Fabrications of Deranged Idiosyncracy


  • 14 Pages

Part 1: A Family Feud

Government officials and those who remember the event, well, seem to agree that the boiling point, at least in the Smith house, occurred on a Sunday morning on the 12th of April.

The location was Cory’s room. Cory’s pit. Cory’s revolting cesspool. Mary Ann Smith, the mother of a sloth-like, ignorant bastard son, saw the unearthly mess Cory had made out of his room. The floor was sticky and covered with clothes, food, and garbage. The walls were covered with posters of bad rock bands and female underwear models for department store catalogues, attached via duct tape. In the corner of the room, a lice-infested rat was feasting off the carcass of a dead rat. But worst of all was the room’s stench, so foul and so putrid that it could send a slaughterhouse cleaner running for cover.

At that moment Ms. Smith went ballistic. This wasn’t just a mother getting angry over her child’s messy room, this was a mother losing what was left of her sanity over her child’s filthy room.

She could not believe her once promising life had come to this. Long ago, her life had been on the right track. She had an excellent grades, an internship at a real estate firm, and an overall positive outlook on life at age 16. But then, out of some crazy phenomenon of nature, for some reason Mary Ann fell in love with a 40-year-old booze hound named Vladimir.

Theirs was a forbidden love, she an innocent child of upper middle-class background, he a middle-aged married alcoholic man who lived in a cheap apartment. Sure, it was odd, but to some of the more romantic among us, it might have been beautiful. That is, until he got her pregnant, divorced his wife, and killed himself the day Mary Ann gave birth to their son.

However, she decided to give herself one last chance at having a life, by finding someone else to raise her new son Cory. She chose Vladimir’s senile mother.

Big mistake.

It should have been obvious to Mary Ann that Vladimir’s mother didn’t know the first thing about raising children, since she had raised Vladimir. But in addition to that she was also a bit crazy. Every day she would sit in her rocking chair, facing the apartment door, making sure “the bad man” didn’t come, while little Cory would eat jars marshmallow creme for dinner.

One of the few times when she took Cory out of the house, it was to Sleazy Bob’s Kiddie Funland, a sort of Chuck-E-Cheeses ripoff. One of the main attractions was thing called “The world’s largest ball pit”, which was a 30-feet-deep tub of those plastic colored balls.
Technically, it wasn’t really the world’s largest ball pit (that one was in Germany), but it was large enough to make most parents feel uneasy about letting their two-year-old child play in it. But nevertheless, while Vladimir’s mother stared frightfully at a man in a panda costume, little naive Cory climbed into the giant pit.

He didn’t come out for the next four years.

Yes, little Cory sank to the bottom of the giant pit and amazingly survived there for years. He was not the only one, however, for each year a countless number of kids get stuck within ball pits like the one at Sleazy Bob’s and never return. Cory survived by eating the dead bodies of some of those kids. He also fed upon pizza grease, soda, candy, and insects that all managed to trickle their way down to the bottom of the pit.

They finally found him when police shut the place down. Sleazy Bob had been arrested on drug charges, but that’s irrelevant. Cory, who wore a collar and a tag around his neck like a dog, was returned to his original mother (Vladimir’s mother had long since passed on).

Naturally, little Cory was scarred for life. He ended up being a total sloth, doing nothing all day but gorging himself on junk food and watching Family Ties reruns. He almost never spoke or socialized with others. His only form of exercise was a strange and cruel one: riding the family dog like a horse (which later crippled the dog). He got F’s in every assignment of every class, including gym. Yet he kept getting shoved along from grade to grade, for that is how the American public schools system works.

By this point in time Cory was in the 8th grade. He weighed 225 lbs, smelled terrible, couldn’t read, and had no friends other than Mr. Cuddles, an imaginary unicorn.

Cory may have had something of an excuse for being the waste that he was, but to Ms. Smith, he was merely the one, demonic tub of lard that had ruined her life. And for this reason, when Jabba the Hutt turned over and grunted-presumably meaning “go away” or something of the sort-Mary Ann, in a fit of rage, slammed the door and stormed down to the cellar to retrieve her pistol.

Cory could sense the danger, but was too slow to grasp what was really going on. He consulted Mr. Cuddles, who told him to run to his next-door-neighbor Buddy’s house.

Buddy’s house was the only place Cory would willfully venture outside the house. He went there because Buddy’s house smelled better and always had plenty of Slim Jims. Buddy was a rather classless, ignorant man, not exactly a redneck, but close.

Whenever Cory would got to Buddy’s house, he would just barge in, without saying much, and then head straight for the food. It was quite odd that Buddy put up with Cory, but in reality there was a reason he did so. It was because they both shared a common and crippling trait: complete stupidity.

The fact that neither of them could grasp the world around them bonded them together in a strange way. The other, perhaps greater reason was because Buddy wanted to score with Cory’s mom.

Mary Ann finally emerged from the cellar-loaded pistol in one hand, a box of bullets in the other-only to find that her son gone. But she knew right away where he had waddled off too, because, as I mentioned previously, it was the only outside-the-house place he ever went without having to be forced to go.

Upon his arrival at the casa de Buddy, an exhausted, panting Cory instructed Buddy to lock all the doors and windows, because “Sumthin’ bad goin’ on!”. Buddy obeyed, then went back to Cory to ask what was wrong.

Before Cory could let a word out, they heard a pounding at the door and the cry of “Open the door you fat piece of crap!!”

“No mom! I hate you!” cried Cory.

“Uh, now, now. Let’s uh, work this thing out,” responded a nervous Buddy, torn between the woman he loved and the boy who shared his pain. “Let’s get a bunch of whiskey and watch The Dukes of Hazard!”

“Shut up, you low-brow moron!” snapped back Ms. Smith, making Buddy upset and furious.

“Damn you boy!” Buddy turned to Cory, “You ruined my chances of ever making sweet love to this woman!”

“What?” responded Mary Ann, “You sick freak!”

“Oh crud nuckets! Uh, forget about that!” Buddy responded. Clearly, the peace process was failing miserably.

Mary Ann angrily left the premises, to return to her own home, muttering, “I should have had that abortion a long time ago….” The next thing Buddy and Cory knew, pistol shots were being fired into Buddy’s room, where he kept most of his treasured objects, including his porn videos and his Pog collection. Mary Ann was firing the shots from the window of her laundry room on the second floor, which directly faced Buddy’s bedroom window.

Frantically, Buddy ran up into his room, waived his hands, and shouted “Stop right-” BLAM! He was shot in the kneecap. Buddy managed to limp out of the room and into the hallway before Mary Ann could get off another shot, and thereafter he sat with his back against the wall, in too much pain to get up. But worse than the pain of being shot in the kneecap was the pain of having your heart broken by the woman you love (well not really).

Buddy decided that Ms. Smith meant nothing to him. She was nothing but a two-timing tramp. Therefore, when Cory finally made it up the steps, Buddy instructed him to go downstairs into the den to retrieve his shotgun and some shells. Cory, though yet again exhausted, obeyed.

Minutes later Cory emerged with Buddy’s shotgun.

Meanwhile, Mary Ann had been silently crouching in the laundry room, her eyes peeking over the bottom ledge of the window. From this viewpoint she witnessed her son walk into Buddy’s bedroom, shotgun in hand, and point the gun at her. She had just enough time to duck before Cory took a surprisingly well-aimed shot at her.

Evidently all those years of Duck Hunt had paid off…sort of. Cory was even surprised at himself. He had taken a shot at his own mother. And it felt good. For some reason, holding a gigantic firearm and using it in an attempt to terminate the person who gave him life (or what little life he had in him) gave Cory an exhilarating sense of power. For the first time in his life, Cory was in control, not the ball pit at Sleazy Bobs’, nor his mother, nor his weight counselor.

But as Cory savored his newfound sense of power, his mother rose again and took a shot at him. She missed, but it did make Cory alert. They spent the next few minutes like that, one taking the shot and the other dodging out of the way. Even the sluggish Cory managed to use quick reflexes when his life was on the line.

Buddy just sat there in the hallway, and occasionally threw some shells at Cory, for he always carried an unnecessary amount of bullets in his pockets to look cool.

The first other person in the neighborhood to notice the calamity was Billy Leary, a kid about Cory’s age, but with half the weight and slightly more intellect. At the time, he was listening to punk music on headphones while mowing the lawn. Billy looked across the street and saw the two adjacent houses getting small chunks blown out of them, and heard the sounds of firearms. He then turned off his CD player and lawnmower, walked up a little closer to the scene, and saw that the people taking shots at each other were Cory Smith and his mom.

Upon witnessing the shootout, Billy did the first thing that came to mind. He ran back inside his house, grabbed a drumstick and a frying pan, and ran outside banging them together, shouting “MOTHER AND SON SHOOTOUT!!!” at the top of his lungs like a town crier. He later added a “Hear ye! Hear ye!” to make it sound even more town crier-like. But nevertheless it worked. In no time the whole street was out of their homes, stupefied by the sight of the gunfight.

Throughout human history violent brawls have often been among the most popular forms of entertainment, from the Roman gladiator matches to the recent Fox News coverage of the war in Iraq. But this type of fight was unprecedented. A stressed out mother and her obese, foolish son furiously exchanging bullets, in the middle of Sunday, within a middle-class neighborhood in Sheboygan, Wisconsin.

Nobody called the police, or did anything to try and break up the fight. They were too busy gaping in awe.

Except for Billy, the new self-administered promoter of the event. He was running all over town, banging his drumstick to his pan, trying to draw to the scene as many people as possible.

As for Cory and his mom, they didn’t even notice the massive crowd watching them. They just kept duking it out. Occasionally, one of them would get nipped by a bullet, causing small injuries. But it was clear that this was a fight to the death, and neither side would be giving in very easily….

Part Two: The Vices

Obtained from the memoirs of Theodore R. Squires, published but never read

If I had to pick an exact moment in my life where I decided that I had to take revenge once and for all, I suppose it would have been at the fast food drive-thru a few years back.

I drove up to the menu, which was packed with ridiculous, overpriced meals, all of which were cheeseburgers with slight variations! What kind of idiotic, uncivilized nation could settle for such low-class garbage? I had only come because I had run out of canned pork and grits back at my apartment, and I didn’t want to bother going to that moronic “supermarket” which contained 17 overpriced variations on the same product, as if we really needed ALL those choices!

Honestly, the whole nation had gone to hell. As I pondered all of this, I was interrupted by a loud, annoying voice. No human in sight, but a voice, coming from some kind of electronic box.

“Uh, sir, hello? Do you want something?” it said.

“Blast! Can not a man think to himself in private anymore?”

“What?” responded the numbskull.

I wasn’t all that surprised that he had not a clue what thinking was. Stupid teenage lowlife, spending all day staring at a brain-rotting computer screen, listening to classless music, playing brain-cell destroying video games, talking on cell phones , working with that blasted “internet”-the great liberal conspiracy to de-construct morality and proper grammar, “chatting” with people he’s never even met! And as I pondered this, yet again I was interrupted by this delinquent.

“Would you like to try a Happy Burger value meal today?”

“If it’ll make you shut up and stop interrupting my thoughts, then yes!” I snapped back.

What an imbecile. Why, in my day they put kids like that in Juvenile Correction Homes. They didn’t have to commit any crimes first, parents just did it to make sure their kids didn’t grow up to become opium smokers and “jazz” musicians!

“Uh, would you like that meal Large or Mega sized?” he asked.

“No! I’m fine with the original size, dag nabbit! That’s the problem with America today! Nobody’s satisfied with things the way they are! Everything has to be bigger and louder and stronger and faster!”

“Calm down, dude,” the cretin responded.

“How about you treat your elders with respect, ‘dude’!” My wit amazes even me sometimes.

“Um, that’ll be $4.95”

“WHAT?!?!” responded I, baffled, “That price is absurd! What could possibly be the explanation for such an expensive meal? Did they raise the beef tariffs again? Why in my 77 years of life I have never-“

“Please pull ahead to the second window, sir” the punk demanded, but I was having none of it.

“You don’t tell me what to do, boy! And let me add one more thing: I’d like my beef medium-rare, with just a bit of seasoning! Don’t use the cheap brand of ketchup, and make sure the burger gets the greenest lettuce and the freshest tomatoes! And easy on the cooking oil!”

With that I drove up to the second window to pay the ungodly sum and collect my meal. On my way home I bid the kid at the window good day and advised him to sharpen up.

The event as a whole made me furious, but it only got worse from there. The food was completely greasy and disgusting. They didn’t follow any of my specifications! Hardtack was a delicacy compared to this garbage! Then I noticed a sticker taped to my beverage. “Peel off this sticker and WIN INSANTLY!!” it read.

Instant victory. A concept only conceivable and only tolerated in a society where instant gratification was the very essence of life.

At that point I knew I’d had it.

I must do something to end this madness that has befouled America, I said to myself. But I was too old and feeble to do very much by myself. I would have to create something that would crush society. I then decided that this “something” had to be a product. A product that the greedy, commercial-prone youth would gobble up by the millions! But unbeknownst to them, the product would be specially designed to control and alter their minds!

The product would be the most popular product in history, because it would be a combination of some of the greatest vices in America-video games, bad music, and cell phones!

When I completed my design, I called my creation: THE N-GAGE!! The gage by which the end of the world would come!

You see, the N-Gage would send the user subliminal, cryptographic codes in it’s noises, games, and messages, which would produce one of two psychological effects: Half the N-Gages on Earth would turn the user into a violent, deranged freaks of nature, destroying everything and everyone in their path! The other half would produce lustful, perverted beasts, addicted to sexual behavior like a heroin junkie.

I chose sex and violence as because they were the most destructive and yet most primal elements of human nature. Once the country was overrun by serial killers and lechers , all of the malls, fast food joints, and reality T.V. shows civilization had been hopelessly devoting itself towards would mean nothing to them! They would see, through my N-Gage, the dangers of technology and their forms of entertainment.

I spent a full year in my laboratory researching technology, cryptography, and hypnotism. When it was all said and done, wound up producing a product that curiously resembled a taco. However, since tacos reminded me of fast food, I decided I liked it even better. I then patented my product and sold it’s design to the Nokia corporation, who promised to mass-market the N-Gage.

I had no idea that anarchy could be achieved so easily.

However, I was in for a monumental disappointment, for the N-Gage-for some god-awful reason, sold very poorly. It was so vastly ignored that it made hardly a dent in society! Curses!

But one day, my luck appeared to turn. You see, that day a truck carrying about 1,000 N-Gages turned over near a shopping mall in Sheboygan, Wisconsin.

All of the N-Gages spilled out into the street, and hoards of greedy kids snatched them up simply because they were there. Upon hearing this great news I quickly moved to this Sheboygan town, sure that with such a dense concentration of N-Gage minions, something might happen.

It took a couple weeks or so, but then one day the whole thing exploded. It was first noticed at a local high school. Cases of random violence skyrocketed, and more and more crazed students were detained and/or put in Special Ed. But when the short buses started to become overcrowded, and students began gutting each other with knives on a daily basis, the school board grew suspicious, then panicked.

On the other side of the fence, the “horn dogs” under N-Gage control were busy doing their thing-in the hallways, in the middle of class, anywhere, anytime, with anyone. Though some were rather entertained by this, many others were repulsed by it. Everyone was finally as disgusted with the state of things as I was.


But it was not enough. I figured that there were not enough N-Gages going around, so I decided to get some more into circulation myself. I manufactured dozens of N-Gages and sold them street vendor-style on the sidewalks for $10 apiece. I sold at a loss, but it was well worth it.
In time, it began to take effect, and mobs of insane teenagers (and some pathetic adults) began running all over town, causing destruction. Sometimes they ran alone, sometimes in groups. All of the stores and restaurants in town closed. It was a scene straight outta hell.

I tried to keep track of the spawn of my creation as closely as I could, but it wasn’t easy. One of the most amazing things I had noticed was that there were no police officers trying to stop the violence.
Why? Because the horn dogs were tying up the police stations and seducing all of the cops.


The last I heard before I skipped town to wreak havoc on another, a great number the violent beasts had gathered in a suburban community, where for some strange reason a mother and her son had been involved in some kind of shootout.

Upon witnessing the event, the violent beasts were stunned, but before long they mysteriously began to take sides in the conflict, half of then sided with the boy, the other half with his mom. The massive crowd that had been at the scene before the maniacs arrived decided to takes sides as well.

Before long the entire neighborhood turned into a gigantic, chaotic brawl. Houses were burned, heads were torn off, children were trampled. Unfathomable insanity. But what did I care? This is what the world gets for turning it’s back on decency! It was de-evolution in action…..

Part III: The Anarchy and the Ecstacy

“DuDe ill kiLL mYsel f man im not kiding!!! this account is all I got man you cant ban me!!!!1 give me back my account within teh next week or ill sLit my ****ing thoat I swear man!!!! you gonna be sorry!!!!!!111”

So read the email from MiketheMan, former high-ranking user at gamerchat.com, a popular message board community. MiketheMan had been banned from the site by 24-year-old owner and creator Jacob Sikes, a.k.a. “JakePro341”.

Mike had been banned because he had posted a disgusting picture of 3 old men having sex with a donkey, with the caption “This is for everyone who thinks the N-Gage is cool!!”

Of course, Jacob didn’t take Mike’s threat seriously. He received angry, threatening emails from disgruntled former-users almost on a daily basis. The way Jacob saw it, anyone who would seriously kill themselves over a message board account truly deserved to die.

But Jake underestimated Mike’s fury. Or his idiocy, however you wish to look at it. When 7 days passed, MiketheMan (who’s real name was Sean) received no word from JakePro341, he thought in his twisted head, “that jerk’s gonna pay!”.

His GamerChat account truly was the only think he had in his life, sad as it was. He would spend all of his free time socializing on the message boards, with people he didn’t even know personally and never would, and all of them were as shallow as he. It was more than a message board, it was an alternate reality. A place where lines of age, location, and race did not exist. A place where the strange and the unacceptable were the norm, and life was much simpler.

And it was his life.

It may sound pretty pathetic, but nonetheless it’s true. Jacob Sikes may have banned Sean for a rational reason, but the action caused Sean to lose his marbles completely. Now Sean was prepared to send Jake on a guilt trip he would never foget.

Sean gave his final reply with the help of Jimbo-a 17-year-old stoner.

Sean’s head was carfully sealed in a plastic bag and placed in a box with a note that read “I warned you! Sincerely, MiketheMan”, and a bunch of those little styorofoam pellets.

At first, when Jake saw the box on his doorstep that Friday, he believed it to be a late birthday present. You could almost laugh at how wrong he was.

Jacob Sikes was so horrified at the sight of his former user, he didn’t need the note to identify the site before him. At that he fainted.
Jake was too scared to call the police, believing that they might suspect him as the murder.

His conscience haunting him, Jake finally decided to look up the return address of the package and drive over to Sean’s house to talk to his parents. According to the return address, Sean lived in Sheboygan, WI. That was a long drive, but to Jacob it was something he just had to do.

Jake left early Saturday mourning and made fantastic time, spending the night at a hotel in Springfield, Illinois. The next mourning he woke up early and was driving into Sheboygan by the afternoon. However, upon his arrival at the town, he received an even greater shock when he saw the violent, sexual pandemonium that had engulfed the town. Jake had never seen anything like it in his life. Homicide and porn movie-style mating ravaged the streets, like something The Sex Pistols could only dream of…

Trying to avoid getting killed, Jake quickly and quietly tried to search for Sean’s home, the address of which he had written on his left arm. All the while, he was wondering how in the hell this place became such an anarchaic hellhole..

Then he saw somebody by the park playing an N-Gage suddenly jump up and use it to beat on old lady on the head. “I knew it!” said Jake. An expert in the world of video games, Jake had always felt suspicious about the N-Gage.

Now, Sean’s house happened to be in the middle of the neighborhood where the chaos was the worst-the neighborhood where war broke out between supporters of the mother and supporters of the son in the great gunfight. Ironically, by then, the mother and the son had already been killed by each other’s bullets. But the war continued, and it was brutal.

Amazingly, Jake managed to find Sean’s house….just before it was looted and burned to the ground. Finally, Jake gave up, and decided to go home. But there was one more thing he had to do. Jacob felt a strong urge to try and restore order to the town gone mad.

Deciding that local and state authorities were obviously ineffective, Jake looked in a phone book and called the FBI on his cell phone (not an N-Gage). He described the emergency to them in explicit detail, and even sent them pictures of the catastrophe, using the photo options that came with his cell phone (perhaps the only time in history that ever came in handy). Sadly, during the middle of the conversation, Jacob Sikes was mauled to death by a 16-year-old teenage girl.


But the FBI did respond. After several big covert discussions with the Pentagon, the CIA, and even the White House, a decision was finally made.

Only a few hours after the call, military planes appeared over Sheboygan, WI and dropped a MOAB bomb, the largest non-nuclear bomb in the world. Most of the town was destroyed, and there were very few survivors.

No news organization, save for a few underground muckracker ones, covered the event, the whole thing was kept secret. Those who claimed that the U.S. government had smoked Sheboygan with a bomb were either intimidated by the FBI, detained, or in some extreme cases, murdered.
Sheboygan, Wisconsin was taken off of every map and tourist book in the U.S. All roads that had previously led into Sheboygan were either cut off or re-routed.

And of course, the N-Gage was banned all over the world. In time, the whole memory of Sheboygan and what happened there faded away.

But there was a reason all of these strange events happened.

You see the N-Gage is actually controlled by…..gaah-gag-graaahfkdajk!!!

The End.

Originally posted 03/20/2004

More Strange Stories…


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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