The eighth in the series. WOW, IT'S AMAZING THAT THIS WELL HAS NOT YET RUN SO DRY THAT I AM DESPERATE FOR INSPIRATION!!!
AUTHOR'S DISCLAIMER:
I didn't write the stupid songs. I found them on the Internet. And because I didn't write them, I'm not allowed to fix the incredibly obvious stupid typographical errors that some other bozo is responsible for. However, I wrote all the stupid stuff about Spot. THE ORIGINAL PARTS OF THIS STORY ARE NOT FOR EDUCATIONAL USE IN A CLASSROOM ENVIRONMENT. ALSO, IT CONTAINS THE WORD "URINE".
Poor Spot! It was the night before Christmas, and Spot couldn't open his presents yet. This was became nobody had given him any. And if this was like every previous year, Christmas would be ruined by some psycho breaking into his house through the chimney, stealing all the cookies and milk Spot stored on the sofa, and barely escaping with his life as Spot chased him back up the chimney with a shotgun. Well, not this year! Spot was determined to shoot the Christmas psycho before he could eat the cookies and milk.
Spot was no dope. He knew that
a) Any "STOP" sign with a white border is optional;
b) Sea-Monkeys keep tickling you for hours after you drink them;
c) You get a disease that dissolves your eyeballs if you touch a freshwater octopus.
Spot put out the fire in his fireplace to make it easier for the Christmas psycho to get in so Spot could shoot him. Spot's plan was sure to work -- he had his shotgun loaded, with a dagger at his belt for backup. And he was wearing a gas mask just in case. As a last resort, he had a nuclear bomb under his bed, but Spot would never think of using it at Christmas because he didn't know what it was. He thought it was a roll-on deodorant, and everyone knows Spot never bothered using deodorant on Christmas.
Thud! Spot turned just in time to see a freshwater octopus bouncing off the outside of his window. They kept flying into it because they though the glass was really water. The octopus did a barrel roll, then an Immelmann, looped back and came at the window again --
SMASH! The octopus was now in Spot's living room, with jagged shards of glass sticking out of it like a porcupine with icky tentacles! Spot unloaded both barrels of his shotgun into it, then he realized that was a stupid thing to do and reloaded it so he could actually fire it. (Spot had trouble with basic concepts in these crisis situations. And the business with the optional "STOP" signs hadn't yet gotten him into an accident because he always crashed his car before getting out of the driveway. He would crash his car because the excitement of being in a car would make him wet himself, and crashing his car would make him wet himself again, but that's beside the point. Spot just blew up an octopus.)
Tentacles went flying everywhere as Spot's hollow-point grapeshot penetrated the octopus's protective layers, entering its deadly core of liquid evil. There is no other animal which explodes as messily as the octopus, except for those six-foot amebas secretly cultivated in the Swiss Miss Pudding labs.
Spot sprayed Lysol on all the octopus stains on his wallpaper (which was a pretty pattern of little canoes, and now some tentacles too) and went back to guarding his cookies with his life.
Suddenly, a jolly fat man in a red suit, with a white beard, and a huge bag of loot popped down Spot's chimney!
"HO! HO! GACK!" yelled the Christmas psycho as Spot shot him in the heart.
"Silly puppy," said Santa as his wound magically healed, "Don't you know that I'm Santa, and you can't kill me because I'm a form of Jesus?" Santa touched his nose and for an instant he became Jesus, then the sparkles dissipated and he was back to just being a creepy fat guy with a red fur suit and Cossack boots.
Spot threw his dagger, but Santa blocked it with his corncob pipe, Popeye-style. "WAAH!" cried Spot, "I CAN'T KILL SANTA!!!!" He ran and hid under the bed with his roll-on deodorant.
"HO! HO! HO!" yelled Santa, lifting the bed over his head, "Silly little puppy, you have nothing to fear from me. I AM SAAAANTAAAAAA!!!" As he yelled that, lightning bolts crackled around him.
Spot was skeptical. "If you're really Santa, then aren't you supposed to have a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, plus the ninth one with the radioactive nose who only appears on TV?"
Santa gestured toward the skylight and Spot saw a sleigh hitched to nine flying octopuses. One of them had a big red glowing nose, and the same eyeglasses as Groucho Marx. Santa said, "Their names are Whimsy, Flimsy, Dimsy, Winkle, Dinkle, Pinkle, Pickle, Blowsy, and Spot."
"WAAH!" cried Spot. "I'M AN OCTOPUS SLAVE!" Spot had to think fast or this evil mastermind would steal his milk and cookies! And then he remembered that there was one thing that no intelligent being could stand --
-- he turned on CNN Headline News. The TV said, "And now, let's show pictures of the switchboard of an AM radio station as listeners call in to tell us that they have an opinion about Bill Clinton's impeachment!" Santa screamed and burst into flame, and began to melt away. His red suit evaporated, as did most of his fat, revealing his true form --
Mr. Spock.
"Fascinating," said Spock. "You have found a use for CNN Headline News."
Spot liked Spock and decided not to try to shoot him again. "Wow! Are you really Mr. Spock?"
"I believe that the answer to that question should be obvious, stupid little puppy. I have been travelling to all the households of the planet Earth in a futile attempt to raise the collective IQ of Earth children by bringing them educational toys." Spock reached into his bag and pulled out a Tower of Brahma. "You can have this but only if you want to learn binary arithmetic."
"WAAH!" cried Spot, "EDUCATIONAL TOYS ARE RUINING CHRISTMAS!"
"Or," Spock continued, "as you are obviously a bad little puppy, a bad stupid little puppy, you will receive something which is not even an educational toy for use in the home... but is instead an educational prop for classroom use during the Bicentennial. A teacher's aid from 1976. Something so educational it can only be used by kindergarten teachers. I am referring, of course, to the Letter People." Spock winked, touched his nose, and disappeared in a could of sparkles, accompanied by a noise similar to a cloud of mosquitoes going through the "Star Trek" Transporter.
Spot had no idea what the Letter People were, but he was scared. He looked around and couldn't find any Letter People in his apartment, unless they were invisible. Then he realized that all the books in his home were full of letters, which Spock could have turned into evil little people, so he threw all the books into the fireplace and burned them. Then his doorbell rang.
"DING DONG," said his doorbell, "DING DONG, I AM A DOORBELL, DING DONG!"
Spot pulled open the door an a small inflatable person of many colors was standing there. "Hi! I am a Letter Person, as is evidenced by the letter crudely drawn on my plastic shirt! I am for use with The Alpha One curriculum of fifteen-minute in-class videotapes with fun songs and games and activities involving gluing macaroni to things and vice versa and more songs and stuff. And we're all boys except for the vowels! Vowels are girls! VOWELLLLLS ARRRRRE GIRRRRRRLLLLLLS!!!!!!"
Spot screamed and slammed the door. But the Letter Person came in anyway, through Spot's doggie door, which he had installed in case he ever grew up. (He wasn't allowed to use it yet because he was just a puppy.) The Letter Person ran over to Spot and hugged him with its little vinyl arms. "I love you, Spot! I am going to teach you all about the letter on my shirt!"
"But... I'm just a stupid puppy. I am incapable of reading the letter on your shirt, therefore I won't have any clue what you're trying to teach me, therefore you should GO AWAY! NOW!"
The Letter Person laughed and pointed at its inflated chest. "Why, Spot, it should be obvious to you that the letter on my shirt is --"
PLEASE PICK A STUPID LETTER AND GO TO THE SECTION FOR THAT STUPID LETTER. THANK YOU.
Miss A sneezed and began to sing:
Well, I'm so happy to be Miss A, And I'm so happy to come and play, Oh dear, I almost forgot to say, That when I'm happy, I sneeze all day. All day, I ' m sneezing-aaa' choo; When I get happy--aaa'choo; Or silly-slappy--aaa'choo; Give me a hanky, please, 'Cause I've got to sneeze- A ' choo! I suppose you've noticed that when I sneeze I don't sneeze sneezes like others sneeze; I blow my own kind of special breeze; I mean I sneeze in the way I please. All day, I'm sneezing-aaa' choo; When I get happy--aaa ' choo; Or silly-slappy--aaa'choo; Give me a hanky, please, 'Cause I've got to sneeze- A ' choo! All day I 'm sneezing--aaa' choo; When I get happy--aaa ' choo; Or silly-slappy - aaa'choo; All day I 'm sneezing-aaa' choo; When I get happy--aaa' choo....but Spot couldn't hear her because she was sneezing so much while singing her trite little song. Then she ambled over to where he was hiding under the bed and sneezed in his face.
Spot screamed. "NOOO!!! YOU SNEEZED ON ME! THAT MEANS I'M GOING TO CATCH THAT DISEASE THAT DISSOLVES MY EYEBALLS!!!"
Miss A giggled. "Silly little puppy, that's only for when you touch a freshwater octopus." Then she hugged him with her eight arms.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. B sang:
BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS and BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS and BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS, What BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS on me -- Mr B. Big buttons and bright buttons and brassy buttons, All BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS on me--Mr. B. A bit before breakfast, I get out of bed... To button me up, From my toes to my head. BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS and BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS and BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS, What BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS on me--Mr. B. Big buttons and bright buttons and brassy buttons, All BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS on me--Mr. B. By now I'm so bothered, I'm bursting to crack... I barely can button, In back of my back. I can't reach the BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS and BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS and BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS, What BEAUTIFUL BUTTONS on me..."Hey, Spot!" yelled Mr. B. "I'm burstin' to crack!" He undid the button on his pants fly. Spot quickly stapled Mr. B's pants shut again.
"Every morning I button me up from my toes to my head! Let me show you how!" Mr. B quickly laced up Spot in an elaborate bondage web made from buttons and thongs and chromium steel D-rings. Soon Spot, too, was buttoned up from his toes to his head!
"Mmmmmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmm," yelled Spot, who was suffocating from all the buttons. And worst of all, the buttons were beautiful! Spot felt ashamed and wished for some more macho buttons.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. C chased Spot around the room while singing:
Well, hello friends, Do you know me? Well you can call me COTTON CANDY--Mr. C. A candy kid Who'll change your luck; For if you stick with me, You'll find you will be stuck. A candy kid Who's all for you; How you can count on me; There's nothing I wouldn't do--for you. I'm clever, can't you see And cunning as can be; And cool as a cucumber I am Mr. C. For you I'd cry, And go to bat; You can count on me, Like you count on an alley cat. I'm cute and sweet Don't you agree; I'm just a cloud of COTTON CANDY--Mr. C. Oh, I'm a COTTON CANDY culprit Kind of, kind of-- Cool--cool--coo I am cute and sweet Don't you agree? I'm just a cloud of COTTON CANDY--Mr. C. I'm just a cloud of COTTON CANDY--Mr. C."I get the feeling that you're cotton candy," said Spot. Spot ate him. He was cucumber-flavored! Spot tried to barf him up but he was all sticky and Spot was stuck with him. For the rest of his life, Spot would have cucumber belches! And worst of all, the belches kept singing about the letter C! Spot hated educational belches.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. D sang:
Do you like doughnuts? DELICIOUS DOUGHNUTS? Well, if you do, Then, you deserve some doughnuts. DELICIOUS DOUGHNUTS, Some dipped in sugar; Some dipped in jelly, Dipped by me,-- Mr. D. If you like doughnuts. DELICIOUS DOUGHNUTS, Don't dilly-dally, Have a dozen of my doughnuts. DELICIOUS DOUGHNUTS, They're downright dunky, And they are definitely Done by only me-- Yes, they are deep-fried, dipped and Done by only me. And, when I deliver, My DELICIOUS DOUGHNUTS, Well, I do the doughnut dance. Don't you want to do The dance, too? Oh, what a DELICIOUS DOUGHNUT dance! If you like doughnuts, DELICIOUS DOUGHNUTS, Don't dilly-dally, Have a dozen of my doughnuts. DELICIOUS DOUGHNUTS, They're downright dunky, And, they are definitely Done by only me-- Yes, they are deep-fried, dipped, and Done by Mr. D--Mr. D--Mr. D.Mr. D's doughnut dance was downright dopey, and Spot said so.
"Oh, you only say that because you don't understand what it is to have a hole punched in you, be deep-fried, and then have a hypodermic needle fill you with pink jelly!" said Mr. D, as he did that to Spot.
"Waah!" cried Spot as Mr. D assaulted him with a giant paper punch that removed the three-quarters of his body that was not near an edge.
"Waah!" sizzled Spot as he was submerged in the deep-fryer for six hours, like they do at Dunkin' Donuts.
"Waah!" interjected Spot as he was injected with pink jelly that tasted like a fruit with no name.
Spot went stale within a tenth of a second, just like a real doughnut. Then Dunkin' Donuts tried to sell him. They put him on the shelf with all their other doughnuts, which were shaped like the letter D, except for the ones at the bottom of each bin, which were shaped like underscores. Spot sat there getting staler and staler despite the humid atmosphere which kept him soft. Eventually they had to move him to the rack for the Lime Fuzz Donuts. But still nobody bought him. After several months, they did to him what they do to all doughnuts they can't sell -- they cut him in half and sold him as two croissants.
And Spot hated croissants, which meant that each half of him hated the other half.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Miss E twirled around, fell down, and sang:
I feel extremely weak, Poor little me, Miss E; Too weak to work or speak, Poor little me, Miss E. I've got to EXERCISE, EXERCISE, EXERCISE, Jiggle my toes; E--E--EXERCISE, Wiggle my nose. Will you help me EXERCISE, everybody ? Wiggle your nose; And jiggle your toes. I've got to EXERCISE, EXERCISE, EXERCISE, Twist my lips; E--E--EXERCISE, Turn my hips. Everybody, twist your lips, And turn your hips. I'm getting stronger now, I'll be a new Miss E; Now that I'm learning how, You'll see a new Miss E. I always EXERCISE, EXERCISE, EXERCISE, Reach up high; E--E--EXERCISE, Reach the sky--Stretch! I've got to EXERCISE, EXERCISE, EXERCISE, Jump up and down; E--E--EXERCISE, Spin around. Jump up and down, everybody, And spin around. I feel extremely good, Look out for me, Miss E. Strong as a person should, Here comes the real Miss E. Because I EXERCISE, EXERCISE, EXERCISE, When I'm alone, There--finished!"That last stanza isn't very good," said Spot. "Also, that business about 'twist my lips' bothers me."
Miss E wiggled her ears, which made sweat spray from every pore of her flabby body. "Spot, you need to learn about me because I'm Miss E and I'm the most common letter in English, and it's impossible to say a whole sentence without an E."
"No it isn't," said Spot, but Spot couldn't think of such a string of words that did not contain that symbol, although Spot did want to work "syzygy" into it to show off his vocabulary, and his foot was itching, along with his slightly-more-than-two other foots.
Spot looked out the window. He saw a syzygy rapidly approaching. All the planets in the Solar System, including the Earth, were directly outside his window! This baffled Spot, as it meant he was living on the Sun, and if so, why was his apartment so drafty? Anyway, the syzygy was about to cause a massive earthquake and the Year 2000 Bug, destroying civilization forever. "HELP ME, MISS E!" wailed Spot.
Miss E stretched and reached the sky, but then her arms got ripped off by the planet Jupiter as it whizzed past on its way to the syzygy. All her air came out and she collapsed in a pile of limp vinyl. Spot realized he could wear her like a suit, and put on her skin. "LOOK AT MEEEEE! I'M MISS EEEEEE!" Then the Earth blew up, but only after everyone saw Spot prancing around on the apartment's closed-circuit security camera.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED! AND THE EARTH BLEW UP TOO!
THE END.
Mr. F was dangerously psychotic, and he kicked Spot constantly while singing:
Mr. M has a MUNCHING MOUTH; Mr. T has TALL TEETH; But I'm Mr.F - And I've got FUNNY FEET, FUNNY FEET, FUNNY FEET, FUNNY FEET, Mr. F, that is I. Feet that flip, feet that flop; flip and flop, never stop; Flapadoodle, I can fly, Well - I try. And though I've never found shoes around To keep my feet on the ground, Fiddlesticks, do I cry? Not I! Give me that free and easy beat, For the fanciest, friendliest, fidgety, free-for-all FUNNY, FUNNY FEET. Flapadoodle-do, flapadoodle-dee, Fall on your face with me - ee ...."Why would I want to fall on my face with you?" asked Spot.
"FLAPADOODLE-DO, FLAPADOODLE-DEE! IF YOU'RE WISE YOU'LL LISTEN TO ME! OOMPA, LOOMPA, LOOMPA-DEE-KICK-YOUR-BUTT, I'M MR. F AND I'M KICKING YOU BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY! HAW, HAW, HAW!"
Mr. F. kicked Spot around the room. Then he kicked Spot down the street. Then he kicked Spot across the Universe. He kicked Spot through Heaven and Hell, and he kicked Spot on TV and on the radio too. He even kicked Spot where he had never been kicked before -- in that little pornography store on Main Street.
Spot cried. "WAAH! STOP KICKING ME! DEAR AUTHOR, I DEMAND A TRANSFER!"
The author granted Spot's wish, and reached into the story, and replaced Mr. F with Mr. K.
GO TO "K".
Mr. G blew a big bubble and sang into it:
I'm grouchy; My gorgeous GOOEY GUM Is getting stuck all over the place. Gooey, gummy, I am Mr. G. Golly, My GOOEY GUM got stuck On the garden gate. Good--now, I can go again. Goodness, Gracious, I am Mr. G. Oh, grasshoppers! My GOOEY GUM just got stuck In the green grass. Good--now, I can go again. I am Mr. G. I've got GOOEY GUM all over me....and then his bubble popped and the whole song came out at once, which sounded something like this:
mgrchyMygrgsGYGMsgttngstckllvrthplcGygmmymMrGGllyMyGYGMgtstcknthgrdngtGdnwcnggnGdnssGrcsmMrGhgrsshpprsMyGYGMjstgtstcknthgrngrssGdnwcnggnmMrGvgtGYGMllvrm
"Hey!" said Spot. "You just said a bunch of stuff that didn't have an E in it!" Of course, then immediately Spot was disqualified from this story for cheating, as he was obviously reading through all the endings in order, and was therefore subject to extreme punishment. He was locked in a room with all the Letter People, as well as the Punctuation Bacteria, the Schwa Shark, and the Octothorpe Octopus. The Punctuation Bacteria alone were a severe punishment -- Spot reacted very badly to the colon bacillus.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. H entered. He had hair that looked sort of like what would have happened if Phyllis Diller had had dreadlocks made entirely from green peanut butter.
I'm Mr. H Hello, hello; How do you do? And do you know, That I'm so handsome and adorable, My happy hair Is everywhere; And so much hair Makes people stare. It's HORRIBLE! I'm Mr. H, And can you see, That there's more hair, Than there is of me. Some people may say, "It's unbearable," That tangled kind, I hide behind; This HORRIBLE HAIR! It's hairable!-- I mean, it's terrible! - I mean, it's HORRIBLE! Oh, HORRIBLE HAIR, My HORRIBLE HAIR; Oh, how I love this Crown I wear! I'll never stop at any barbershop, To cut my glorious, HORRIBLE HAIR. So, there! I'm Mr. H Goodbye, goodbye. Next time we meet, You'll know me by, My head so handsome and adorable, My HORRIBLE HAIR Makes people stare. It's HORRIBLE! - Horrible!--Horrible! -- Horrible!Then Mr. H took a good look at Spot and had to revise his song to implicate that his hair was only half as horrible as Spot's.
"Waah!" cried Spot, "I'm being insulted by a hairy giant H!" Spot locked himself in the bathroom and tried to trim his hair neatly, and to dye it a less unattractive shade of gross green, but cutting his hair only made it mad.
When Spot came out of the bathroom dejectedly, he collided with Mr. H, and their hair locked together! The entangling was so complete that Spot and Mr H were joined together permanently, like Siamese twins.
"Hey!" yelled Otto, Spot's real Siamese twin. "I didn't say you could bring a third person into this relationship!"
Spot had forgotten all about Otto, as he was usually covered by Spot's armpit hair. Now he had accidentally made Otto a bitter enemy. For the rest of his life, Spot's evil Siamese twin would try to kill him! And Mr. H kept singing, too. Spot cried!
And worst of all was Otto's tattoo, which said "I'M WITH STUPID." Mr. H had one which said "ME TOO."
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Miss I threw herself into the room and belted out her torch song:
I am Miss I; I am Miss I; I've come to stay all day Instead of passing by. I've got an itch, Which makes me twitch; Which makes me wiggle, Always giggle, never cry. I'm itching and I'm itching, And I'm itching and I'm itching; I'm wiggling and I'm jiggling All day long. All day I'm hopping, wiggle-hopping; I am never, never stopping; I'm Miss I; that's why I Sing my itching song. Oh, what a thrill, Oh me, oh my! I can't stand still, For I'm Miss 1. I'm itching and I'm itching, And I'm itching and I'm itching; And I'm skipping and I'm dipping All day long. All day I'm skipping and I'm going; I am always, always going; I'm Miss I; that's why I Sing my itching song."Hey," said Spot, "Your song calls you 'Miss One' in one point. I think someone didn't bother proofreading the stuff they scanned in."
Miss I smiled. "They didn't fix it because that would make it a copyright violation." As she continued scratching herself (not to mention skipping and dipping) Spot saw a horde of tiny flea-vowels hopping off her head and onto Spot's.
The flea-vowels distributed themselves over his entire body according to their positions on the Kenyon Vowel Chart, and they made him itch terribly. They made him wiggle, and jiggle, and skip, and dip, and unfortunately his apartment happened to contain a naturally-occurring pit of sulfuric acid. He dipped himself in it, then he screamed and tried to wash it off by dipping himself in a pit filled with boiling water, but that hurt too, and to wash off the water he tried dipping himself in grease, but it was also boiling, and worst of all, Mr. D was also dipping himself in it.
GO TO "D".
Mr. J entered. He did not sing, as his song had been inadvertently omitted from the curriculum that some plagiaristic kindergarten teacher had scanned and posted on the Internet. Now Spot would never learn anything about the letter "J", unless the Author made up his own song! Which he did.
Hey! I'm Mister J! You better dot my head and curl my tail, Because I'm big fat Mister J! Only I'm not fat because I'm JUST A J! Like the way you're JUST A DOG! I'm Rappin' Mister J and I'm the boss of you! I'm JUST THAT COOL because I'm JUST THE BEST! And you're the worst! Word!"That's not a very good song," said Spot.
"Oh, all right," admitted Mr. J, "Maybe the Author would get more inspiration if he actually bothered watching the videotape of Episode 37, "Meet Mr. J." So the Author popped the three-quarter-inch Big Beta tape into his 1976-era VCR and turned the knob from "STOP" to "PLAY".
It was a magical adventure which was so much fun that it is hard to describe, in which a judge castigates a police officer for failing to remove Mr. J's collection of jazzy jumbled junk. They Mr. J sang the song that doesn't exist here, and they find a Jolly Joker In The Box who proves that the collection of jumbled junk is a valuable asset to Letter Land. Then it was explained, for the remaining fourteen minutes of the fifteen-minute cartoon, that Mr. J stood for "Jumbled Junk" and that Mr. J stands for the sound that starts words such as "jumbled", "junk", and maybe a couple of others.
"Wow," said Spot, "I never knew junk was so important to have everywhere."
Mr. J nodded. "Yes, Spot. Here, have some junk." He gave Spot a glass basketball filled with tent caterpillars, and a diaper that was perforated down the middle so you could separate it if you ever needed half a diaper. Then he pulled a lever and a hidden chute dumped a million paperback copies of "Your 1974 Aquarius Horoscope" into Spot's apartment. All had their front covers ripped off to prove that they were used books and not merely crappy books that nobody ever bought to begin with.
"Waah! I don't want all this junk, even if it is our Constitutional duty to preserve Letter Land but putting junk all over!"
Mr. J smiled and gave Spot a Jell-O mold shaped like a spaghetti strainer, with little bits of lime Jell-O still hanging from the holes. Then he pulled another hidden lever which blew a steam whistle which signalled a dump truck to dump a ton of opaque lava lamps into Spot's bathtub and then cover the whole assembly with a new kind of cake frosting which was made from recycled cardboard.
Spot cried as his apartment was filled from floor to ceiling with junk! "Waaaaaah! I hate the fact that you're Mr. J and thus you like junk!"
"No, Spot, I'm Mr. J and I like JUMBLED JUNK." He began to stir the contents of Spot's apartment together. The halves of the diaper got rancid lime Jell-O and cardboard frosting all over them. The lava lamps cracked open, spilling waxy lava all over the 1974 Aquarius horoscopes. The glass basketball was smashed and the tent caterpillars soaked up the rest of the Jell-O. Then the diapers soaked them up, and everything else, too, including Spot.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. K sang:
Kicking, I'm kicking; For Mr. K's my name. Come on and kick with Mr. K; Come on and kick your cares away. Come on and kick the ball, kick the can, But never ever kick a man ! Oh kicking gives me such a kick, This kind of kicking makes me tick. Kick up a fuss, kick up the dust, With Mr. K, the kicking king; But never kick a living thing!...and as he sang it he kicked Spot, and kicked him again, and kicked him again and again and again, and then he kicked Spot some more.
"Waah! Stop kicking me! I'm a living thing!"
Mr. K smiled. "Well, that problem can be solved," he said as he kicked Spot another thirty-seven times. He kicked Spot up, he kicked Spot down, he kicked Spot so hard that he bounced off the far wall and hit Mr. K's foot a second time before hitting the ground so Mr. K could kick him again.
Mr. K was mean!
Spot tried his best to run away from Mr. K but Mr. K was too busy kicking him to fall behind. And besides, Spot's legs were sore from being kicked, just like his body and head and tail. Then an octopus flew in the window, wearing eight combat boots, and helped Mr. K kick Spot some more.
Spot cried, and Mr. K kicked the tears before they hit the ground.
"Hey, Spot, here's your Christmas present," said Mr. K. He handed Spot a gift certificate redeemable for a thousand kicks. And the bottom of the certificate said, in tiny Helvetica Ultra Light letters, "MUST BE REDEEMED WITHIN FIVE MINUTES." Poor Spot! Now he'd have to redeem it or go to jail! That gave Spot an idea. He'd go to jail and then nobody would kick him! He tore up the certificate and waited five minutes while Mr. K kept kicking him. Then the police arrested him.
Unfortunately, in jail he wasn't placed in solitary confinement. He was placed in foosball confinement, where mechanical soccer players kicked him constantly. The players were attached to rods which were controlled by the two meanest foosball players who ever lived, Mr. K and Mr. F. They kicked Spot silly, which didn't take long. Then they kept kicking him until it made him super-intelligent, which took a few billion years. In the meantime, Spot cried.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. L burst into Spot's apartment and handed him a gift-wrapped lollipop, which tasted like paper and tape, and sang his special little song:
Lovely, lovely, What could be lovelier Than licking a lollipop, A lovely LEMON LOLLIPOP; Delicious--well, you can tell, I'm Mr. L. Lucky, lucky, No one could be luckier, Than licking a lollipop, A large lunch of lollipops, A large bunch--oh, what a smell; mmm--mmm, smell that lemon! I'm Mr. L. Love them all--large or little, left or right--or in the middle, Delightful--every night full of dreams Of lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of lemon, lemon, Lemon pops are lovely to know I'm partial to LEMON POPS, Cause I'm made of LEMON LOLLIPOPS. When you think of a lollipop, Golly stop and see, Lovely LEMON LOLLIPOPS, Lovely LEMON LOLLIPOPS, Oh, Mr. L--that's me.Spot finally figured out that he was supposed to unwrap the lollipop before licking it. Unfortunately, the lollipop still tasted like wrapping paper. The back side of the wrapping paper, the toxic side. "Bleah!" said Spot as he spit out the lollipop. It fell into Spot's swimming pool and a special pool additive made a green cloud appear around it.
"EWW!" yelled Spot. "MR. L BOUGHT HIS LEMON LOLLIPOPS FROM MR. P!"
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. M came in and began to chew off Spot's face, as he sang:
I'm Mr. M With a Munching Mouth, My mouth must munch, munch, munch; My mouth has lunch, lunch, lunch; I munch from morning to midnight, Midnight to morning, Munching Mouth. Meatballs, macaroni, mashed potatoes, I adore; Marshmallows, maple syrup, melon, milk, There's room for more. I'm Mr. M With a Munching Mouth; My mouth must munch, munch, munch; My mouth has lunch, lunch, lunch, I munch from morning to midnight, Midnight to morning, Munching Mouth. Milkshakes, marmelade, mayonaise, I adore; Muffins, mushrooms, and molasses, More and more and more and more! I'm Mr. M With a Munching Mouth; My mouth must munch, munch, munch; My mouth has lunch, lunch, lunch; I munch from morning to midnight, Midnight to morning, Munching Mouth."Hmm," said Mr. M, "your face doesn't taste like anything that begins with M. Please coat your head in marshmallows so I can finish eating your face."
Spot steadfastly refused, so Mr. M never did finish eating Spot's face. This was too bad, because after dinner Mr. M was going to give Spot a special Christmas present -- a mint-condition 1984 Trans Am, in black with the oscillating "Knight Rider" light in the front. As I said, Spot never got his present because his head wasn't coated in marshmallows. But it was the coolest present ever.
YOU HAVE FOUND AN INCREDIBLY RARE HAPPY ENDING TO THE STORY.
THE END.
Mr. N sang:
I'm Mr. N with the NOISY NOSE, NOISY NOSE, NOISY NOSE. That goes"honk, honk, honk, honk." My NOISY NOSE is a nose that knows, Nose that knows, nose that knows, How to make a lot of funny different sounds. I'm a nut; Here's my nanny goat; Here's a naughty note; Here's a nice note; Lots of nice notes. I'm Mr. N whose got fancy clothes, Nifty fingers, and nummy toes, But my nose, my nose, My nobody-else-has-got-nose. NOISY NOSE, NOISY NOSE, NOISY NOSE, NOISY NOSE, NOISY NOSE, NOISY NOSE."Augh!" screamed Spot, "It's one of those songs that gets more indented as it goes on! And it says nobody else has got noses!" His nose fell off. Well, at least Spot didn't have nummy toes.
But Mr. N's toes did look kind of nummy. Spot began to chew on them. They were nummy! They tasted like bacon! And the little one went "whee, whee, whee!" all the way to Spot's tummy!
Mr. N was mad. Now he had no toes! This meant that he couldn't join Mr. F and Mr. K in their favorite pastime, kicking Spot! Mr. N yelled "I hate you!" as he didn't kick Spot.
Also, Spot noticed that Mr. N's nose honked, flashed, and buzzed every time someone said a word beginning with "N". "NOOOOO!" screamed Spot. "STOP MAKING 'FAMILY FEUD' NOSE NOISES! AAAAAAAAUUUUGGGGGGHHHHH!"
A form of intellectual torture vastly more subtle than Miss A through Mr. M had practiced, but no less evil -- Spot was quickly reduced to tears by not being kicked while Mr. N's nose buzzed. And after he was reduced to tears, the tears evaporated, and then there was nothing left of Spot.
And "nothing" begins with N -- but Spot no longer began with anything because he didn't exist. Poor Spot!
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Ostinate old Miss O entered and began to sing obstinately:
I'm Miss O--I'm OBSTINATE; So OBSTINATE, so OBSTINATE; Which is just the opposite Of doing what somebody wants you to do when they want you to do it. In the winter time, I swim In a frosty swimming pool; If they say, "Stay out," I'm in; I don't care if the water's cool. I'm Miss O--I'm OBSTINATE; So OBSTINATE, so OBSTINATE; Which is just the opposite Of doing what somebody wants you to do when they want you to do it. When it's time to go to sleep, That's when I begin to play; If they say, "Stay down," I'm up; When it's night, I say, "It's day." I'm Miss O--I'm OBSTINATE; So OBSTINATE, so OBSTINATE; Which is just the opposite Of doing what somebody wants you to do when they want you to do it.Spot was beside himself with frustration. "Waah! I don't know what 'obstinate' means!"
And he never found out, either.
He tried to get Miss O to buzz off, but she wouldn't leave. He asked her to shut up, but she wouldn't stop singing. He asked her to explain the word "obstinate", but obviously she was obliged to obfuscate.
Spot began to think that maybe she always did the opposite of what he wanted, so he tried using reverse psychology, but that didn't work on Miss O either because nothing worked on Miss O. In fact, she smelled horrible because even baths didn't work on Miss O. He got his giant, atomic-bomb-shaped roll-on deodorant out from under the bed and tried to rub it on her, but it didn't work either. The nuclear explosion destroyed the world except for Miss O, because even nuclear annihilation doesn't work on girls who are that obstinate.
"Waah!" said Spot, "I was vaporized just because I'm not a girl!"
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. P, fresh from a visit to Peeper's Park, sang:
I've got pointy, POINTY PATCHES On my pointy patched-up pants I've got pointy, POINTY PATCHES, Plain to see. Sewn up with polka-dotted stitches, POINTY PATCHES on my britches, I'm as rich as any Letter Boy can be--Mr. P. Purple patches, yellow patches, Red and blue and green; Perfect powerful, prettiest patches You have ever seen. I'm like a pretty picture postcard, Pasted up with pretty stamps; I've a patch from every Part of this country. From Paducah down to Natchez, People praise my POINTY PATCHES, Pointing out each patch That matches patched-up me--Mr. P.(I should point out that I am not making up "Peeper's Park", it's in the actual videotape. -- the Author.)
"I'M LIKE A PRETTY PICTURE POSTCARD!" shouted the Letter Boy, who went Postal and pulled out a powerful rifle. Spot dove for cover as the psychotic Mr. P shot up Spot's priceless collection of empty beer bottles and even detonated Spot's entire collection of squibs.
Eventually Mr. P calmed down, when his medication (administered secretly by the government, via a beam from the satellite) kicked in. He apologized to Spot for destroying every solid object in his apartment, and also apologized for not doing it in alphabetical order, and apologized for the fact that he couldn't think of a synonym for "rifle" that began with P. Then he gave Spot his special christmas present, a visit to Peeper's Park.
It was filled with tree frogs that were really annoying.
But, still, this was the best Christmas gift Spot had ever received, in a relative sense. Spot hugged Mr. P, and instantly developed numerous puncture wounds from Mr. P's pointy patches. Mr. P was prickly, even porcupiney. Spot liked pork, and pine nuts, but Mr. P tasted all icky when Spot licked him experimentally. Spot made a mental note to never again do any experiments, and this kept him from winning that Nobel Prize in 2015. And besides, Spot bled to death immediately.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. Q came in and sang his special song:
...this is because Mr. Q was quiet, because the letter Q has no sound. You cannot hear Mr. Q unless Miss U is standing next to him in The Starting Clue Box, due to the perverse laws of physics in Letter Land. You would know this if you saw Mr. Q's cartoon, which features Bottomsly Upsdown. Of course, then, you'd be in kindergarten, and if the teacher were following the lesson plan you'd be forced to participate in Optional Activity #3, "Who Can Be The Most Quiet?"
Spot thanked his lucky stars that he'd flunked out of school before kindergarten, and so was not required to be as quiet as Mr. Q. "YEE-HAW!!!" yelled Spot, "YABBA DABBA DOO! ZOINKS! ROLL 'EM! AYYY, SIT ON IT! POTRZEBIE! NICOLE KIDMAN IS A BAD ACTRESS! I LIKE WAFFLES! I HATE WAFFLES! I DON'T HAVE AN OPINION ABOUT WAFFLES WHICH IS WHY I HAVE TO SHOUT THIS SENTENCE SO LOUD TO COUNTERACT ITS UNIMPORTANCE! THEY SHOULDN'T HAVE CANCELLED 'BATTLESTAR GALACTICA'!"
Then Spot noticed that a little operation could turn Mr. Q into Miss O, and started chasing him around with scissors.
Why is Spot becoming the bad guy in is segment? Because the Author is frustrated because Mr. Q doesn't have a STUPID LITTLE SONG! Spot chased Mr. Q around the room for a few minutes, and then the Author reached in through the window and crushed Spot in the palm of his hand. He wadded up Spot into a little ball and put him in a gumball machine at the local drugstore, knowing full well that nobody would ever see him again, because the Author put a sign on the machine which said "GUMBALLS $500.00." And the machine only took pennies. And they all had to be inserted within five seconds or the machine would reset. And besides there was a big neon arrow pointing to the machine which said "ONE OF THESE GUMBALLS IS A DOG."
Mr. Q laughed silently, helping himself to some of the Dunkin' Donuts left behind from Mr. D's story. He liked the stupid-looking Dunkin' Dippers. Mr. Q switched on Spot's TV and watched The Game Show Network and laughed himself silently silly.
Meanwhile, nothing happened to Spot. Ever again.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. R came in and immediately ripped all of Spot's rubber bands, because R stands for Ripping Rubber Bands. Unfortunately, his song was not recorded for posterity, and thus the Author will make up one:
La la la la la I am Mister R! La la la la la la la la la Look, a big rubber band I'm gonna let a big one rip! La la la I like to use ripping rubber bands for everything I keep my money in a ripping rubber bank and when I rip my skin I use a ripping rubber bandage La la la la la la la la la la la la la The only thing I like ripping more than rubber bands is Spot Spot Spot Spot Spot Spot Spot Spot La la RIPPPP!!!!!! La.Mr. R picked up Spot by the ears and pulled them in opposite directions. However, Spot was not made of rubber, so he didn't stretch. In fact, he didn't even rip per se; his head simply shattered, and his brain fell out.
"Waah," thought Spot's brain.
Mr. R examined Spot's brain. It appeared to be kind of rubbery, and so would probably be good to torture. He looped a rubber band around it really tight, pulled it back, and let it snap against the tender surface of Spot's brain.
Now, neurosurgeons will tell you that the brain itself contains no pain receptors, and so a brain without a skull would be unaware of even the most intense pain.
Neurosurgeons are wrong about other things, too.
Spot's disembodied brain was in a universe of rubber agony!
"That reminds me, Spot," said Mr. R, "I almost forgot to give you this swell Christmas present. It's a propeller beanie." But Spot could no longer wear hats because his tender brain was exposed, so Mr. R just pulled the propeller off the beanie and stuck it into Spot's brain. Then he snapped a big rubber band against Spot's medulla oblongata, as a playful breeze made the propeller in Spot's brain spin pointlessly.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. S began to sing, in a Desi Arnaz accent:
I'm Mr. S, And sometimes when I go to sleep, I'm scared, So then l sneak across my room, And find my SUPER SOCKS, And slip into my SUPER SOCKS, And suddenly-- I am a supersonic streak in the sky; "Mr. S to the rescue!" they cry. "Straight on SUPER SOCKS, We've got to stop that train; Save that sinking sailboat from the hurricane." I'm Mr. S, And sometimes when they're scolding me, I smile; As soon as I can sneak away, I find my SUPER SOCKS, And slip into my SUPER SOCKS, And suddenly -- I am a supersonic streak in the sky, "Mr. S to the rescue!" they cry. "Straight on SUPER SOCKS, There's been a robbery; Hold it--stop--surrender; Don't you mess with me!" SUPER S-O-C-K-S...."¿Eso si que es?" echoed Spot, who did not understand Spanish, although he could speak it perfectly. But that was beside the point, as one of Mr. S's super socks had fallen off. Spot put it on and immediately began to fly around the room!
"Wow," said Spot, "Now I can fight crime in outer space! This is a simply super gift, Mr. S! Thanks a lot!"
...but then, while fifty thousand feet over Denver, Jim Henson stole Spot's super sock and sewed eyes on it. Then he made it sing an even more insipid song about the letter S. Spot cried as he learned!
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. T, who looked sort of like Wink Martindale, sang:
Tall--my teeth are so tall Terrifically tall, The tallest you'll see; I'm called Mr. T. (Spoken) Mr. T--that's me - TALL TEETH. Why, my tall teeth are so tall, That it takes my toothbrush 222 turns To take a trip From the top of the tip, To the tip of the top Of each tooth, And that's the tall truth! And talk about toothpaste, From Tuesday to Tuesday, I'll use 2,222 tubes of tasty toothpaste, For each tremendous tooth, And that's the tall truth, too! Tall -- my teeth are so tall, Terrifically tall, The tallest you'll see; I'm called Mr. T."I like how you sang the word '(spoken)'," said Spot.
"Thanks. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to brush my teeth again. Can I borrow two thousand, two hundred, and twenty-two tubes of tasty toothpaste?"
Unfortunately, Spot was two thousand, two hundred, and twenty-two tubes of toothpaste short. All he had were Milk-Bone dog biscuits, and they were the honey-frosted sugar flavor. Mr. T could not brush his teeth! They all turned brown and huge holes developed in them both before and after they fell out. Spot looked at the pile of teeth on the floor, which were sizzling and bubbling as they turned to tooth dust.
"Sorry, Mr. T."
"I PITY THE FOOL WHO MAKES MT TALL TEETH FALL OUT!" yelled Mr. T, as he punched Spot's face so hard that his nose came out through his ears. Both of them. Then the rest of the A-Team showed up to help him beat up Spot, including the guy from "Battlestar Galactica". "WAAH," screamed Spot, "THAT REMINDS ME! BATTLESTAR GALACTICA IS STILL CANCELLED!"
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Miss U sang her cheery song:
I'm with my UMBRELLA; We go together, wherever we go. I'm under my UMBRELLA; Whether it's sunshine, or whether it's snow. You know who I am; I'm little Miss U; With my UMBRELLA, Whatever I do. UPSY-DAISY, we go every place; Little Miss U with my UMBRELLA face; Little Miss U with my UMBRELLA face. I'm with my UMBRELLA; Apart we are minus, together we're plus. I'm with my UMBRELLA; Up and away, take a good look at us. You know who I am; I'm little Miss U; With my UMBRELLA, Whatever I do. UPSY-DAISY, we go every place; Little Miss U with my UMBRELLA face; Little Miss U with my UMBRELLA face. I'm with my UMBRELLA; We are unhappy, unless we can be Just like bread and butter; That's why you see my UMBRELLA and me. You know who I am; I'm little Miss U; With my UMBRELLA, Whatever I do. UPSY-DAISY, we go every place; Little Miss U with my UMBRELLA face; Little Miss U with my UMBRELLA face. I'm with my UMBRELLA... I'm with my UMBRELLA... I'm with my UMBRELLA..."Duh," said Spot, "I can't figure out what characteristic of yours I'm supposed to be remembering." She grabbed him and ripped him apart. Apart he was a minus, but together he hadn't exactly been a plus. Spot pulled himself together and stapled his tail back on.
"We can be just like bread and butter," said Miss U, who smeared cow grease on his face (and only his face) and then pushed him off a table to guarantee that he landed face down. "Upsy-daisy!"
Spot did not enjoy this, so he jumped out the window. He ran and ran as fast as his stumpy little legs would carry him, which wasn't all that fast when you think about it, but it was faster than someone shaped like the letter U could possibly run. Spot escaped into a meadowy glen, then passed through into a glenny meadow. To calm himself down, he ate some grass. And some leaves. And some flowers.
Miss U caught up to him. Out of breath, she apologized and explained that she was only mean to him because she had to use the stupid song as inspiration, because that was the rule. To make it up to him, she gave him a present: A diorama of the entire cast of "Star Trek" made entirely from spider webs.
Unfortunately, one of the flowers Spot ate was an Upsy Daisy. Spot frew up all over "Star Trek"!
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
Also, "Battlestar Galactica" and "Star Trek" were both still cancelled.
THE END.
Mr. V, wearing a purple vest, danced into the room:
I am Mr. V With a very special vest, And my very special vest Is my very best. l am Mr. V With a very special velvet vest, And my very special velvet vest Is my very, very best. I am Mr. V With a very special VIOLET VELVET VEST, And my very special VIOLET VELVET VEST Is my very, very, very best. I am Mr. V With a great variety Of very special VIOLET VELVET VESTS; And my great variety of very special VIOLET VELVET VESTS Is my very, very, very, very best.Spot was terrified! "WAAH! YOU'RE WEARING A VIOLENT VELVET VEST! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME WITH YOUR LAVENDER VEST!"
Mr. V explained that it was "violet", not "violent". "Spot, violet is a color. It's like purple and lavender but different."
"Oh. What does it look like?" (Dogs are color-blind.)
Mr. V pointed out the window, where a rainbow was forming out of the city's acid rain. "See the indigo stripe, Spot? Violet is like indigo only further down and harder to see."
"Oh," said Spot. "What does indigo look like?"
"I'm sorry, Spot, I cannot comment on indigo, as I am Mr. V, and I have a violet violet velvet velvet vest. Feel my vest, it's 100% velvet!"
Spot reached out to touch his vest, and indeed it was fuzzy. It felt like felt. It velveted like velveted.
"That doesn't make much sense," complained Spot.
"Okay, fine, stupid puppy, you don't like me, I don't like you, you're gonna be punished by being forced to participate in two of the optional activities in my oh-so-educational curriculum:
2. Children can make and decorate their own very special vest, using a large paper bag, and cutting off the folded bottom and cutting two holes for arms to fit through. Discuss the meaning of the word "vain.''
"I think 'vain' would be anyone who is proud to wear a crappy vest that said 'Safeway' on it," said Spot. Mr. V, who wasn't vain because he had a beautiful purple felt vest, agreed.
3. Children enjoy classifying fabrics of various textures and colors. A discrimination game may be devised in which children try to identify textures of fabrics without looking at the material. (If possible, try to get a small swatch of violet velvet fabric.)
Spot, being just a puppy and not an adult dog, was technically a child, so he was required to enjoy classifying fabrics of various textures and colors. Textures he had to feel included spiky, red-hot, concentrated acid, and dry ice. He was required to participate in this activity for a full hour, but he couldn't tell how long it had been because his cheap disposable plastic wristwatch seemed to be a small swatch of violet velvet fabric. So he did it for several hours, until his brain fell asleep and Spot passed out with his face against the dry ice. The freezer-burn blackened half of Spot's face and bleached the other side, ensuring that Spot would lose any other discrimination game.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. W had a long song, which he performed while Spot kept trying to leave the room to go to the bathroom:
W--I'm Mr. W If my name Begins to trouble you, Here's a way to help your thinking; Won't you watch me when I'm winking? WONDERFU L WINK With my right eye, that's once; WONDERFUL WINK With my left eye, that's twice. Two winks are nice; They're the double of one; Oh, I'm winking double, That's how "W" is done. (Spoken) WonderfuI -- Can you wink two times two? Try it -- Wrinkle up your right eye; Keep your left eye open, And let's see your WONDERFUL WINK. Now, try winking with your left eye. W -- I'm Mr. W If my name Begins to trouble you, Here's a way to help your thinking; Won't you watch me when I'm winking? WONDERFUL WINK With my right eye, that's once; WONDERFUL WINK With my left eye, that's twice. WONDERFUL WINK WONDERFUL WINK I'm Mr. W With a WONDERFUL WINK, WONDERFUL WINK, WONDERFUL WINK.......the song was made even longer because "W" is the only one-letter word which is three syllables long, while the average word is 4.5 letters and 1.2 syllables long, and thus W's syllable-to-letter ratio was eleven times as high as normal, and thus the song was sung at one-eleventh speed.
The moment the song ended, Spot ran into the bathroom to keep his bladder from exploding. As he was relieving himself, Mr. W followed him into the bathroom and winked at him wonderfully.
Spot was slightly homophobic, so he immediately concluded that Mr. W was gayer than Bob Odenkirk and Dave Cross combined. And besides, he had too many syllables. Spot screamed and ran away from Mr. W because he knew that he would get AIDS, herpes, and especially cooties if he touched Mr. W.
"Don't be thilly, Thpot," lisped Mr. W floridly, "You can only get AIDS if you touch A, I, D, or S." So, to show that he wasn't prejudiced, Spot carefully shook Mr. W's hand. He immediately developed several diseases which started with W, such as wobbles, wiarrhea, and werpes.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
DISCLAIMER: MR. W IS NOT REALLY GAY, BUT EVEN IF HE WERE, THAT WOULD BE FINE BY ME, BECAUSE HE'S NOT REAL.
"WRONG!" yelled Mr. X. "I'M NOT GOING TO SING YOU A SONG BECAUSE SINGING A STUPID SONG WOULD BE WRONG!"
Mr. X's name stood for "All Wrong", because there are no English words which begin with the letter "X". Thus, Spot would have to be punished for trying to learn about a useless letter.
Spot was doomed to be beaten to a bloody pulp by Mr. X unless he could prove that Mr. X had a purpose in life by thinking of a word beginning with X! Mr. X chased Spot past his xylophone, and his Xerox, and his X-ray machine, and his bust of Xerxes, and his lifetime supply of Ex-Lax that he'd won as a consolation prize on "The Price Is Right". (He hadn't actually been a contestant, he just cried so much that they tried to console him with Ex-Lax.) Spot still couldn't think of a good use for the letter X.
Mr. X chased Spot through the whole neighborhood, past the XXX-movie theater, past the xenon streetlights, and past the Xylon flying saucer. Eventually he caught up with Spot in front of a poster telling him to watch Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny on some stupid TV show. Spot still hadn't thought of anything beginning with X! "Now I'm gonna whomp ya," said Mr. X.
Spot threw an X-Acto scalpel at the evil, xenobiological Mr. X, but it missed. Mr. X had Spot cornered in the middle of an intersection surrounded by four-way stop signs! Thinking quickly, Spot held up a crucifix at a forty-five degree angle! "YAAAAAAGH!" screamed Mr. X, as he burst into flame and was vanished to the DCXXXXXXVIth plane of Hell. And as Mr. X vanished, all words containing "X" vanished. Spot's crucifix was no more.
Spot had no boxes of lox, "jumbo shrimp" was no longer an oxymoron, and the toxic explosive under his bed was now just a piece of tofu.
And Spot would never have sex again.
Wait, did I say "again"? My mistake.
SPOT NEVER HAD SEX!!!
YOU HAVE FOUND THE OTHER HAPPY ENDING TO THE STORY.
THE END.
Poor Spot! Mr. Y's song was missing due to the incompetence the person or persons unknown who plagiarized the entire Letter People teacher's guide and posted it to the Internet, except for the good parts, Mr. R's song and Mr. Y's song! Spot didn't give a damn about Mr. R -- after all, his segment was several pages ago -- but Spot was curious to find out if Mr. Y was also known as Miss Y because sometimes a vowel and therefore either a girl or a transvestite.
Spot glowered at Mr. Y. If Mr. Y didn't sing, this section of the story would be RUINED!
Mr. Y yawned expansively, and Spot immediately became so drowsy that he fell asleep while holding his glass of orange juice directly over his lap. When Spot woke up, Mr. Y was gone! Now Spot would never get to hear Mr. Y's happy little song about Mr. Y's only important attribute, the fact that he liked yawning. Spot put on his little doggie necktie and got on the #66 bus to go to work.
"Hi!" said the person in the seat next to Spot. "Remember me? I'm your old pal Mr. Y!" Spot turned to look at Mr. Y just as Mr. Y yawned again. Everyone on the bus immediately fell asleep, including the driver.
When Spot woke up, he was in the hospital. The anesthesiologist was just about to put the mask on Spot's face when the nurse removed her mask to reveal that she was Mr. Y. "Hey Spot! It's me again!" He (or she) yawned and Spot and the doctors fell asleep.
When Spot woke up, he was in a different hospital where different doctors were preparing to remove the scalpel that had been plunged into Spot's forehead when the doctor fell asleep, and the orange stain from Spot's crotch from when Spot had fallen asleep. Spot glanced around the operating theater and none of the doctors or nurses appeared to be Mr. Y. The doctor took out a magic marker and drew a dotted line all the way across Spot's midsection for some exploratory surgery, and was making his first incision when all the spectators in the viewing gallery high above learned forwards --
-- and one of them was Mr. Y, who yawned. Hundreds of medical students fell asleep and their bodies hurtled themselves over the safety railing into the incision in Spot's naked midriff.
When Spot woke up, he was full of medical students! "Waah!" cried Spot. He tried to have the medical students removed, but no ethical doctor in the world would operate on a puppy who had an orange crotch stain, a scalpel in his forehead, and a bunch of medical students in his gut. Spot's only hope was to find someone who could handle a scalpel but didn't actually have a medical license to open him up. Unfortunately, he couldn't find any medical students, as Spot's intestinal cavity contained all the medical students there were. Fortunately, however, Spot remembered in the nick of time that hospitals have huge closets full of nuclear-strength laxatives for use on uncooperative patients. Spot downed a huge brick of Ex-Lax and sat on the toilet to wait for the magic to happen.
Just as Spot was starting his business, Mr. Y peeked over the top of the stall and said, "Peek-A-Boo! YAWN!!!" Spot fell asleep while going to the bathroom, and when police broke into the bathroom six hours later they found a dessicated, emptied-out husk of a dog, weighing less than an ounce, sitting on the toilet.
CHRISTMAS WAS RUINED!
THE END.
Mr. Z danced around Spot's room while singing:
Come see my ZIPPING ZIPPERS, I'm Mr. Z; Zipping my zip-up slippers, Coat and hat and dungarees. My hip zip flippers To float in the sea; Zipping on, zipping off; ZIPPING ZIPPERS, Mr. Z. ZIPPING ZIPPERS up; Zip ziggity zag; ZIPPING ZlPPERS down; Zag ziggity zip. ZlPPING ZlPPERS left; ZIPPING ZlPPERS right; ZIPPING ZIPPERS front and back; in and out; And everywhere in sight. I'm zipping off to see the world, To see what I can see; I'm ZIPPING ZIPPERS in Zanzibar; I zipped the Zuider Zee. Who me? Who me? Of course! I'm Mr. Z. With a zip zip ziggity; Zap zap zum; Zippo, bango; Here I come! I'm ZIPPING ZIPPERS in the town, 'Cause zipping's all I do; Zipping up sidewalks; Zipping up streets; And zebras in the zoo. Now who? Now who? -- Ha, ha; I didn't zip up you! Hold still; that's it; Now turn around, let's see. You've just been zipped By the zappiest zingiest Zipping Mr. Z. Come see my ZIPPING ZIPPERS, I'm Mr. Z; Zipping my zip-up slippers, Coat and hat and dungarees. My hip zip flippers To float in the sea; Zipping on, zipping off; ZlPPING ZlPPERS, Mr. Z."What's the Zuider Zee?" asked Spot. "And what the heck is a zlpper?"
"I am Mister Z," said Mr. Z, "and I am not responsible for any typographical errors in my song. Limit one song per household. Not for internal use. Void where prohibited!"
"Okay," said Spot, who voided where he wasn't supposed to -- all over the back of his TV set. An electrical shock blew him across the room where he cried in a puddle of boiling tears and urine. Spot wailed, "Waah! I am unhappy at the fact that the alphabet appears to end with bathroom humor!"
Then, something completely unrelated to the bathroom humor of Mr. Y and Mr. Z happened. So completely unlike bathroom humor that it resembled the middle volume of Sir Bertrand Russell's "Principia Mathematica". So lacking in offensiveness that it resembled a statue of Mister Rogers carved out of a marshmallow with a million-dollar bill in its mouth. And so creative that it cannot possibly be described here.
A weird rippling sensation passed through Spot's apartment as the undescribable but beautiful and imaginative event happened. The experience immediately transformed Spot, raising his IQ eighty points, rendering him humble and wise! "Yay!" yelled Spot, "Now I no longer need to shout 'DUH!' every three minutes according to law! I will never say 'DUH!' again!" In fact, Spot was now so smart that he couldn't yell "DUH!" even if he wanted to! Then the obvious happened.
The doorbell rang and Ed McMahon showed up with a cashier's check for A HUNDRED BILLION DOLLARS made out to the person at this address who could shout "DUH!" the loudest. Mr. Z, being a smart letter, immediately shouted "DUH!" in Ed McMahon's face, while Spot and his big brain cried from the frustration that only a superintelligent puppy who can't say "DUH!" can know.
"Waah! I hate being super-intelligent! I wish I could say 'DUH!'" said Spot, as Mr. Z stuffed million-dollar bills into his pockets and flew away in his private Space Shuttle, which was made of solid gold and filled with Cherry Pez. This was the best Christmas ever for Mr. Z!
The Spot caught mange from his Furby and died.
After he died, Spot wasn't allowed to go to Heaven because Spot was just a dog, and the pearly gates didn't have a doggie door. Similarly, Spot wasn't allowed to go to Hell or Purgatory, because everyone knows that Spot was too small a puppy to have a soul. Spot's immortal spirit (the generic equivalent of a soul) had to spend all of eternity in a different place. A much smaller, more annoying place.
Spot's spirit was reincarnated...
Inside a Furby.
THE NEXT TEN MILLION CHRISTMASES WERE RUINED!
THE END.
| James "Kibo" Parry | kibo@world.std.com | last revised Dec. 24, '98 |
Web site contents & design: Copyright © 1997, 1998 James "Kibo" Parry, all rights reserved.