Fire in the Hole[]
Me and some buddies are going up to this cabin in the woods to celebrate New Year's. We got a boat load of fireworks, so we're ready to light these bad boys and drink ourselves silly all night. We pulled up to the cabin in my shiny red truck. "Got the 32 case of beer, Chuck?" I asked Chuck. Chuck shook his head with a smile. "Hell yea, of course I did! Chuck never forgets the beer!" Chuck said. "I'm ready to blow one of these out of my ass." Danny said from the backseat with his hand on Chuck's shoulder, with his other hand holding fireworks. "How about I blow this out your ass?" I said to Danny while holding a flare gun.
We got out of the truck and brought our beer and bag of fireworks to the back of the cabin. It was a snowy midnight. The only source of light was from the bright porch lamp on the back of the cabin. There was a wide open area, with nothing but forest after it. We got our chairs out and set them in the open area. We cracked open our beers and were ready to have some fun. "Bottoms up!" The three of us chugged down on our Bud Light and sat in our chairs. "So boys, what are your New Year's resolution plans?" I asked. "I swear on my mother's grave I'll eat 30 Twinkies in 30 seconds this year." Chuck swore before chucking on his beer.
After chugging down ten beers, we decided it was time to light some gunsmoke rockets. We set like 10 rockets on a log, ready to watch them explode in the snowy cold sky. Danny threw me his cigarette lighter and I lit them all in quick succession. PHEW! PHEW! PHEW! PHEW! The rockets launched into the air over the woods. POW! POW! POW! "Oh man! It's music to my ears!" Chuck chucked. "Damn, only like 5 of them exploded." I expressed disappointed. "Well damn, I don't want defective fireworks going in my ass then!" Danny exclaimed.
A few seconds later, we heard the other fireworks explode, but not in the sky. I kicked some empty beer bottles in frustration. "Dammit, Chuck! This is all your fault!" I chucked to Chuck. "Me? What the hell did I do?" Chuck chucked before chucking a beer bottle at me. I fought back. I pushed Chuck, then we wrestled on the snowy ground. "Guys! Shh... Do you hear that?" Thud... thud... THUD! We looked out to the woodline and saw a firework sparkling... being held by a giant ape creature!
The thing threw the firework at the cabin and it exploded into powdery gunsmoke. "Mayday, mayday!" One of the guys exclaimed before taking off to the truck. The creature let out a mighty roar, followed by loud aggressive footsteps. Danny tripped and fell on his face, while we were already at the truck. "Every man for himself, Dan!" Chuck said as we drove off. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the Bigfoot shove a rocket in Danny's ass! However, the firework went off and struck the Bigfoot in the face, injuring it. Danny got up and hit the ground running for the truck. I stopped for him and he hopped in the back. "I just shot Bigfoot with my ass!" Danny exclaimed. "Hell yeah! Southern life, brother!" Chuck exclaimed as we drove into the night.
Best New Year's ever.
The Wheelchair Mansion Ghost[]
There's this abandoned mansion in the neighborhood that was inhabited by a handicap person many years ago. When he died, the mansion was left to rot. And rumor has it, his ghost will appear if you travel the mansion in a wheelchair. Ridiculous, I know. But it's been all the talk with my group of friends at school. My "friend" Zane has a wheelchair, so we're gonna go to the mansion with it later today. I say "friend" because he's a real jerk, a borderline school bully.
"Sorry I'm late, I had to wait for my down-syndrome brother to go to sleep." Zane explained. "Wait... You took the wheelchair from your disabled brother??" I questioned. "Yeah, so what?" He snarked. We were on the mansion's stoop, on a chilly but sunny February day. I could already see people in the neighborhood eyeballing at us. "WHAT? HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN A DISABLED PERSON BEFORE?!" Zane yelled to the neighborhood. We budged the door to the mansion opened. The entrance looked like your typical mansion, just really run-down with the wallpaper peeling and vines growing here and there.
"I should've wore a vegetable costume." Zane joked before rolling in. "Why are you so cold?" I questioned. "Because I bully people. Picking on others makes me feel better about myself." Zane bluntly said. "That kid I ain't right." I thought to myself. "Ghosts are scary, but not handicapped ghosts. If I saw one I wouldn't even be scared, I'd laugh at it." Zane evilly said. I almost puked due to how mean spirited he was being. He went in alone, because he thought me going in without a wheelchair would not make the ghost appear. Ugh.
Minutes went by, but it really felt like hours. Waiting here is no fun! I decided to go against his wishes, and went inside. I followed the way I saw Zane go. I stepped over some broken vases, and found myself in a dimly lit room with not much in it. Zane was in there, out of his wheelchair. There was this very worn-out looking wheelchair in the corner, and he went to go sit in it. "This must be the original owner's wheelchair." Zane said to himself (he was recording with his phone). Then all of a sudden, a ghostly outline of a human appeared around the chair and began to strangle Zane.
I ran out of there as fast as I could. My whole worldview flipped on its head; ghosts are real! I burst through the mansion door and ran down the street. I stopped half-way. Zane is a bully, but I need to save him. I rushed back to the mansion. I heard Zane from inside banging on the door, demanding to be let out. I opened the door and he fell out of his wheelchair and on to the ground. I was confused to why he was still in a wheelchair. I tried to grab him and help get him on his feet, but he just couldn't do it. And that's when I realized the ghost made Zane a handicap!
I'd like to see him bully people now. Thank you, wheelchair mansion ghost.
The Haircut of Doom[]
A notorious serial killer escaped from authorities last week. His name is Bagdead (because his victims are found dead in trash bags) and he's very identifiable due to his ridiculous hair style. He has some sort of Mohawk, very long and wide sideburns, and has black mascara under his eyes. How no one has found him yet is beyond me. Anyway, my hair has been getting on my nerves lately, so I'm heading down to the local barber shop for a good trim. I decided to walk there to get some fresh air. Everyone is also in doors due to fears of being the next victim of Bagdead, so it was very peaceful, yet eerie out.
After 15 minutes, I made it to the barber shop down town. Not a single car in traffic on this grey chilly day. I began to fear the barber shop would be closed, but thankfully they weren't. It's pretty small inside, with two of those round seats on each side, along with two wide mirrors. The only light in the shop came from outside, so it was dim and grey. There also didn't appear to be anyone inside. "Hello! I'm hear to get haircut!" I called out. "Take a seat, I'll be out there in a second." I heard a deep voice demand from another room.
I took a seat on the right side and was facing the barber shop windows, followed by footsteps behind me. "Pretty eerie out toda--" I was cut-off when powerful arms tied me to the chair with a thick rope. A man wearing a black garbage bag over his head walked out in front of me and closed the blinds, making it completely dark inside. It's Bagdead! I forgot he was a barber!
I screamed for help and agony as he cut my hair in total darkness. I could feel the scissors dig into my skull and blood leaking down the side of my face. After 10 minutes of pure torture, Bagdead cut off the rope and put a bag over my body from the top. I was hit in the head with a bat when I let out a loud shriek. It felt like I had brain damage with a terrible haircut. He picked me up and tossed me in the back of his car. He drove for a few minutes then he freed me before driving off. I was in front of the police station. Yes! I'll ask for help! I burst inside begging for help frantically. I was so traumatized. But the pain I was about to feel next was nothing compared to what Bagdead did to me.
A dozen police officers came rushing in and tackled me to the ground. "We got Bagdead!" I heard an officer shout. I was so confused. I'm not Bagdead! That's when I was thrown into a cell with a mirror. I had Bagdead's exact haircut! Later, the police took me out and tossed me down a steep hole. They covered it in cement, trapping me alive in concrete. They took the concrete out and sculpted a statute out of it in Bagdead's image. They then blew it up, killing me.
Never get a haircut by a serial killer.
Horror of the Beef Stew[]
"Dammit, Gerard! You're mixing it too slow!" master chef Vick scolded me. "Gimme that!" he grunted as he viciously ripped the wooden spoon from my hand and began stirring himself. We're preparing a gourmet for the most infamous food critic in our country, so of course, there's a lot of pressure on the team. "Jack! Hand me the salt!" the master demanded from Jack. "Uh, uh... UH!" Jack stumbled as he tried searching for the salt. Master Vick stopped stirring the pot to get the salt, so I continued stirring. He returned with the salt and sprinkled it in the beef stew. "Add a spicy ingredient!" Vick demanded from me as he stormed off to scold the other cooks.
"Roger that sir!" I pleaded as I opened the ingredient cabinet and fumbled for a spicy ingredient. My fumbling was a little too sporadic, as bottles started to fall to the floor. I even jammed my thumb on the back panel of the cabinet. "Ow!" I cried as I began to suck on it. While I did that, I noticed a crack in the back paneling. I peeled back the crack and noticed a really dusty, stubby dark red bottle with a worn-our orange label on it that said "Warning! Spicy!". I guess this will do.
I began to twist the cap off. Who knows how old this thing is, but, the master's orders! I gently tipped the bottle above the pot of stew, as I watched a tiny glob slowly drip off and land into the pot. BOOSH! I jumped back when a pillar of smoke rose from the stew. Everyone in the room gawked at it, including Vick. "Damn you to hell!" Vick cursed at me. "I'm gonna need some NyQuil tonight..." he muttered under his breath as he walked towards the pot of stew. He took a look in it, and gave a look of pure disgust. "It's no good! Throw it out!" Vick angrily demanded. I just stood there. Is he seriously telling me throw out this beef stew I spent over an hour making?
"Just don't stand there! Throw it out! THROW IT OUT THROW IT OU--" Vick was cut-off when a humanoid hand reached out of the stew and grabbed a hold of him by the throat. The whole room gasped in horror as we watched Vick get chocked to death by the beef stew. The monster sized beef rose from the pot. It was over 6ft tall with very broad shoulder and an angry face. The team scrambled, many of them charging out of the room, while I stood amazed by my creation. The beef monster fell out of the pot and began chewing on Vick's legs as he squirmed on the floor screaming in pain.
"Out of the way!" somebody warned from behind. I turned around and saw the manager holding a flamethrower! They sprayed the beef monster down with flames, burning it to a crisp, along with Vick unfortunately. The monster died (and Vick). A pale man in a black suit then charged into the room. "Oh my!" he gasped at the horrific sight. He rushed towards the corpses, got out a fork, poked it into the beef monster, and took a bite. "Mm! It's MARVELOUS!" the critic declared. The team clapped and cheered. I was so proud he enjoyed my meal!
...Until I realized he was eating Vick, not the beef monster. Oh well. At least we're now a 5 star restaurant. Also, we stored Vick's body in the freezer. We're gonna serve his limbs to the highest bidders.
Sick Jokes[]
I was adjusting the tie on Jimmy the dummy. He's wearing a rainbow afro, red ball nose, and white clown make-up. I'm going to tell jokes that will make you cringe so hard your skeleton will try to escape from your body and run away. I plan to have someone in the crowd throw a knife at the dummy. That's when I'll pull out a pistol and aim it at the crowd, and then POW! A flag will pop out, not a bullet. Haha. No one will forget this performance. I'll put fear in many lives and arise ridicule and controversy. I might sound crazy. That's because I am.
"Alfred, you're on!" Rich the stage planner told me. I shoved my hand up Jimmy's ass and prepared to walk on stage. "Wait, did you pick out the right gun?" I asked Rich. "Yeah, here." He assured as he put the gun in my pocket. He patted me on the back and winked, wishing me good luck. I walked out on stage to a crowd of a hundred people and took a seat on a tall chair next to a microphone.
"Why did the chicken cross the road?" Jimmy asked. "I dunno! Why?" I questioned. "Because it was Easter!" Jimmy answered. The crowd let out a long groan. "Why did the blind man become a Nazi?" "Hmm... why Jimmy?" "Because he cannot see!" Jimmy answered. I saw a few people in the crowd get up and leave. I itched my nose, giving the signal. A knife from the crowd was flung directly into Jimmy's forehead. I dropped him to the floor pretending to be shocked. Blood was pouring out of his head too. The crowd collectively gasped. Time for the fun part.
"You... you... YOU KILLED JIMMY?!?!" I shouted at the crowd, standing up. I sat back on the chair and pretended to cry. I shook my head and stood back up. "I am sick of society rejecting me, and now you all killed my only friend. I can't take it anymore! I'm going to leave this world..." That's when I slowly pulled out the gun. The crowd erupted into commotion. "But before I go... I must avenge you all." I pointed the gun at the crowd as I stood in Jimmy's blood. Screams erupted and many people tried storming out. But I made sure all the doors were locked. No one will escape from my insanity.
POW!
The entire theater screamed as a bullet flew from the chamber and shot a man dead in the chest. My heart stopped. Oh gosh, this is the wrong gun! I turned back to the curtains and saw Rich poking his head out with an evil smile. "You bastard!" I cursed as I ran for Rich. I dropped to the ground in fear when he pulled out a gun himself. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" I pleaded as I squirmed on the floor. He grinned and pulled the trigger. POW!
It was the fake one with the flag -- just to mock me. Rich tossed the gun and ran off giggling as I laid in a pool of Jimmy's blood. I started crying, realizing my sick joke went horribly wrong thanks to some asshole who just wants to watch the world burn. I picked up the real gun and plopped it in my mouth.
We live in a society.