Uh Oh! Look out! It looks as if Richie has come across a map of Afrika! What'll he do there?..Ah, that's a lame idea... Hmm...God it's hard to right for such a narrow character. From now on, Richie is obsessive compulsive. He starts collections. He collects ice. ..from rich people. He creates a stew of ice....blah...what the hell is that? Alright--Richie is a 'joiner.' He finds himself engaged in the party politics of the Black Panthers...no...the...Young Republi-..No, no...the naz-....eh, no...a political party dedicated to the independence of Hawaii from the U.S...
http://www.hawaii-nation.org/
some say it's a clever ploy to try and manage a free trip to hawaii...
some would be right...
So..this Hawaiin independence thing...Uh, disregard it for right now, as...as it's very important to the story. Just not this one.
the next episode: The Great Meatville KickBall Game.
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 1st through 9th 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.