In the early days of our marriage, Teresa and I had a certain tradition. I being a workaholic, I would often stay up into the late hours working on a project, while Teresa, who wanted to be near me but also wanted to sleep, would lie at my feet. Sometimes I would take advantage of her late-night delirium by compelling her to write short stories with me, because the random gibberish her half-conscious mind spewed out was brilliant. Following is one such story that I just stumbled upon from 2007. Enjoy.
“Where’s my crackers?” said Mr. Booshna.
“They’re in your trousers,” said the dog.
“I knew you were going to say something nasty like that, you dumb dog.”
“I love you.”
“You have my crackers.”
“My name is Cleopald,” said the dog.
“I don’t care what your name is. Give me back my crackers.”
Just then, the chittering chimpanzee from outer space came through the laundry shoot amid a dazzling display of sparks. He shouted with glee, “Table manners!”
“Oh, excuse me,” said Mr. Booshna. Then in a very polite voice, “Mr. Dog, may I speak with you outside, please?”
The dog said, “I’m not a hot dog, I’m a dog.”
“I didn’t say you were a hot dog,” said Mr. Booshna. “I just asked if you would speak with me outside.”
“Oh, my apologies for the misunderstanding.”
Then the evil lamps of doom came down and zapped the dog’s tail off.
“Don’t!” said the dog.
The chittering chimpanzee squealed with excitement.
Then the lamps zap the rest of the red horribleness out of Mr. Booshna’s eyes. So then the ants come and jump on Mr. Booshna’s back and pulls out his really big bazooka from nowhere, and they have a barbecue with it, and they have a big neighborhood barbecue. And then the oreos came and covered Mr. Booshna’s glasses so he couldn’t see anymore. There was an Oreo on each of his glass things.
And then the man tripped because he couldn’t see. He tripped over some spicy pork rinds.
The chittering chimpanzee went to sleep.
The dog became a horrible dog with a beard, and he laughed at his reflection in the water, and pounced on the ants. He grew wings and darted through the sky in a streak of fire. All the people were afraid, except the little boy.
There were these potatoes who winked, and then the little boy came named Rufio and asked for some pity. Instead, all he received was rocks. But they were beautiful rocks, made of toilet.
“I’m really cold,” said the boy.
“Here, have some…” The shrubs started to move. They didn’t like all the noise. They got up, picked up their roots and said, “I’m leaving.”
And the dog said, “Poor boy, please don’t be cold, we will warm you. This ant here has a bazooka, it will warm you. He didn’t do a very good job last time. We have room in the garden in the backyard for the boy.””
“But wait,” said the boy. “I wasn’t really fired up, I’m okay.”
\”You were a singed boy,” said Mr. Booshna.
“That’s okay,” said the boy.
And then the shrubs felt bad, so they came back, and the ant was so happy that he let the bazooka go again, and there were no more shrubs.