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So here I am packing up my stuff as my senior year draws to a close. What I find is my speech binder from freshman year and it contains a piece that a friend and I had written back then xD
WARNING: This will probably be the single most retarded thing you ever read.
here it is:
P (me): What happens when you're out of money, out of a job, and desperate for Cheetohs...
Both: AGAIN.
D: I think the better question to ask here, partner, is what happens when you're out of money, out of a job, desperate for Cheetohs, and you're devastatingly bored?
P: Tell the people!
D: WE'LL TELL THE PEOPLE!
Both: You write crappy OP's.
Out of Money, Out of a Job, and Desperate for Cheetos [Part Deux]
-An original performance-
By Us.
P: Our story begins the same way any other does.
D: Any other story involving ninja-wannabes and many, many Cheetohs.
P: It all began two years ago...
D: This is a flashback, by the way.
P: It was a breezy evening, at 2:30 AM, and we were taking a leisurely stroll through the streets of downtown cake/box town, which is made entirely out of mushrooms, pepperoni, horse relish, garbanzo paste, french fries, mustard, and fur.
D: When suddenly, a nearby cat was destroyed by a humongous tire that happened to be rolling down a hill. This was of utmost importance...because one time, I read a prophecy that said, "when you see that one cat get destroyed, walk to the theatre."
P: It also said that if we didn't, it would rain giant rocks shaped like turnips that land on the exact center of your head.
D: Which might cause bleeding.
P: ANYWAY, here's what happened at the theatre.
D: We would like two tickets and a bathtub of popcorn. Light on the butter please. I don't want to clog my arteries and die.
P: We don't serve popcorn here. Too many people's arteries got clogged and they died. We have water, water, water, lemonade, water, carrots and butter.
D: Fine, I guess we'll take the carrots and butter. Please smash them together at high speeds.
P: Okay, but it only comes in microscopic size at a shocking price.
D: I don't care.
P: Microscopic as in...you need a microscope to see it. You need to be careful too, because if you squeeze it too hard, it'll explode all over you, like a nuclear explosion of butter!
D: Well, can I borrow one?
P: We don't provide them here! You purchase one at the microscope store across the street. You can't miss it. It's right between the microscopic carrot store and the microscopic butter emporium.
D: How are they?
P: Only a milliondy billiondy trilliondy billiondy dollars.
D: You said billiondy twice.
P: We got our microscopes by trading the salesman for a pair of golden spoons we stole from a bum who called himself the EARLINATOR.
D: Once we got back to the theatre, we met a man named Eggy Eggston.
P: I want cookies smothered in tar from a smoker's lungs. I'll be right back.
D: Uh...anyways...there was something peculiar about this man, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it was his haircut..or perhaps it was his socks...they were striped after all...or maybe it was his...lack of a torso. Well, whatever it was, it was disconcerting. I--
P: He was the exact shape of an egg, you dumb!
D: Oh, yeah. Did you get your cookies and tar.
P: No. All I could find was a papertoothclippick.
D: What the heck is that?
P: It's a paper clip and a toothpick that have been SMASHED together.
D: What does it do?
P: Smites the wrong-doers.
D: How does it do that?
P: It tears off their toenails and giggles like a little school girl.
D: Oh, is THAT all.
P: Unfortunately.
D: Anyway, what are we seeing?
P: Some Indie film called "How the Apocalypes Befell the World because Two Retards Saw a Cat Get Smushed by a Tire and Didn't Do Anything About It".
D: Sounds odd.
P: I've heard it's got a cliff-hanger ending.
D: Ugh...
P: You know what? You can stop complaining or I'll give you a paper cut with a knife.
D: Hey, that is not appropriate in this public setting, you evil sandwich!
P: You're right. I apologize.
D: It's quite all right, my good chum. Know why?
P: WHY?
D: Because they're opening the doors to our show!
Both: HIP HIP HOORAY!
Ticket Person: Tickets please.
P: Here ya go!
T: Do you have ID?
P: Yeah, but we're 28.5 years old, so what's the problem?
T: Didn't you see the rating?
P: Huh? No.
T: Well, it's rated PG-18.
P: Right. What's the problem. I'm over 18.
T: No, you insolent r-tard! This movie is so crappily written and so immature that you have to be UNDER 18 to get any of the jokes and understand what's going on!
P: Oh, it's okay. My lack of maturity makes up for the years I've accumulated.
T: What's your poi--
P: My point is simply that I'm an immature jerk.
T: I believe there's a cure for that. It's called a shotgun to the face.
P: Really? I thought it was called Riddlin.
(they think for a minute)
T: Well, I can't let you in. And I can't refund your tickets.
P: What can you do?
T: I can do this (weird dance)...ahem. All I can do is give you these commemorative muffins and send you on your merry little way.
P: Fine, give me the dratted muffin.
T: See ya! (flip)
D: That was stupid.
P: At least we got muffins!
D: Ha! Very true!
(both take bites)
Both: WTF?
P: Ugh! This muffin tastes like dead babies fried in grease from used dogs!
D: It tastes like old people wrapped in bacon dresses, but the bacon is actually made out of dinosaurs and gasoline!
Both: Ugh!
P: Well, anyway, there's another movie about pajama man.
D: Haven't heard of that one.
P: Well, it's where this guy is sleeping in his pajamas for some reason or another and an atomic bomb explodes behind him. Furious that he was awakened, he beats up the person that made the bomb.
D: That sounds violent.
P: IT IS! Actually, no. Pajama man uses a teddy bear.
D: How is that not violent?
P: Well, it's a cute little teddy bear...so it's happy!
D: So being violent makes the teddy bear happy?
P: Well, no...teddy bears are inanimate objects.
D: Robots are animate objects.
P: But they don't have feelings.
D: DON'T they?
P: No. Anything else playing?
D: MATH CLASS...IN 3D!!!!
P: That sounds exciting.
D: Oh, it is. The teacher stands in front of the class and TALKS.
P: Oh, I've heard of that one. It's also where a kid runs with a banana suit and sings, "It's peanut butter jelly time'.
D: Yeah, and then a rabbit comes in with carrots and butter SMASHED TOGETHER!!!
P: That's my favoriiiiiite movie (wobbles).
D: GREAT!!!
P: Oh, but MATH CLASS...IN 3D!!!! is in three dimensions and I only brought my two dimensional eyeballs today.
D: Oh, I brought an extra set you could use!
P: No thanks! Using someone else's eyeballs is like using someone else's hiyena!
D: Do you do that often?
P: NO!!
---
P: After that, we decided to leave the theatre. We had some questions and we wanted answers. The only person we could think of to go to was someone very wise indeed. It was the guy on the street corner with a rubber chicken in his briefcase.
Guy: (very proper like) What can I assist you with, mt good chums?
P: I want to know...well, WE want to know...who would win in a fight? Gandalf or Dumbledore?
G: Gandalf.
P: Frodo or Harry Potter?
G: Harry Potter.
P: Sam or Ron?
G: Sam.
P: Lord Voldemort or Sauron?
G: Does Saron have the ring of power?
P: No.
G: Then Voldemort.
P: The Weasley Twins or Merry and Pippin?
G: The Weasley Twins.
P: Hermione or Legolas?
G: TreeBeard.
P: What? I didn't ask that!
G: I know this. I know everything. However, TreeBeard would break both of their legs and leave them to squirm about.
P: ALL RIGHT!
----
P: And that's our story.
D: Aren't stories supposed to have plots?
P: Well, yeah, but--
D: And well-developed characters?
P: Well, yes, but--
D: And the climax? Where was our climax?
P: I dunno, but here's the ending! THE END!
D: Oh...
WARNING: This will probably be the single most retarded thing you ever read.
here it is:
P (me): What happens when you're out of money, out of a job, and desperate for Cheetohs...
Both: AGAIN.
D: I think the better question to ask here, partner, is what happens when you're out of money, out of a job, desperate for Cheetohs, and you're devastatingly bored?
P: Tell the people!
D: WE'LL TELL THE PEOPLE!
Both: You write crappy OP's.
Out of Money, Out of a Job, and Desperate for Cheetos [Part Deux]
-An original performance-
By Us.
P: Our story begins the same way any other does.
D: Any other story involving ninja-wannabes and many, many Cheetohs.
P: It all began two years ago...
D: This is a flashback, by the way.
P: It was a breezy evening, at 2:30 AM, and we were taking a leisurely stroll through the streets of downtown cake/box town, which is made entirely out of mushrooms, pepperoni, horse relish, garbanzo paste, french fries, mustard, and fur.
D: When suddenly, a nearby cat was destroyed by a humongous tire that happened to be rolling down a hill. This was of utmost importance...because one time, I read a prophecy that said, "when you see that one cat get destroyed, walk to the theatre."
P: It also said that if we didn't, it would rain giant rocks shaped like turnips that land on the exact center of your head.
D: Which might cause bleeding.
P: ANYWAY, here's what happened at the theatre.
D: We would like two tickets and a bathtub of popcorn. Light on the butter please. I don't want to clog my arteries and die.
P: We don't serve popcorn here. Too many people's arteries got clogged and they died. We have water, water, water, lemonade, water, carrots and butter.
D: Fine, I guess we'll take the carrots and butter. Please smash them together at high speeds.
P: Okay, but it only comes in microscopic size at a shocking price.
D: I don't care.
P: Microscopic as in...you need a microscope to see it. You need to be careful too, because if you squeeze it too hard, it'll explode all over you, like a nuclear explosion of butter!
D: Well, can I borrow one?
P: We don't provide them here! You purchase one at the microscope store across the street. You can't miss it. It's right between the microscopic carrot store and the microscopic butter emporium.
D: How are they?
P: Only a milliondy billiondy trilliondy billiondy dollars.
D: You said billiondy twice.
P: We got our microscopes by trading the salesman for a pair of golden spoons we stole from a bum who called himself the EARLINATOR.
D: Once we got back to the theatre, we met a man named Eggy Eggston.
P: I want cookies smothered in tar from a smoker's lungs. I'll be right back.
D: Uh...anyways...there was something peculiar about this man, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it was his haircut..or perhaps it was his socks...they were striped after all...or maybe it was his...lack of a torso. Well, whatever it was, it was disconcerting. I--
P: He was the exact shape of an egg, you dumb!
D: Oh, yeah. Did you get your cookies and tar.
P: No. All I could find was a papertoothclippick.
D: What the heck is that?
P: It's a paper clip and a toothpick that have been SMASHED together.
D: What does it do?
P: Smites the wrong-doers.
D: How does it do that?
P: It tears off their toenails and giggles like a little school girl.
D: Oh, is THAT all.
P: Unfortunately.
D: Anyway, what are we seeing?
P: Some Indie film called "How the Apocalypes Befell the World because Two Retards Saw a Cat Get Smushed by a Tire and Didn't Do Anything About It".
D: Sounds odd.
P: I've heard it's got a cliff-hanger ending.
D: Ugh...
P: You know what? You can stop complaining or I'll give you a paper cut with a knife.
D: Hey, that is not appropriate in this public setting, you evil sandwich!
P: You're right. I apologize.
D: It's quite all right, my good chum. Know why?
P: WHY?
D: Because they're opening the doors to our show!
Both: HIP HIP HOORAY!
Ticket Person: Tickets please.
P: Here ya go!
T: Do you have ID?
P: Yeah, but we're 28.5 years old, so what's the problem?
T: Didn't you see the rating?
P: Huh? No.
T: Well, it's rated PG-18.
P: Right. What's the problem. I'm over 18.
T: No, you insolent r-tard! This movie is so crappily written and so immature that you have to be UNDER 18 to get any of the jokes and understand what's going on!
P: Oh, it's okay. My lack of maturity makes up for the years I've accumulated.
T: What's your poi--
P: My point is simply that I'm an immature jerk.
T: I believe there's a cure for that. It's called a shotgun to the face.
P: Really? I thought it was called Riddlin.
(they think for a minute)
T: Well, I can't let you in. And I can't refund your tickets.
P: What can you do?
T: I can do this (weird dance)...ahem. All I can do is give you these commemorative muffins and send you on your merry little way.
P: Fine, give me the dratted muffin.
T: See ya! (flip)
D: That was stupid.
P: At least we got muffins!
D: Ha! Very true!
(both take bites)
Both: WTF?
P: Ugh! This muffin tastes like dead babies fried in grease from used dogs!
D: It tastes like old people wrapped in bacon dresses, but the bacon is actually made out of dinosaurs and gasoline!
Both: Ugh!
P: Well, anyway, there's another movie about pajama man.
D: Haven't heard of that one.
P: Well, it's where this guy is sleeping in his pajamas for some reason or another and an atomic bomb explodes behind him. Furious that he was awakened, he beats up the person that made the bomb.
D: That sounds violent.
P: IT IS! Actually, no. Pajama man uses a teddy bear.
D: How is that not violent?
P: Well, it's a cute little teddy bear...so it's happy!
D: So being violent makes the teddy bear happy?
P: Well, no...teddy bears are inanimate objects.
D: Robots are animate objects.
P: But they don't have feelings.
D: DON'T they?
P: No. Anything else playing?
D: MATH CLASS...IN 3D!!!!
P: That sounds exciting.
D: Oh, it is. The teacher stands in front of the class and TALKS.
P: Oh, I've heard of that one. It's also where a kid runs with a banana suit and sings, "It's peanut butter jelly time'.
D: Yeah, and then a rabbit comes in with carrots and butter SMASHED TOGETHER!!!
P: That's my favoriiiiiite movie (wobbles).
D: GREAT!!!
P: Oh, but MATH CLASS...IN 3D!!!! is in three dimensions and I only brought my two dimensional eyeballs today.
D: Oh, I brought an extra set you could use!
P: No thanks! Using someone else's eyeballs is like using someone else's hiyena!
D: Do you do that often?
P: NO!!
---
P: After that, we decided to leave the theatre. We had some questions and we wanted answers. The only person we could think of to go to was someone very wise indeed. It was the guy on the street corner with a rubber chicken in his briefcase.
Guy: (very proper like) What can I assist you with, mt good chums?
P: I want to know...well, WE want to know...who would win in a fight? Gandalf or Dumbledore?
G: Gandalf.
P: Frodo or Harry Potter?
G: Harry Potter.
P: Sam or Ron?
G: Sam.
P: Lord Voldemort or Sauron?
G: Does Saron have the ring of power?
P: No.
G: Then Voldemort.
P: The Weasley Twins or Merry and Pippin?
G: The Weasley Twins.
P: Hermione or Legolas?
G: TreeBeard.
P: What? I didn't ask that!
G: I know this. I know everything. However, TreeBeard would break both of their legs and leave them to squirm about.
P: ALL RIGHT!
----
P: And that's our story.
D: Aren't stories supposed to have plots?
P: Well, yeah, but--
D: And well-developed characters?
P: Well, yes, but--
D: And the climax? Where was our climax?
P: I dunno, but here's the ending! THE END!
D: Oh...
