User:Ian Lee/My Stupid Story
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To be frankly honest, I'm not that great of a writer. Because of this, the following, my "Untitled Story", probably is flooded with spelling and grammer mistakes. I would highly appreciate it if someone were to fix some of these errors. It would meen a lot to me.
In addition, the original thoughts of this story came from three posts on the Newgrounds Bouletin Board System. They can be found here: [1][2][3]. However, if you actually read those posts, you'll see that they are just a bare ignition into my mind thought of this story. It has been completly edited, completly changed, and if someone were to have read both (withought me telling them to), I doubt that they would have known I had taken the electric charge from them. I do not consider this "borrowing" either, because I in do know for a fact that this is stealing (although what I stole was a gram to a ton). However, as Quentin Tarantino once said, 'Amatuers pay tribute; masters steal'. Additional, I have been given permission to steal his thoughts so everything (at least legaly) is fine for a lack of a better work. Check out his Newgrounds profile here: [4].
One More Thing!!! The folowing story contains profanity and goofy toilet humor. If you are offended by this kind of stuff, don't read it. Another Thing!!! I'm just a stupid teenage kid who doesn't exactly know how to write the most influential novel of the 21st century, so don't be so judging when you read this, okay?
Without further ado, here is my unfinished "Untitled Story".
[edit] Chapter 1 - I Meet Mrs. Ancient And Sir Cussalot
"Look Jason, just because someone likes to have sexual intercourse with men, does not necessarily mean that they're a homosexual. In this great modern day, in all of its greatness and modern-ness, if you have the chance to stick your dick into something, you'll do it. You see, the whole thing about evolution, and mating to survive and the reproducing shit. That shit's all gone. For years, humans have been becoming… hmmm… what's a good word… yeah, dumber. "Look trust me, I know what I'm talking about, and you know that I'm talking facts here man, and we have a… uh… kind of the same level of understanding-ness. 'Cause today, you can't find a single soul that's not a little bit homo, or metro, or uh, bi. I mean, you just can't do it no more. And I'm not just talking about the people who seem a little funky, but I'm talking about the…"
God. I hated to listen to Andrew's stupid monologues every single day on the metro link going to work. But then again, it was often much less boring, to listen to his really screwed up ideas than to sit alone for a long, long time, just staring at nothing, for an eternity. My name is Relva, but everybody calls me Jason. I'm not exactly sure why they call me so, but they do. It must have been fourth or fifth grade when they started calling me so. It seems so long ago. I wish I could relive those days.
But anyways, like most people I have a story to tell. Everyone has a story, even you if you really think about it. People's stories could be cute, minor anecdotes, or sad elegies of death, tragedy, and war. They could be of any form, and about anything really. Some people have many stories to tell, and could go on for hours – I'm sure you've met those kinds of people before. Other people don't have quite so many, but like I said. Everybody does have a story to tell, and usually. People have a story that stands out, whether they're proud of it or not. And people like to tell these stories – to pass them on, so others can tell them. It's a really comforting feeling, knowing how far a story can go. To know that you have a story, that's good enough to be heard to others. Yes, it's a comforting feeling.
My story is about a young me. I was young and foolish, like younger adults were my age, and if people were to describe me then, words like "asshole" and "prick" might have been spoken, most probable because in essence, I was an asshole and a prick. I thought that whole world revolved around me, and I was all that mattered. If I could get out of a situation with no battle scars, the whole world was perfect, but of course, the world was not perfect. I always got caught for the things I did, as I very well learned one week which all started all with one of my daily metro link rides to work.
| † |
Andrew was not there to glamour me with his bullshit about global economics and world peace that day, but I was doing all right until Mrs. Ancient came into the tram with her frail-looking cane, and her skin seeming to be melting off her body. The mummy-of-a-thing was quite small, which wasn't surprising because of her age, and reeked of cat urine, and also unsurprisingly of "old-people-smell".
She searched frantically left and right for the perfect seat. It was obviously the most important thing of her day, then BAM! Her eyes locked with mine. 'ABORT!' I shouted in my mind to the point of insanity. She started walking at me with her three legs and I was horrified that I might catch the plague. I wouldn't have been surprised if her social security number was 1.
"Excuse me son, but can you please get your foot off the seat next to you?" She said in a high-pitched, "I'm a psychopath" kind of voice. I was laying one of my legs sideways on top of my other leg that was standing perpendicular to the floor. You know how it is.
'Fuck you!' I imagined screaming at her. I didn't move my leg.
"Hello? Can you please move your foot so I can sit down, please," she said innocently.
She did say please, so I uttered the word, "Ya," and preceded into taking me foot off the darn seat, even though I knew that I would be smelling, 'who knows what' for the rest of my, what-was-supposed-to-be pleasant trip.
This is what made me furious. After I took my foot off the seat, sacrificing my happiness, hygiene, and possibly my life, she had the nerve to pick up a newspaper lying on the floor of the tram and wipe it furiously on the seat my foot wasn't even really touching. I could just imagine standing up, telling Mrs. Ancient to fuck off, and landing one right bellow her melting nose.
Hatred boiled up inside me, as I played imaginary scenes in my mind of me landing a blow on her. It felt so good just thinking about it, but half through my little trip on the metro I came to my senses and realized that there were witnesses all around me, and most probably cameras as well. If she were a he, I thought, I probably would have started something. It was good thing she wasn't.
My stop came and I got up, and who would've known that it was Mrs. Ancient's stop too. There was no way I was following behind her to the exit so I pushed her aside and stood in front of her. "Oh my!" She said surprised as if she didn't deserve it. What a stupid moron she was.
I was almost out of the tram when all of a sudden she stepped on the heel of my shoe.
Immediately, I instinctively span around and caught her right bellow the chin. I felt her whiskers against my clenched fist, and watched her collapse into the air and spin, in the middle of the tram station. As she fell to the floor, her head cracked against the cement floor, a small spray of blood streaked across the floor, and a bubble came from her mouth. A large bruise had formed on her chin, and, in an almost comical fashion, her false teeth had fallen out of her mouth and lay cracked after skimming across the ground. Ewwwww! I touched her!
I then immediately ran out of the tram station so that no one would see me. No one did…
| † |
Much afar from the tram station already, I kept on running until I found my good old pal Andrew, or more formerly Mr. Bullshit. He must have gotten in the metro earlier than me. We usually arrive at the station at almost the exact same time, and we would usually hook up, so he could bullshit me, and I would listen, but not today, and I would find out why much later.
It is necessary to know Andrew. Besides the fact that he likes to bullshit, he's a very truthful guy, and is very easy to get along with. He's always very fun to be around, and always has a comment to throw into a conversation. One big draw back about him though, which is a reason why he's not able to get a girlfriend, is that he talks about things you're not supposed talk about like porn, racism, and above all that he cusses all the time. I do my fair share of cussing myself, although only seriously with Andrew, and so I look past his cussing. I really only mind his stupid bullshit once in a while.
Andrew and I are like happy schoolgirls most of the time because we get along so well. The first time I saw him, I knew it was true friendship at first sight, and I'm not kidding either. When he first came to Jarvis Company Services, about two years ago, I greeted him, and our great relationship has been great since then. He's really not that bad of a guy once you get to know him.
I was going to say 'Hi!' to him when all of a sudden this stupid, piece of shit behind me shoved me to the side, and attempted to run forward. What a stupid fuck. He seemed to be wearing a backpack so I grabbed the little half-circle on the top of it and turned him around so I could get a good look at him.
He was probably fifteen years old, a little bit too skinny for his height, and had pimples all over his face to the point of being horrific. I raised my fist and was about to smack him one before he said in a scared tone, "Please sir. Don't hurt me. I'm late to school, and I needed to rush." "That all?" I responded.
"Yeah." He uttered only a split second before my fist took off landing right on his left cheekbone. He fell down on his ass, with much fear in his eyes. He was obviously very emotional and a wimp.
"Shit!" He shouted with a hand on his cheek.
Now, I have a serious problem with cussing used in a mean way, especially by teens. When Andrew and I cuss, we do so to emphasize a point, or to show we are serious; we never use cuss to insult, at least not out loud…
Back to the story, the teenager must have seen something change in my facial expression or something, because there was a strange look of fear on him pimplefied face as he got up, running away from me.
Needless to say, I followed him passing stores, restraunts, houses, until I caught him at a one-way back alley where a big brick wall loomed at the end. The worst part of the whole chase was that this stupid idiot was shouting, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" repeatedly while he was running. I kind of felt a little sorry when I had him cornered.
I stared coldly at this little toe-rag as he cowered in the corner. Glancing to my side, I saw a glass bottle, sticking out of a dustbin. Calmly, I approached him, gently grabbing the bottle and massaging it with my fingers, the only sound being the soft whimpers of this little kid. Poor thing.
I'm sure you all agree, nothing beats the silence before the storm – that moment of nervous apprehension before you smash someone's head apart and leave glass shards deep in their frontal lobe. I savored it; it's a godly sensation. This scared little wimp looked up at me, with his puppy-dog eyes, as I brandished a Heineken bottle like a crazy mo'fuga. Direct hit. The mess it made of his face was instantaneous. What surprised me more, however, was, when he lay on the floor with blood and brains flowing over his eyes and his mouth, he whispered, "cunt."
So I told that stupid dirt rag, "Bad language is NOT cool!" And then I stomped Sir Cussalot's head in. Bad language. Man. It disgusts me.
[edit] Chapter 2 - You Meet Mr. Asshole and Mr. Bullshit
It is necessary to know what Jarvis Customer Services is, and what Andrew and I do at it. First of all, explained in the briefest way possible, Jarvis manages and sells alcohol to stores. We don't manufacture, or directly sell alcohol to any customers, but rather we buy alcohol from manufactures such as Heineken, and sell it to several different stores such as Joe's Liquor And Convenience Store down by 25th Avenue.
If you're confused why the manufacturers don't sell their own alcohol, and why we don't manufacture alcohol, you should have paid a little more attention at your US history classes back in grade school. Let me enlighten you folks. Amendment XVIII of the United States Constitution was ratified on January 16, 1919 banning all manufacturing, selling, and transportation of liquors. However, the pressure of raging alcoholics forced congress to pass Amendment XXI of the United States Constitution thereby repealing Amendment XVII. Amendment XXI was ratified on December 5, 1933.
In the almost 15 year spread in between the two amendments, alcohol addicts had to get their alcohol from somewhere, so they turned to different people they knew could never get caught, one of these people being the Italian underground mafia. Nearing the end of the 17th amendment's reign, buying alcohol almost became a joke, because it was so easy to get. Congress knew that they had to repeal the 17th amendment as the US was being ridiculed, and the nations pride and morals was like piss down the drain. They also knew that once they did, the Italian mafia would be controlling the whole alcohol business. It would have been a monopoly run by criminals!
Congress knew they could not have that so they passed a law stating that any one business could only manufacture, sell to stores, or sell to the people and nothing else. However this plan by Congress was very poorly thought out, because in modern days, people can own several companies, and all you needed was three companies to have all three parts. On the bright side, it did keep the Italian mafia from having a monopoly over the alcohol business to this day.
Going back to what was the present now, Jarvis Company Services was one of three companies own by a board of people that bought alcohol from Jarvis Wineries, owned by the same board of people, and sold to many stores across America including Jarvis Liquor, which needless to say is owned by the same board of people. Quite ridiculous, eh?
Andrew and my job at Jarvis Company Services was to manage IT, or information technology, on databases called AS400s, among other things. It sounds really cool but it really wasn't.
Both Andrew and I worked on the 9:00 to 5:00 work shift, in a mysterious place called the "computer room". Once we got all of our work done, which usually only took us four hours, we would goof off and do random stuff for random reasons… tons of bullshit from Mr. Bullshit included. Once in a while, there would be a major error, where the whole company relied on us to do something about the AS400s so that we, and our customers could get the information, which subsequently made us work the whole eight-hour shift. But for the most part, we had tons of time to be idiots.
Now lets get back to our great story!
| † |
After leaving Sir Cussalot to suffer quietly in the back alley where I had left in, I finally got to work fifteen minutes late. I hadn't really realized how much time I had spent trying to fuck up Cussalot. Whatever…
"Mr. Relva!" my boss, whom I called Mr. Asshole, shouted. What a dumb ass… he didn't even know that Relva was my real name; NOT my last. It was my third time I was late to work that week, so I obviously wasn't so happy about having to have my boss "discipline" me again, and as it turned out, neither was he. I walked into his office.
"Do you want to be fired?" he asked, but I didn't respond.
"Well do you?" he repeated.
"No Mr. Asshole!" I said out of anger, and just as I realized what I had said, he gave me no chance to respond shouting, "What did you just call me?"
'Damn Freudian slips' I thought. I glanced at his desk and saw a picture frame that contained a picture of his wife, kid, and himself. 'Wouldn't hurt that much' I thought to myself. 'Ah, ha!' I thought as I saw some scissors just lying there. Waiting to be picked up.
I was about to lean to grab it, when my boss saved me, and not to mention himself, by saying, "I'm writing a letter to the disciplinary board! Go back to the work!" I thought about retorting, 'But actually, I haven't started work… that's why you brought me here… remember?', but I knew that just would have been beyond stupid, so I swallowed my pride and uttered, "'Kay", and joined Andrew in the computer room.
"Hey!" Andrew said with a glimmer of happiness in his eyes as if he was waiting for me, which actually wouldn't have been so surprising. "So, uh, we need to redo the whole Joe's Liquor And Convenience Store account, because they're, uh, adding three more chains, and, uh, we need to redo all of, uh, Los Angeles because the information was lost because their databases were accidentally destroyed."
"Destroyed?" I responded.
"Ya, destroyed. I'm telling you it's a god dang government conspiracy, man." He said in his usual whacked out self. I liked how he could be so free with me when we talked.
We worked for about five minutes until a weird grumbling sound came from my gut. Did I mention I had diarrhea that day?
I went to the bathroom and a reenactment of the tragic massacre of Hiroshima began. I got back to the computer and fifteen minutes later the reenactment of the tragic event of Nagasaki was played. This role cycle continued on for four and a half hours until my boss stopped me half way to the bathroom to question me.
"And where are you going?" Mr. Asshole asked.
"To the restroom," I responded truthfully.
"Well you do seem to be resting a lot in the restroom today so…" he paused for a second before I interrupted, "…so you're saying I can't pee and poop? I have rights!"
"Look. I really don't like you, and you're not a pal, but I really don’t want to make you loose your job so please go back to work," he said violating my right to shit.
