ScreenName Story: Part I

In a few days I'll throw up a blog about my whole Xmas/New Year trip back home. Expect pictures of me with seven Jenga blocks in my mouth.

In the mean time, here is a short story I started about a year ago and never got around to finishing. My goal was to take every screenname in my AIM buddy list and concoct some sort of silly tale out of it using the following self-determined rules:
-excessive use of the letter "x" in names doesn't count (ex. "xxxSkyxxx" is just "Sky")
-names could be used as proper nouns, nouns, verbs, adjectives and phrases
-names can be used phonetically, spelling doesn't have to be exact
-screennames appear in bold

Who knows, maybe I'll finish it sometime down the road (especially now that I have about 30 new names on my list), so for now let's just call it:

ScreenName Story: Part I
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“Hey! Get back here!” the store clerk screamed as the shoplifter rushed out.

Recently crime had been increasing the small town.

“I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I do!”

“I dunno esse,” a slurred voice said outside, “no one has ever caught DSpamMan.” A half sober Mexican was sitting on the sidewalk.

“The SpamMan?”

“Ci. Dee SpamMan. You don’t know dee story of dee Spamman?”

“No sir, I don’t. Who are you anyways?”

“Me? Ci, my name is HeyZeusGhandi, but you can call me HeyZeus.”

“HeyZeus eh? Well then, hellomynameisop,” the clerk said as he pulled up a stool. “So, you mentioned a story?” HeyZeus slouched against the concrete wall, a wutaicat lazily stretched on the ground next to him as he took a swig from a bottle of Dave Beam. It wasn’t the first daveaholc to loiter around the market.

“Ci esse, it was many years ago…”

***

The night was dark. Wind was whipping the tallelise trees as it Kizzle McNizzled on SpamMan’s windshield. It was foxfire season, typical for a region with the cold ocean breeze on one side, and the parched heat of the desert on the other. acelightning struck, followed by a low rumble. It was the thunderoftheeast, a result of the hot and cold fronts colliding. Almost instantaneously SpamMan’s GRiderNova stalled to a stop. “Great,” he mumbled, popping the hood to see what was wrong. The clouds started to part, casting ashade0fgray light onto the muddy, potholed road. SpamMan slammed the hood back down, not the first time his internal dettynator has broken. He kicked a rock and casually started down the road, wondering if he should keep walking or wait for help.

As the sky began to clear he noticed it was riddled with hundreds of Silverstars. One in particular caught his eye; it was the prplstarR of rythmevrlvng. Legend had it that two great sorcerers, xtremeOsiris and grandmasterslade, had fought for the love of the sorceress Merlidox for over 8 eons, until finally in an act of impatience and disgust she had flung herself into their crossfire, leaving her 4everscarred as a purple star in the night’s sky. It was told that troubled souls seeking a decision to their trouble need only follow the purple star for their answer. Just as he recalled that myth, he thought he saw the strshvr, as a separate star fell across the sky. “Good enough,” he said to himself as he headed toward the star.

After a few hours of wandering SpamMan was snapped out of his thoughtless gaze by a rustling in the bushes. “Eiiy? Who be dat?” a strangely Rastafarian voice called from the bushes.

“Excuse me?” was the only reply SpamMan could come up with.

“Eiiy mon” the scrappy Rastafarian stepped out of the bushes, “whatchya doin’ out ‘eer in dawoods so late? Lord-have-mercy!”

“Um…my car broke down so I was following the purple star to help.”

“Purple star? You whacky cracky, every mon knows it’s da Bluestar you is supposed to follow. Lord-have-mercy!” SpamMan looked to the sky, sure enough a blue star shivered over the bush- coincidentally another falling star shot by, the Sec0ndstaR2fawl that evening.

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Didn’t mon. It’s Jiggity G Man,” he replied, reaching out a free hand, the other was baring the largest rifle SpamMan had ever seen, “and you? Lord-have-mercy!”

“Um, SpamMan.”

“Ah! Dee SpamMan! Well mon, let us get back to ma cabin, it not be safe out here at night. Lord-have-mercy!”

“Interesting” Spam thought. That would have been good to know before he wandered out into the night.

The G Man almost seemed to read his mind. “Ya mon, these woods be full of da spork goblins, dats why I got me MaxPower500000,” waving his rifle in the air, “loaded whit only da finest- MrBuckshot!”

The two made their way back to the Rastafarian’s cabin, fortunately with no spork goblin encounters. After 30 minutes of walking they stepped into a clearing with a cabin, smoke billowing from the chimney centered in the middle of the roof. They entered the cabin, “You can sleep in ma bed mon! We’ll take care of everything else in the morning, lord-have-mercy!”

“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No mon, take ma bed, I’m an ensomniachc.” Which, for those of you that don’t know, is much worse than an insomniac because they’re also deathly afraid of infomercials.

***

The next morning SpamMan woke up to the smell of frying bacon. A scent closely associated to the smell of God’s farts. He hobbled downstairsi in a groggy daze, noticing a Rastafarian woman and an overly excited child in the kitchen. G Man never mentioned anything about a family, plus where else would they of slept?

“Ahhh! Ello’ mon! I am L H Namaste, Jiggity’s wife. Come, come, help yourself to da food!” She said, motioning to the table. “We gots nooodles with EZcheese, emmybuns and mayona1se, oatmeal, and a fresh bowl of cornballss.” It was all spread out, with a cute bqui of flower in the center. Nonetheless it was a very peculiar choice of morning cuisine, especially to someone like SpamMan who usually doesn’t eat breakfast.

“Um, that’s ok mam, I’m actually going to try and get going now.”

“Eeeeiiii! Good mornin’ mon! Lord-have-mercy!” SpamMan nodded at G Man who was entering the room.

“Good morning Jiggity, I was just talking with Namaste about heading out and being on my way.”

“Aye mon. I see you met Namaste and Acey. I already had your car towed to da garage, it should be ready pretty soon. Lord-have-mercy!”

“Why dontchya boys eat first before ya get on da rooooad.” Namaste said as she scooted Acey and his chair up against the kitchen table.

“eat oatmeal NOW!!!” Acey screamed, slamming his fists on the table.

“Eeii boy! You keep talkin’ like dat and you gonna get an eyeshine.”

“eat oatmeal NOW!” Acey screamed again, trying to wiggle out of his chair onto the table.

“Eeii boy!” Namaste made a grab for the kid. “Lemme Smack You!” She whacked him right across the head and shoved him back into his chair. “Sometimes you need to BeatUpYourChild ya know, some diaperlove eh mon?”

“Sure.” SpamMan was ready to leave.

“Aye mon, we’d betta get goin.” Better words couldn’t have been said.

SpamMan and Jiggity stepped outside, the sun was out, not a cloud in the sky. The forest around them smelled fresh from the night’s storm. SpamMan noticed flowers all along the border of the house, the same kind that were set in the center of the breakfast table- sundrops, ShyViolets, Lilystarlites, firelilys, cazlilacs, even HappyGarlicBulbs which he thought were out of season. There were Bupbeephee’s buzzing around the flower beds, as a KDawg happily wagged it’s tail chasing JenniferChippymonks around the lawn. As they made there way down a beaten dirt trail, presumably heading to the main road, they even passed a pond full of sword-bmaguppies which a Kasearoo was contently drinking from, hardly aware of its visitors. “This has got to be the most hippie-Disney shit I’ve ever seen in my life.” SpamMan thought to himself.

The two slowly made their way through the woods. It was very peaceful, birds chirping, strands of sunlight shining through the leaves making the pine needle floor look as if it were spotted like a cheetah. How’s that for adjectives and similes?

Eventually they passed a sparkling pool of water with a stone fountain in the center shaped like a ballerina. Butterflies were fluttering all around it, along with firefly-like insects that made the air seem like it was sparkling as well. “If we’re lucky mon we might see Sognatrice Bella, lord-have-mercy!”

“Sogna-who?”
”She’s one of very few Punk Trina’s left in the wild mon, some say she traveled here all the way from Canadia. Lord-have-mercy!”

“I’m confused, a forest ballerina from Canada?”

“Canadia. They say she was once a BalletDJ who made a pact with a forest god who promised ’er the power of twinkltoes- the power to float so lightly along the ground that NothingTouches, not even her feet. Lord-have-mercy!” Just then there was a sudden movement out of the corner of SpamMan’s eye. Jiggity must have noticed too, spinning his head in the same direction. Then the movement appeared out of the corner of their other eye’s, both spinning their heads in unison in that direction. Suddenly some twigs broke, and there was a sharp ‘thump’, then leaves crunching, and another sharp ‘thump’. The noise was heading towards them, shaking the bushes as the entity thumped closer to them.

Then it stopped.

“Do you think that was Sogna-“ THUMP! A stout man fell through the bushes onto the ground in front of them, what appeared to be a hook for hand digging into the earth next to SpamMan’s foot.

“YARRRRRRRR!!!!!” the man bellowed as he cocked his head up, staring at SpamMan with one bulging eye, the other covered with a patch. SpamMan and Jiggity took a step back.

“Whoa there buddy!” was the only thing SpamMan could think to say.

“Yarrrrr! BruceDickinsons the name!” said the little man, standing up and brushing himself off. SpamMan took a step towards him. “Yarrrrr! Anotherrrrrr step and my pointysword will be makin’ pointywork of ya’!”

SpamMan took a step back.

“Ey mon! What in da’ beaches happened to ya’ leg and eye mon!? Lord-have-mercy!”

“Yarrrrr! It t’was a xfallnxtragedyx.”

“I’ll say…Christ.”
”Ya’ mon! Lemme guess, you ‘fell down da’ stairs’? Lord-have-mercy!”

“Yarrrrr! How did ye’ know!?” SpamMan shook his head and rolled his eyes. The three just stood there for a minute starring at each other in silence.

“Yar. I’m serious. How did ye’ know?”

“He was being sarcastic dude.”
”Yarrrcastic?”

“Yes. As in facetious.”

“Yarrrrr. Yar.” The pirate suddenly had a sad look on his face.

“Hey mon, you want to tell us how it ‘appened? Lord-have mercy!”

“Yarrrrr!” Clearly gaining his piratey enthusiasm back. “Let me tell ye a tale! Gatharrrrr close now, YARRRRR.”

The two just stood their ground.

“It all starrrrrted when me and my crew were sarrrrrchin’ farrrrr da’ treasarrrrr…

“There we were, me n’ my crrrew, deep n’ the depths of hell..."

TO BE CONTINUED