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He stepped in from the back yard, stepping with his bare feet onto a section of newspaper laid flat on the floor. Boy, was he surprised when he felt bristles under it!! Someone had left a hairbrush, bristles up, under the newspaper.
Right then and there he decided to…
Right then and there he decided to…
sue the hairbrush manufacturer for the pain and suffering caused by their product, even though it was due to his own stupidity. Unfortunately, no lawyer in town would take his case without a name. He went to the county records office to apply for a name, because “he” just doesn’t cut it in a neverending story. All the good names were already taken, so he had to settle for…
…find the owner of the hairbrush. “God, I hope it’s that cute girl down the street,” he thought lustily to himself. “She’s got a rack that won’t quit!” He snatched up the paper and comb and walked back inside where he ate his breakfast and drank his usual five cups of coffee. After he had showered and shaved, he…
…posted his name, Edmund Barlow. He remembered who the cute girl was–that short left-hander with red hair three feet long, who lived two blocks away.
So Edmund noted on his calendar that this coming Saturday he would, without fail,…
So Edmund noted on his calendar that this coming Saturday he would, without fail,…
take his accordion and play his collection of Wierd Al Yankovic songs for the cute little redhead. That would surely impress her and make her his lover. As visions of the little readhead filled his mind, he picked up the hairbrush and…
As visions of the little readhead filled his mind, he picked up the hairbrush and…
…walked promptly into a wall. At which point he filled his mind with visions from his eyeballs which, at this moment, were…
feeling rather squished and rattling around in the back of his head.
“Damn!”, he thought. “How am I going to get them out of there in time to see the cute redhead?”
“You don’t have to!” answered a voice with an almost imperceptible edge to it, but also considerable amusement. As if by conditioned reflex, Edmund’s eyes whipped around in their sockets, pointing forward again!
There she was–the hourglass-shaped Joan Brestly, the little redhead who had caught his fancy. She saw his eyeballs right themselves. With her sharp eyes she spotted an artery bulging under his wrist, and could tell right away she had also quickened his pulse.
“Oh, I love you, Edmund,” she purred, wrapping her arms around him. She leaped up a little and planted a passionate kiss on his lips. He started to faint, but kept consciousness though he lost his balance–and they both toppled into a nearby snowbank–unusual since it was September 11, in Venice, Los Angeles County, California!
Joan, from a family of meterologists, mulled over this phenomenon (even as she and Edmund stayed in a close embrace), and concluded that…
and concluded that…
The New Ice Age had begun! She was just about to warn Edmund, when, without warning, a gigantic woolly mammoth lumbered over them and peered down.
Edmund and Joan stared up in horror as…
the mammoth bore down on them. Just before it stepped on them, an action that surely would have crused them into little more than a greasy spot on the pavement, it noticed them and spoke up. …
it noticed them and spoke up. …
“Hey, I can’t crush you!” in a voice much like the alien Kang on The Simpsons.
The mammoth added, “In fact, I’d like to be one of the Teeming Millions myself! How do I log on?”
Joan turned to a conveniently-placed PC and showed the mammoth how.
Even through his coarse coat of fur, the mammoth blushed deeply at the sight of Ms. Brestly. Instead of trying to tap computer keys with his feet, which were about a yard across, the mammoth took a large pencil in his trunk and struck the keys with that. And he even shed a tear, which probably contained about two quarts of liquid.
At that a female mammoth, herself covered with flaming red fur, strode into the picture. The male mammoth, after following the instructions Joan and Edmund gave him to post on the SDMB, introduced him to the red female mammoth.
After a passing look at this tender tableau, Joan and Edmund were startled by two angry voices nearby–a smart-mouthed 10-year-old boy saying “Don’t have a cow, man!” and a man, obviously from the Indian Subcontinent, saying sternly, “I have asked you nicely…” but when they saw Joan and Edmund, the boy and the man turned and…
but when they saw Joan and Edmund, the boy and the man turned and…
said, “Hey! We don’t belong here! We’re going back to Springfield.” And Apu drove his car up, and Bart got in, and they drove off.
Meanwhile, Joan, with her almost innate meteorologist’s sense and remembering the ealier poster’s comment about the Ice Age, said to Edmund, with a strong hint of concern in her voice…
remembering the ealier poster’s comment about the Ice Age, said to Edmund, with a strong hint of concern in her voice…
“Edmund, honey–what are we going to do? I see clouds–clouds of indifference, I think…Other dopers aren’t posting here…!”
“I know, Joan, darling, but unless they do our hands are tied!”
So they stayed there, lying on the floor and in an embrace, waiting for the next posting from the Teeming Millions.
Then: