Chapter: Some Random Chapter after they kill a character and need to bust Perry out of prison.

(Unfinished)

And, for the purposes of this next chapter, I couldn’t remember what character we were going to kill off, so I randomly decided to kill off ‘John the Nihilist.’

Perry couldn’t have done this! The children decided it was time to take action.

"We’ve got to do something!" cried MRAT.

Richie took out a chunk of meat he had been saving in his pocket for quite awhile, and began snacking away at it.

"You nimbawit!" shouted MRAT, the smarter of the two, "We need to go help out Perry! Our friend from afar!"

"ahA!" cried Richie, and the two were off to the jail.

The two went up to the stately jail-house, which was positioned on a hill in just a way as to look as if part of it was falling off the edge. As a matter of fact, it was. The floor gave out months ago, and so anyone on the left side of the house would no doubt fall out of the house, and into a large stream-lake that streamed out 5 miles from the jail, all the way to a candy factory.

Richie and M-Rat walked up to the creeky door and rang the doorbell seven and a half times before finally being greeted by the door-greeter-man.

"Hey, what’s happening?" said the door-greeter-man in an upbeat but scratchy voice, as he puffed his cigar violently.

"Uh, is this the…antique house?" asked M-Rat in a scared tone.

"Nope. It’s the jail-house." Said the happy door-greeter-man.

"Oh. Good! That’s what we’re looking for!" cried the two children in unison.

"Awesome! Come on in!" shouted the door-greeter-man as he lead them into a ballroom with balloons covering up all the walls, loud music playing, and at least 30 people dancing.

"What’s going on?" asked M-Rat, who had only heard about jails from books.

"What does it look like, dude?" insisted the door-greeter-man, "It’s a paaarrrttyyy!" he shouted at the top of his smoke-filled lungs.

"Oh!" said Richie. "I don’t understand!"

"It’s ok, my inferior companion, I’ve read about them in books…just play along." She said as she started shaking and quivering compulsively.

"Oh. Yeah I know." She Richie, playing along as he started to jump awkwardly and gyrate gracelessly to the music being played.

"I think we’re part of the social scene here!" said M-Rat as she stumbled her way to the wall, pulling Richie along with her."

"What are you doing?" asked Richie to his more intelligent counterpart.

"Isn’t it blatantly obvious, you dumbleheaded lumox?" she grouched at him, "I’m trying to find the prisoners! That way we can find Perry!"

The boy nodded as the slowly felt the wall through the balloons, hoping to find a door. Failing, the two realized they hadn’t really tried yet, and that their sense of motivation needed some definite improvement. So they started up again.

The whole thing caught the attention of the door-greeter-man, who couldn’t help but notice the children were poking around on him, as, they thought he was a door.

"Hey, what’s up?" he asked in a scruffy, happy tone.

"Oh, we’re looking for the prisoners." Said Richie.

The door-greeter-man’s jaw dropped. He straightened up and threw his cigar on the floor. The music stopped and everyone turned around to stare at the two stupid children.

"Why would you want to go into the prison?" he asked.

"Because we’re looking for our friend, Perry Jr!" exclaimed Richie in an annoyingly squeely tone.

The party-goers in the background gasped. The door-greeter-man coughed. A small squirrel peaked it’s head out of Richie’s pocket.

"Perry Jr! That terrible person! He’s a murdererer."

"Who’d he murder?" screamed a voice from the background.

The door-greeter-man turned around to respond, "John the Nihilist."

"Oh," said the voice, "that’s a shame."

"I guess…" said the door-greeter-man.

"Yeah, well, he didn’t really do it!" said M-Rat. In fact, he’s so innocent, that he could start a fire with his heart!"

The people all looked impressed. Scratch that. The simple people all looked impressed.

"Well," started the smoke-clouded voice of the door-greeter-man, "I’m afraid I can’t help you. Rules are rules. You kids can’t go into the prison free."

The two children protested once more, then left sadly.

"Oh, Richie. How are we going to rescue are companion?" moaned M-Rat as the two walked slowly down the hill the prison was on.

"Commit a crime."

"But Richie I-…Hey, that’s not a bad idea, friend!" the girl said.

"But where to start. Where to start…" thought Richie, "Hey, I got it!" he exclaimed. "We could go razz the high-hat blind kid. Push him over or something. You know, show him what we’re made of."

"On the up and up, Richie. Don't take any wooden nickels." Said M-Rat, implying the stupidity of the hate-crime.

"Good point," Said Richie, "but we gotta get pinched by a pig somehow, right?" he said, implying the necessity to be arrested.

"Waddaya say we go over to the statue on Main Street, spray paint it, and then get caught." Said M-Rat, not asking.

"Let’s go!" responded Richie as the two ran to the hardware store as fast as their stupid little legs would carry them.

The two eventually obtained a can of paint. (They misunderstood the concept of spray paint. They thought the point was to get a big bucket of paint, sip as much as they could into their mouths, and then spit it onto a flat surface, creating ART.

"You go first." Said M-Rat, obviously taking a leadership role. "Excuse me, was that an insult?" asked M-Rat, the more idiotic member of the group. "Hey! I’m not the dumber of the two. As a matter of fact, I’d say I’m the smarter of the two!" said M-Rat in her stupidest voice ever. "Hey! I didn’t say that in a stupid voice! I think the narrator is getting grouchy."

"Yeah! Grouchy!" said Richie, quick to agree with anyone so he doesn’t look indecisive. "Hey! Watch it!" shouted Richie, in a voice that demonstrated the boy’s obvious cowardice.

M-Rat looked around. "Let’s just ignore him." The girl said stupidly.

"Yeah. Let’s just spray paint. I’ll go first." Said the boy. The ugly boy.

The boy got down on his knees, picked up the large yellow bucket of blue, green, red and yellow paint that the two had just purchased and mixed together. He slurped up a bunch of the paint, swallowed some of it, and spit the rest out onto the face of the great Meatville statue. A dirty, blood-ugly mix of throat-juice lay on the surface of the large metal edifice. Boy was it stupid.

"Hey, that’s enough!" shouted M-Rat in an ugly voice. "Ugly? How was it ugly?!?!" she pleaded in an unanswerable manner. "Unanswerable? What? I-…You know what, fine! I don’t care. I’m going to ignore you. Come on Richie, let’s get away from this narrator. He’s kind of a jerk and he smells bad." Said Richie. Sniff.

The two ran away from the scene of the crime just as a police car drove up.

"Hey what’s going on here?!" said the evil pig as he eyed the bucket of paint and the suspicious narrator. "Hey, who you calling evil?!" said the cop in a voice that implied brutality. "What?! You’re under arrest! Get in the car!" said the cop as he stuffed the innocent narrator into the cop car in a mean and blatantly corrupt way.

Three less-than-average meals and a poor night sleep later, two children joined narrator in his decrepit little cell with barely a window.

"Yeah," said M-Rat, as she struggled to find a seat in the cramped little room, "we became terrorists."

"Phone terrorists!" shouted Richie.

"We threw buckets of water onto the telephone wires. And then we cut them down. With terrorism." Said M-Rat.

But why throw water on them as well?

"I don’t know. Shut up. If you’re so smart, why are you still in prison?" asked M-Rat. Touché…

But before too long, the group of youngsters were aloud to walk around outside in the courtyard. It was their where they met their friend, Perry.

"PERRY JR!" shouted M-Rat and Richie.

"Richie and M-Rat!" shouted Perry Jr. in a raspy, allergic voice.

"How is it going?" asked M-Rat.

PERRY JR!" shouted Richie again, forgetting that the conversation had since progressed from name-shouting.

"It’s ok. I’ve been working on a way to get outta here." He said in a strained, tired voice.

"Oh?" asked Richie and M-Rat.

"Indeed," Said the ‘Man with Spectacles,’ "I have deduced that the other half of the jail has no floor. Seeing as this prison is placed on the edge of a mountain, if we could somehow get to the other side of the prison we could get out. But below us is an ocean. So we’d have to swim. Or perhaps we could find a hidden tunnel below the prison that could deliver us safely to safety." Explained Perry Jr.

"Hmm…Well, I don’t mind swimming." Said M-Rat.

"I do. But I’ll do it." Stated Richie, uneventfully.

"So how do we get to other side of the prison."

"We walk." Said Perry Jr.

"Why didn’t you do it yourself before we got here to bust you out?"

"Eh, it was kind of a long ways away."

"How far away?" asked Richie.

"Like a couple blocks or so. Past the Sub-Hut."

"There’s a Sub-Hut?" shrieked the two kids excitedly.

"Yeah, next to the Shoe-Zoo. Prisoners aren’t the most eager group of people to buy shoes on a daily basis, so I think they’re going to close that place down soon… But yeah, let’s get out of here."

hip to the jive

milquetoast

(the following is one of the first VonStubing stories, written 11-25-99)

©

The

VonStubing

Story

Time Traveling Fun Starring Richie and Margarat VonStubing and Perry Jr.!

PROLOGUE: Meet the characters: Hello and welcome. Welcome to 1984. This story begins

with two equally dimwitted kids from Meatville, USA! The names of these dears are RICH

and MARGERAT VonStubing. Our two friends share the benefits of living next to a junkyard,

ingenious meat-eating skills and electronic know-how. AHHHHHH! OH THE TOM-

FOOLERY!

Joining Margerat and Rich are Daddy, Uncle Bob from next door, and a magical

butterfly that talks to them and shares secrets with them. Oh, uh…and also a crazy old man

and some neighbor kids. Some very annoying neighbor kids. And I underline VERY.

Welcome to a novel of time traveling adventure and intrigue.

EPISODE I: THE PHANTOM BRAKFAST!!! AHHHH!

Let's set the scene. The two kids are in their basement, playing Nintendo.

"YEAH, super-fun!" shouted Margerat (who incidentally will off and on be called M-rat, as is

her childhood nickname).

"Hooray for Copyrighted video games in which we're currently playing! HAZAA!" said her

brother, Rich, calmly. [On another note, Richie has a secret mustard addiction he wants to

keep kind of quiet and he'll thank you not to mention it]

"Kids! Come and eat your super-un-tasty breakfast! We wouldn't want you to starve to

death…again!" called their dad speaking without thinking what the meanings of all the words

he spoke really meant, as people often do.

"Sure thing, Dad," answered Richie.

"Right away, Super-Pop!" added Margerat.

The Two then left the scene up to the next level of the house, with the stairs being

thoroughly used to the greatest benefit one could hope for. While being walked on, the

stairs smiled in delight in having their life's purpose fulfilled with each glorious, rewarding

step.

"What's for Breakfast, Dad?" inquired Margerat.

"MEAT, of course. What do we have every morning, stupid?" her Dad said politely.

"Oh, of course, but Daddy, we've never had Breakfast before," said Richie. He had a point.

"Oh…Shut Up, you. So, what are you going to do on this fine, lovely day, Kids?" asked

Daddy as he served them their food.

"We're going to go to the junkyard, dad," answered Margerat as she did her best to cope with

the odd-but fun meal laid before her. Each meal was a brand new challenge just waiting to

"What for?" inquired the Dad.

"To collect JUNK!" said Rich, rather irritated at the feeble-witted question.

Richie and M-rat then went on their weekly junkyard junk scramble.

was definitely having a good time. M-rat was also, but then she stopped for a second. She

dropped what she was holding with both hands some dirty glass, with a sufficiently large

dent in the center, window she picked up. Luckily it didn't break.

He noticed something shiny near his sister and started toward her. He happened to be on a

huge mound of trash towering above the ground where his sister stood. Rich dug his foot

out of the can it was currently reserving, but it wouldn't budge. He struggled with the crazy

foot, but the foot wouldn't move. He pulled harder and faster…but the foot stood it's ground.

For an ordinary human being this task of removing one's own foot would require patients,

fast reflexes, and a sense of leadership. But not for Richie. No sir-y. He was an

extraordinary human being. He was trained for such a reoccurrence. He knew what to do.

He threw himself off the towering trash heap. He fell off the pile of debris that reached great

heights. He fell downwards, head first. Much in the same fashion one would expect to see a

camel pushed off a sand dune of very steep measures, heaved by the camel's own master,

a drunken desert patrol man in search of land, nearly giving up, when….wait a

second…there's a settlement right over there! Beyond that hill over their! Realizing that the

transportation you used to require is no longer necessary, by what other means should one

propose to make an ending of to this hassle of a Demeaning vehicle, for it'll just require more

work than it's worth.

Richie fell to the lower layer, in which his sister now inhabited, and found that the

bucket was no longer a problem. For it must have found a new home. As for the fact that

Richie's foot made a great home, any small rodent or bacteria would be a fool to not consider

it, Richie just wasn't willing to have more than what he had now occupying his foot, which

was him, a hermit crab that lived on the end of the shoe, a countless number of small insects

ranging from the viceroy to the moth, with the two exceptions of stink beetles and dead bugs

not being permitted to having the honor of being accepted into such a nice home.

Anyway, Richie examined his surroundings and found where Margerat was at. Sure

enough, it was a piece of glass. With a heavy coating of dust, an ink stain and…was

good as a sufficient crack…hmmmmm. Rich's thoughts were interrupted as Margerat

started speaking.

"Rich, don't you ever get tired of junk collecting?"

"Shut-up! Never question…The Routine!" he shot back.

"Oh…all right, don't untie your goat! I just meant that maybe sometime we should do

something with this junk. We could be much more content if we had a life's aim."

"What could make us more gratified than prodding around sinisterly in the trash compound?"

disputed her brother.

"I was reading a book the oth…

"You? read of book? Thats dangerously uncool… get with the 80's-Square!" remarked the

young boy.

"I know, I know, I'm just a stupid jerk. But anyway, how would you like to go into the patient,

yet lucrative business of fishery?" the girl suggested.

"Yeah!!! Let's go!"

"Go where?"

"The library of course- to learn more about fish-making!"

And off they went.

Walking into the dingy brick building, the VonStubings felt slightly out-of-place.

"So, this is the fishery." Said Richieboy.

"No, nincompoop, this is the library," answered M-rat.

"How do we use this entity, anyway?"

"Well, I read a book about a library once, and I think… uh…I…don't recollect."

"Oh no now we are doomed." gloomed Rich.

"Hello and welcome, my small illiterate friends, welcome to this palace of knowledge I

call…The Library," the librarian cackled evilly.

"Yes, Ma'am. We need to learn more about fish." Said Margerat, a little spooked by the

distinct cobwebs implanted into the lady's hair.

"Come right this way my dear."

+++

Three hours and a few juice breaks and a chat with an enchanted donkey later, the children

sat with disappointed looks on their faces.

"100,000 books and not one on fishes," commented M-rat.

"Actually, there are 105 books on fish, but they are all checked out at the moment. Quite the

popular subject among you young people lately," acknowledged the librarian.

"Gee whiz." cried M-rat.

"Oh no, you get out of my library with that kind of dirty language," shouted the disapproving

adult.

"Oh Margarat, when will you ever learn," scolded her brother.

On their way out, an angry library champion threw a book which hit Richie's head. Stunned,

the boy turned around to get a glimpse of the sharp, dangerously pointy object.

"Timmy Travel," read Margarat, the more schooled of the two. "I shall bring this book home."

Later at home, the two were still studying the book. Of course by "studying" I mean

examining the cover, these aren't the brightest apples in the bunch.

"What's that you've got there, kids?" asked Daddy.

"It followed me home, Dad, I swear!"

"No, I mean the book! I care nothing for the squirrel you are obviously hiding."

"Oh," sighed the children, very much relieved and pushing Nutty back out of view, just in

case.

"It's a book. We got it at the library."

"What's it about?"

"I don't know, but it has a blue cover."

"I didn't know you kids had a library card."

"Uhh…so Dad, want to read the book to us, now?"

"You can read."

"Oh, I forgot." They slowly opened the cover. Inside told the tale of Timmy Machine, or so

they guessed, their attention spans were slightly on the diminutive side. [note to reader: title

in actuality is Time Travel, not Timmy Travel].

"Richie! I have a brilliant idea!"

"About the book?"

"No it's just a random idea. Lets build a device to allow us to go to the impending future.

We can use the many tons of junk we have accumulated."

"Yeah!" Richie agreed excitedly. Of course, he would've agreed excitedly at any idea

whatsoever that someone got whether it be to travel back in time or….spray paint the Eiffel

Tower with purple and lavender stripes. But as luck would have it, this idea was illegal. The

town of Meatville which our heroes reside in has a strict ordinance about time travel. After

an old man named R. Gareny came back from the past, altering the entire town, using this

just as an experiment. If it worked, he would go back in time and steal all the television sets

and all forms of electronic communication in peoples' homes. For this man was against

science (which actually should contradict R. Gereny's whole time traveling experience for

him, but he didn't let it bother him) But, fortunately, the town stopped this agent of evil and

gave him a time out….in prison. Anyway, so the town had strict Time Traveling Guidelines.

INSERT HERE Time Traveling Guidelines.

JUNKYERD:

I'm gonna' skip this part, come back later…

TIME MACHINE:

"So, M-rat, ya' think this time device is going to work?" asked a confused Richie.

"Ah, don't be daft, if you're gonna' call it anything, identify it by it's real name! It's not a 'time

invention'….(loud sigh) it's a 'time machine.'"

"Oh." Richie laughed, then thought about this for a second…then laughed some more.

"Well, I'm sure stupid."

"yeah, but it's okay. Luckily I'm here to make sure you don't screw up anything!… So

anyway, back to work, okay?" She looked serious. "Now, hand me that monkey tapered bolt

thingy and that orange looking quadratic thingy." Richie did as he was told. He was sure

happy to be with such a brainiac as M-rat. As Richie glanced over to M-rat, he noticed her

picking her ear. There was something stuck in there…. She used an electrical apparatus that

had a spinning end. It was probably a drill. She stuck it in her ear. It rotated her ear around and

around. This continued on for about 8 minutes or so, when suddenly a corkscrew came out the

other ear. Success. Now it was time to activate the time machine.

"It's done!" cried m-rat.

"It is? Well, uh…where, uh, is it?" Richie looked baffled. Surely an intelligent person

such as his sister wasn't playing tricks on the lad. If anything, he was playing a swindle on

himself. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. It did that a lot. Like one day, as Richie

was programmed (no, he's not a robot, just easy to convince) by his father to get the mail

everyday at exactly 12:00 noon, one day he went to go get the postal delivery, 1 minute late, and

the mail never came! And it was supposed to come! Well, the next day, Monday, the mail

came. It took Richie months to figure this one out, but then one day he found an explanation.

The mail really was there, his mind just couldn't see it. He got extra mail the next day, which

meant it stayed there, he just couldn't see it with his eyes. The extra mail could've been a result

that it was his and his sister's birthday, simultaneously, but of course it wasn't, and they usually

got lots of

mail, but oh well…. I'm not really going anywhere with this….

Chapter 2 Kidnapped

M-rat and Richie decided to go to the future.

"But Richie, shouldn't we go tell Dad we won't be home for supper because we are going to

the future?" said M-rat.

"No silly. When we get back from the future we can just go back in time a little and tell him

then."

"Hi," said a second M-rat, instantaneously appearing next to them.

"Howya doin," remarked the second Richie.

"Hi guys," said M-rat number one, "Would you mind telling Dad we won't be home for

supper?"

"Okay, but I bet you are going to miss some good meat." The second pair walked away.

"Well, Sis, let's go!" So with a twitch of her ear, the siblings rocketed off into time.

Somewhere in the time tunnel, it occurred to the two that they did not know where they were

going.

"Where are we going M-rat?" Richie shouted through the buzzing time wind and rapid

glowing lights that passed them. They jumped onto a sofa that crossed their path.

"Why didn't you think of that before we left Richie?"

"I dunno."

The large mass of the sofa slowed them down enough that they were able to see the objects

they passed. They had been going about the speed of light, now they were slowed to just

under that.

"What would you do without me." M-rat used her lightning-quick reflexes to grab hold of a

computer that was going by just then.

"Now if I can just hack into the central time control… ah here we go. Scan for time travel

password… imput…database three…modulation import diameter six…

scanning…………wow these time computers sure are slow…password…bluemonkey! Yes,

we're in! Now, dear brother, to what time in the future shall we journey to?"

"How does 2010 sound?" A flying wig whizzed by.

"Okay 1999 it is!"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Thump. M-

rat and Richie rolled out of the time portal, doing triple somersaults and ending in a perfect

pirouette stance.

"Look, there's a robot!" They rushed up to a very realistic humanoid robot. From the label

on his collar they guessed that his name was Perry Jr.

"Hel-lo Pe-rr-y Joo-ni-or," said Margerat.

" …" he didn't respond.

"He must need his batteries charged," suggested Richie.

"Go to hell!" shout Perry Jr.

"Oh no, this Robot must be on the wrong setting." M-rat attempted to change the setting by

twisting the robot's "nose." She figured that this "nose" was the robot's "brain."

Richie remarked, "The future sure is weird, I wonder why they make such ugly robots?"

Suddenly, Perry Jr.'s metallic hand swung out and hit the young lad.

"I'm not a robot you simpleton, I am Perry Jr., Royal Ruler of the Galaxy. The two time

travelers dropped to the ground and bowed to his highness.

"Actually I'm just a big liar. I have a problem that consists of telling good visitors from the

past such as you simpletons, that I am the Royal Ruler of the Galaxy."

"You obviously you have divine right… uh what?"

"Oh nothing," answered Perry Jr. "Duck!"

A flying car zoomed by, almost hitting Richie. The rude flyers-by threw a cup out the window and

it Richie right on the skull as blue liquid poured out of it and nearly drenched his entire ugly

wardrobe.

"My real claim to fame is my dad wiped out all the mosquitoes in '93," continued Perry.

"Wha? Oh, I'm glad to hear that," said Richie, "Those Skeeters really give me a hard time.

Especially since I insulted their Queen."

"What?" wondered M-rat.

"Oh nothing, I think it must have been just a dream. It was so lifelike though. And the way

the mosquitoes tortured me in the Great Pit of Lava…"

"What?"

"Oh never mind."

"Let's go get some Ice Cream," said Perry Jr., eager to change the subject.

"Yuck! I hate Ice Cream."

"Same here."

"Shut up. In the '80s they found deadly bacteria in the Ice Cream causing people to turn into

freaks. That's been fixed and now in the 90s there are only certain types of bacteria in there,

you know, the good kind. The kind that helps me and hopefully others with my homework

and talks to me in my sleep," said Perry Jr. It was a realistic innovation of the '90s. If

anything, ice cream should be on the top of the list of things to improve in the new

decade. That and pigs. You know, on the farm. They're just too fat. Improve them. Take

away their delightful cute pink skin if you must but at least improve on the smell.

"Oh yeah, that kind of Ice Cream." M-rat commented. Rather louder than she'd hoped.

"You knew about it?"

"Yes. I'm psychic you know." Answered M-rat.

"You are?"

"All my life."

"Hmmm… that's interesting. I'm sure that comes in handy when you're playing rat poker."

"Yeah…uh, you can just imagine." M-rat thought nothing of asking what rat-poker was, as

she figured it was probably just some fundamental game of the future depending on one's

luck across a table of players ranging from the depressed talking-purple alligator; to the

commonly found noble-prize winning fungus-in-a-see-through-jar with a very suspicious

looking grin; to the contempt, but ugly, underground cheese working village gnome.

Margerat hardly considered asking about it, for it seemed unworthy a question to ask for the

risk of appearing foolish in front of another human being. Anyway, this wasn't just any

human being, no. This was Perry Jr.

The group was suddenly interrupted by a speeding hover-car about to hit them…again. This

car was un-like the other, however, it was golden with a hint of purple on the sides. The

power generator kept on whizzing on contemptly, as though nothing had happened. The

proppellant thrust core was of usual activity, not to mention it's brand new-state of the art

Modulation Activation Flux Re-sythesizer, used only in the state of a wide emergency un-like

the present situation. The main core block detention pig-o-meter was pig-o-meting at full

throttle, as was normally expected in the future…Yes, the future was behaving as it normally

did, yet Richie and M-rat's heads were spinning, much more than usual!

"WooooooOOOOOooooooooOOOOOOOOoooooooHHH!" cried out Richie and Margerat at

the same time as the flying convertible car thing was zooming by their almost-burnt heads.

"Come on, I'll take you to my house."

"RIGHT!" said M-rat.

"Right! To the boy's house!" said Richie, trying to be part of things. They quickly got out

of the center of the 13 lane highway that Perry Jr. lead them into…

"Oh, sister, will we ever get along in this crazy world?"

"ah… Don't, uh, don't ask me, okay, my clod-ish friend?

"Why, what do you mean exactly by clod-ish, dear sister?"

"Exactly what you think it means!"

"Well, you're nothing but a…a bumble-headed lummox!"

"Gasp…I am insulted by your tone, sir."

"I'm sorry, I'M SORRY! It'll never, ever-ever happen again!" said Richie, very sorry by his

rude tone. Even if one calls you clod-ish, one must never strike back by sinking to a lower

level and calling one lummox. That just wasn't proper in the '80's Handbook.' A handbook

the family of friends shared as a bible in the Vonstubing household.

"Okay. I understand. After all, how could an individual of such appropriately inacurate

speaking patters have a grudge held against him such as you?"

"Point well taken." Rich agreed.

"I love you, Richie!"

"I love you, M-rat!" the two then hugged each other, joyously. Perry Jr. noticed that since

hugging looked like so much fun, he'd take part in the festivity. The three hugged in the

middle of the city, oblivious to the people around them, the groups that walked by, among

them were some dozen nameless human beings, four and a half lizards, a pig that walked

by, and a herd of clowns. (Yes, I'm mentioning clowns aside from the people category

because I don't think they count as real people.)

How could an individual with such inappropriate brain mass such as yourself.

>>>Believe recording your voice on a tape recorder takes away your voice.

You didn’t actually read that entire story did you?!!! Wow, you must REALLY have no life. But anyway, we got tired of writing it, so you decide what happens.

The two kids trolled into the small quizical building with much trepidation. This wasn't a normal day, so they weren't in a normal mood. This was a NEW day, so they were in a NEW mood. And neither of the scamps knew what to make of it.

Richie: "Hey 'rat. Why are we crashing this joint?" He was trying to sound "cool." It was the new Richie. Hopefully a bit better than the old one.

M-Rat: "Book lookin'" was all she said. She had aways been known for her brevity, thought the lingering guard bees fondly (and proudly). Oh, if only Nutty were here to see her now.

Richie: "Oh Mrat, if only Nutty were here to see us now."

M-rat "You're right chap, we are so NEW and smart. We even know how to enter the library now. Our friends the guard bees don't have to lead us, or sting us."

"I miss nutty," a p-asser-by sighed wistfully. Then left abruptly.

The 'twins' were squeemishly annoyed by this greasy nostalgia. "Eeeeew... its in my hair" exclaimed Richie. "Lets talk about soemthing else. Like toads."

"DAMN IT RICHIE WILL YOU LAY OFF THE FROG OBSESSION!!!!" intoned M-Rat, clearly at her wits' end.

"Hey 'Rat, I forgot why we are approaching the book-filled chamber." said Richie, ignoring the remark and choosing to silently deny any such thing as a silly frog obsession. Reaching into his bookbag he gave Toady a squeeze for reassurance. He wasn't an obsessive frog-lover, MargaRAT just had a few screws loose. He gave Toady (exactly) 5 more squeezes for good luck. Nasty old 'Rat, he thought defensively.

"Well Rich," the girl responded cheerfully, "We are going book lookin'."

"Oh," responded Richie.

It was the big tri-league kick ball game: all the neighbor kids came outside to show off their boss skills. It was an important event that happened at least once a year.

There was Trudy the Pickle: the bipolar kid that always seemed to get to second base, but wears out emotionally after that. That, coupled with depression, kept him from getting much farther than second bass on most occasions.

John the Moccasin: a freckled, fidgety little nothing that actually has a strange, unnecessary fear of circles. He’s not very good at sports, coincidentally. He’s a nerd. He has the technical know-how.

Then there’s Timmy the Torture-Bug: Called as such because he often stops bullying all the other-rag-tag sports-friends to go torture bugs. But…when he isn’t distracted, he makes a pretty mean quarter back. Trouble is, this isn’t football. This is kick ball. But he’s pretty good at that too. He’s pretty good at everything. He’s like the male version of M-RAT. Only, uh…more…torture-happy?

Berry The Bat: a Trendy Young Go-Getter. No one really understands what he’s talking about. Is he a hit – man? And if so, who does he want to take for a ride?

Persey: a good-for-nothing, shameless bastard without a personality. Prefers the name Rob, but doesn’t want to be choosy.

Ace: the Star of kickball. The-non-gender-specific heart-throb.

Louise: Famous Bob-Mertz’ Secretary, when she’s not pampering the flesh rotting bastard Mertz, she’s known to play a little bit of the old kickball. Age: unknown.

"Alright, Gang! What’s the teams?" spoke John the moccasin in a fidgety, laughable voice.

"I’m captain," said Trudy.

"Oh, you’re all wet!" said Richie, "And too bi-polar! Timmy’s better!"

Timmy, realizing, but not quite respecting Richie’s ass-kissing, applauded the young chap and then spoke forcefully, "Yep. I’m da boss. Ace, Louise, Persey, Richie…and…Berry the Bat."

"We want Berry the Bat." Said Trudy.

"Okay, Okay. Don’t pull a brass-knuckle! We get him 1^st through 9^th innings…then, if there’s time, you get him after that."

"It’s a deal!" cried Richie, eager to appease Timmy.

"It’s my turn to pick!" cried Trudy.

"But I just picked half the people here. You get the second half!"

"Aww, Gee Whiz! Lemme pick, Boss!" Cried Trudy, "Let’s see…Let’s see…whos’ left? Uh..." Persey, John the Moccasin, Perry Jr., and M-Rat raised their hands. "Hmm…Alright…PJ, you’re over here…Uh…M-Rat…John the Moccasin, and….hmm, doesn’t look there’s anyone else here…"

Persey squealed annoyingly.

"…Hmmm….I don’t…see anyone else here who matters…alright, that’s all." Trudy said in a thick bi-polar accent.

"So we playin for voot?" asked Berry the Bat.

"I ain’t gotta lotta bread, if you know what I mean." Said…one of the others.

"You’re stupid. Let’s fight." Said Timmy. "I want to torture you as if you were a mosquito with wings still attached to your body." He spoke to Richie.

"Hey! Quit razzing him! He’s only a little boy!" shouted M-Rat, obviously misinterpreting her same-aged twin.

"I’ll cream ya, I’ll cream ya, rummy!" said Richie as fiercely as possible, referring to the contraband bottle of Gin Fritz that Timmy had in his ugly overalls.

"Alright. Here’s the bet. We beat you, I’ll let you live. You beat us, then I’ll give you a taste of my dad’s bathtub gin."

{insert picture of sweaty, hairy, naked man in a bathtub full of alcohol, holding up a full bottle, toasting the air, with a caption at the bottom that reads, "Drink it all in a bathtub!"}

"Bet’s on!" cried Richie in an annoyingly angry voice.

The ten lads—no, nine lads (Persey didn’t really matter in this game) yes, the nine lads went to their sides.

"Oh boy, I don’t really like this Timmy the Tool." Said Richie to his fellow-team mates.

"Hey! Don’t be such a high-hat, Richie! You ain’t nothing but a rag-dandy doo-flop! We’re on the same team, remember?"

"Oh…hmm...that doesn’t really seem to uh…"

"No, it…it really doesn’t make much sense, seeing as we’re betting against each other…" said Timmy as he picked up an ant and shoved it down his own throat angrily.

"Hmm…" said Richie.

"Well, I’m still gonna cream ya!" said Timmy the Tumbleweed-Timmy the…the Torture Bug.

"Hey, don’t putz around, fellas! We got a game to win!" said Ace, the non-gender-specific heart throb, as he stepped up to the plate and kicked the kick ball to the outfield. M-Rat tried to get it, but tripped on her shoes and fell over. The ball, flying threw the air, hit M-Rat, as she fell to the ground; the ball richoched and flew back to hit and kill Louise.

"Yeah, and I’m gonna beat you, Richie!" said Tim-Tim as he prepared to go and kick the kick-ball.

"Make it a snap-fly-doodle," insisted Berry the Bat.

And he kicked it high. So high. So very high. It didn’t seem to come down.

"Point!" cried Persey, the self-appointed goal-administrator.

Meanwhile… the other team seemed to be losing to this kick-ball powerhouse.

"Is there something we can do?" Asked M-Rat, in her bossy but desperate voice.

"I can invent something that will capture that ball that they just hit into the air!" exclaimed John the Moccasin, in a voice that would have anyone assume he’d been preparing to say something like that for that least fifteen minutes.

"I call it the Insta-Game-Winner!" he said as he pulled out a metal disc from his pocket. "Let’s use it, now." He said to M-Rat.

They both turned it on, and a jet back seemed to grow from the simple, young nerd’s back.

"Why is my back not winged and grotesque?" said M-Rat.

"You have to activate the power-core from within the device. Hold my hand."

The girl did as instructed. Instantly, wings flew out from her back. Or rather, flew her out from the wings on her back…Anyway they both had wings now. And they flew away. Up, up, into the sky, like stupid winged frogs amidst the airy air of the breeze-land we like to call, the SKY.

"I think we’re alone now." Said the John the Nerdy Moccasin.

"Now where is that ball." Said M-Rat.

"Oh look, there’s an armadillo!" said the nerd to M-Rat, "a winged-armadillo. I’ve read about those. You know, in books?"

"Wow." Said M-Rat. The nerd obviously knew his stuff, she thought.

"Oh look, there’s the ball." He said as a metallic arm extended from the back of his jet pack to grab onto the ball.

"Awesome. We’re gonna win the big game! This is a cool jet-pack device!"

"I couldn’t have used it without you, Magerat.."

The girl looked around. "Let’s go back down now."

The two exported themselves back to the Earth world, to find a myriad of giant robots shooting lazers out their giant robot eyes at strange, unusually ugly old man playing kickball.

"Oh no! cried M-Rat!" cried M-Rat! "A thousand years has passed!"

"No, M," he said as he stripped off her glasses, "you were just wearing-future goggles. You know, the ones that let you see what will happen in the future…."

Back on the Earth world, life was going okay.

"Woof! Woof!" Cried Timmy to Persey, in an attempt to intimidate the little scamp.

"Hey you better shut up," said Persey, "my dad’s a cop. And as soon as he catches you for something, he’s gonna lock you and your no-good dad up. Behind bars!" he said in a whispy voice.

"You’ll never catch me. And you’ll never catch my dad! He locks himself in his speaky-easy we got going down in the basement every Friday night with about 30 people…and there ain’t nothing you can do about it!"

"Hey guys, we caught the ball!" cried that stupid nerd who was…just in space…

"W-w-w-w-what?" cried Persey, the self-proclaimed kick-ball ambassador, "what do you mean we?"

"Me and my very, very good friend M-Rat. We’re a team."

M-Rat burped loudly.

"Well, I guess that means you win the game then." Cried Persey, the self-proclaimed rules-changer/jerk.

"Yep. Guess so." Said Richie, content.

"Oh man, you guys were the bees’ knees out there!" exclaimed Timmy the Torture bug in an unusually amiable tone of voice, "you gotta show me some of those moves, man!"

"Anytime, friend…." Said Richie, in a voice that let everyone know, hey, I’m bad, But I’m also nice…."Anytime…."

"I guess friendship wins again!" said a small little boy, an annoying little boy, who always seemed to be filled to the brim with wisdom beyond his years.

The remaining living members of the two teams attacked the rude little boy with unrelenting rage until the boy’s disheveled body was curled up into such a mutilated position so as to allow the boy to taste his own spine. He kind of had it coming.

"RICHIE, M-RAT…Time for MEEE-AAATT!" sang the tired, aged voice of the one the children knew only as Daddy. The delightfully dim-witted duo scampered off to go eat meat. They’d worked up quite an appetite. An appetite for MEAT.

THE END.