Rise to Shame III: Tossing Chunks
an Autobiography by

The Great Garlic
Monday, September 10, 2007

Okay, so my domination of Earth was going peachy until this kid, Ness, started collecting music on a rock. He couldn’t just let me eat his planet. “No,” all those races cry, “we like it here. Heck, we’ll even let you stay in Athens all you like and we’ll get Michael Jackson to stop singing, too.” That just isn’t enough. I got really hungry, and I needed second breakfast really badly. I would have passed them if they did stop Michael, but I just can’t miss second breakfast, never.

So I possessed little puppies and caterpillars with felonies along with some old party pooping bald men, but they just couldn’t stop Ness and his friends. I was sure I got them with the party poopers too. A giant sea monster beyond my control even got in an attack with them. Heck, they were even drunk in the back of some café at one point and wandered around the warehouse of it for hours. And they put music on a rock: a friggin’ rock.

So I continued my diabolical plans: little kitties attacked trees; Halloween ornaments ran amuck in the street; and piles of barf controlled people with no arms. If you haven’t noticed, I do enjoy playing with my food quite a bit before I devour it.

Right about the time I was going to eat the planet, Ness gets a whole bunch of music playing. That made me mad. Then Buzz Buzz’s cicada daughter decides to play Cher, which would be far more effective than the fatal injection for the death penalty for the races of Earth, and a weirdo Starman found and played the brown note for an hour-and-a-half. All my balances were out.

When I woke up again, Ness played the song again. I was paralyzed with disgust at the music at this point. Then he made my demise.

Ness and his crew found my lair in Ontario and proceeded to hit me with baseball bats, ice cubes, and Coke bottles that a boy obvisously had misread as bottle-rockets because he yelled, “Bottle-rocket,” every time he tossed some Mentos into it. To make it worse, some fat kid said he was shutting off the Devil Machine.

I sat there thinking, “What the heck is the Devil Machine?” He then tackled me and stole my clothes. Then the girl began to pray. I was confused by it, but each time she prayed she dropped some chili powder, which I am allergic to, which caused me to run off, bereft of my powers and garments.

So now I am forced to wander about space, naked because the fat kid hasn’t given me my clothes back, hoping that some planet of nudists will accept me for my hopscotching skills. I really want to get back to hopscotch. And I think I am on the verge of such a planet where I can be a kind person that rules at hopscotch. Best of all, they don’t like music either.
 



 
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