Ridiculous Stories

This is a page created by Alex… simply because she once was at work and was bored and thought it would be fun to be ridiculously random.

This page is different from the Evil Fanfics page; since that is a place where people can use the "characters" featured in the regular stories and well…write fanfics about them. This page is for those ridiculous and mundane, bizarre ideas that strike when you least expect them…and they MUST be put into words, whilst the whole universe explodes!!!

The point is to keep it simple, silly and pointless. But have fun with it, mmkayz? ^__^
ENJOY~!!

There is ONE rule to this site, though: each story has to be proceeded with a number (as you will notice from the ToC). No one really knows why…perhaps to make some sort of linear logic in this messed up page. Just go with it. ^^


#2: BOB WANTS A RAPTOR

(by Alex)

Christmas was coming and Bob, a 37-year old balding man was sitting in his living room with his cat resting beside him. Bob had always been the nerdy type. He had worn bifocal glasses since he was in grade school; he joined the marching band in jr. high; he had made it to the State Championship Chess match his senior year in high school. And if it hadn't been for that lucky move by the Belgium exchange student, he would have taken home the trophy.

In his later years, Bob had devoted himself to studying history as a hobby; although his career was that of a high school algebra teacher. He was unmarried, but he wasn't lonely. He was just a nerd who loved his cat.

As the holidays drew nearer that year, Bob knew in his heart of hearts that there was only one thing he wanted for Christmas.

Bob wanted a velociraptor. But he wouldn't be satisfied with just any velociraptor. He didn't want a little plastic toy or even a stuffed animal of one; he wanted the REAL. DEAL.

So on Christmas Eve, Bob turned off his TV after the annual telecast of It's a Wonderful Life. The clock on his VCR/DVD player combo told him it was just past ten o' clock. His colorful Christmas twinkle lights gazed back at Bob from his tree in the far corner. Above his fireplace were hung two stockings: one for him, and one that was embroidered with the name "Mr. Sunny-Muffins" (for his cat). Bob's soft hazel eyes fell on the empty space beneath the tree. As he absentmindedly scratched behind Mr. Sunny-Muffins' ears, he sighed. "Please, Santa," he said quietly to the night. "Bring me what I really want for Christmas. Bring me a raptor." And with his peace said, Bob got up from the couch. He resisted the allure of the milk and cookies that had been placed out for Santa, and instead dragged his tired body down the hall to his room.

As Bob slept through the night, he had dreams of dinosaurs and ancient plants…and a raptor with a big red gift bow tied around its neck; welcoming Bob to his company with open arms.


In the morning, Bob awoke with high hopes. He flung the covers off himself and lept from the bed as if he were five years old again. His bare feet made contact with the cold wooden floorboards, and momentarily sent a shiver snaking up his spine; but he ignored the cold and rushed to the living room. He had really., truly believed. He knew in his heart that, given such unwavering faith, Santa would visit him and grant him the one present he had wanted all his life.

When Bob reached the living room, his feet came to a halting stop. Horror fell across his features before it melted into heartache. He felt as if the cold hand of death had reached into his chest and ripped his heart right out from his body. There was nothing under the Christmas tree. No raptor, no dinosaur remains; not even a little wooden piece of crap from Santa's factory.

Heartbroken and betrayed, Bob fell to his knees in shame. "Why!?" He called out to the heavens in anguish. Hot tears rushed down his face like tiny waterfalls. They licked the skin of his cheeks as they were pulled downward towards his jowls. "Why have you forsaken me? I have done everything you asked! I was good all year round. I always defended your name. No one else believed, and yet I knew you existed! Even George scoffs at your name and you gave him a PORSCHE last year!! Why, Santa? WHY~?!??!!" Consumed with dramatics and a feeling of complete emptiness, Bob fell onto the floor and curled up in a fetal position as he continued to shed tears. He just could not understand why he didn't get the one thing he wanted; the only thing he had ever truly wanted. Had he not been faithful?

And suddenly there was a strange sound coming from the small kitchen down the hall. Bob's tears miraculously stopped as he jerked his head up. He strained his ears for any further noise and waited, remaining deathly still.

Then suddenly, he heard it again. Jumping from his place on the floor, he crept silently toward the kitchen entrance. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest; he barely let himself breathe. He was so consumed with curiosity and expectation that he refused to let anything interfere. As he peered into the kitchen, he nearly jumped for joy. There, raiding his fridge and hitting random pots and pans with it's elongated tail was a velociraptor.

"Santa…you DO exist!" Bob praised, feeling tears rush through him once again; only this time, they were tears of joy.

The raptor, who had heard and sensed Bob's presence, jerked it's head behind him so he could see Bob properly. He was an elegant creature; muscular, fast, lean and always on guard. The dinosaur blinked at Bob, his menacing white gleaming fangs began to show as Bob drew closer. Bob didn't seem to notice any danger. He had finally gotten what he wanted for Christmas. Of course, what kind of wonderful creature that was his present would hurt him?

As in his dream, Bob opened his arms in welcome to his new pet. A smile dancing across his face, shining and sparking into his crinkled eyes, Bob continued to sob. "I'm so happy you're finally here… we're finally together…"

And in a split second, before Bob even knew what was happening, he suddenly had no head. The raptor, being hungry and being a predator by nature, decided to eat Bob. The now headless overweight body of an old nerd fell to the ground with a loud THUD.

~Meanwhile…~

Santa was outside the house, hiding in the hydrangea bush. The cat, Mr. Sunny-Muffins, was beside the Spirit of Christmas. "And you're sure that's what you wanted for Christmas?" Santa asked the cat once again.

"Definitely." Mr. Sunny-Muffins nodded his head. "He got what he deserved. Honestly; do I look like a 'Mr. Sunny-Muffins' to you?"


#71: THE QUACKING DUCK WHO LOST ITS QUACK

(by Alex)

Everyone knows the story of the Ugly Duckling, right? Where the hideous duck is shunned from duck society because he doesn't know the dance moves to Rocky Horror Picture Show's "The Time Warp"?

Well, that's a very nice story, but COMPLETELY irrelevant to this one. This story is about a quacking duck who lost its quack.

There once was a duck named Reynold. He got made fun of. It wasn't because his name was Reynold; it wasn't because of the Alfalfa-styled 'do he was sporting. ..It actually wasn't clear at all as to why he was so picked on. I guess the ducks needed to pick on someone, so they made him the scapeduck.

Nonetheless, Reynold was picked on. It didn't matter that he was the fastest, or the smartest duck of them all. None of the ducks wanted to be his friend. After trying many, many months to gain acceptance from the ducks, Reynold had started to give up. He didn't know what he could do in order to form better relationships with his winged brethren. All attempts seemed futile.

So one night, Reynold was wading through the water all by himself when he came across a frog. A cute little frog. A little ribbiting frog all alone on its lilly pad. A sudden idea popped into Reynold's head as he swam speedily towards the lilly padded froggie. "Mr. Frog," he quacked. "Mr. Frog, I would like to know if you would be my friend."

The frog merely stared back, a look of blankness about it. Reynold waited patiently, but after several minutes, tried again. "Mr. Frog, I couldn't help noticing that you're all alone. I'm alone, also. None of my duck mates want to be friends with me. Will you be my friend, Mr. Frog?"

The blank look on the frog's face soon turned into one of contempt. "I do not speak Russian!" It croaked before flopping its webbed feet at Reynold and diving into the water.

Reynold was saddened. Lowering his beaked head, Reynold sadly paddled his way to shore. He wasn't going to gain acceptance with his fellow ducks, and the frogs obviously didn't enjoy his company. Packing up his things, Reynold decided to move away. Perhaps he would go to Memphis. Or New Orleans! Or even Paris! Heart uplifted, Reynold made his way to the closest destination on his list: Memphis, Tennessee.

Upon arriving there, however, Reynold did not find it as welcoming as he had imagined it being. Hotels refused to let him get a room; restaurants routinely threw him out on his keister with harsh words like, "We don't accept YOUR KIND here". Wherever he went, he was met with contempt and disgust. It was no better than being back in the pond with biased ducks and racist frogs.

In one last attempt to belong, Reynold tried one last place: Graceland. It was his dream to visit Elvis' home and merge with the hundreds of tourists to see the estate. Perhaps the King of Rock n Roll's home he could find acceptance. Yet it was the King himself who kicked Reynold out of Graceland. There was no place "for the likes of you" in the Hound Dog's home. Downtrodden once again, Reynold decided to leave Memphis behind. He was going to head back to the pond. There he knew that everyone hated him, but at least he would have some amount of peace.

When Reynold finally made it back to the pond, a small group of ducks gathered around him. The leader (a duck named Carl) asked where Reynold had been all that time. Shamefully, Reynold recounted his adventures to the ducks. He spoke of his constant upset that he had never been accepted by them; of his meeting of the mean lilly pad frog; of his disgrace in Memphis and being discriminated against my Elvis Presley. The group of ducks listened in silence until the end of Reynold's elaborate tale. Even after he stopped talking, there was silence. The only sounds that could be heard were the crickets and the infrequent croak of a pond frog. Reynold, meanwhile, bowed his head and braced himself for ridicule. When the silence was finally broken, it was Carl who spoke.

"You're a friggin penguin, stupid."


#62: ROBBING THE BANK

(by Jen & Alex, during an extremely boring ENG131 class)

Upon entering a bank, a customer was spotted with a note of "rob bank" written on her hand. Although it was merely a joke, the bank teller and other employees reacted badly. The customer was shot point-blank and the body dragged outside. A lonely hobo saw the dead customer and thinks she's just very drunk. He propped her up and they became fast friends until he noticed the note of "rob bank" on her hand. It put a damper on their relationship, as his long-lost love had been shot in a bank robbery. He personally blamed the customer and used the only weapon he had to thwart her. He dragged her into the road while a Mac truck was coming.

However, the Mac truck turned left and an old lady ran over the dead customer instead. Not realizing what she'd done she drove for hours at 15 miles an hour until she reached the zoo. She was terribly upset when she discovered the body still attached to her car and to hide the evidence of her misdoing, the old lady threw the body into the lion pen.

The lions, unfortunately for the old bat, had just eaten. And because lions do not hunt (nor eat) when they do not need to be nourished, they ignored the dead body laying face flat in the middle of the pit. Pretty sooon (as they often do) the flies began to gather around the body after several hours of decomposition. The zookeepers, fearing a plague of black flies (they were naive, but had never actually read the bible), ran for the hills, threw off their clothes and continued their lives trying to blend in with the local vegetation.

Little did they know that the local vegetation was plotting against them. They had been made into salads for years, and enough was enough! No longer would the local vegetation live in fear! While the leader of the zookeepers was assembling a search for food, he was abruptly slapped to death by an angry piece of lettuce.

Thus raising the body count to an extraordinary number of 2. The others who remained alive once again jumped to the conclusion of an apocalyptic nature. They raised their arms above their heads and, with a frightened exclamation of "OOGA-BOOGA-BOOGA!", they all ran off into the wilderness. But they encountered even more powerful vegetation— an aristocratic vegetation, shall we say— and were all bludgeoned by coconuts, carrots, potatoes, and cried for hours thanks to a previously thought extinct plant: Onion of a Thousand Tears.

They then caught amnesia from an artichoke and stumbled out of the wilderness to become lead actors in a famous soap opera entitled Chocolate Syrup.

Not long after the premiere, angry mobs circled the place where the show was made and burned it to the ground. It was the bloodiest and most disastorous soap opera related killings the world had ever known.

But since things in soap operas always contain random and unexplained deaths, resurrections, infidelities and numerous "evil twins", everyone who was watching Chocolate Syrup at the time thought it was just part of the program. And all were amazed.

The End.


The Ballad of Walter and Lucy

by Jen

“Shit!” Walter hissed as he watched his wife shuffle obliviously past his trap, a large cement Buddha decoration that teetered dangerously overhead. “Damn thing was suppose to fall, what happened this time?” Walter huffed as he glared at his failed trap. Perhaps he balanced it too well. He had been in a rush when he placed it on the rickety beam, and he had managed the deed only just as she walked out of the bathroom.

Walter contemplated how he could salvage the situation and get the Buddha to fall on her head, but was distracted from his stewing thoughts as his wife began humming. He hated how she hummed. It was never a song she hummed, but random unthinking notes in an aimless, droning, irritating tune. “Why couldn't that damned Buddha have just fallen on her head?”

As she hummed to herself she began unloading freshly baked chocolate chip fudge cookies from the oven. “Damn her” Walter thought. She had made his favorite cookies again. “Oh, she simply was the worst.” Every week she made this wonderful melt in your mouth cookies, with a family recipe that had been passed from mother to daughter for who-knows-how-long. Every week she made them, damn her, and every week Walter was helpless to refuse. She knew all about his diabetes, and she was trying to kill him first.

They had been married for sixty years now, Walter had met Lucy at the youthful age of 18, and he married her two years later. He was eighty now, and he hadn't aged the way he had hoped. But, neither had Lucy. At seventy-eight she was as wrinkled and ragged as an old hag from one of those horror films kids watch these days. Walter often told Lucy she could be the next big thing in horror movies. They couldn't make her look any creepier if they tried. Lucy told him to go to hell. She was also on oxygen, and she was attached with tubes in her nose to a t.v. sized humming machine kept in the living room. Years of smoking a pack a day could do that to you though.

It wasn't just Walter that was bitter about their marriage, Lucy was too. When Walter was young he showed such promise, he was going places. “Now look at you.” She'd complain. “You barely leave the bathroom!”

Walter had been young and rich, and now his money was gone, no thanks to her. She'd spent all his money on slinky dresses and fancy perfumes, and he hadn't complained. She was beautiful then. I mean drop dead gorgeous. I mean, wow. She was so hot even their local preacher drooled a little.

When they first started out life was great, and they were truly happy together. Walter had been ecstatic to learn they were going to be parents, and even more so when Lucy's breast size increased. In the meantime Walter was having great success in his job, and money flowed freely from his wallet into Lucy's hands. It was after their third child together when that things began to change.

Lucy was starting to get a bit chunky. Being a part time mom and a full time shopper, she was starting to let herself go, and Walter was beginning to notice. He didn't mind the extra weight per say, but he was unsettled by the realization that by then they were in their mid thirties and were only getting older. Walter managed to shrug the feeling off however, she was still gorgeous and he was still in love with her. She was not impressed however, when he bought her a treadmill that year.

For Lucy it was really about the time they hit their fifties that she started having concerns. Walter wasn't making as much money, and she was nearly at the point where she could spend more than he could make. For the first time in her life her credit card was declined and suddenly she couldn't look at Walter the same way.

Lucy tried to reason with herself that it wasn't the money that made her love Walter, after all he had given her all she ever asked for without question. But perhaps since the treadmill incident he had changed too, and she noticed he seemed less and less inclined to let her run free with his spendings. It seemed that between them a strange change had occurred and suddenly their eyes were open, looking at the person they married for the first time.

When the kids moved out however is when things really started happening between Lucy and Walter. She would leave a toy at the top of the stairs that he might trip over. He would 'forget' to chip the ice off the front steps in the winter. It was small things, simple things, almost innocent things, but it was war.

Getting up in age they had taken out life insurance on each other, and now the drive for each others money was what kept them going, what kept them together. Divorce was out of the question, because it would be giving in, the first one to call mercy, if you will. They were both too proud, too stubborn.

In the beginning they never made any straight out attempts at murder, just small accidents that might prove fatal. When Walter tripped on one of the toys Lucy left out he was never seriously hurt, and Lucy never received much harm from her own falls on the front steps.

One day Walter was on the roof fixing the shingles and Lucy knocked the ladder over and walked inside. She had been especially mad at him that day, because she wanted to buy this necklace she saw in a store and he told her no. Walter managed to notice that the ladder was missing and hollered to the neighbor to help him out.

One time Lucy bought what she thought was a poisonous snake and set it lose in the house. Walter certainly got a scare, because it had curled up in his trousers on the floor. He had woken up early, reached for his pants, and out pops a very colorful looking snake! Walter screamed and called the police, who sent someone from animal control to collect the snake. “Must have been someone's pet that snuck inside” they shrugged. Walter glared at Lucy when she came home late that night from shopping.

He'll get her back…

Things escalated from there, and their lives became full of accidents and near misses. Walter cut the brake lines in Lucy's car and she crashed into a duck pond. Luckily for Lucy, she was only going 25mph. No ducks were harmed. The next night Lucy managed to set the house on fire then spend the night at a friends. Walter made it out just fine to Lucy's dismay.

Somehow, despite all of these attempted murders and mishaps, Walter and Lucy were now eighty and seventy-eight, and it was their 60th anniversary. They stood in the kitchen, Walter eating his cookies and Lucy watching, perhaps planning her next move. The years really hadn't treated them well, as Walter suffered his diabetes and Lucy was on oxygen.

They stood in silence for some time, thinking about their long marriage and their time spent together. Lucy stared at a picture of her children, glad that they never learned of the hate between Walter and her. Meanwhile Walter thought about how much time he had for another murder attempt before the nurse came for her daily visit to check on them. If Walter wanted to finish things once and for all, he only had a couple of hours.

“When I married you,” Walter began suddenly, “You were beautiful. You could have had anyone, and you chose me.” Lucy raised her eyebrows in surprise, he hadn't said anything sweet to her in a long time. “I wish you had picked someone else.” Walter finished.

“Well I wish I did too.” Lucy snapped. “You only married me for my looks, anyways.”

“At least I didn't marry you for your money!” Walter grumped, whacking his cane in frustration against the floor.

“Is that why you think I married you?” Lucy huffed and stamped her walker on the floor.

Walter shuffled toward her, cane in hand. “It's time we finish this, Lucy. I don't care about the damn life insurance money anymore, I just want to be rid of you!”

Lucy cried in dismay as he attempted to hit her with his cane, but fell off balance as she pushed her walker against him. “Maybe I did only love you for your money. But you were lucky to have me!” Lucy shrieked, and reached for a frying pan. Her aged fingers grasped the handle and she tried to swing, but her aim was off and it whooshed harmlessly through the air.

Walter grunted at her bad attack and tried to grab one of the knives from the kitchen sink. He grasped the handle and hit her on the side of the head, only to discover he missed the knife and had picked up a spatula. “Damn it!”

By now in the hustle, the prongs that where in Lucy's nose that supplied her with oxygen had been knocked loose. She gasped exaggeratedly for air as she shoved them back into her nose, and tried again to hit Walter with the frying pan. This time it connected and with a “splat” and a “clatter” Walter's false teeth fell to the floor. He raised his cane in retaliation, hitting her on the hip and knocking her over. Lucy scrambled to get to her feet, while Walter took off towards the living room to turn her oxygen concentrator off. The oxygen concentrator was the thing that kept the oxygen pumping into her nose. He had turned it off once or twice before, but the alarm that goes off whenever the power is turned off always alerted Lucy. Now there was no turning back, he was shutting off her oxygen and that's all there was to it.

Walter reached behind the machine and after some fumbling managed to find the cord. Lucy came teetering around the corner as fast as her walker would let her to stop him, but it was too late. A loud alarm began buzzing as Walter pulled the plug and started waving his cane at Lucy to fend her off.

“Walter Herman Brown, you plug that back in!”

“No!” Walter swung his cane at her again, and this time it struck something. The oxygen concentrator. Glass shattered the the ground as unwittingly Walter had disabled a vital part of the machine.

Lucy hissed angrily and tried to push past Walter, but he held fast and managed to knock her back on the ground. “You might have been beautiful Lucy, but you were a damned gold digger, and never worked a day in your life! I never should have married you for your looks!”

Lucy looked up at him with a cold hate in her eyes. “I wasted my life with you, you old ass.” “At least my ass still looks good.” Walter remarked. Lucy shrieked in anger and frustration. She had HAD IT with this man!

Lucy managed to pull herself up and hit him with her walker, and Walter fell back against the wall. She was panting now, it had been fifteen minutes already since he had unplugged her oxygen and her body was beginning to notice it. “Walter, you son of a bitch, I will not die this easily.” What she got from Walter was not the response she had expected. His face contorted and he gasped, holding his chest with a clenched fist.

“Walter?” She asked, but Walter was down on the ground now, and he did not respond. It seems that with the increase of sugar from those cookies and all of the excitement, Walter had met his end. Lucy stared awestruck at his unmoving body, unable to move herself while she could barely breathe. Her eyes fell upon his face, contorted in pain, and then to the plug still held fast in his hand. It wouldn't matter if it was plugged back in, the oxygen concentrator wouldn't work without the part that Walter broke.

Lucy stared at her husband, the man she'd been with for sixty years. She had loved him, had his children, they had raised them together and they were proud of what their children had become. She had stood by Walter, fought with Walter, and for many years tried to kill Walter. Now she had done it. He was dead. But she still didn't get his money.

Lucy began laughing. She couldn't help it. Even with so little oxygen left, even with her body pushing hard for every bit it could get, she laughed. He was gone. She laughed. She managed to outlive him. She laughed harder. He had managed to escape the fire and so many other traps she had set for him, and now here he was, dead. She started to gasped for breath as she tried to keep laughing, but she couldn't catch her breath. Then she too died.

It wasn't long after that they were discovered, Walter on the floor holding the plug and Lucy there beside him. To the nurse who found them it seemed as though Walter was trying to put the plug back in after it had gotten kicked out, when he'd had a heart attack, and Lucy had simply died there with him.

She called their children, and a week later their was a tearful funeral for the pair. They had always been there for each other, the children remarked. They were full of teary eyed stories such as when Lucy was sick in the hospital Walter had never left her side. He was so loyal. Granted, the children never knew that it was Walter's fault she'd gotten sick, and he has spent the entire time trying to find a way to make it worse, but they were always blissfully ignorant of their parents feud.

Now you can find Walter and Lucy side by side, on a beautiful and expensive plot in the family graveyard. Their headstone reads: “Walter H. Brown, and loving wife Lucy M. Brown, May they rest in peace together forever, just like they always wanted.”

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