The Concise Story
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - By Leus
Chapter 2 - By Amedeus
Chapter 3 - By Leus
Chapter 4 - By Amedeus
Chapter 5 - By Leus
Chapter 6 - By Amedeus
Chapter 7 - By Leus
Chapter 12: Leus is a Dick - By Amedeus
Chapter 4 - By Leus
Chapter 4 Cliffnotes - By Amedeus
Chapter 5 - By Amedeus
Chapter 6: This is Dumb - By Leus
Chapter 7: It's Not - By Amedeus
By Leus
"How long have I waited
for ye to return?" Gwyneth wrote from her spot on the beach. It was the same
spot she'd gone to wait nearly every day for the past 17 years. She looked
quite posh in her embroidered silk gown. It was the same gown Marilyn had given
her for their first year's anniversary, shortly after which Marilyn had
disappeared. Now all Gwyneth had to remember her by was the gown and a note
which simply read, "Wait for me."
Gwyneth sighed. "I know our love was a forbidden one," she
continued writing, "and I know we weren't together long." She paused. "To me,
though, these seem all the more reason to miss you so," she wrote on. "Our love
was true, outside the bounds of social conduct, and only existing because of its
purity. And it was cut short. So much has been left unsaid and undone. If
only I would see your face one last time I'd likely die from happiness."
Gwyneth paused once more to set her parchment down and dip her quill in its ink
well.
"Yet," she wrote once more, "I do not write this letter to say that
I've given up on such hope. I only intend to leave you some sort of message,
should you return and I not be here. And I'd love, in such a message, to spend
hours letting the ink flow from my quill tip and spell out the countless ways in
which you're irreplaceable to me, but the truth of the matter is that words are
ultimately inept as means to such an end. So I will merely state that which is
all that I can say and that which you surely already know: I am thinking of
you, dear Marilyn."
She sighed once more. "Yours always, Gwyneth," she concluded the
letter. She then rolled the parchment up and slid it into a knothole in the old
tree stump beside which she sat. She knew that Marilyn would look for it there
as it was the same spot they'd used to exchange their messages before they'd
gained the courage to begin meeting in private.
Being free to wait idly once more, Gwyneth set her eyes on the
horizon over the sea. In the distance she saw a ship. She wondered if Marilyn
was on board. It was true that Marilyn hadn't given any specific indication of
departing by way of ship, but she had always been fascinated with the sea.
She'd said that the waves put her in touch with the nature of the world, and
that the omnipresence of the ocean on the earth made her feel at peace.
As Gwyneth continued to watch the ship she noticed it begin to draw
nearer. Her hear swelled up with hope as it had so many times before, and she
closed her eyes and began to dream. She remembered when she and Marilyn had
first met nearly two decades ago at the spot at which Gwyneth now sat. They had
conversed for several hours and even shared their first kiss that very night.
Gwyneth now imagined the ship before her approaching and floating to
a stop aside the old wooden dock a few yards ahead. She imagined Marilyn
stepping off, her dazzling blue eyes glinting in the sunlight and a big, bring
smile on her lips. A similar smile spread across Gwyneth's own face, and a
feeling of warmth permeated her body. Her blissful expression was preserved
forever as a long sword swung forcefully through her neck and severed her head
from her body, sending her smiling face rolling to a halt in the sand.
"Bloody HELL, Daniel!" Nicolas exclaimed. "That was a bit over the
top, wasn't it?"
"Look at her," Daniel retorted, motioning to her face which was
quickly draining of color. "Now whatever thought she was enjoying will occupy
her eternal final moment! She's in an interminable state of euphoria!"
"Have you been smoking opium already this morning?" Nicolas inquired
as he began to search the body.
"Quite a bit, actually," Daniel replied. "And a few glasses of
absinthe as well. Though, to be fair, I started last evening and haven't slept
since." Nicolas put his face in his palm. "Besides," Daniel continued, "I'm
sure she's loaded anyway."
"She hasn't got anything on her but this bloody dress and it's
all..." Nicolas hesitated. "Bloody!"
"Oh," said Daniel, taken slightly aback. He then realized he was
leaning much too far to his left and would soon fall. He futilely tried to
reposition his center of gravity over his base of support, failed, lost his
balance, and staggered several yards to the left. Right as he was about to
regain his footing he ran into a tree and fell over. Nicolas sighed.
"And on top of all this," Nicolas continued as Daniel groaned in a
disoriented fashion, "now we can't even defile her!"
"Well why not?" Daniel inquired, leaping to his feet. He strolled
over and slashed the gown off of the headless corpse. "There you are."
"Alright," said Nicolas, "if this whole situation wasn't
excessively... Excessive... Before, it certainly is now."
"Right," Daniel confirmed. "Let's go. That ship out there is
getting awfully close anyway."
By Amedeus
Cletus and Abe watched the two men run into the distance. Cletus quitely tried
to decipher whether they were just fine staying on their bench, or whether the
injuns were attacking again. He didn't see any at the moment, but they were
crafty. They could be hiding inside the very wood of the bench, for all he knew.
Abe, on the complete other hand, went back to his business staring
at the pidgeons that were slowly advancing upon them. He knew they wanted the
gingersnaps he was keeping in his pocket in case he got hungry, or bored, or
lonely later in the day. If he could just stare them down, they might feel
overpowered and leave.
"I think we might have an injun problem, Abe," Cletus said in a
hushed tone.
"Eh!?" Abe announced, quite concisely.
"Injuns, Abe! They're here. I know they are, they've found us. They
want their revenge for what we did to them back in 1836! I knew they'd find us,
eventually!"
"You old codger, there ain't been no injuns for at least 23 years,
and you weren't even alive in 1836!"
"They've got to you, too! I'm sorry, Abe, but this is for the best."
"What are you blabberin' about?" Abe inquired, but it was too late.
Cletus had already raised his cane. And with a mighty blow, he hit Abe directly
in the knee. Abe howled with pain and stood up, tried to jump around on his
other knee, failed, fell on his face, and took a nap.
"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Abe," Cletus told him, feeling
slightly down about losing his best friend since they came over on the
Mayflower, "But there was nothin' either of us could do anymore." And with that,
he stoof up and began to hobble off in an unspecified direction.
He only got about ten seconds into his race back to Custer's HQ to
rally the men when he was knocked down flat by some large black object.
"Are you alright?" the man in the shades, black suit, and black hat
carrying a black briefcase asked. The old man got up and wandered off without so
much of a, "Yes. Yes I am." The shaded man continued towards his destination.
He reached it without much trouble. It was only a little ways down
the boardwalk. He sat the briefcase down momentarily next to the lamp post to
light a cigarette. Not ten seconds went by before a man dressed exactly like him
wandered up and stated, "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane."
"Sorry, wrong guy," the first man told him.
"Oh, sorry," the slightly younger man who looked exactly like him
said, before heading to the next lamp post down and repeated the phrase to the
man dressed exactly like the both of them standing there. He heard the third man
say something back and then handed the slightly younger look-alike a briefcase.
The slightly younger look-alike then started walking out towards the street.
The first man looked back towards the direction where the man he was
meeting would come from, and the man he was meeting was already coming from it.
He was dressed in a black suit, a black hat, and some snazzy plain black shades.
"Don't cry for me, Argentina," the man said.
"It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to," the first man said back.
The man he was meeting picked up the case and walked off as though it were his.
The first man then waited eight-point-thirty-seven minutes before walking down
to the beach to work on tanning his unclothed legs. They needed it. He stopped
and turned around.
He stared at the tree for a minute before continuing to his
destination. He swore he saw a Native American behind it, but he must have been
mistaken. They don't even exist anymore.
By Leus
"Did
he see me?" Trotting Cow wondered nervously to himself as he peered around the
tree. Searching the area, he found no trace of the black-suited pinkskin.
Trotting Cow breathed a sigh of relief and then turned to the boardwalk. As he
began making his way there, he tripped over something and fell face-first into
the sand. Coughing and spitting, he rolled over to see what had caused such a
travesty.
Before him lie a naked and headless corpse. "By the gods!" he
exclaimed. He hadn't seen anything this gruesome since his days on the
battlefield. Covering his mouth and nose, he cautiously approached the body.
It looked as if it had been beheaded with a clean chop.
As he glanced to the side something else caught his eye. He
immediately recognized it as the head. He gagged and nearly doubled over.
After a second he regained his composure and stared at the smiling face of the
dead woman. A tear came to Trotting Cow's eye and dropped down his cheek. He
knew he had to provide this woman a ceremonial burial to deliver her safely into
the afterlife. He began to dig at the base of the tree stump.
After a while the hole was big enough. He carried the body over to
the hole and laid it on its back aligned with the head. Then he looked around,
surveying the area. Upon spotting no one, he reached over and gave the woman's
breast a good squeeze. "Hm," he concluded. He then carefully lowered her body
into the grave and set the head in place at the top. After burying the woman,
Trotting Cow made his way to the boardwalk.
Upon reaching his destination he began casually sauntering along,
scanning the faces in the crowd as they passed by. An old lady. A bearded
man. An elegantly-dressed woman. Two young black guys. "Aha!" Trotting Cow
exclaimed. He strolled over to the black gentlemen and nonchalantly cleared his
throat. The men paid him no heed. Trotting Cow rolled his eyes and quietly
said, "Hey, you guys."
One of the men looked up, looked behind him, saw no one, and then
realized he was being addressed by this Native American fellow. "Yeah?" he
replied.
"You guys holdin'?" the Native American inquired.
"Not yet," the black guy said with a chuckle of interest.
"How much you want?" the Native American queried.
"Eh, jus' a dub fo' now, mane," the black guy requested. The Native
American reached into his pocket and the black guy did the same. In a few
seconds they were casually shaking hands, but secretly a transaction was going
down. "Thanks, man," the black guy said.
"No problem," the Native American replied. "If you ever see me
around here again, you know what's up."
"Word," the black guy responded, and they went their separate ways.
"Yo, Ty, lemme see that shit," the other black guy requested of his
friend as they strolled along. Ty glanced back and forth. He spotted an alley
that looked promising. He began walking and motioned for his friend to follow,
but quickly turned to find him distracted by a group of young and scantily-clad
girls.
"Ey! Jerry!" Ty shouted. The other black guy turned to Ty. "Over
here mane!" The two made their way into the alley and crouched down. Ty busted
out the bag.
"Yo, lemme see it," Jerry reiterated, extending his arm towards Ty
and opening his hand expectantly. Ty placed the bag in his compadre's palm, and
Jerry drew it back. He placed his nose in the opening and breathed deep, his
eyes slowly falling closed in the process. After a second of reveling, he
emitted a satisfied sigh. "That smell like some good-ass weed, nigga," Jerry
declared.
"Can't go wrong wit' da Indians," Ty assured his friend. "Feathers,
not dots," he amended. Jerry nodded. There was a pause. "Well, let's smoke
that shit then," Ty suggested. He reached into his pocket and procured a small
glass pipe and a lighter. Jerry rubbed his hands together eagerly.
By Amedeus
Linda saw smoke coming from the alleyway and, being the sound-minded individual
she was, called 911 and reported the fire. They said they'd send someone down
right away, and she knew it wouldn't be long since this was a primarily white
neighborhood.
Her good deed done, she turned back around to see where all the
people walking past her were going. And then she saw it:
A juggler.
There were two men, one standing on the others' shoulders, dressed
up as one person. Both men were juggling. The outfit was extra-long and white.
With big, exaggerated buttons going down it. But then men underneath it were
dressed all in black and it was easy to see them through the white outfit.
She looked around. There must've been about twenty people (including
herself) watching this. On any normal day there weren't even this many people on
one section of the boardwalk, but she guessed Thursdays can get busy.
There was a group of four friends in their twenties over here,
consisting of a girl and three guys who desperately wanted in her pants. Over
there was a girl whose pants nobody wanted to get into. In front of her was a
man with his son on his shoulders. There was a young couple to her right. An old
one to her left. A creepy old, fat, bald man was behind her making creepy old,
fat, bald man sounds. Three teenage girls were a few people away from her,
laughing about who slept with who, but still watching the show. One man was
standing alone, trying his best to be a part of the crowd while looking around
nervously. And three random normal-looking people were scattered throughout.
The woman known only as "Scarlet" sensed the woman, Linda, thinking
all this. She was almost offended at being thought of as someone whose pants
nobody wanted to get into, but that's what happens when you don these disguises.
She stopped.
She sensed a group of young gang members getting closer. They were
of Spanish descent. She could sense their accents.
"'Ey, keep the fuck up, holmes. We're not stoppin' for you to catch
up."
They were close enough now that she could hear them speak.
"Shut the fuck up, ese. You fuckin' pendejo. You know I can't walk
uphill. It's bad for my heart, mang."
"It's bad
for your STOMACH, ese. 'Ey, this mothafucker ate too many
fuckin' puppies, mang. I KNOW that's what happen to my nana's poodle, maricon!"
"'Ey, shut the fuck up mang, you know I don't eat no dogs. I ain't
no Venezualan bullshit! Fuckin' puta."
"Venezualan? Maricon, you mean VIETNAMESE! Mang, you so fuckin'
stupid, ese, tha's why you so fat!"
"Shut the fuck up, mang, you know you just embarrassed by your bitty
pinga!"
This continued for about a minute, before Scarlet began to notice a
firetruck's sirens in the distance. Immediately, she saw a young black man run
out of a nearby alley.
"Shit, nigga, tha po-lice! I can't go back ta prison, man! Yo,
c'mon!"
Another young man followed immediately behind.
"Oh shit snap fuck, damn, nigga!"
A much larger, balder, and darker black man came running out behind
the two of them. She sensed he was a very silent type, usually forgotten about
in conversation until it was time for action.
The three ran into the distance, and Scarlet turned her attention
back to the juggler.
By Leus
"Ey,
check that out, holmes," one of the Mexicans said, gesturing to the duo of
street performers. "Let's hold this crowd up. I hear there's good money in
juggling."
Luckily for probably nobody, Scarlet was not only psychic but a
deep-cover elite government operative. She reached into her coat and grabbed
her Desert Eagle. The Mexican had no sooner grabbed the hilt of his Glock than
his chest exploded and he went staggering backwards with force, falling flat on
his back almost immediately.
"JUAN!" one of the Mexicans screamed. He pulled out his Glock,
aimed at the woman and fired. He missed. He hit the dad, who fell over,
sending his kid tumbling to the ground. Firing again, he caught Scarlet in the
side. She dropped to one knee and lost her grip on her weapon. It clattered to
the boardwalk.
"Son," the man said weakly. The boy crawled closer to his father.
The man was wheezing painedly. "Son... I wanted you to know... I love you."
The boy smiled. "But you aren't mine." He then groaned himself into death.
The boy threw his arms up to the sky. "NO!" he exclaimed in a
drawn-out fashion. He then picked up the Desert Eagle and gunned down three of
the Mexicans.
"PEDRO! PABLO! EUSTACE!" the original screaming Mexican--who was
now the final remaining Mexican--screamed once more. He took aim at the kid,
but the crafty little bastard did a rolling dodge behind the fat gross guy. The
Mexican popped off a shot and caught the fat guy in the gut. The fat guy only
seemed to be enraged by this. He began "sprinting" headlong at the Mexican,
yelling animalistically. The Mexican frantically fired off several more shots
into the fat guy who finally toppled to the ground and lie still at the
Mexican's feet. The Mexican wiped his brow. "Whew," he declared.
The kid began firing off more shots. The Mexican had forgotten
about him and was taken off-guard. He caught a bullet to the throat and went
down. One of the kid's shots went astray, though, and found its way to the
kneecap of the lower circus performer. The tower of humans, who had since
ceased to juggle, toppled over. When they stood up and emerged from their
comically oversized suit, they were each dual-wielding Uzis. They opened fire.
The old couple went down.
The three dudes who wanted in that slut's pants were drawn from
their sexual urges to the superior urges of violence. They dashed over to the
fallen Mexican gang and looted their weapons, turning back to the crowd to open
fire. The ugliest one popped a shot off into the belly of the trio's mutual
seductress, who fell to her knees. "Bitch!" he shouted. He then took an Uzi
spray to the forehead and hit the boardwalk.
The boy, who had been hiding behind various carcasses, quickly made
his way to his fake dad's side. As he watched the color drain from the man's
face, a tear welled up in his eye. Before it had a chance to drop, the boy
caught a stray bullet to the leg. He yelped in pain, rolling over to try and
find the culprit. He couldn't tell who it was.
The lone man in the crowd was a recent mafia initiate and had been
waiting to complete a shady transaction. He was armed, and since everything had
plunged into complete chaos, he mused aloud, "hell, why not?" and withdrew his
Beretta, snapping off some random shots. After killing another of the two
remaining horny dudes, he took a random bullet to the kidney and doubled over in
pain. The boy limped to the man's side and took his weapon, now dual-wielding a
Beretta and a Desert Eagle. He opened fire on the crowd while simultaneously
shouting incoherently through tears, taking out Linda and the young couple. He
then turned his aim to the Uzi-wielding circus performers.
One of the performers was struck in the left eye. His shades
shattered and flew off, hitting the ground after the man himself did. The other
performer mowed the kid down.
"Stephanie!" one of the teenage girls screamed to another, "don't
you have your dad's revolver?" The addressed girl donned an enlightened
expression and began digging through her purse. She pulled her weapon out, but
the remaining performer saw it and gunned her down. One of her friends picked
up the revolver and aimed. The performer gunned her down too. The remaining
girl reached for the gun but quickly joined her hole-filled friends on the
ground. The performer laughed, then cringed as he accidentally put weight on
his damaged knee. All of a sudden his chest felt cold. He turned to see the
remaining man who no longer wanted in anyone's dead-ass pants, smoking gun in
the palm of his outstretched arm. The performer looked shocked, then brought
his hand up to feel his chest. His fingers became lathered in something warm
and sticky. He glanced down. It was, as he expected, his own mortal blood.
The performer began gasping for air. Each breath caused him immense
pain. His murderer stood there, arm still extended, in shock. With his last
bit of strength, the performer pointed his weapon at the man and squeezed the
trigger. The man fell to the ground, having taken a single bullet to the lung.
He grasped his chest. "I can't believe I'm gonna die a virgin!" he screamed in
his mind. "I guess no one will ever find out about my two-inch schlong,
though." Scarlet laughed aloud before drawing her final breath. The remaining
injury-sustaining survivors bled out as well, and the three random normal people
were left standing unscathed.
"Uh," said one after a long pause. "What?"
By Amedeus
Wow,
there's no way I can beat that. So I'm not even gonna try.
Just know that, after that, one of those weird shades-wearing dudes
all in black wandered upon the scene, came up to the body of one of the dead
shades-wearing juggler dudes in black and said, "The fish flies at dawn." He
then stood in front of the body for, like, eight and three-quarters minutes
before walking onto the next corpse and doing the same thing. Except that two
(and probably three-quarters) minutes into it this time, a stray bullet that had
been fired earlier flew straight down and caught him in the head.
It exploded in a brilliant fashion. With, like, a vibrant display
of... awesome. And blood. It was cool.
The three normal guys just kinda stood around there watching this.
Then they walked away down the street together. Or something, I wasn't really
paying attention.
My bad.
By Leus
Fuck you.
Chapter Twelve
Leus is a Dick
By Amedeus
As
the three normal guys entered the bowling alley with Gary the Orangutan and the
triplets they realized something was horribly wrong!
The no longer had the antimatter converter ray.
How on Earth (or Saturn) were they going to convert antimatter from
across the room now? A good portion of the city was royally screwed unless they
did something soon. Gary rolled himself into a really lumpy bowling ball and
rolled down lane three. He knocked down only the 3, 4, and 10 pins causing the
secret lair to open again and they went inside to decide their next course of
action.
"'Sup," Jeff said.
"'Sup," the three normal guys said.
They sat down at the '80s-style hot pink and blue infrared retromap.
It revealed that the Keymaster was still on 985th street. Luckily, it would be
built in just two years and they'd finally be able to find him and sort this
whole thing out.
But what to do 'til then?
Surely there must be something somewhere worth finding, manhandling,
and defeating.
Their antinonnavigation ray was unable to find any coordinates worth
antinonnavigating to from across the room.
They sat around for a good eighty-three and fourty-two fourty-thirds
minutes before any of them conceived a plan baby.
"We should go outside," one of them said.
"Good plan," another of them said.
"I have nothing valuable to say," another one said. And he was
right.
The three normal guys went outside to seek their fortune. But it was
kind of muggy out, with a chance of boring so they went back inside.
Just then, the ancient troll demon gimp (of the domination variety
AND the cripple variety) broke free of his/her inescapable eternal prison. The
three normal guys sprung into action. Or would have if they remembered anything
about an ancient troll demon gimp, who happened to also be a transvestite on
weekends.
The three normal guys realized that they had no idea what was going
on.
At all.
"What the hell," one of them said.
"Yeah, seriously," another of them said.
"I have nothing valuable to say," another one said. And he was
right.
The three normal guys worked together as a team to deduce that they
were somehow in the wrong chapter. They must have missed like eight, they
decided together. So they got out the antichaptrialization ray and set it to
"stun". Then they put it down while it warmed up.
They spent the next fifty-six and four twenty-thirds seconds having
incredible goodbye sex with the triplets (who they learned during that time were
named Leslie, Leslie, and Tom).
The ACRonym finally properly in heat, they rocketed back eight
chapters from across the room.
They found themselves in the forbidden boundaries of the dreaded...
By Leus
The
three normal guys looked around the room. It appeared to them more or less the
same as it had in Chapter 12. They decided to venture outside and see what was
new--or, as one might argue, old--with the world.
They made their way to the boardwalk. There they found a familiar
scene: A moderately large group of people watching a stack of circus performers
in a giant coat juggling. The three normal guys knew their past selves were in
this crowd, and they also knew that if they weren't careful they could create a
time paradox. So they walked up to the crowd.
"Wussup?" one of the guys said to a group of three teenage girls
that were sitting around gossiping and enjoying the show.
"Not too much," one of the girls responded to one of the guys. The
guys are all manly and hot, by the way. So are these girls. Except the manly
part. It'd be sweet if they were all getting it on right now.
"Hey, you wanna get it on right now?" the hottest and suavest of the
guys asked.
"Not right now," the dumbest and ugliest girl replied. "We're
busy."
"But you're going to die here!" another guy said. And he was
right. The girls looked a bit put off by this seemingly unprecedented outburst.
"So, anyway, what are your names?" the guy with the second best
attributes inquired. The girls immediately forgot about the death claim.
"I'm Leslie," one of them said, then gesturing to her friends.
"This is Leslie, and this is Stephanie."
"Wait a second," one of the guys said, onto something.
"Well, my real name is Tom, but I go by Stephanie because I'm
supposedly a girl," Tom said.
"I KNEW IT!" one of the guys announced. "Wait, supposedly?"
"Well, yeah, I'm actually a dude. Why do you think my name is Tom?"
Tom replied.
"What a coincidence," the hottest and suavest dude responded. "I'm
actually a girl!"
"No way," said Tom half-heartedly.
"Yeah, but unfortunately I'm a lesbian, so even if our respective
groups mutually decided to bone, you'd still be left out," the hottest and
suavest chick explained.
"I'm okay with it," Tom said.
"Well, it was nice seeing you again," the middle dude said.
"What?" one of the Leslies asked suspiciously.
"Oh, nothing," the ugliest hot dude said. "Don't worry about it."
The trio walked away from the trio.
"Man, this keeps making less and less sense," the middle dude said.
"And how," the ugliest dude said.
"BRO! WHAT'S UP!" a black dude said as he walked up to the trio.
The middle dude slapped the black dude's hand and then pounded fists with him.
Another two black dudes were with this black dude.
"What's up, Jerry?" the middle dude said. "Guys, this is Jerry.
Jerry, this is Leslie and Stephanie."
"But the 'ie' is silent," Stephanie chimed in. "Although for some
reason the name Tom is starting to sound appealing."
"Sup guys?" Jerry said. He gestured to his friends and said, "This
here is Ty and T.J." He then gestured to the trio of white people. "Guys, this
is Leslie and his friends."
"Shit is getting way too confusing way too fast," the female Leslie
chimed in. "Let's wrap this up and get on with it."
"Hey, you got any weed?" the male Leslie asked the black dudes.
"What do you think?" Jerry said, pointing to his skin. Then the six
of them smoked up.
By Amedeus
-There are three trios.
-One trio consists of three guys, and one consists of three girls.
Except one of the guys is a girl and vice versa. The girl guy is still a lesbian
though. It's unknown at this point whether the guy girl is gay.
-The girls consist of two girls named Leslie and a guy named Tom.
-Tom is a girl too but actually a guy, so he goes by Stephanie
(pronounced Stephanie).
-The guys consist of a guy named Leslie, a girl named Leslie, and a
guy named Stephanie (pronounced Stephan).
-Stephanie likes the name Tom.
-The black guys are Ty (possibly short for TyRon - keep speculating,
guys!) T.J., and Jerry.
-The black guys are all guys. Don't even try and imagine them as
other. They're guys. We've checked.
-Leus is a guy who moonlights as a woman. Amedeus is a guy who
moonlights as also a guy. Wiz is always a woman.
By Amedeus
Leslie, Leslie, Stephanie, Ty, T.J., and Jerry were all smokin' up in the alley
as they discussed the guys' next move. The black guys suggested that the guys
try and stop the whole shootout from going down.
"Yeah," Leslie said, "But we don't want to mess with the timeline or
anything."
"Wait," Leslie said, "Didn't the girls die last time?"
"Oh shit, yeah," Leslie said, "But wait. They were in Chapter 12.
Alive."
"Maybe they were ghosts," Stephanie suggested.
"That's stupid," Leslie said.
"Yeah, dude, we had SEX with them," Leslie said, "They were real."
"And that was better for some of us than others," Leslie said.
"Wait," Stephanie stopped them, "Why's that?"
"Because you had the guy? Duh?" Leslie said.
"No, I had... I had Leslie," Stephanie thought.
"No," Leslie said, "You had Tom."
"Wait, hold on, which one's a girl?" Stephanie asked.
"I thought they were all girls? Or guys. Or something," Leslie said.
"Wait, okay, which one of US is a girl?" Stephanie revised.
"I think I am," Leslie said.
"No, I thought it was me," Leslie said.
"I remember it was Leslie," Stephanie remembered.
"Yeah, but... but which Leslie?" Leslie said.
"No, it was definitely me," Leslie said.
"Okay, which Leslie are you?" Leslie said.
"I don't even remember. This is like all running together. I think
there are like four of us now," Leslie said.
"Hold on, let me check the cliffnotes," Stephanie suggested, and
pulled out the notes he had taken during the last chapter to help himself out.
Revised Chapter 4 Cliffnotes
-Everybody's a girl, and everybody's named Leslie.
"Oh
shit," Leslie said.
"Yeah, that's gonna get confusing," Leslie said.
"Who said that?" Leslie said.
"I don't know. Did I?" Leslie said.
"I think it was one of the black chicks," Leslie said.
"Hey, so are we gonna save the Leslies or what?" Leslie said.
"Yeah, sure, I think that might be good now that we're all...
them... also Leslie... something... Ow," Leslie said.
"Yeah, we'll run out right after the sirens start. That's when the
shootout started last time," Leslie said.
"Wait, I think it already started," Leslie said.
"When?" Leslie said.
"When we were doing some shit in here, I'd guess," Leslie said.
"Yeah, there's definitely gunshots out there. And a bunch of Latina
chicks yelling," Leslie said.
"Hey, I hear the sirens," Leslie said.
"Why are they late?" Leslie said.
"SERIOUSLY GUYS. OW. I THINK I NEED A HEAD DOCTOR," Leslie said.
"Dude, we need to fix this Leslie thing," Leslie said.
"What? Who said my name?" Leslie said.
"Leslie did," Leslie said.
"No I didn't," Leslie said.
"Not you, Leslie said."
"Wait, did you just say you said that?" Leslie said.
"Okay, this is getting obnoxiously fucked up, AND the joke stopped
being funny like before this chapter even started," Leslie said.
"SOMEBODY PLEASE CALL BEN CARSON," Leslie said.
"You mean Leslie," Leslie said.
"FUCK. Give me that notepad," Leslie said. Leslie gave Leslie the
notepad and Leslie flipped to a new page and wrote on it.
Chapter 5: Let Me Be Lesl(ie?)
Cliffnotes
-Fuck the Revised Chapter 4 Cliffnotes.
"I
feel weird," Leslie said.
"Shit, it didn't work!" Ty exclaimed.
"Wait, no, it did! Look! You're Ty!" Stephanie also exclaimed.
"Oh shit!" Jerry exclaimed, because he couldn't think of anything
better to do than exclaim. What a copycat douche.
"Quick, let's run out and see what's going on!" Leslie said.
"Good call," Stephanie agreed. The Leslies and Stephanie ran out
into the street to see what was going on.
"Man, that was some good shit," Ty noted.
The guys got out into the street and found that the shootout was
still occuring. They saw the girls were in trouble and ran over to help them.
Leslie lept on Tom and forced him to the ground. He then watched as a bullet
flew over him in stoner slow-motion and hit Stephanie in the head. He fell,
dead.
The other Leslie ran over and knocked down one of the other Leslies
and the same happened, only this one hit guy Leslie, who was standing right
beside her.
Stephanie shoved the remaining Leslie to the ground and watched a
bullet fly Matrix-style in front of his face and pop girl Leslie, who was not
really paying attention like a dumbass. Then he lept to the ground himself.
After the shooting died down, the guys and girls stood up. They
looked around at all the dead bodies around them. Nobody said, "What?" The guys
looked down at themselves, who were now dead on the ground instead of the girls.
This probably wasn't good.
Then they remembered that the girls were alive at the end of the
other timeline. They figured maybe that happened to them, too. Then realized
that if it did, there would be six Leslies again.
"Yeah, sorry about this," Leslie said and the three guys picked up
whatever weapons were nearby them and shot up the girls.
"Man. I think we just saved our heads from exploding," Stephanie
reflected, before putting an extra bullet through their dead selves' heads,
because Jesus that would have still been damn confusing.
"Maybe shit will finally start making sense around here," Leslie
said.
"Okay, not yet," Leslie said, "Call me Carl from now on. And you -
you're Tom. Okay? Fucking Tom. And girl Leslie? You're Erin. Wait, no, because
Aaron. Uh. Katrina. You. Are Katrina."
"Got it," Katrina acknowledged.
Chapter Six
This is Dumb
By Leus
"This is dumb," said Tom. "Let's do something else." Katrina, Tom and
Leslie--because Carl is a gay name--all strolled off to find something else to
do. After they did something else, they decided they needed to go bowling. The
three set off on a quest to go bowling.
On their way to the bowling alley Katrina spotted something on the
ground. It was a piece of paper. She picked it up and read it. "(Sunday)
SUNDAY! Sunday..." it read. "LIVE, only at the Supercenter, a composite of the
world's best free money away-givers."
"Well that was a waste of time," Katrina said, crumpling up the
paper and throwing it on the ground. She then had a hearty chuckle at how
unexpected it was that she didn't care about getting free money. They then
entered the bowling alley.
"STRIKE!" Leslie shouted victoriously.
"We haven't even gotten our shoes yet," Katrina said.
"What?" Leslie queried quizzically. "But we've been here for like
an hour."
"I know. I guess we've just been standing here," Katrina said. The
three of them made their way to the counter.
"I'll take a size nine," said Tom. Leslie laughed.
"I'll take a size fifteen," Leslie said. Tom raised an eyebrow at
Leslie. Leslie nodded in confirmation.
"I'll take a size negative four," Katrina said.
"I get it, 'cause you have a vagina," Leslie said. They had like
the fifth hearty laugh in the chapter so far before making their way to the
lanes. Leslie lost because his giant dick threw him off balance. Katrina lost
because women can't do shit. Tom won because he did less shitty than his
friends.
"Good game, guys," Tom said.
"Yeah, for YOU!" Leslie said snarkily.
"Well jeez," Tom said, taken aback by Leslie's poor sportsmanship.
"This is still dumb," said Katrina. The three reached a mutual
agreement on the matter and they decided that action must be taken to make
things less dumb.
"I've got an idea," said Leslie. "Let's do something important."
"Good call," said Tom. "But what?"
"I think the better question is 'what's important?' Is there an
objective definition of importance that can be universally agreed upon, or is
importance a value judgement specific to each individual?" Katrina posed. The
two males paused to deeply reflect on this. Katrina got distracted because she
got her period.
"Sup guys?" a familiar voice inquired. The trio glanced over to see
their good and trusted friend, Gary the Talking Ape III.
"Gary!" the trio exclaimed with glee. They all ran up and hugged
their furry friend, who encompassed the three of them in a long-armed hug of his
own.
"Even though I'm just meeting you guys, I will accept this offering
of physical affection," the orangutan stated nobly.
"Oh yeah," said Leslie, drawing back. "The time paradox."
"Oh," said Gary, a worried tone entering his voice. "Then it is as
I feared."
"What is it Gary?" Tom inquired.
"There's no time to explain," Gary said. "We have to go now!"
"You don't have time for a game first?" Tom proposed.
"Well," Gary said, hesitating. "Alright. But just one. Then we
really have to go." The trio cheered. Gary kicked all of their asses. He did,
after all, spend most of his time in the alley, and had become quite the whiz on
the lanes.
"In yo FACE!" Gary taunted victoriously.
"This isn't getting any less dumb," Leslie chimed in.
"I have a feeling it's about to," Gary said dramatically.
Chapter Seven
It's Not
By Amedeus
With
that well-placed foreshadowy remark, Gary was ready to show them the major
problem in the timeline. Unfortunately for the timeline (and Gary), he was
immediately shot in the arm by Ninja-Time Assassin #03Uno.
Katrina and Tom both picked up nearby guns that just happened to be
there for reasons that will be explained in Chapter 8. They both shot at the NTA,
but Katrina missed because she's a woman, and Tom missed because Leslie's giant
dick threw him off balance.
Also unfortunately for the timeline and I guess Gary, both shots hit
Gary. Tom's hit him in the face, and Katrina's hit him in the heart. And it's
orangutan-murdering shit like this that's the reason you'll never, ever see this
story in theaters.
As he lay on the lane (sliding slowly towards the pins, since he
landed with a bit of momentum), he said out of his now misshapen mouth, "The
next chapter doesn't exist! You must make sure you don't enter it, or you shall
surely per-" He was then cut off as he died mid-sentence and slid into the pins.
"I guess Gary's just bowled his last strike," Leslie said
mournfully.
"Unless we wait for the suction to pull his head off and kick it up
through the ball return!" Tom suggested, "I bet we could get him one more with
it before we leave."
"Yeah, no. We have things to do now," Leslie told him. And with
that, they left the bowling alley.
The three knew that they had survived Chapter 8 (as well as 9, 10,
and 11) last time around. So they just needed to repeat what they did that time.
Oddly, though, they couldn't remember anything from the previous
time they had lived Chapter 7. It was as though someone forgot to tell them what
happened as it happened.
All they could remember was someone saying, "Fuck you." It was an
odd thing to only remember.
"Man, I guess we're totally going to die," Tom interred.
"Hey, what
are those guys doing to the dead bodies?" Katrina asked as they found themselves
back out on the boardwalk. Indeed, there were two men standing around the bodies.
Nicolas and Daniel watched the three people walk up to them. Or,
Daniel did, rather. Nicolas was too busy having sex with the decapitated naked
corpse of a young woman.
"Hey, Leslie's corpse is mine!" the one man yelled as he walked up
to them, "Only I get to rape it!"
"Oi, back off lad, this filly's mine!" Nicolas shouted back, "Ah saw
'er first!"
"Just let her go," another of the three said, "We've got bigger fish
to fry."
"Yeah, the everything's about to end and we don't know how to not
stop living because of it," the remaining one said. They all agreed and skipped
off into the sunset like a bunch of girls.
Nicolas finished up in the lovely young girl and zipped up his
pants.
"'Appy?" Daniel asked him.
"Wee bit," Nicolas told him, "Thanks."
"'Aye, ah always know what ye be needin'," Daniel remarked. Then
they joined hands and skipped off into the sunset in the other direction.
Marilyn watched the two men skip away as she jogged past the scene.
She stopped abruptly because one of the Village People was walking straight
towards her.
"Excuse me, Jogs With Large Breasts, would you like come back to
teepee and make sex with me?" he managed to spit out with difficulty. Not
difficulty with the proposition, mind you. But difficulty with the language.
Obviously, all Native Americans in the 1700s had trouble with English from time
to time.
"Sure, Chief! Go get Methodman and we'll get right down to it!" she
shouted in a very not-cultured and implaceable British accent of some kind.
"Method... man?" Trotting Whatever inquired, but she answered him
not. He wouldn't have heard her answer, anyways. He had just spied the old man
walking in his direction. Even better, the old man had yet to notice him! He
pulled out his katana and was about to strike when the woman stopped him.
"I'm sorry, reddie, but I know what yer about ta do," she explained,
"And I was wonderin' if I might do it instead? Y'see, I gots a lot of pent-up
rage with me ol' girl. Bloomin' wench never soddin' sent me a letter! I gave her
my address, that spastic whore! But no, not a one. I've wanted to just lop her
bloody head off! In one swift chop, if possible. Anyways, can I see your sword
now?"
After that amazing soliloquy, Trotting Maize was more than happy to
hand over his sword. He watched as she ran over and knocked the old man's head
off. Then she came strolling back and they embraced while another old man limped
up and peed on the slightly deader old man while mumbling about a knee in
curse-ridden tones.
"That was amazing!" Trotting Udder told her. She beamed down at him.
"Chief, I think I lov-"
Just then, the Universe forgot to exist.
You Died!
Your final score is:
2.
Turn back to page 1 and try again *thumbs up*!