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| ROlkferg; with a name like that, its gotta be funn | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 12 2005, 11:31 PM (357 Views) | |
| CrappyXeroxCopy | Apr 12 2005, 11:31 PM Post #1 |
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Key: Me wasting your time and talking gibberish- () ________________________________________________________________________ A man awakes on a riverbank, soaked and freezing he climbs out. He is wearing a black diving suit and his back hurts like he recently had heavy air tanks on. “Where am I?” he mutters. “Who am I?” He sheds his suit and checks his pockets, surprised to find a wallet. Nothing was missing except his ID and Drivers license. He walks, finding himself cross the state line and walk into New Jersey. He finds the key to a P.O. box key in the wallet and walks to the local post office, intending to track down the location of it. “Here we are, now then…” He said as he walked up onto the curb, tripping as he does so. He questions the clerk instinctively, as if he had been trained to do so. “Is it here? Where is it? What is your name? Where is your boss? What is my shoe size?! Does your grandmother cook cherry pie a lot? Because I love cherry pie! Yum! … Anyway, where is it?” The clerk sweat like an anime character, with that one big drop that dissolves from air. “Well? It’s either that or I draw a butt on your face in permanent marker while you sleep.” After that the clerk jumped to do his job. “I-i-it’s over here. Number 337.” He unlocked it and took the letters out. They were addressed to Rolkferg Rooger Booger Reegle Fleegle. “That must be me…” he said as he tore a letter open. Dear Rolkferg, I am having a great time in Alaska. It is very warm up here. I am staying with very nice people in white coats. They keep saying that it is freezing all the time but they are just teasing. They say I have multohoobleblitzpoo disorder or something like that but they are trying to trick me, I know better. Oh, I have to go, they have been giving me shots and I have to get one now. Sincerely, Jennifer Lopez Rolkferg, afraid of what he might find in the other letters, tossed them aside and went for the package he found in there. It was a new text/video/sound Nextel phone with walkie-talkie function also. He stuck it in his pocket, not knowing if he would even need it. He walked out and was confronted by a man in a black suit and sunglasses. “Mr. Anderson…I mean…Mr. Fleegle, you are a danger to the faketrix, you must be terminated.” With that line the man, in a lime green water-tornado became Arnold Swartzanager (Yes, I know, I spelled that wrong). He stood there and broke into song, “My bologna has a first name, it’s O-s-c-a-r my bologna has a second name it’s M-a-y-e-r. I love to eat it every day and if you ask me why I’ll say… ‘cause Oscar Mayer has a way with b-o-l-o-g-n-a.” Rolkferg just stared turned, and ran… ran like heck. While Arnold Swartzanager ended his dance and looked where Rolkferg once stood he was apparently so slow he thought he killed him. “Yay! Cat, I’m a kitty cat and I dance dance dance and I dance dance!” Rolkferg, completely freaked out, stopped by a gun shop, just in case. “Hey, aren’t you Tommy Verceti? From that game Grand Theft Auto?” “Yes,” He replied, “can’t you hear the background music? Of course I am!” As Rolkferg listened he indeed heard ‘Welcome To The Jungle’ playing. Rolkferg walked out with a bazooka strapped to his back and two glocks (A glock is a gun) at his holsters. A cop came up to him. “DO you have a permit for those?” “Er… no.” “I’ll have to arrest you and confiscate your weapons.” “Please, reconsider.” “Hmm… ok.” Rolkferg, surprised that it worked, kept on walking. Suddenly a blue flash went right in front of him. “Stupid hedgehog.” He muttered to himself and unslung the bazooka on his back, and then blew the hedgehog up. The hedgehog screamed something like “Team Rocket blasting off again! … Whoops, I mean, me flying! WEEEEEEEEEEE!” Rolkferg continued walking when he heard a shout behind him. “ROLKFERG ROOGER BOOGER REEGLE FLEEGLE! COME BACK HERE AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH YOUNG MAN!” Rolkferg, thunk fast and said, “I’m not Rolkferg, I’m…a guinea pig…yeah, that’s it a guinea pig.” “Oh, ok, if you see him give him this apple.” Rolkferg, as soon as the lady turned her back, bit the stem off the apple and threw it like a grenade, then once again ran… ran like heck. Rolkferg finally slowed down to catch his breath and came by some guy in a white t-shirt trying to rap. “Feet fail me not ‘cause this is the only opportunity that I got. You better loose yourself in the music the moment…” Rolkferg stared, and after a few songs he noticed A) This guy sucks. And B) He is white. Rolkferg raised one of his glocks and shot him. “Jesus, man. I can do better than that, and I suck.” Now, upon that queue the police came. And then some kids cam from nowhere and started singing ‘Another Brick In The Wall’. “We don’t need no education. We don’t need no thought control. No dark sarcasm in the classroom. Teacher leave us kids alone. HEY! TEACHER! LEAVE US KIDS ALONE!” This gave Rolkferg time to ‘borrow’ a Harley from some guy around the corner. “I’ll try to bring it back thank you.” And sped off, but there was no gas in the tank, so he got about three feet. As you can imagine the biker was like 230 pounds. So Rolkferg did the only thing he could think of, dance. Tap dance to be exact. Once he figured out that wasn’t going to work he said “Nice toes!” and ran for it. The biker, perplexed, stood there and said, “I’m wearing boots…” Finally, Rolkferg stopped, and was confronted by a talking dog with thumbs holding a bottle of mayonnaise. “Want it? Get the mayo! Get the mayo! GO GET IT!” And threw the bottle, to which Rolkferg chased. After he had caught it. Then from behind hem someone said, “Rolkferg? Is that you? We had a party two days ago and we dared you to get in a wet suit and sleep there, you passed out from all the beer.” “Oh, that’s it, hmm…” “C’mon, lets go to McDonalds!” “Ok!” The moral of the story? I have no freaking idea. THE END A LA FIN YOU CAN GO |
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