A Metaphysical Interpretations of the Memoirs of Peter Jennings (a.k.a.”Lemons”)

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Open your mind! Open your heart! Allow yourself to succumb to the dark, sprawling forces of your sub-conscious! Accept the true, pan-dimensional reality of existence, feel the mass consciousness shared by all life transcend through your soul! Tear down the walls! Open up outside of yourself, know that we are all one, and appreciate life and the universe from the greater perspective! On second though, don’t. Just read this story.

Prologue: 5 years ago….

Sheldon was at a local Madison used bookstore, nonchalantly browsing what the tiny place had to offer, hoping that maybe he would come across a Douglass Adams book or something. In the back of his head he was pondering what he perceived as his mundane, unfulfilled life, for which this bookstore trip was temporarily therapeutic.

It was there that he unexpectedly saw her-Danielle Bates-the girl of his dreams. He had secretly fallen in love with her ever since he had first laid eyes on her in Biology class about a year ago. Ever since then he had silently gazed in her, in awe, and even in admiration. She was the very essence of beauty, of perfection. Through watching her he slowly began to know her or so he thought at least. She was the art school student type, who read books constantly, created what he saw as absolutely magnificent drawings, and seemed far wiser than Sheldon could ever be.

Physically, Sheldon saw her as the most stunningly beautiful creature ever to grace the planet. In reality, most people would have probably rated her “average” at best, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. She was about 5 foot 10, with an average-sized chest, with the shape of her body not quite thin but not chubby either. She had brown, silky, shoulder-length hair and hypnotic blue eyes. But above all else it was her irresistible, dazzling smile that put her over the top. In those rare but precious moments when Sheldon would catch her smiling, his heart would instantly melt, and Sheldon would be thrown into a ethereal state of lust.

He had never had a crush on any girl the way he had a crush on Danielle. It wasn’t even so much a sexual attraction, as is the case with most teenage boys. No, Sheldon just wanted to be with her, to know her, to get close to her. He would often fantasize about what kind of life they could have together, how their souls could harmoniously bond together, forever.

Oh, but it was absurd to think such things. Sheldon didn’t have the courage to ask Danielle out, and even if he did, she would just reject him, for he was a total dork. Sheldon broke out of his trance, sighed, and took his eyes off of Danielle, in favor of the floor. He shrugged and decided that he should leave, for it was pointless to waste any more time.

As he passed her on his way out, he took one last glance at the love of his 16-year-old life. This time she glanced back, noticed him, and smiled. It was unclear how she intended the smile; whether it was an affirmation of the fact that recognized him from school, whether she actually liked him back, or whether it was just out of sheer jubilance. But nonetheless, it made Sheldon’s heart race. In his head he knew it was foolish to get excited over something as insignificant as a smile, but something within pushed Sheldon to realize his dream. He stopped, turned around, and nervously faced Danielle.

Just then a crazed gunman raced into the store and shot down both Sheldon and Danielle with a sawed-off shotgun. He then murdered the owner of the bookstore and lit the place on fire. A year later that man was convicted on three counts of first-degree murder and one count of arson, and a Wisconsin judge sentenced him to three consecutive life sentences.

This actually has nothing to do whatsoever with the story I am about to tell, I just thought it was kind of interesting. Well, I suppose it isn’t that interesting, considering I made the whole thing up. I probably shouldn’t have even put it in at all. Oh well.

Part One: The First Part

Our real story begins about 15 years ago, and it begins with a man named Maynard Jones.

At the time, Maynard was walking back home to his small apartment, depressed. He was depressed because he had been laid off. He had been laid off because the economy was in a crippling depression. Why was the economy depressed? Well that’s a long story but I’ll tell it anyway.

About a month earlier a young lad happened to be waiting in the checkout line of a chain superstore called the Uber-Mart. He noticed that in the store clerk’s checkout area was a computer with it’s log-in screen loaded. The young lad, ever the mischievous one, typed “Uber-Mart Sucks!” into the login box. When the clerk returned to his computer, he discovered the message and laughed. His boss, the store’s manager, noticed the clerk’s laughing and walked over to the him, curious. The clerk showed the message to the manager, but the manager found nothing amusing. Believing that the clerk had typed in the heretical message, the manager promptly fired him, and soon a great verbal feud between clerk and manager erupted.

Meanwhile, the fact that the clerk and the manager were both not working caused a great slowdown in sales. Soon very long lines developed, and the customers were angrier than a homeless man watching Lou Pearlman wolf down a box full of donuts. One of the men in an extremely long line happened to be the man who owned the most stock in Uber-Mart, and he was so upset that he immediately called up his broker and sold all of his stocks. Uber-Mart share prices began to plunge, and it was all downhill from there. Within days the entire Uber-Mart corporation was bankrupt, thousands lost their jobs, people lost faith in the stock market, and hundreds of other businesses began to go under in a chain reaction. The unemployment rate shot up to 30%, and the entire economy went to hell. The young lad who typed the message would later become a famous opera singer. The clerk would eventually murder four people.

But let’s go back to Maynard. While Maynard was walking home, he was so absorbed in his depression that he did not notice the young male Shi Tzu following him. When he finally noticed the dog, he tried to get him to go away, but to no avail. The dog just kept following him, as if it wanted to live with Maynard. Finally, Maynard shrugged and gave up. Oh well, so he would have a new dog to take care of. He could handle that.

When Maynard reached his apartment door, he noticed something even stranger. A sleeping baby, wrapped in a blanket, was lying right there, with no parents in sight. There was only a note that read, “Please take good care of this baby boy. His name is Fred.” Maynard had always found “Fred” to be a stupid name. Nevertheless, he took the baby in his arms and decided to take care of him. He could handle that. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. A FedEx employee was there, and so was poor, sad-looking young blonde woman.

“Here’s the mail-order bride you ordered, Mr. Sampson,” he said without emotion. Maynard was very confused.

“But I…”

“Shut the hell up and sign these forms!!” the FedEx man retorted with disdain. He was clearly upset with Maynard, or “Mr. Sampson,” as he perceived. This was because he thought he recognized Maynard as the person who’d locked him up inside a school locker for an entire weekend back in the 4th grade, an event which traumatized the FedEx man for life. Maynard was still very bewildered. They stood there for forty-two seconds, with Maynard trying to conjure up an explanation, and with the FedEx man trying to repress the voices in his head which told him to stab Maynard with his pencil.

Ultimately, Maynard gave in and signed the forms as Mr. Sampson. The disgruntled FedEx man tipped his hat and left, saying “See you in hell, asshole!” Maynard examined his new bride. She was medium-sized with cropped blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She bore a hollow expression, and wore clothing that was next to rags. Through a brief, dialogue, he learned that her name was Sheila, and that she had come from a poor Irish home, where her father would draw pictures of Mother Mary on napkins and sell them on the street for change.

Maynard shrugged, deciding to make the best of this. He would keep his wife, and live with her. He could handle that. About a half-hour later-while Maynard was searching for food for the dog and Sheila was trying to nurse the baby-there was another knock at the door. Maynard opened it and discovered a 6 or 7-year old girl standing there with some papers. She looked innocent and yet distressed.

“My name is Katie! I just escaped from an orphanage that burned down! I have no place to go! Will you please adopt me?” she said with a look of pity in her eyes.

“Well….uh….I don’t think I’m allowed to,” uttered Maynard.

“Nonsense! I’ve got the adoption papers right here! All you have to do is sign them!” she handed Maynard the papers, who felt compelled to sign them. Okay, so now he would have another child to look after. He could handle that.

Minutes later, whilst Maynard was trying to stop baby Fred from sticking a fork in an outlet, he all of a sudden heard a car’s engine roaring up from outside the apartment. It was a sound that sounded all too familiar to Maynard, but it wasn’t until he actually looked out his window, into the parking lot, that he realized that his car was being started! Yes, a thief had somehow managed to hot-wire Maynard’s classic Jaguar (a gift from his now-deceased parents, and by far the most expensive thing he owned)! Before Maynard could do anything, the thief had driven off in a cloud of dust. On the lighter side, however, the thief also left a minivan, keys, and insurance papers in the parking space next to Maynard’s Jaguar, so at least Maynard still had a means of transportation. Still, Maynard was pretty fucking pissed. But oh well, he reasoned, he could handle that.

But then the wildest thing of all happened. Maynard once again heard a knock at the door, but this time it was the landlord. The landlord stood there looking excited, although he was unaware of his impending doom (which was to occur 35 years into the future, and in actuality would only turn out to be a tax audit.)

“Okay, I’ve got some good news!” he exclaimed, “I’ve sold this entire apartment building to a developing company that wants to tear down this entire area and build a gigantic whorehouse! You’re all going to have to move out of here.” That didn’t sound like very good news to Maynard. He stared at the landlord in dumbfounded disbelief. The landlord seemed to sense his concern. “Oh, but don’t worry,” he continued, “they’re paying me a huge chunk of money, so that I can afford to buy everyone in this building a comfortable little house in the suburbs! Wonderful, eh? Well, I’ll see you in about two hours. Have all of your stuff packed up by then!” And with that the landlord hurried off to inform the next unsuspecting resident.

Maynard closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. In a single day, Maynard had inherited a crappy car, a home, and a family. It wasn’t very easy for him to take. But nevertheless, hardy old Maynard shrugged and reasoned that, somehow, he could handle it.

Part Two: 13 Years Later…

Well it turned out that Maynard actually couldn’t handle it. Not very well, at least. At 5:30 in the afternoon, after he had been let out of his new dead-end office job, he was already heading towards his favorite bar (which was cor some reason called “Uncle Jesus’s House of Pain,” but that’s not really important) instead of his own home. His life as a family man was, in the immortal words of Richard Gephardt, a miserable failure. Only six shots of whiskey, gulped down in rapid succession while staring at a black in white T.V. or somebody else’s dart game, could relieve the agony.

Let’s start with his wife and eldest daughter Katie. They had both grown up quite a bit, and ever since Katie turned 15 they had been working together at the whorehouse that had been built over Maynard’s former home. They posed as a lesbian couple, and would bang guys together for $50. Or, for $25, you could watch them have sex. Not only was it pathetic and embarrassing, but since Sheila brought home so many venereal diseases, Maynard could not longer make love to her at night.

Then there was Fred, the child that had been left on Maynard’s doorstep. Boy, was that kid messed up! He had actually made quite a life for himself, but at the expense of others. You see, Fred would regularly go out, beat up crippled kids, steal their wheelchairs, and sell them to buy art supplies. He would then use the art supplies to paint pro-Stalin propaganda posters, which he would use to lure dozens of misguided losers to his house. He would then use hypnosis to brainwash those losers so that he could force them to build gigantic robots. He would then make the robots battle each other. It was a magnificent spectacle, and Fred would make people pay to see it. He would then use this money to buy raw opium, which he refined into heroin and sold to junkies all over town. He would then use this money to purchase hardcore bestiality porn videos, which Fred enjoyed himself.

Finally, there was a new child that Maynard had through Sheila. He was 12 years old now, and his name was Luke. Luke bred ferrets. ‘Nuff said. Of all the family members, Luke by far and wide worried Maynard the most.

Maynard shrugged once more, looking at the dark, dismal atmosphere around him. In the far left corner of the bar, there was a fat, bald man that seemed to be far more drunk than he was. He was stripping his shirt off while singing a karaoke version of “Anarchy in the U.K.” by the Sex Pistols. Well, Maynard thought, at least there’s one guy out there more messed up than I am. Actually, Maynard was wrong about that, for that man was actually a well-respected judge, and while he may have had severe alcohol-related problems, at least he didn’t raise a ferret-breeding son.

Maynard was just getting ready for another round when his cell phone-set to Metallica’s “Master of Puppets”-began to ring. Begrudgingly, he picked it up and answered it. It was Tom Vanderwall, the principal of Luke’s middle school. Vanderwall, though very worried, was rather blunt,

“Your son is shooting up the God Damn school!! He’s nuts! What the hell have you done to him?!?” Ordinarily, Maynard would have been shocked beyond belief, but he was far too drunk at that point. Instead all he could do was utter a half-hearted “uh huh…”

“Well actually, he attempted to shoot up the school anyway,” continued Vanderwall. It would be too deserving to give this man a proper character description, so let me just say frankly that Tom Vanderwall was a stupid jerk that nobody liked. He was also a rumored fascist. The man was chronically pissed off because of the fact that he had never achieved his dream job of being a prison warden, on account of (ironically) his lack of a college education. He was also pissed because of his impotence. A lot of times, the sheer ferocity of his anger overshadowed all other emotions. He breathed heavily into the phone and then began talking again. “Yeah he showed up to school with a gun shouting “DIE!!” and shit like that, but then this other kid shows up with ANOTHER gun! Apparently he was planning on shooting everyone too! So they’re rampages kind of cancelled out each other, and now they’re just standing there like it’s some kind of fucking western! And everyone else sitting around waiting to DIE!!!”

Maynard closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew that one day Luke was going to do something like this. After all, the boy did breed ferrets. Perhaps I’ve hammered that point in a bit too much…..meh I don’t care.

Anyway, the shooting was truly a bizarre and ultimately pitiful site. Luke and the other deranged shooter-whose name was Rob-were standing on opposite ends of the school’s main hallway, their semi-automatic rifles pointed at each other. “Damn it,” Luke thought,” if only I’d known this guy was going to go on a rampage too, I would have done this yesterday! This is such terrible timing!” Indeed, the astronomical odds of two school shootings occurring on the same day in the same school were very low (about 1,314,423,003:1, according to Dr. Edwin Bauer, the only scientist ever to research such an absurd idea.) Rob had already gotten a head start of Luke too, he had killed three people while Luke was yet to kill any.

While both Rob and Luke shared a common trait-that they were both deranged lunatics-their motives for shooting up the school were different. Luke’s motive was raw rage, specifically rage towards his ex-girlfriend and the guy she had cheated on him with, as well as any other person who stood in the way, or looked like an easy target. Rob, on the other hand-you know I don’t really like the name Rob. Let’s call him Bill-Bill, on the other hand, well his reasons for his killing spree were actually the end result of a very long adventure involving pirates, betrayal, Russia, and the Autumn Shade.

They stood there for a good half-hour, just looking into each other’s eyes. But then came a strange turning point. Through an awkward yet touching moment, the boys kept looking into each other’s eyes, and came to understand each other, and themselves. Slowly, through this spiritual understanding, they realized that what their acts of violence were utterly pointless, and they began to lay down their weapons. Finally, as the rest of the school stared on in utter disbelief, Luke and Bill walked up to each other and embraced one another. Sadly, however, this beautiful moment was suddenly and tragically interrupted when the SWAT team burst through the door and shot down the two boys. The bullets tore through Bill and Luke’s bodies like bullets tearing through a seal’s body. Wait a second, that was a terrible simile!! Jesus Christ! Oh well, let’s run with it. So the warm blood of the newfound friends splattered all over the walls and lockers of the hallway, and everyone who witnessed the event was very saddened indeed. Except, of course, for the SWAT team, because for them this marked kills #999 and #1,000 of the month, which meant that by local ordinance the city was obligated to buy them 60 new flamethrowers. But that’s beside the point.

I guess that the real interesting thing is that when Maynard’s family was driving over the funeral home the following day, they were all eaten by a 20-foot-tall genetically-engineered vulture that the state government had, for some reason, spent $20 million developing for “defense purposes.”

The house of Maynard (known locally as “The House of Shame”) soon became a very lonely home. It was occupied only by candy wrappers, rodents, old issues of T.V. guide, and a very bored dog named Milo.

What? You’ve never heard of Milo? That’s probably because I forgot to mention him. Anyway, Milo was the only son of the Shi Tzu who had followed Maynard home on that fateful day. Both of Milo’s parents would later die in a tragic accident in which they were run over by a SWAT team truck (the SWAT team was on a mission to save a cat from a tree, although they later ended up blowing the cat up with a grenade launcher,) and Milo was left alone in the house of Maynard. He was three years old (21 for you shitheads that insist on using dog years!), thin, and rather shaggy. However, Milo possessed one amazing ability which set him apart from almost every other dog in history: he could talk. Yes, Milo could fully speak and understand the English language (Portugese as well, for some reason), which put in him the elite ranks of Scooby Doo and Goliath.

The problem was that nobody in Milo’s family ever actually listened to him, and were thus oblivious to his phenomenal trait. Milo lived his life encompassed by a dark shadow of ignorance, bickering, and anxiety, propelled by a comically dysfunctional family. Not only was he never listened to, but he was rarely fed, never walked, and often sat on for hours before the inadvertent assaulter realized what he or she was doing. Milo tried everything he could to get noticed: he shouted at them, he stood in front of the T.V., he even said “THANK YOU” loudly whenever one of the family members actually remembered to feed him. But it was all in vain. Eventually Milo just gave up, and whiled away the hours watching the rats of the house eat each other.

Such is how Milo spent the first few hours during which he was alone in the house. He became curious when 8 hours had passed since the departure of the humans, but he became quite suspicious when he spent the entire night alone. After a solid day of no masters, Milo came to the conclusion that his dream had finally come true: those bastards were gone for good. He jumped for joy, celebrating his new freedom. No more missed meals! No more listening to their pitiful arguments! No more not being able to urinate on the rug! Milo would take care of himself, and life would be glorious.

And so, Milo walked out of the house and into the streets for the first time ever. He kept on walking for hours, absorbing the beauty of his surroundings. He kept on walking until he reached the big city. Milo enjoyed the atmosphere; the energy, the excitement, everything but the occasional drive-by shootings.

Eventually, nighttime began to fall, and Milo decided that he should find a spot to sleep for the night. It was a wise decision. He came to a back alley where poor people slept in shelters made of cardboard (the even poorer made shelters out of napkins and twigs.) He walked up to a sorry-looking man and asked him politely if he could share his shelter for one night. The homeless man, believing that the talking dog must be the living reincarnation of Christ, gladly let Milo have the entire shelter.

“Why, thank you! That’s very kind.” Replied a surprised but grateful Milo.

“HE SPEAKS AGAIN!!” shouted the man, who ran off to let the others know of Jesus’s reappearance on Earth (NOTE: He was later shot by another homeless man. His body was thrown in a dumpster, which was then tossed into the sea, where it was caught by fisherman and ultimately put into a can of tuna.) Nevertheless, Milo slept through the night peacefully.

Part Three: Just Read it.

But as Milo was soon to discover, life on the street wasn’t so glorious after all. The nights were quite chilly, there were fleas and ticks everywhere, and food was scarce to be found (and often people didn’t like it taken from them.) One day Milo decided he’d had it. Early that morning Milo got up and walked out of the alley just as abruptly as he’d walked in. He decided that he next place of residence would be some place indoors.

The young dog casually walked into an apartment door building, hoping that there would be some empty building he could stay in. As soon as Milo entered, however, the apartment’s maintenance man took notice of Milo and forcefully declared, “Hey! No dogs allowed! Get out of here!”, pointing his finger in a stupid attempt of displaying authority. The maintenance man was short and fat, with a stubble and about 6 missing teeth. Milo guessed that the man’s IQ must be lower than his mother’s age.

“Oh, please!” retorted Milo. “Get a life!” The man was in utter shock at the dog’s talking ability.

“Holy shit!!!” he exclaimed before bolting out of the door in terror. Milo shook his head at the man’s idiocy. He then refocused his thoughts and traveled up the stairs, exploring what the building had to offer. Every room seemed occupied, and the building seemed to be barren of animal life. But eventually Milo discovered a door that was open, and he quietly trotted inside, and was shocked at what he found.

The apartment was completely vacant. There was no furniture, no carpet, no lights, no appliances, not even windows! The room was completely barren. It was rather disturbing. Milo walked further inside, trying to figure out how the hell a place could become so empty. He searched all over and found nothing, until finally Milo walked into the bathroom. There stood an old man, dressed in a sweater and some old khakis, getting a drink out of the faucet.

“Yo man, who are you? What’s going on here?” Milo inquired bluntly. The old man looked up at once and responded with,

“Hello little doggy. Can you please buy me some adult diapers? I need them very badly and I cannot afford my own.” There was no hint of surprise or irony in the man’s voice. Milo was stunned.

“You want me…..what? Adult diapers? Look, who are you anyway?”

“Oh, my name is Bombad. I am very old and need diapers for reasons I will not discuss. Well maybe I’d discuss them if you asked politely but whatever. Anyway, that and the state of this house is all part of a very long story involving a crazy cow named Ivan.” A long story it was indeed. Bombad’s fragile old mind traveled back to the day when everything fell apart…

You see, up until a couple of weeks ago, Bombad had earned his living as a school bus driver. He had been relatively descent at his job, only getting into 2 or 3 fatality-causing accidents per years. But then one day, Bombad had what other old, scatterbrained bus drivers refer to as “the big one.”

Let’s begin with the crazy cow named Ivan. Ivan was unfortunate enough to have grown up on a farm belonging to a deranged lunatic named Lars, who had inherited the farm by murdering the family who owned it via pickaxe. Yet in the opinion of the other local farmers, Lars made up for his violent tendencies with his bizarre yet comical antics. He was known for making gigantic igloos out of corn crop, dressing up the chickens and making them re-enact Hamlet, and other stupid acts. One morning he held a “fire drill,” ordering all of the animals out of the barn. To Lars’ disappointment, none of the animals listened, so he set the barn on fire. That would show them! Not surprisingly, what resulted was a massive calamity in which livestock ran in every direction for their lives. One of the few animals to survive was a cow that Lars had named Ivan. Ivan, in a paranoid frenzy, ran outside the farm and all the way into the city, and ultimately into the path of Bombad’s bus.

When Bombad first noticed the cow in his path….nothing happened. For you see, Bombad was an old man with a very slow reaction time. However, 20 seconds after he crushed the cow, Bombad swerved sharply to the right…into a gas station. Bombad was thrown out of the bus just before it exploded, burning alive all of the children within. Bombad would have helped them, but the incident had literally scared the crap out of him, and he needed to change his diapers!

Long story short, the school-trying to pay for the damaged bus-sued Bombad for all he was worth, which meant that Bombad had to sell ALL of his possessions, including food, toiletries, and even his adult diapers. Oh yes and he was also fired. Back to the story.

Milo began to consider helping the old man out. He didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to do so. “Alright, Mr. Bombad. I just might run your stupid errand. But what’s in it for me?” Bombad began to think.

“Well, if you do this for me, I shall let you in on a terrible secret,” he replied.

“A terrible secret? Why would I ever want to hear a terrible secret?” retorted Milo.

“Did I say terrible? I meant…um…good. Yes, a good secret!”

“Well alright,” Milo said at last. He had no idea how he was going to pay for the diapers, but he felt sorry for the old man. Plus, that good/terrible secret sounded interesting.

Milo walked the many miles he had to go to reach the adult diaper store. Bombad had written down the directions for him on a piece of wallpaper he tore off. Milo had mixed feelings about his task. On one hand, it would seem like he was wasting his time, and yet, Milo was the kind of person that just couldn’t leave anything unfinished.

As Milo approached the door, he noticed a sign which read “WARNING: No Dogs Allowed! Store owner carries shotgun under counter!”Milo pondered this sign. What kind of lunatic would take a “no dogs” rule so seriously that he would enforce it with the threat of arms? Nevertheless, Milo concluded that it would be safer to try and get a human to buy the diapers for him. Milo groaned. How the hell did he get involved in such stupid crap?

But luckily for Milo, at that very moment a man in his fifties walked out of the store carrying a pack of diapers in a brown paper bag. He was wearing a had, trench coat, and sunglasses in a pathetic attempt to conceal his identity. The man even went so far as to wear a button that said “I am NOT carrying adult diapers.” Milo took the opportunity to run up the man and bite him in the crotch. The man let out a cry of pain, dropping his bag and falling to the ground, his sunglasses and hat slipping off of his head. Milo quickly picked up the bag with his teeth and began to run.

“Hey! Stupid dog! Those were MY adult diapers! No, I mean…those were someone else’s diapers!! Arrgh!!” the poor man shouted frantically. But it was no use. The dog ran swiftly as people on the street were pointing and laughing at the diaper-less man.

Milo brought back the diapers, and Bombad seemed pleased. He began telling Milo his secret:

Prior to his career as a bus driver, Bombad had been a proctologist. He was paid well and his life had been going fin until about 25 years ago, when he checked out a patients most unusual situation. The poor man had same kind of metallic object embedded deep within his rectum. It was unlike anything Bombad had ever seen. Unbeknownst to the proctologist, the object had been planted there by aliens from a faraway planet, and when Bombad curiously pressed a button on the object, the next thing he knew he was lying down on a metal bed among several 3-foot-tall aliens with large eyes and green skin.

The aliens later explained themselves. They were Zourphaanians from the planet Zourphaan, which was located somewhere on the opposite edge of the galaxy. They captured Bombad and forced him to work for little pay in the Zourphaanian sewer systems. Bombad’s main job was to terminate every Riugit in the sewers. A Riugit is a six-foot-tall beast with two heads but only one eye. It’s entire exterior body was poisonous, except for one tiny spot on the back of one of the creature’s necks. The only way to kill the beast was to poke the tiny, non-poisonous spot with your thumb. If you touched any other part of it’s body, you would die (provided that you hadn’t already been devoured by the Riugit.) According to the Zourphaanians, they themselves could not do the job because they were allergic to their own waste.

“Fifteen years later,” Bombad concluded, “They finally let me loose. Oh, how many awful, awful things I learned from them. Little doggy, you probably know by now that the world is a frightening place, but the true horror lies beyond what you can see and know! The truth is dark, doggy, if I were you I’d run away from it like a burning bus full of children! But anyway, after the ordeal was over, they implanted a chip within my brain that would monitor everything I said. They told me that if I ever let it out to anyone that they would promptly destroy me.”

“Then why did you just tell me all this?” inquired Milo.

“I forgot I wasn’t supposed to tell…” responded Bombad. And right at that moment, a great craft came down from the sky and began firing laser beams at the apartment building, which soon began to crumble, engulfed in flames.

Part Four: The Longest Part. I Think…

Milo woke up in incredible pain. His fur was singed and his body bruised all over. In fact, it was amazing that he lived at all. Slowly he opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. The entire neighborhood resembled Berlin at the end of World War II. Slowly Milo turned over, only to witness the charred, dismembered body of Bombad. Horrified, Milo began to shout “Noooooo!” until he realized that he had never really liked Bombad in the first place.

Still, Milo was quite pissed about what had happened. He knew that corruption and evil were in the midst, and he had to do something about it. He formulated a new goal in life: to FIND those alien bastards and give them a piece of his mind! Most people would consider this an act of bravery, but it was actually a very stupid idea.

Now, since dogs have a 6th sense which allows them to detect the paranormal-which humans are too stupid to pick up-Milo figured he could tell quite easily if a UFO was in the vicinity. He decided to wait out in a rural area, hoping that a UFO would come there, trying to create a crop circle or something. Well, since this story would be quite boring and idiotic if Milo didn’t come across a UFO (more so than it already is!), it just so happened that on that very night a great, glowing craft descended down from the sky and began to weave a magnificent pattern in the wheat crop. Milo began frantically barking at the object, and before long the beings inside took notice.

For decades people have studied the crop circle patterns that appear all over the world (although mostly in southern England.) Many have theorized that they come from extraterrestrial beings, but nobody has ever known for sure why they are formed. What did they mean? What were they trying to tell is? This reasoning is the result of a common idiosyncracy of human nature. We humans have always tried to interpret every quirk in life with some kind of majestical story or concept. This idiosyncracy is the basis for all religions, and most folklore and superstitions as well. In actuality, the circles are in fact created by aliens, but they have very little meaning. They are really a form of alien vandalism, the extraterrestrials come to the fields in the middle of the night and create what look to us like brilliant geometrical designs, but by their standards are basically chicken scratch. Most of the time, crop circles are created by the hooligans of the alien world, but oddly enough, the aliens which Milo witnessed were actually of great importance.

At first they tried to scare Milo away by tossing the remains of some of their mutilated cattle at him, but the dog did not budge. Well not much anyway. He kept on barking, and the aliens, worried they might be caught and unwilling to waste their laser batteries, pressed another button on the ship’s control panel, and instantly Milo was transported onto the ship. Milo was worried within, but remained steadfast, for he was determined to confront these Bombad-slaying bastards. He stood in the middle of a large room, surrounded by incomprehensibly high-tech equipment. In front of Milo stood four 3-foot-tall, green-skinned beings with oval-shaped eyes. Milo was the first to speak up,

“I take it you guys are from Zoo-Zoof, something or other, right?” he said, slightly embarrassed that he had forgotten the name of their planet.

“We are indeed from Zourphaan. The question is, what are YOU doing here? And why do you speak English? That is not typical of your species,” the aliens said matter of factly. Milo was disappointed at the lack of surprise exerted by the Zourphaanians. I mean come on, he was a talking dog who knew (at least somewhat) the identity of these beings, which most earthlings had never seen! What did he have to do to impress them, cartwheels??? Ironically, the next thing Milo did was a cartwheel, and the Zourphaanians burst into excitement, jumping in the air.

“Do it again!” they shouted.

“No,” replied Milo, steadfast, “not until you explain to me a few things!” The Zourphaanians expressed what seemed to be their equivalent of a shrug.

“Hmm. Well, you know too much already. I guess it would be alright if we enlightened you,” one of them said.

“Okay,” responded Milo, “first of all, earlier today what I can only assume to be one of your ships destroyed my friend Bombad (Milo knew Bombad wasn’t his friend, but it sounded better.) You also demolished his entire neighborhood! Why did you have to take such extreme measures?”

“Yes, I’ve heard about that. Well, young canine, it is standard procedure for us to terminate one of our former workers who share critical secrets. Now, the people who actually destroyed Bombad’s apartment were members of the rather infamous 274AB39- Delta division, a.k.a. the “Riugits from Hell.” They like to go overboard with the destruction and all. But there’s no need to worry. They’ll cover up the attack, they’ll say that the whole explosion was cause by a malfunctioning furnace or something.”

“They? Who’s they?” responded a confused Milo.

“They who control your planet.”

“Yes, but who??” Milo was getting impatient.

“The Galactic Parliament for the Totalitarian Management of Earth, or as it’s popularly known, the Kraxt. The Kraxt controls almost every major thing that happens on your planet: elections, major natural disasters, all media, revolutions, and even some important achievements in science and art!” said one Zourphaanian. Milo was speechless. All he could do was stare on like a hospital patient after a much-successful lobotomy. The Zourphaanians smiled. They had seen this expression all too many times by humans who discovered that they were not in fact in control of their planet.

“The Kraxt exists in some form for just about every planet with a ‘developing’ species. That is, one that becomes advanced but requires guidance in order to be successful. It’s actually mandated by United Galaxies charter #35,308, which states that a multi-race Parliament must be formed for every planet with a developing species. Ours is comprised of 402 Senators who act as legislators and one Grand Bagoo who has executive control. Our capitol is located on what the humans know as ‘the dark side of the moon.’ Every government on Earth knows about us, and they’re all basically our puppets.”

Finally Milo began to speak up. “So, are you ever going to give up your control to the humans, or are you just going to stay there forever?” he inquired.

“Well, according the United Galaxies charter, Parliaments are required to control a species until the species has evolved enough to be able to travel 1/4 the length of the galaxy somehow. By our estimates, such a state will not occur for the next 3,200 years at least. Until then we’re keeping you all in line. Haha!”

“Well a hell of a job you’re doing!” Milo scoffed, “I look at that status of humanity and all I see is war, chaos, violence, and corruption!” The Zourphaanians smiled again. Milo was sick of their smiling.

“Well it sure would seem that way,” one of them explained, “until you learn the truth. The political corruption is actually no big deal, for we control just about everything that happens in politics, as mentioned before. We pick out the leaders we think are best for the job, even if it seems to you earthlings like they aren’t. As for violence, well most street violence we simply cannot control, the desire to kill one another is just a natural aspect of human nature. However, a lot of violent actions can be traced back directly to the Kraxt. We often take out people we don’t like, leaders that don’t fulfill our orders, and sometimes random people just for fun! Most wars are orchestrated by the Kraxt, too, for various reasons.”

“Like what?” asked Milo.

“Well, sometimes we need to change borderlines for the convenience of our cartographers, or sometimes a Kraxt species wants to create a new star out of their favorite news man, we’ve all got our reasons.”

It didn’t make any sense to Milo. “But what about World War II? What was your big ‘reason’ behind that horrible mess?” The Zourphaanians looked at Milo a little more sternly.

“Ah, but you see, you still do not know the truth. Listen, World War II never actually happened! It was all fabricated by the Kraxt. You history books lied to you.”

“What the fuck?!?” exclaimed Milo, blown away. “But…..how? There are thousands, if not millions of photos, artifacts, videos, and books to prove it! It was the most omnipresent thing that ever occurred!”

“And it was all faked,” replied a Zourphaanian. “All of the pictures and video footage was manufactured, all of the battlefield remains planted, all of the graves made up.”

“What about Hitler? What about the Holocaust?”


“What about the atomic bomb? What about Hiroshima and Nagasaki?”

“There was no atomic bomb. There never was, and there never were any nuclear weapons of any sort. Humans have had the capability to produce them, but we’ve never ordered anyone to do so. And again, the pictures of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings were false.”

“But…” staggered Milo, “what about the millions of people alive on Earth who have clear memories of those years?”

“They have been brainwashed. In September of 1945, several great spacecrafts flew all over the planet, flashing a great blue light everywhere at once. The blue light stupefied all of the humans, and implanted false memories within their brains of a catastrophic war that engulfed the planet for six years and caused unprecedented death and destruction. The same thing happened with World War I, the American Civil War, and, most recently, disco music. The fact was that the years of 1939-1945 were some of the happiest, most peaceful years the planet had ever known. But not the truth is lost on all generations.”

“But….why? What is the point of faking such horror? How does this contribute to the evolution of the human race?” Milo asked. The aliens exchanged serious looks, and began to nod. One of them finally spoke up.

“That, my friend, is a question that we have debated since the Earth year 1337.” The Zourphaanians paused, for dramatic effect. Milo was worried about what they would say next.

“You see young dog, as I’ve told you before, the Kraxt consists of 402 elected Senators-“

“Hold on one sec!” interrupted Milo. “Elected by whom?”

“Iceland,” one of them said.

“ICELAND?!? That doesn’t even make sense?”

“Yes, Iceland elects both our Senators and the Grand Bagoo. Of course, they’ll never let anyone know that they have such power. They’re like a secret society of super-intelligent humans.” Milo was still shocked. “Besides,” the Zourphaanian continued, “you didn’t think Iceland was a completely useless country, did you?” The man had a point, Milo admitted. Another Zourphaanian picked up the explanation.

“Anyway, a Senator’s term lasts for 10 years. The Grand Bagoo’s term lasts for 2,000 years. The Kraxt draws up a bunch of laws and handles some bureaucracy, but ultimately the Grand Bagoo has the final say. Of course, there are some checks we can impose upon the Bagoo, but under normal circumstances they are rarely used.” Another Zourphaanian picked it up.

“We are all members of the Zourphaanian party of the Kraxt. We are advisors to Senator Eouf Kfiin, who is also the leader of this great party. But you see, things haven’t been going so well lately, there’s been a lot of fighting. I don’t really know where to begin. Hmm. Tell me, have you ever heard of the one that the humans call God?”

“Of course,” Milo replied, “The humans used to be so busy thanking him for their meals that they forgot to feed me! I never really believed in God though…”

“Well, it may surprise you to find out that God was actually real, and that for 2,000 years he was the Grand Bagoo of the Kraxt. He was not a deity as you may have been taught, but a distinguished intellectual from the planet Disitral. God began his term in 663 B.C., and was a truly superb Bagoo. He really knew what was best for humankind, and he could unite all the parties in the Kraxt to get things done! But then came a dark day when it all went downhill. You see, one of God’s old tricks was to send down advanced extraterrestrials who posed as humans. These ‘posers’ would teach the humans how to advance physically, mentally, and spiritually. One of these most famous posers was one by the name of Jesus Christ.

“In the Earth year 1 A.D. (By the way, A.D. stands for anno domini, not After Death you idiots!) God sent down Jesus to enlighten a bunch of confused people about the dangers of their hollow worshiping. Well things didn’t exactly go the way God intended. The people did not comprehend Jesus’ message of peace and love-and they never have-but were mesmerized by his handsome brown hair and blue eyes, as well as his overall ‘coolness.’ So they started to hang around him all the time. He became so popular that they started to make up rumors about him-Jesus could walk on water, Jesus could heal the sick, and so on. Jesus would try to explain himself, saying that he was only sent down by God to teach them a few things, but that only made things more complicated.
“Now, it was actually an unfortunate coincidence that God’s named happened to be that of a deity that the people Jesus hung out with worshiped, and equally unfortunate that neither God nor Jesus was aware of it, but this idea sent shockwaves throughout the community. ‘Jesus was sent by God? Kick ass!’ they said. Pretty soon Jesus went from popular to legendary, and the people worshiped both him and ‘God.’

“Well eventually the Kraxt found out about Jesus’ failure to educate the people, and they all agreed that something must be done. God, on the other hand, felt reluctant to stop the problem. He began to take pleasure in the sudden attention he and his creation were receiving, he loved hearing his name chanted out and prayed to. That’s why he got so upset when a member of the Kraxt-“

“It was a Zourphaanian, actually,” chimed in another alien.

“When a Zourphaanian member of the Kraxt ordered the execution of Jesus. That really set God off. We tried to reason with him, but he just wouldn’t listen. But of course it was all a pointless argument because the execution actually failed terribly, Jesus lived through his own crucifixion. His followers took it as some kind of miraculous death and resurrection, and Jesus ultimately ran away and was never seen again.

“But his legacy remained. For the next two thousand years people would devote their lives to God and Jesus, creating a religion called Christianity. God was very proud of this religion, and he began to do all that he could to ensure his prosperity. This was something that was unprecedented, a Grand Bagoo favoring a particular human religion! But nevertheless, he totally forgot about what was best for humanity, and spent the next thousand years cheering the Christians on through centuries of brutality and ignorance! Well then shit just hit the fan. The Roman Empire fell, plagues ravaged Europe, and Vikings harassed the land. When the year 1337 came around, God finished his term a disgraced Bagoo.” The Zourphaanians paused and sighed, recalling the shame.

“Damn, that sucks.” admitted Milo. Another Zourphaanian spoke up,

“Oh, but it got even worse from there. After the election of 1337, a much, MUCH worse Grand Bagoo would ascend to the throne. He would prove himself more incompetent and sinister than God on his worse day. Even today mankind continues to suffer under the iron fist of this jerk. And yet you’ve most likely heard of this one too.

His name is Santa Claus.”

At that point Milo reached the breaking point. This was TOO insane! He jumped into the air on all fours, began to bark maniacally, and shot looks of absolute bewilderment between the four aliens.

Whoa whoa WHOA!!” he shouted. “You’re not talking about the Santa, are you? The crazy guy with the red suit and
flying reindeer? That Santa??”

“Yes, that Santa. He is from the planet Vxxort, not the North Pole, and he’s the leader of the Vxxortic party, our rival party in the Kraxt.”

“Well, then,” asked Milo, “Does he really bring people presents each year? Does he really have a sleigh and flying reindeer?”

“Well, yes and no. He has no reindeer, and no sleigh. He likes to ride around in a gigantic, slick, and heavily-armed starcraft called the ‘Pimpwhahoozitmobile.’ But he does in fact give kids presents each year. The parents of the children usually can’t explain how the presents get there, so they just assume that it was their own act. Santa’s goal is to win the hearts and minds of the people of Earth, by brainwashing them as kids. He only targets Christian kids because he wants them to stop worshiping God and Jesus so that they will all worship him!” The Zourphaanian’s green skin turned purple, presumably with rage. He continued with, “that sick bastard!! Buying off the people he’s supposed to be helping!”

Milo did not understand. “Okay, so he gives people presents once a year. So what? I mean, overall it looks to me like the human race has moved upward quite a bit since 1337.” The aliens shook their heads and bore stern looks on their faces.

“One would think so, but they haven’t advanced by much. Not by nearly as much as they could have. You see, races like humans are supposed to evolve at an exponential rate. By 1337, the rate of evolution had slowed down a lot, but it was still pretty descent. Then Santa came into power, and he fucked EVERYTHING up! The hundred-years war began, and Santa did nothing to stop it. Santa is like that, a sadistic bastard interested in nothing but war. By universal race-evolution standards, humans should have given up war centuries ago! But not on Santa’s watch! No, he always has to try and make humans hate each other, to keep them dwelling in their primal bloodthirsty nature! That’s why he fabricated World War II and all of those other wars. Santa wants humans to believe that violence and war are inevitable, and in doing so he’s slowed down the course of humanity by hundreds, if not thousands of years!”

Milo began to pace around aimlessly, with a pounding headache. He couldn’t take any more. He began to long for his old life back on Earth, where things at least seemed simple. Even the torture of living in Maynard’s family
was preferable to this! But the now-excited Zourphaanians just kept on ranting.

“But we’re going to do something about Santa!”

“Yes! We’ve just won a majority of seats in the Kraxt!”

“We’re going to impeach him!”

“And make Eouf Kfiin the Grand Bagoo!”

“We’re going to stick it to those Vxxorticans!”

“Um,” interrupted Milo, “Look, this is all interesting stuff but uh, can you guys just drop me off back on Earth now? I kind of want to go home.” He had forgotten all about why he wanted to meet the aliens in the first place. The Zourphaanians looked surprised.

“Well, er,” one of them responded, “you can’t, really.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re too far away from the Earth”


“Uh, yeah! We’ve been en route to Zourphaan for a secret meeting with Eouf Kfiin for the past hour!” Milo was in utter disbelief. He ran up to a window and looked through it to discover that he really was in outer space! The ship was traveling at an alarming rate, and stars and planets zoomed by in streaks of light.

“God damn it,” uttered Milo.

“Oh, but we wouldn’t let you go home even if you could!”

Milo gulped. “Uh….does that mean you’re going to….kill me?”

“No, even better! It means that we’re going to recruit you into our party! We could really use a novelty like a talking dog who does cartwheels! Come with us! We’ll share our brilliant idealism with you, and together will work towards total domination of the Kraxt!”

Milo didn’t know whether to feel relieved or horrified. Giving up, he lied down, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. The next thing Milo knew, he was awakened to the sound of the ship rumbling, and Zourphaanians running everywhere in a state of pandemonium. One of them seemed to stand out, he wore a sparkling gold suit and some sort of crown.

“What the hell is going on?” Milo asked. I personally think the “hell” part was kind of unnecessary, but that’s just me. Still, a Zourphaanian responded.

“Well, we went back to Zourphaan and picked up Eouf Kfiin-he’s over there in the gold suit-and now we’re almost back to the Kraxt capitol on the moon, but we’ve been suddenly attacked by some gigantic starcraft which we are yet to identify!” Milo was amazed, but only at the fact he had apparently slept that long. He got up and looked out the window. The Zourphaanian ship was flying around rapidly in unusual patters, so as to avoid the dense fire of the enemy ship. But Milo could still make out the enormous ship pursuing He then noticed a red figure pass by the cockpit window the enemy spacecraft, and Milo barked and wagged his tail in astonishment when he was able to make it out.

“Hey! Guys! Come over here quickly!” he shouted.

“Not right now!” retorted a Zourphaanian. “It isn’t safe, and we still need to find a spot for Eouf to hide in!”

“No, no! You’ve got to see who is on the other ship! You won’t believe it!”

“Is it Zolragg?” asked a Zourphaanian.


“Zolragg, my cousin’s imaginary super hero ferret!”

“Uh….no. Why the hell would it be that?”

“You said I wouldn’t believe it!”

“Well it’s actually Santa! He’s firing at us!” The Zourphaanian walked over to where Milo was standing, and instantly recognized Santa’s Pimpwhahoozitmobile.

“Damn it, the dog is right!” he said. “Okay, fellow Zourphaanians. We’ll have to try and escape back to the Zourphaanian embassy on Saturn or something! I don’t know how much fuel we can have, but we can’t afford to-” and at that point a mighty, hand cut through the air, indicating silence.

“WE cannot run away from our problems,” said Eouf Kfiin, “If Santa wants to attack us, I will not go down without a fight! Who’s with me?”

“But sir, Santa’s ship is-” again the mighty hand.

“Screw that piece of crap! We’ve got guns on this ship, too, and I happen to be a very experienced fighter! Now I am determined to destroy that Pimpwhahoozitmobile or die trying!” The moment would have been inspiring if the name of the ship was anything but “Pimpwhahoozitmobile,” that’s just downright dumb. But anyway, it was enough to rally the Zourphaanians, who cheered and began preparing for their counter-attack. But Milo was still skeptical.

“I thought you guys were against violence…” he pointed out.

“Well,” responded a Zourphaanian, “yes. Human violence!” And with that he ran off to join the others in the great battle.

Indeed, it was a very great, hard, and well-fought battle, and in the end the Zourphaanians-facing overwhelming odds-were defeated. Their spacecraft was destroyed by the Pimpwhahoozitmobile, and the surviving Zourphaanians were left to escape in the ship’s tiny escape pods. One of the pods happened to be occupied only by Milo and Eouf Kfiin. Milo covered his eyes in terror, while Eouf piloted the ship as fast as he could away from the Pimpwhahoozitmobile (I’m getting pretty sick of typing that long-ass word), hoping to go unnoticed. But alas, Santa’s ship caught sight of the glimmer of Eouf’s suit reflecting out the pod’s window, and the Pimpwhahoozitmobile turned all of its guns in the direction of the pod. Santa loved messing with people like that.

“Oh, shit.” announced Eouf Kfiin. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, little dog, whoever you are. Dammit! This fat bastard is going to crush the party!” Milo noticed that Eouf failed to mention how badly the humans were screwed, but by then he didn’t even care. He put his head down, closed his eyes, and prepared for his inevitable death.

“Wait a sec, I have an idea!” announced Eouf Kfiin. He put the pod into hyperdrive-a really, really fast speed-and drove it straight into the Pimpwhahoozitmobile’s largest cannon. Milo was frightened stiff, but Eouf stood (or sat, rather) firm, either confident or totally nuts.

Meanwhile, Santa, standing in the cockpit with his two copilots of his Pimpwhahoozitmobile, was shocked to see Eouf Kfiin pull of such a maddening stunt.

“Who does he think he is? Blast the fellow!” He shouted to his pilots.

“Um, I’m afraid we can’t,” replied one of the pilots.

“Horsefeathers! Well why not?”

“They’re already well inside the cannon. If we fire now, it will jam the thing up, and the entire ship will be destroyed!”

“Son of a bitch!” shouted Santa. In a fit of rage he began pounding on the control deck. One of the alarmed pilots tried in vain to stop him.

“No, Santa! You don’t know what the hell you’re doing!” But it was too late. Santa inadvertently hit a large, green button, which sent the Pimpwhahoozitmobile cruising straight for Earth.

Part Five: Part Five

Meanwhile, in a desolate rural sector of Idaho, a farmer by the name of Jim Harvey was watching CNN on T.V. All of a sudden, for reasons nobody ever deciphered, the television set blew up, and poor lonely Jim was left with nothing to do, except ponder. He pondered about the Universe, Space, and Life, about Toaster Ovens and their meaning, about how different things would be in Soviet Russia, until an interesting idea came across his mind.

“Hey,” he said aloud, “what if there was a big group of advanced aliens that ruled the world by proxy?” It was a very interesting thought to him, although he didn’t have much time to think about it before an enormous craft crashed straight into his house, killing him. Out of the enormous cannon of the enormous craft came a small pod, which tumbled out into the field. Only three creatures walked out of the great crash alive: a short, fat figure with a white beard, a green-skinned, 3-foot tall being with a golden suit, and a discombobulated Shi Tzu.

Eouf and Santa looked at each other coldly without saying a word. Milo’s hair stood up in terror. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but it couldn’t be good.

“Well, Santa,” announced Eouf, “I guess that we are going engage in a fight to the death!” Santa grinned.

“Oh, you bet we will. Ho ho ho!” he retorted. But this was not a jolly “ho ho ho,” as one might expect. No, this was a much more menacing “ho ho ho.”

But just as the two foes began to clench their fists, another man arrived on the scene. He was tall, with brown hair, a nice beard, and holes in his hands. “Hello, boys,” he said, trying to sound badass.

“Jesus! It’s you! Where the hell have you been?” shouted Santa.

“I’ve been hiding out around this region for two millennia! It’s just great irony that you happened to drop by!” Jesus laughed.

“Jesus!” Eouf cried. “You’ve got to help me kill Santa! He’s a corrupt bastard! He’s abandoned everything that

God ever worked for!” Jesus smiled, then pulled out a pistol.

“Not so fast, Eouf. Just because I’ve been M.I.A. doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention to what’s been going on in the Kraxt. You Zourphaanians are total liars, and Santa has more political insight in his left nut than all of you combined! No, Eouf, I have come to terminate YOU!!”

Eouf Kfiin froze in horror as Jesus aimed the pistol directly at him. But just before Jesus could fire, he was struck on the head by a boulder which was thrown by a one-eyed Grizzly Bear named Zeus. Zeus gave a roar of triumph, than suddenly died of a massive stroke. Jesus had died on contact from the boulder, and the pistol had been thrown out of his hands, landing right next to Milo.

“Now’s your chance, Milo!” shouted Eouf. “Shoot Santa!”

“Don’t listen to him!” shouted back Kris Kringle. I’m not really a bad guy! It’s them! Shoot Eouf!”

Milo stared back and forth at the two. His next move could redefine the entire course of mankind, and possibly that of the entire galaxy.

Milo picked up the gun with his paws, put the barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

More Fun Fiction…


Arfwoofbagoowhoareu is the pen name of an unknown author who contributed several short stories back around 2004-2005. We don't know anything about him other than he has a very silly and clever imagination.

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