Labor Day weekend, the time for barbecues, drinking a lot of cheap domestic beer and committing vehicular manslaughter. As much as I love alcohol and being the bad guy in those commercials about drunk driving where they show some little girl blowing out the candles on a birthday cake and then it makes you cry because it says she was killed seconds later by a drunk driver, I don't really want to talk about all that. Yes, my room mate and I did just restock our liquor cabinet with a number of fine spirits whose sole objective is to make my liver fail. However, I already have the reputation of being the Something Awful town drunk, so I think I'll steer clear of this topic for the time being.
Instead I would like to introduce you all to a new feature that I am introducing right now for the first time, which is why it's a "new feature". In answer to your question that I can read through the walls your brain tries to create to block off my probing thoughts, yes, I am high on life.
I digress!! This new feature is called "SA Story Time" and chances are this will be the last time you will ever see it.
This Episode's Theme: Zombies!!!
This Episode's Title: Zombie House Party
This is a picture of me telling Keith about our upcoming expedition to Terror Mountain. We're in a hot tub."Sure looks to be a fine day for a zombie house party," observed Keith, looking up at the cloudless sky.
"Don't stare at the sun or your eyes will bleed you buffoon," I shouted, slapping his face to get his attention.
He thanked me and we continued on, shifting our bundles of deflated clown balloons as we ascended the precarious path to the summit of Terror Mountain. The superstitious folk in the town below had warned us about traveling to the top of Terror Mountain at this time of year, but considering how borderline retarded we are, we paid them no heed.
I had always been driven by a dream where I would stand on top of Terror Mountain and look down at all the people and shout "HA" and that would cause an avalanche and I would laugh even more. My increased laughter would cause avalanches throughout Hell Valley and everyone who lived below would die. Then I would be carried to heaven on the back of a golden saucer ship and I would find out that God is really a dolphin all along.
I warned them he was.
"Let's stop and rest boss," stated the chronically lazy Keith with a pleading look in his doe-eyes.
"Simple man," I said while slapping his already crimson cheeks, "we rest on top of Terror Mountain, like kings!"
Five minutes later I grew winded and ordered a rest. Keith demanded food but we had exhausted our supply of juju coins while still in the hotel in the village, so I told him to chew on a clown balloon. Five minutes later the clown balloons were no longer satiating my hunger so we prepared an ambush for the rowdy spring breakers who were marauding nearby.
"Woooo," they shouted in their uncouth manner, sloshing Natural Light on the pristine white of the slopes.
"Aiiiiieeeeeeee," screamed Keith, charging from cover and brandishing a fire axe.
"Wooooo," shouted one young woman as she lifted up her OSU sweatshirt and bared her breasts.
Then we set upon them like the wild cannibals we were soon to become. I tell you my friends, we had descended into the deepest pits of animal fury, our juju distended bellies crying out for protein.
Later that night as we dined on the last of Michelle - her name according to her student ID - I reminisced about the good old days back at Oxford with my slack-jawed chum Keith. When he had finally drifted off to sleep I killed him with the fire axe and ate him for breakfast.
Here is a picture of me walking through the snow. I'm not sure who took it as I had already killed and eaten Keith.It was a long and lonely trek up Terror Mountain the next day. I was plagued by the vampires who somehow defied all logic and were able to prowl during the day in a helicopter that said "RESCUE" on the side. This was no doubt an indicator of their allegiance to some dread vampire cabal that claimed ownership of Terror Mountain. I was not to be deterred. I rubbed snow on myself just like Arnold Schwarzenegger did in the movie "The Predator" only he used mud and he was fighting "The Predators" instead of "The Vampires in Helicopters".
Near dusk I spotted the glowing runes that I had read of in the Necronomicon. According to that dread codex, the runes signified I was nearing the top of Terror Mountain, but there was something troubling about the way they seemed to writhe and pulse with an eldritch power. I flipped through my "Junior Reader's Illustrated Necronomicon Stories" and found the tract detailing the runes on Terror Mountain. Next to it was a picture of a cartoon child in a robe eating the heart of a sacrificial goat.
"If the runes glow, look out kids, because this means there is an asteroid approaching," much as I had ignored the villagers in Hell Valley, I chose to ignore this passage because, as I may have mentioned, I am extremely close to being considered mentally retarded.
I soldiered on through the night. Listening to the wolves howl from their nests in Blood Forest. Each of their supernatural calls sent cold chills up my spine so I applied some icy hot to my lower back and felt my tension and muscle fatigue float away. I longed for Posturepedic support, but there was no turning back now.
Just as the sun broke across the horizon, I reached the summit of Terror Mountain and immediately soiled my trousers. This owed more to a chronic bowl condition and my recent diet of human flesh and juju coins than it did to my borderline retardation. Not everyone who is retarded shits their pants all the time you blasted intellectual elitist!
Nevertheless, this troubling development was just the first in a series of events I had not anticipated. I buried my satchel of clown balloons as instructed by my father ten years ago via a time portal. You see my father is a soldier in the British army and he was sent into the future by the Queen to fight the mummy menace.
"Mummies are not a menace," you say in that blood-curdling falsetto of yours.
I defy you fool and would slap your cheek quite hard were you to present it! They are indeed! Can you see the bacteria that eats away at the tissues within your body? No, of course not! Why can't you? Because they are too small! So it is with the mummies in 2001, but by 2070 the mummies will be almost three feet tall. If my father loses the war against them in 2070 they will grow to the size of a large man or, Dolphin God forbid, even larger. So it was important that I bury these clown balloons for whatever unknown purpose so that my father might recover them from Terror Mountain 69 years in the future.
The meteor is about to hit me. I think the meteor must have taken this picture. I'm holding up my hand and yelling "nooooooooooo!"Once this task was completed I made my way to the very highest peak of Terror Mountain and looked down. A dense fog enshrouded Hell Valley thousands of feet bellow and hid the village entirely from my view. No matter, see them or not those fools would perish at the great stone hands of MY avalanche.
"HA!" I shouted, waiting for the distant rumble of the avalanche.
"HA!" I repeated, perhaps a bit louder.
Nothing. I grew perturbed.
"HA HA HA HA HA HA!" I screamed as loudly as I could until I was out of breath.
Nothing... no wait, distant, slight, definitely a rumble. Yes! At last their uppance had come!
Then a shadow fell over me and I was compelled to look skyward. If you had guessed it was an incoming asteroid than you are a less borderline retarded man than I.I don't remember much after that, primarily because the impact of the asteroid left me in a state even less intelligent than I was before. This state would be "dead".
"Finish blowing up the clown balloons Ankhnaten," chided Nomthep from the karaoke booth. "I had to go all the way to Terror Mountain with those damned vampires and their helicopter just to get them."
"Fine," scoffed Ankhnaten, "when are the zombies coming?"
"Any time now Mum-Ra," laughed Nomthep, "after all, you can't have a zombie house party without zombies!"
Did Louis C.K. jerk off in front of two female comics? And why are these ladies squandering an opportunity to learn from a comedy legend?
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
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