia Birnbaum by the throat and began to choke her. This had the desired effect of causing her harm. Cassie gasped and gasped for air, eyes rolling in agony. Until they fell upon something. Something potentially useful. There appeared to be a loose bandage on Trentoteps’s's’s shoulder. She reached her long baboon arm around him and tugged. Hard. Almost immediately, he began to unravel, spinning like a whirligig and screaming like a villain, “No! Noooooooooo!”

Underneath all those bandabes was no body, no skeleton, no soul. Just a whole mess of dust. And a metallic fist, which fell to the lunar surface, then remembered there was no gravity on the moon and floated into the sun, evaporating in the heat. The unfurled bandages did the same, copycats. Cassiopeia sighed. She felt relieved there was no more threat of a maniacal Space Mummy, but sad that he had to die for it all to end.

Moments later, her father showed up on the fire truck’s ladder to bring her back to Earth. “I was on the moon!” Cassiopeia said to him. “But it’s sure good to be back home, father!”

Because of her bravery, Cassiopeia Birnbaum was awarded a gold medal, a blue ribbon and a whole bunch of scratch and sniff stickers. Astronauts were sent to the moon to retrieve the casket Trentoteps was entombed in, and it now sits at the Museum of Fictional History. They were also able to retrieve the housicopter, so Vincent Fishbein was able to make good on his promise, and the Walter & Company Flea Circus travels from town to town bringing teeny, tiny smiles to all the children of the world. Count Hawkula is still cooling his heels in the State Penitentiary.

Anyone else I left out? As for me, I have learned my lesson. From now on, I will plan ahead, and my narratives will be much less sloppy.

THE END

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, PART TWELVE: THE PENULTIMATE POSTAGE!

27 Jun

NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

KA-SPLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!!!!!!

DUUUUUUUUUUUUH-REEEEEEENCH!

But, before that:

“Brawk! I see the river boat ahead! Brawk!” Becky said. She was clasping Leopold’s shoulders in her talons, flying purposefully down the river.

“Do you see Cassie?” Leopold asked. His eyes, made as they were of burlap, could not see as far as Becky’s.

“Brawk! Yes. And I see the strange man in the cape and comb over. And a bunch of rodents and bugs, brawk! And what looks like a small giraffe.” she said. “Brawk!” she added.

“But is she-” Leopold began, before he voice was drowned out by the housicopter crashing into the river, and propelled forward by the ginormous wave splooshing against his back.

But before that:

“Get off me, my pretties! Get out of my lustrous mane of hair!” Count Hawkula shouted at his flea circus as they kicked and punched and bit and buzzed at him. “You shall pay for this dearly, my dears! Dearly. My dears.”

“Um,” said Cassiopeia Birnbaum. “Look out?” She didn’t know what to say or how to react. This was her first time being involved in an impending crash. “Fire?” she tried. But there was no fire. Plus, they were surrounded by water, so who knows how much of an issue a fire would be. Uh, crash! Crash!” she shouted, finding the right words.

But the flea circus and Count Hawkula were too busy to notice. The last Cassiopeia Birnbaum saw before the great deluge of wetness was her father flying toward her, a look of panic on his face.

And then:

NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

KA-SPLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!!!!!!

DUUUUUUUUUUUUH-REEEEEEENCH!

And then, the aftermath.

Cassiopeia Birnbaum came to in her father’s arms. He shook the water off his straw body like a wet sheep dog. she did the same, both laughing.

The flea circus, luckily, had not washed overboard. They were congregated at the top of the mizzen mast, as was Count Hawkula. The evil count had been tied up there by Becky, who had let go of Leopold when she sensed the wave coming and swooped upward to avoid it. At the far end of the deck, she spotted a familiar face and flew down to greet it. “Brawk! Vincent Fishbein! Brawk!”

Vincent Fishbein blinked his good eye and looked around. “What? Where am I?” He jumped up. “The housicopter!”

“Brawk! I think it’s gone for good, brawk.” Becky said sadly. There was something ironic about the bird’s affection for the flying machine. But she had to admit, she would miss the housicopter. That is, until it began to rise from the river bed, glowing that same bluish hue the warehouse had been glowing.

“Citizens of Earth! It is I, Trentoteps! And yes, I am still alive. Not even my own destructive tendencies can kill me. How about that?”

Everyone on the river boat stared at the housicopter, as laser beams began shooting out of the cockpit toward the boat. Everyone scrambled to avoid the shots.

“Dad, what do we do?” Cassie asked. Leopold shrugged, unsure. Then, Cassie had an idea. “Walter!” she shouted to the giraffe. “Can you get down?”

“Of course, I’m a trained acrobat!” he replied, and the entire flea circus gracefully somersaulted down the mast to the deck. “What can we do to help?”

“I have an idea. You guys have a catapult, right?”

“Yes, but if you’re thinking what we’re thinking you’re thinking, don’t think it! It’s too dangerous.”

“They’re right, Cassie. I can’t allow it.” Leopold said. But before he could stop her, Cassiopeia Birnbaum had already raced inside the river boat, and the next sound they all heard was a loud SPROOOOOOOIIIIIINNGGGGG!

Yikes! Will she be safe? Will Trentoteps finally be stopped? Probably, since the next installment is the last one.

I mean, otherwise, this would be a really, really, really depressing story.

END OF PART TWELVE

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, PART ELEVEN: IN WHICH THE ACTION IS RATCHETED UP, AS I AM BORED

24 Jun

“Swoop! Swoop! Swoop!” Trentoteps shouted at Vincent Fishbein, sounding like a ridiculous aquatic bird of some kind. He was fixated on the river boat below them. “With that boat and this helicopter, I could control the sky and the sea. Then, I, Trentoteps, will rule the Earth!”

“Sure you will, Master,” Vincent Fishbein said, with what sounded like more than a hint of sarcasm.

“You condescend to me, your master? No! If anything, you prodescend to me. Prodescend!” Trentoteps smashed his fist against the housicopter wall. Now would be a good time to say that, kids, you shouldn’t take your anger out on helpless inanimate objects. Talk your feelings out with a parent or friend. Unless you are an evil Space Mummy, in which case, you can pretty much do whatever you want, I guess. Anyway, I feel bad for the poor housicopter.

“But, Master, the housicopter and that little river boat aren’t enough to take over the world with,” Vincent Fishbein said, ending his sentence with a preposition.

“What! You shall pay for your impudence!” Trentoteps shouted, shooting laser beams from his eyes at the pilot. Vincent Fishbein jumped out of the way just in time, but the laser beams fried the controls of the poor, defenseless housicopter. Have you ever been in a situation beyond your control, forced to do something that you really, really did not want to do, but were forced to because of grown ups or gravity, or perhaps gravy? Then you can put yourself in the housicopter’s shoes. Because now, since its controls were fried, it was falling from the sky on a collision course with the ground.

Meanwhile, Becky had noticed the scarecrow wandering along the river bank, looking harried and lost. As a bird, scarecrows were inherently frightening to her, but she had a feeling this one was friendly, and mustered up the courage to approach him. After all, she had a feeling she could help him out.

“Brawk! Did you lose a young baboon? Brawk!” she said, alighting on a tree branch.

“Yes! Yes! My daughter has gone missing. She’s a ten-year old baboon with straw for fur. Have you seen her?” Leopold accosted the poor talking bird with a barrage of questions. Becky flinched (though not a finch) and tried her best not to freak out.

“Brawk! A man in a river boat kidnapped her. Brawk!”

“What? River boat? Man? Kidnapped? In?” Leopold was trying hard to process all of this information. “Can you take me to it?”

“Brawk? How? Brawk?” Becky looked at the scarecrow quizzically.

“Lift me up in your talons, I’m light. It will be easier to spot the boat from the sky.” Becky was torn. She was frightened to death of the scarecrow, but she had no reason to be. They weren’t in a corn field, and he was being rather friendly. Was he hiding an ulterior motive?

No. He was a concerned father and Becky could help him. She had to be brave, she had to be the hero. “Brawk! Hold tight! Brawk!” Becky grasped onto Leopold’s straw shoulders. He was light. As she lifted him off the ground and flapped her wings toward the river boat, neither of them noticed the housicopter barreling toward them at a faster and faster pace.

Meanwhile, on the river boat, Walter the tiny giraffe had convinced the box elder bugs to climb to the lock and pick it. In addition to shooting themselves out of a cannon, the box elder bugs made excellent locksmiths. “Almost got it,” one said through gritted teeth. Then, the lock snapped open. “Done!”

The door swung open, just in time for Count Hawkula to walk past. “What!” he shouted. “Trying to escape? You will pay for your impudence!” And he shot laser beams out of his eyes! Just kidding. He made to slam the door shut again, but was attacked! The giraffe, chipmunks and various insects of the flea circus (which ironically employed no fleas) swarmed in his face and scurried up his pant legs and generally caused a ruckus.

Cassiopeia Birnbaum made to run, bolting across the deck, but she stopped. “Go, go, Cassie!” Walter shouted. “Don’t stop.”

But Cassiopeia Birnbaum didn’t hear him. She was too transfixed by the housicopter hurtling toward them at an alarming rate.

Wow! All sorts of excitement. What will happen next?

We shall see.

END OF PART ELEVEN

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, PART TEN: OH, THOSE DOUBLE DIGITS

22 Jun

“Brawk! Must save the girl! Brawk!” Becky said to herself as she followed the river boat down the river. Higher above her, the housicopter loomed silently. Inside, Trentoteps twiddled one metallic and one cloth-wrapped thumb, cackling.

“Follow that boat, slave. I have a feeling it will come in handy for our impending take over.”

“You got it, Master,” Vincent Fishbein said in a voice devoid of feeling. His eye glazed over, pointed at the boat as it chugged along. But was there a hint of emotion there? Did he notice Becky, and was he secretly plotting to turn against his master? Hmm. I bet he was. But we don’t know yet, do we?

Back in the corn field, Lucinda hurried toward Leopold at his post. “She wasn’t at the river,” she said in a quavering voice. “And her paint supplies were still there. Oh, Leo, what could have happened to her?”

Leopold did something he knew he shouldn’t. He stepped down from his post. “I’ll find her, Lucy, don’t you worry,” he said. He placed a straw hand on her shoulder. “I’ll make sure she’s all right, and I won’t tire until I’m sure of it.”

“But, what will the farmer say? You can’t just abandon your post!”

“Some things are more important,” he said. “I’m sure the farmer will understand. And if not, there’s always other fields I can protect.” As he turned to walk away, he heard a grunt and a snap. He looked back. “Lucy, what are you doing?”

“The fields must be protected,” Lucinda said, as she lifted herself up to his post, wrapped her baboon arms around the cross bar and looked out at the corn field before her.

“You don’t need to do that. But thank you,” he said. Little seedlings fell from his gingham face. And with that, he ventured off into the world, following the river in search of his daughter.

Speaking of which, Cassiopeia Birnbaum was confused, scared and crying in the dark broom closet. She had just about given up hope, when a chorus of voices called out, “Why are you crying?”

“Who said that?” Cassie sniffled.

“We are the Count Hawkula Flea Circus,” they responded. Cassiopeia’s eyes began to adjust. A giraffe the size a thimble clomped forward. “Now answer our question. Why are you crying?”

“Your Count Hawkula has kidnapped me! And I’m scared of the dark,” she added.

“That sounds like him,” the tiny giraffe said. “I’m Walter. You can trust us. We’ll get you out of here. Everything will be all right.”

But will it? I mean, with the evil Space Mummy looming and Count Hawkula being a pretty bad guy, will it all be okay?

Ultimately, I’m sure it will, but you know, I gotta leave you on a cliffhanger.

END OF PART TEN

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, PART NINE: REMEMBER THAT GUY IN THE BOAT? YEAH, HE’S BACK

20 Jun

Cassiopeia Birnbaum was pretending to be a French painter. Not a painter of French things, but a painter that was also French. She had drawn a small mustache on her lip, and tossed a beret on her head and smock around her dress. She set up her easel by the river and began to paint. When the river turned out to be too difficult to paint, she painted the grass at her feet. And she also put her feet in there.

There was something so soothing about painting outdoors. The light breeze blowing through her straw fur. The babbling of the river as it coasted along the stones of its bank. The black smoke billowing through the air. The chugging of the river boat. The bleating blare of the boat’s horn. Wait, what? Apparently, there was a boat making its way down the river. Cassie couldn’t remember the last time she saw anything but a broken branch drift down the river. And this boat looked interesting, fun even!

As it pulled to a stop, a man in a cape and a comb over popped out from the cabin. He had a cigarette holder which held a cigarette between his lips. He stared down at Cassiopeia Birnbaum, who stared back up at him. They were both in awe of one another. Count Hawkula (remember him?) looked at Cassiopeia as if she were the Eighth Wonder of the World. “Ah, yes, Petunia,” he thought to himself (apparently his internal self is also named Petunia.) “I think I have discovered my latest and greatest star attraction. People will come from all over to see her. She must be an ape of some kind, but with straw-like fur. And to top it all off, she’s French!” He removed the cigarette holder and addressed Cassiopeia in the most French he could muster. “Bone jewer, Mad mwah sail, vooh savvy oh beaujelais ojerd hwe?” It was very unimpressive French.

“Say what now?” Cassie said. She thought the man must be one of those rich eccentrics she had read about, what with his dignified looks and unfortunate speech impediment.

“Ah, forgive me, wee lass, I thought you were a native of France. I can see now that you are just a simple farm girl.” He smiled greedily. “You look so worldly, though. Probably can’t wait to grow up and see the world.”

“Yes, sir, when I’m old enough I’m traveling all over the globe. And when I’ve seen all four corners, I’m going to hop on a rocket ship and explore the stars. I was named after a constellation, you know.”

“Ah, don’t tell me, let me guess. Eugene!”

“No, Cassiopeia!”

“That was my second guess. Miss Cassiopeia, if would like to see the world, or at least the most interesting aspects of it, I can show you what I have collected in my circus of oddities. I have shrunken heads, the feet of dragons, dinosaur mufflers, unicorn tears, treasure maps, moon rocks and lava from volcanoes that have laid dormant for centuries. Would you like to see them?” He gestured to the cabin of his boat.

Cassiopeia could not wait to see these treasures. She knew, deep down, that it wasn’t smart to trust a stranger, especially one with a comb over, but she had to see those dinosaur mufflers! What if she had an especially noisy dinosaur sometime in the near future? “Sure!” she said.

“Then, hop on up, young Cassiopeia, you will not be disappointed!” He lowered the gangplank and Cassie hurriedly rushed up. ‘Now, step this way, and I will show you my most valued treasure of all. An ape with fur made of straw.” He opened a door on the side of the cabin and led her inward.

“That’s a funny coincidence, I’m an ape with fu-” the door slammed behind her and the bolt snapped into place. Count Hawkula laughed and laughed.

“I know, my dear girl,” he said. “You are my most recent acquisition.”

And he pulled up anchor and chugged away, as the painting dried in the summer sun. But up in the trees, a familiar talking bird watched and followed. Something about this girl gave her pause. (For those reading aloud, the girl gave her p-a-u-s-e, not p-a-w-s. Being a bird, she has talons, not paws.) Anyhow, Becky followed the river boat, determined to free Cassiopeia and hopefully, set in course the chain of events that will save the world.

Because, seriously, we’re running out of time.

END OF PART NINE

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, PART EIGHT: OH, YES, IT WILL BE PART EIGHT

17 Jun

In the vast, cavernous abandoned warehouse, Trentoteps laughed a low, evil laugh. “Awake at last, and ready to claim what is my birthright! The Earth! Yes, as my dear, departed mother told me every night before tucking me into my sarcophagus, The Earth is truly mine, and all its inhabitants rightly my slaves! They will build pyramids in my honor, and sphinxes in my likeness. They will feed me figs and fan my with palms. Not their hands, but branches, which, okay will be moved about by their hands. But I am getting off topic!

“It will be here, in this conveniently abandoned warehouse that I will form my fortress and begin my hostile takeover of this puny little planet. And no one will be able to stop me. Not when I have my ultra powerful metallic fist of power. Not even- you!” And with that, Trentoteps the Space Mummy pointed his metallic finger at Vincent Fishbein, who had been sneaking sneakily in the shadowy shadows. But it was all for naught!

“You won’t get away with this, you villainous mummy. Aaar!” shouted Vincent Fishbein. “I will see to it your reign of terror is put to a stop before it can even begin. Using my anti heroics and also my supreme kicking skills. Aaar!”

“Ah, you think you can take on the might of the mighty Trentoteps, Mummy of the Moon? I laugh at your feeble attempts, feeble Earth person!” And he did, he totally laughed as Vincent Fishbein attempted to kick him and take him on, Earthling style. To Vincent, his attempts were not feeble in the slightest, but he underestimated the sheer power of Trentoteps. Within seconds, Vincent Fishbein was on the ground. Trentoteps pointed a metallic finger at him, and chanted an incantation, all the while staring deeply into his unpatched eye.

“Now, weak puny little pirate-like man, you will become my slave. You will do everything I command. You will be a self starter, willing to relocate and work overtime. You will not receive any insurance or pension, and you will never retire, until you die! Do you agree to these undeniable terms?”

“Yes, Master,” Vincent Fishbein said in a whispy, whispery whisp of a voice. Whisp? Wisp? I’m going with whisp. Or is it whysp? Whasp? You know what I mean. The point is, Vincent Fishbein was now under the Space Mummy’s power. Trentoteps had his first slave, and it was an anti hero. Would he turn on the mummy? Would he be loyal to the very end?

You guys, I totally did not see this coming. This changes everything, really. Maybe the mummy is more powerful than I thought. We could be in serious trouble. I thought Vincent Fishbein was going to be the hero, you know, redeem himself and all that. The classic story, right? But instead, he crumbled under the pressure like a Dixie cup somebody left on your chair and then you didn’t notice it and sat on it.

But wait! I almost forgot! Hiding in the shadows was Becky, the talking bird. She saw everything, surely she’ll go look for help. And yes, I’m right. There she goes, flying away to find someone to help. Trentoteps is too busy cackling over his newfound slave to notice her green wings flapping frantically in the night sky. But who will she find, and will they be helpful or evil?

I’m guessing helpful.

But I honestly don’t know yet.

This is actually getting to be kind of good.

END OF PART EIGHT

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, PART SEVEN: WILL THINGS START TO HAPPEN?

15 Jun

About now, patient reader of mine, you are most likely wondering, what is taking so long to get this story started? We’ve met characters, we’ve learned some very interesting things about them, it’s all been very well-written as is the case generally, on this blog. But where are all the car chases and the explosions and the kisses and hugs and witty rejoinders? Whither the witty rejoinders?

Well, folks, that’s all about to change. Yes, today’s post will be all about intrigue, excitement, explosions and plenty of witty rejoinders. It will knock your socks off, in fact, even if you are an old person who wears a garter belt! Your heart will race, your stomach will churn. Your insides will be like NASCAR meets the Amana Colonies! (See, because of the racing and the churning and the thing with the thing and…) So, without further ado, let me introduce Part Seven!

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We now return to The Greatest Story Ever Made Up, Part Seven, already in progress.

“Wow!” Vincent Fishbein gasped. “What was that?” His housicopter was parked behind an old, abandoned warehouse. Moments earlier, while Vincent was flying, minding his own beeswax, eating some beeswax dipped in chocolate, the copter had been attacked. Out of nowhere, a foreign object fell right out of the sky and struck the tail, knocking the copter off course and spilling beeswax and chocolate everywhere!

“Brawk! No damage to the tail, brawk!” Becky the talking bird reported.

“Whew! I thought for sure it was done for,” Vincent Fishbein said. “What do you think that was?”

Just then, the abandoned warehouse began to glow a bright blue. A low humming buzz emanated from its walls. “Brawk, I thought you said this was abandoned, brawk!” Becky said.

“It was, last time I checked,” Vincent Fishbein said. “Let’s check it out.” He hopped from the cab of the housicopter and snuck to the window. The warehouse was abandoned, spotless even. No boxes or machinery or even rodents or birds. But in the center of the warehouse was the cause of the blue glow and hum.

It was the Space Mummy. He had found a new home. And it wouldn’t be long before he tried to take over the world!

Seriously, like two days or something.

END OF PART SEVEN

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, PART SIX: STUDENT ASSESSMENT

13 Jun

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Birnbaum,

This letter is to inform you that your daughter, Cassiopeia, is a menace to the mental well-being of my classroom. A menace!

Okay, perhaps menace is a bit harsh. But she is definitely disruptive. In all my one and a half prior years of teaching, I have never, ever, ever, never ever ever come across a student so willful, so brazenly dishonest, so cotton-picking imaginative as she. And I do not cotton to imagination! No cotton-picking cottoning of imagination, me! Let me explain my indignation so you understand it fully, and can punish your offspring in the appropriately strict manner.

Cassiopeia insists that she is a baboon. Okay, she may look a little bit like a smelly, disgusting ape, but her fur is harsh and yellow, like straw. She further went on to explain that her father was a scarecrow. As if this proved anything! She’s a menace, I tell you! A menace!

What’s more, she has a vivid imagination when it comes to storytelling. I asked the students to write a short story for class. Something pleasant and simple, about a little squirrel, perhaps, gathering nuts for the winter. All the other students took my advice and wrote stories about squirrels gathering nuts for winter. Simple, pleasant and very, very easy to grade. But Cassiopeia. Oh, Cassiopeia. She wrote the following story, which I have included in its entirety below. Please note the rampant making stuff upism, odd goings on and sense of fun. Fun! In homework! The idea chills me to the tibias!

THE ROBOT THAT HATED PIZZA!!
BY CASSIOPEIA BIRNBAUM

Once there was a robot named Scott Bot 957. He was just your average gray robot with metal arms and a head shaped like a bucket. His feet were jet packs. But he had no friends. This is because all of the other robots liked to eat pizza and have pizza parties where they all talked about what kind of pizza they liked to eat. Scott Bot 957 did not like pizza at all. He hated the smell of it, he hated the gooiness of it, and most of all, he hated hated hated the taste of it.

Yes, robots have taste buds. This is so that they can taste foods for poisons so that their human friends don’t eat the poison accidentally and die on purpose. In exchange for this, the humans make pizzas for the robots. Because all robots love pizza. All robots except Scott Bot 957.

One day, after years and years of testing food for poison, Scott Bot 957 worked up the courage to tell his human friend Simone Bananapeel his terrible, terrible secret. “Simone Bananapeel,” he said. “I regret to inform you that Scott Bot 957 does not like pizza.” All robots refer to themselves in the third person.

Simone Bananapeel gasped, for she was surprised! “You don’t like pizza? But I thought all robots liked pizza. My whole world view is crumbling like a graham cracker crust!” she exclaimed. “Were you programmed by a crazy moronic type of person?”

“Scott Bot 957 does not believe so. Scott Bot 957 just does not like the taste of pizza. Scott Bot 957 prefers the taste of tacos,” Scott Bot 957 said. And it was true. One time, when tasting a tasty taco for the possibility of poison, Scott Bot 957 realized that he loved the taste of tacos. Hard shell or soft shell, chicken or beef, but especially pork. Lettuce and tomato and cheese and salsa and that green oozy stuff that his computer brain told him was called guacamole.

“Why, Scott Bot 957,” Simone Bananapeel said, “you should have told me before. From now on, I will make you tacos instead of pizza as a reward for tasting my food for poison.” And she did. And Scott Bot 957 introduced tacos to his friends, who, even though they didn’t like them as much as pizza, liked tacos.

THE END

Okay, there is just so much wrong with this story that I can hardly begin to teacherify it and provide a grade to adequately portray my disgust. Robots speak in the third person? What nonsense! Poison in food? Well, I never! Tacos better than pizza? Blasphemy!

As you can see, I am about at my wit’s end here. Your child clearly has issues with reality and with squirrels gathering nuts for the winter. I implore you to discuss these problems with her and instill a sense of normality in this unusual child. Pretty, pretty please with cherries.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Pootypants
Teacher of the grade Cassiopeia Birnbaum is in.

END OF PART SIX

THE GREATEST STORY EVER MADE UP, PART FIVE: THE SPACE MUMMY’S STORY!

10 Jun

You may recall that in the first part of this epic tale of seemingly unrelated threads, we misdirected you to the bowels of the earth, then pulled out the rug and revealed that, no, actually, you were in Outer Space the whole time. And that casket? A Space Mummy’s casket! And those illustrations depicting heroic deeds? Not so much. Those deeds were evil. Evil!

But apart from that, very little was revealed about this Space Mummy. So, let’s get into that a little bit. Because you must have many, many questions about him. Such as, how did he get into space? Why is he so evil? What is his name? How long has he been in that casket, and what was it that caused him to suddenly rise now?

His name is Trentotep, the son of Parsnipides, the Queen of the Lunascape. Several thousand years ago, we’ll just go ahead and say sixty, the Moon was a thriving land, much like ancient Egypt. Except, of course, there was no atmosphere. So, everyone wore space helmets. You know, so their heads wouldn’t explode. Presiding over this land was the great queen Parsnipides. Legend has it her eyes burned like the ash of a clove cigarette, and her brow was permanently furrowed, as if eroded by centuries of pressure from flowing rivers. Except, you know, not. Basically, she was tough as tacos, and not nearly as delicious. Her subjects feared her, but not nearly as much as they feared her son, Trentotep.

Trentotep was mean. Just plain old mean. He used to ride around on moon camels and knock papyrus boxes off with a spaceball bat. He made prank hieroglyphics. He helped little old ladies across the street- in rush hour traffic! He was just a big old ancient Egyptian space bully. And the worst part was, no one was able to put him in his place. They wouldn’t dare, because he had evil super powers. Remember that metallic fist? Yeah, that’s what I’m referring to here. Trentotep used to enforce wedgies, metallic wet willies, deeply painful noogies, third degree burn snake bites, the works. I mean, this guy was just a bad apple.

I don’t want to get too psycho-analyzaly here, but could it have been the fact that he had no father figure? Could it have been the influence of a severe and dictatorial mother? The fact that Mommy never had time for him? All those ancient Egyptian space video games? The angry electric lute music he used to listen to (they had lutes in ancient Egypt, right?) Or was he just inherently evil? I don’t know, and I’m not going to find out. Or maybe I am. Remember, I’m just making this all up as I go. It could make really good filler, come to think of it. We’ll revisit it at another date, anyway. For now, all you need to know is that he was highly powerful and deeply cruel. And when his mother died, choking on a ham sandwich, Trentotep was the rightful heir to the throne. He abolished ham sandwiches and ruled quite literally with an iron fist.

And then, of course, he died. Ruling the Moon was a stressful job, and he had a heart attack. Go figure.

But why is he now awaking? What strange, mysterious power has motivated his return? And what does it portend? All I can reveal is that, in the back of his mind, some switch was flipped on. Something bigger than even he reached down and reanimated this villainous ex-living dictator, for reasons involving fate, destiny and a little bit of boredom. But who was this person, this thing, that has awakened the beast?

Actually, it was me, your Unreliable Narrator.

Sorry, but I was bored.

END OF PART FIVE

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