The First, Involving a Plot, Some Gibberish, and a Hint of Insanity

Once upon--I can think of nothing to write! Noooooo!

Once upon a…uh…(A friend of mine suggested, “Once upon an erect penis.”)…

Once upon a blue moon in the middle of June during the dance of the loon inside a cocoon sometime soon when the fish croon to the tune of the baboon…I have forgotten what I was writing.

Once upon a green sun, there was a superheroine. (Is that a word? It sounds like the drug.) This superheroine was named Footmonster, who, with her faithful sidekick, Mel Mar, fought all the evil of the world: math.

One day, fresh news of a wicked crime somehow reached Footmonster's ears. When she had somehow heard the news, she summoned Mel Mar.

“Mel Mar, my friend,” said she in the voice which was her own (Well, whose else would it have been?), “the world must be saved, and only we, who know and understand the dangers of our foe, can save it.”

Mel Mar gasped. “We’re not out of toilet-paper again, are we?”

“Superheroes don’t need toilet-paper, Mel.”

“But I’m just your sidekick.”

“What? Who said that?”

Mel Mar pointed to the third paragraph.

“LIES! ALL LIES!” screamed Footmonster. “But anyway fresh news of a wicked crime has somehow reached my ears.”

“So we’re not out of toilet-paper even if we don’t need any.”

“Right. The news is this: a particular teacher in an insignificant town will be forcing her poor, suffering students to take a stupid and pointless test this afternoon. You know what that means….”

“To the Goatmobile!”

A snazzy theme song resembling something rather snazzy filled the air as the two superheroines raced through millions of secret passages to the Goatmobile, which looked like a devil-rubber-ducky on wheels. (I have no idea why it was called a Goatmobile.)

They leapt into the Goatmobile, which really ought to be called the Devilrubberduckyonwheelsmobile, and fastened their seatbelts (“Safety first“ and all that malarkey); Footmonster slipped a groovy CD into the CD-player of the Goatmobile, which really ought to be called the Devilrubberduckyonwheelsmobile, and prepared to drive out of the garage, which had formerly been the kitchen of their headquarters, but, because Footmonster and Mel Mar ate only takeout pizza, they had decided that a kitchen was pointless: they had, therefore, moved the microwave and refrigerator into the bathroom (What? Don’t you have a microwave and refrigerator in your bathroom?) and had stood them next to the bookshelves. (What? Don’t you have your library in the bathroom?).

“I've been thinking, Mel,” said Footmonster as she accidentally drove the Goatmobile, which really ought to be called the Devilrubberduckyonwheelsmobile, through a wall of the kitchen.

“That's dangerous.”

“I know, but sometimes you just have to make your mind let you go think.”

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

“First I was thinking about remodeling the pantry, but then my mind wandered on to something else…cheese…mmm.”

“Footmonster, wake up; you're supposed to be driving.”

“Oh yeah, what was I saying?”

“You were talking about thinking. You were talking about thinking about talking about thinking that something's not right.”

“Oh yes. Well, I was thinking that using the kitchen for a garage has not been the best of ideas.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The exit is too small.”

“Well, I think that you've solved that problem many times before. You keep driving through the walls. If you would use the holes in the walls for exits, then we’d not have to worry about the door as an exit.”

“Oh, right, that sounds good.”

They drove onto the drawbridge, over the moat, and out into the city-traffic (What? Isn't your castle an urban castle?), avoiding the buildings as much as possible. Avoiding pedestrians, however, was not an easy task, for they had begun their usual game of Hit-the-Pedestrian at a million miles an hour.

It was dark that fateful night, and it was not even night, or maybe it was. No, it could not have been. Could it? Well, no matter--the streetlights shone their dull glow across the narrow road along which they were now traveling in the Goatmobile, which really ought to be called the Devilrubberduckyonwheelsmobile.

Mel Mar reached through the open window and ripped a street-sign from the ground.

“Oh look,” she said. “This sign says that our destination is only six miles farther.”

“Sounds scary, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it gives me the shivers…or something.”

“Be careful now. We're entering the territory of evil. Watch your back.”

Mel Mar's eyes widened, and she snapped her penetrating gaze to the seat behind her, fearing that someone was hiding there waiting for the opportunity to kill her with a tattered textbook or something.

A few minutes passed, and Footmonster said, “See--there it is.” She pointed to a building on their left, a huge, flat place surrounded by a moat full of monkey-piss.

“That's odd,” she continued. “Most schools don't have moats, do they?”

“Not that I know of,” said Mel Mar.

“Well, we must do our duty, I suppose. Art thou ready?”

“No, but I'm ready.”

“…I just asked you whether you were ready.”

“Yeah, and I said that I wasn't but that I was ready.”

“Um…right then, come on; let's get across the moat and defeat the evil which lies within this prison.'

They leapt out of the Goatmobile, which really ought to be called the Devilrubberduckyonwheelsmobile, swam across the moat, and burst into the school.

“Oops, hang on, Mel; I forgot to lock the Goatmobile, which really ought to be called the Devilrubberduckyonwheelsmobile, and I parked in a fire-zone.”

“Since when have you ever cared about proper parking?”

“Since…um…hang on; I'll have to think about this for a few minutes....”

“My point, Footmonster, was that you don't care.”

“Oh. Well, let's go then.”

Some polka-music began to play in the background as they headed down the nearest hallway.

“What kind of music is that?!” said Footmonster, screeching to a halt in the middle of that dark, dank hallway. “I refuse to be in this story any longer if that music continues.”

The music stopped abruptly.

“Thank you. Come on, Mel Mar. Quietly, let us creep through these sordid halls until we find this horrifying teacher.”

So quietly they crept through those sordid halls, ducking when the vultures swooped down and tried to bite off their ears. Each step which they took gave a crunching sound as they squashed the slower cockroaches.

“Whoa, these roaches are foaming at the mouth. Did you notice that, Footmonster?”

“Yeah, some of the foamy-stuff got on my shoe.”

“Yuck.”

Suddenly Footmonster let out a great scream.

“What?” said Mel Mar.

“There‘s a roach on my shirt!”

“Dude, calm down; that's just the design.”

“Oh. Yeah…I knew that, silly me. Shall we continue?”

At last they arrived at the classroom in which the teacher was forcing her students to take that stupid and pointless test: a pre-calculus test. With righteous anger in their hearts, Footmonster and Mel Mar saved the world from math by burning the school down, and everybody died because the fire-department had not been able to reach the school quickly enough. Some idiot had parked in the fire-zone.

The End