Favorite Shaggy Dog Story

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

If you aren’t sure what a Shaggy Dog Story is, well… you’re in for a treat :smiley:

Here’s mine! Can’t wait to read all of yours!

[spoiler]
There was a little boy by the name of Billy. Billy was an ordinary little boy who did ordinary little boy things, like playing, eating, bathing, destroying things, and going to school. One day, when Billy went down to the bus stop to meet the bus to go to school, he found all of his friends huddled around in a little group, talking about the Purple Wombat.

Being a little boy, Billy was curious. So, he asked them, “What’s the Purple Wombat?”

“You don’t know what the Purple Wombat is?” the children exclaimed disgustedly. For the rest of the morning, they would not go near Billy, always standing far away and staring at him. Then the bus came. Billy, confused, got on the bus along with the rest of the children.

“Hey, Mister Bus Driver!” one of the chldren shouted. “Billy doesn’t know what the Purple Wombat is!”

The bus driver turned around abruptly. “You don’t know what the Purple Wombat is?” he said in disbelief. He ordered Billy to sit in the very back of the bus, all by himself.

Eventually, they got to school, and Billy got off the bus and went to class. Class proceeded normally; the students did the Pledge of Allegiance and worked on their multiplication tables for a while. Then the teacher led them into a unit on geography. Billy was not really paying attention, but he heard the teacher mention something about the Purple Wombat.

Billy’s hand shot up, and, when the teacher called on him, Billy asked, “Teacher, what’s the Purple Wombat?”

“You don’t know what the Purple Wombat is?” the teacher cried in alarm, “Get yourself to the principal’s office right now, young man. No, no buts — march!”

So, Billy headed down the long, dark, frightening hallway to the principal’s office. He slowly opened the large, heavy door, and timidly entered the room behind it. There, at a large, imposing desk, sat the principal. The principal was a hulking man, balding, with a thin mustache. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. He was enough to frighten little boys like Billy who had been sent to his office almost to tears.

“Well, Billy,” he began slowly. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Mr. Principal, I just don’t know what’s going on today. Everyone’s been acting weird, and they’re all treating me really badly. Like teacher just sent me to you and stuff.”

“Now, Billy, I’m here to help you. I’m the princi-Pal, after all. Heh heh. Can you tell me why everyone’s acting so strangely?”

“It’s because I don’t know what some stupid Purple Wombat is.”

“What? You don’t know what the Purple Wombat is? That’s it. I am calling your mother, young man. Consider yourself suspended.”

The principal threw Billy out of his office and told him to go home. Billy, crying, began the long walk home. When he got there, his mother was standing in the doorway waiting for him.

“Billy!” she called, sobbing, “I was so worried about you! What happened?”

“Mom,” Billy cried, “Everyone was being mean to me and I had to sit in the back of the bus all by myself and the teacher sent me to the principal’s office and the principal suspended me, all because I don’t know what the Purple Wombat is!”

“What? You don’t know what the Purple Wombat is?” Billy’s mother shrieked. “Go to your room this minute. Go! Just wait until your father gets home!”

So, Billy marched up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed on the bed, crying. After some amount of time, he heard a car pull in and some doors shutting. His father was home. He could hear his parents talking downstairs but didn’t know what they were saying. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and his door opened.

“Billy,” his father began in that lecturing-father tone, “Your mother says you’ve been acting badly lately. Would you like to tell me what you’ve done?”

“Dad, I haven’t done anything! I just don’t know what the Purple Wombat is!”

“You…don’t know what the Purple Wombat is. Well, in that case, you can just stay in this room all night, mister. And forget about dinner!”

Billy’s father slammed the door and stormed off. Billy collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. He spent the next several hours that way — lying there, crying, wishing he would wake up.

Then, in the middle of the night, he heard a voice. It said: “Billy. I am the Purple Wombat, Billy.”

Billy sat up with a start. He looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice, but he could not.

“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Find me, Billy.”

It was coming from out the window. So Billy got up, put his shoes on, opened the window, and climbed out on to the roof.

“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat.”

Billy jumped down off the roof and followed the voice down the road. He got to the edge of a wood.

“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Follow me, Billy.”

The voice was coming from inside the wood. It was very dark and very frightening, but Billy didn’t care. He had to find out what the Purple Wombat was. So, bravely, he entered the wood.

“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Keep going, Billy.”

Billy kept going into the wood. He could hardly see anything, and he kept falling down and walking into things and hurting himself. But, he kept going, driven by a need to find this enigma that kept calling his name.

“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. This way, Billy.”

Eventually, Billy emerged from the wood. He was on the shore of the town lake.

“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. I’m out here, Billy.”

It was coming from out across the lake. Billy got one of the small rowboats from the dock, untied it, and rowed out. Since he was only a small boy, it was very difficult. But, he had to find out what the Purple Wombat was.

“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Row, Billy.”

The voice was coming from across the lake. Billy doubled his effort, and the boat began to move a little faster. When he was about half way across the lake, he heard: “Billy, I am the Purple Wombat. I’m up here, Billy.”

[spoiler]
It was coming from directly above him. Billy stopped rowing and stood up to look for it. The boat tipped over, dumping him in the lake. Billy didn’t know how to swim, so he drowned.

Moral of this story: Don’t stand up in a boat. [/spoiler][/spoiler]

2

Shah Guido G. by Isaac Asimov

3

LOL the summary was great on it’s own, but I think I’ll give the whole thing a read sometime. How long is it in total?

4

It’s a short story, 2-3 pages at most.

5

Wasn’t there a several-posts-long OP somewhere around here about a magic snake named Nate? I can’t find it in Search for some reason.

6

Haha yes, I know that one!

Better Nate than lever!

7

Here’s my favorite. It’s been posted on the Dope before, so many of you are probably familiar with it. Spoiler boxed because it’s quite long.

[spoiler]
The Butcher Dance
A guy has spent five years traveling all around the world making a documentary on native dances.

At the end of this time, he has every single native dance of every indigenous culture in the world on film. He winds up in Australia, in Alice Springs, so he pops into a pub for a well earned beer.He gets talking to one of the local Aborigines and tells him about his project.

The Aborigine asks the guy what he thought of the “Butcher Dance.”

The guy’s a bit confused and says, “Butcher Dance? What’s that?”

“What?You haven’t seen the Butcher Dance?”

“No, I’ve never heard of it.”

“Oh, mate. You are crazy. How can you say you have filmed every native dance if you have not seen the Butcher Dance?”

“Umm.I got a corroboree on film just the other week. Is that what you mean?” “No no, not corroboree.The Butcher Dance is much more important than corroboree.”

“Oh, well how can I see this Butcher Dance then?”

“Mate, Butcher Dance right out in the bush.It takes many days of travel to go see Butcher Dance.”

“Look, I’ve been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to deepest darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic filming these dances. Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance.”

“OK, mate.You drive north along highway towards Darwin. After you drive197 miles, you see dirt track veer off to left. Follow dirt track for 126 miles til you see big huge dead gum tree - biggest tree you ever see.Leave your car there because it is too rough to drive.Walk due west for 8 days and you will find the village where you can see the Butcher Dance.”

So the guy grabs his camera crew and equipment and heads out.After a couple of hours he finds the dirt track. The track is in a shocking state and he’s forced to crawl along at a snails pace and so he doesn’t reach the tree until dusk and he’s forced to set up camp for the night.

He sets out bright and early the following morning.His spirits are high and he’s excited about the prospect of capturing on film this mysterious dance which he had never heard mention of before.

Eight arduous days later they virtually stagger into the village where the natives feed them and give them fresh water.They begin to feel like new men. Once he’s recovered enough, the guy goes before the village chief and tells him that he has come to film there Butcher Dance.

“Oh mate.It’s very bad that you came today. The Butcher Dance was last night.You are too late.You missed dance.”

“Well, when do you hold the next dance?”

“Not 'til next year.”

“Well, I’ve come all this way.Couldn’t you just hold an extra dance for me, tonight?”

“No, no, no! The Butcher Dance very special.It is performed once a year. If it is performed more, the gods get very angry and destroy village!If you want see the Butcher Dance you come back next year.”

The guy is devastated but he has no other option but to head back to civilization and back home.

The following year, he heads back to Australia and, determined not to miss out again, sets out a week earlier than last time.He is quite willing to spend a week in the village before the dance is performed in order to ensure he is present to witness it.

However, right from the start things go wrong.Heavy rains made the first leg of the trip very slow going and what should have been 8 days of hiking turned into 14 days because of various storms, injuries and such.

Eventually, having lost all sense of how long they have been traveling, they stagger into the village at about midday.

“The Butcher Dance!” gasps the guy. “Please don’t tell me I’m too late!”

The chief recognizes him and says “No, white fella.The Butcher Dance is tonight. You came just in time.”

Relieved beyond measure, the crew spends the rest of the afternoon setting up their equipment - preparing to capture the night’s ritual on celluloid.

As dusk falls, the natives start to cover their bodies in white paint and adorn themselves in all manner of bird’s feathers and animal skins.

Once darkness has settled fully over the land, the natives form a circle around a huge roaring fire.

A deathly hush descends over performers and spectators alike as a wizened old figure with elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body enters the circle and begins to chant.

Some sort of witch doctor or medicine man, figures the guy and he whispers to the chief, “What’s he doing?”

“Hush,” whispers the chief.“You are the first white man ever to see most sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent.Holy man, he asks that the spirits of the dream world watch as we demonstrate our devotion to them through our dance and, if they like our dancing, will they be so gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year.”

The chanting of the Holy man reaches a stunning crescendo before he moves himself from the circle.From somewhere the rhythmic pounding of drums booms out across the land and the natives begin to sway to the stirring rhythm.

The guy is becoming caught up in the fervor of the moment himself.This is it. He now realizes beyond all doubt that his wait has not been in vain. He is about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and movement ever conceived by mankind.

The chief strides to his position in the circle and, in a big booming voice, starts to sing, “You butch yer right arm in.You butch yer right arm out.You butch yer right arm in and you shake it all about…”[/spoiler]

8

LOVE IT!!! Thanks so much for sharing :slight_smile:

9

Having travelled many miles at a very fast pace, a knight stopped at an inn hoping to exchange his horse for a fresh one, but the innkeeper sadly shook his head and pointed to what looked like an old St. Bernard ready to go to his maker.

“This is all I have with 4 feet, m’lord.”

Sir Watchagot considers his options and says he’ll take the dog.

“My Lord!”, cries the innkeeper. You wouldn’t get one mile before the poor animal would keel over!"

“Nevertheless”, said the knight. My mission is such that I must get to the castle very quickly. Saddle him up for me!"

“My lord, please!”, begged the inn keeper once more.

"I wouldn’t send a knight out on a dog like this!:slight_smile:

Quasi

10

King Arthur’s throne has been stolen!!!

“Whaaat??? You don’t mean…???”

Sir Pellimore says: "It has been known for some time now that the Lady Morgause, living in the Crystal Cave, has long coveted the throne so that Arthur might sit at her side and rule Camelot.

As the battle grew nearer, Morgause began to fear for her life, and decided to hide Arthur’s throne deep within her Crystal Cave, where it would never be found.

Using even ones’ most piercing eyes, the reflection of the day’s sunlight proved much too strong to see it, much less recover it! It would be safe there!

But she hadn’t counted upon Merlin, who, as a magician, knew all and saw all grabbed the evil witch, and made her take him to the sword, which lay hidden no more.

Her words reverberated from corner to corner of the Cystal Cave, as she screamed, “But Howwwwww???”

“It wasn’ that difficult, m’lady, and I daresay you will have many long hours remembering that People who live in glass houses, shouldn’t stow thrones”

Do I win anything? :wink:

Quasi

11

The bass section of the orchestra was made up of a cadre of drinkers, who went so far as to sneak out during performances when they knew they had a long break.

One mnight, the bass section snuch out during a performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, withb its long choral parts, becsause they knew they had enough time to go across the street to the bar, drink, and still have plenty of time to get back before they had to play.
Well, they overestimated their capacity for booze, because they got seriously druink and lost all track of time. One of the bass players had had the foresight to tie the last pages of the conductor’s copy of the musivc together, so he couldn’t turn those pages and get to their parts.

As the end of the symphony approached, the conductor suddenly noticed this and got wooried. And small wonder, because …

…it was the Last of the Ninth, the Score was Tied, and the Basses were Loaded.

12

Little Billy moved into a new neighborhood. He missed his old friends but was determined to make new ones. One day, he was walking by the spooky house in the neightborhood and a group of kids called him over.

Are you a scaredy cat? they asked.

No! Said Billy

Well prove it! Go into this haunted house, get up to the third story and take something from there and bring it back.

Billy was scared but determined to show bravery in front of what he hoped would become his friends. He approached the door. He opened it and it screeched in a way that made him jump.

He enters the house.

He stands in the entryway. Everything is dusty and covered with white sheets and looks…ghostlike. He stands there for a few minutes and nothing happens. He starts to relax…sees the stairs and starts toward them.

All of a sudden he hears a faint…rap…rap rap rap…rap rap rap…

This scares the bejesus out of him and he almosts bolts out the door. He stops though as he doesn’t want to look scared in front of his new friends. he turns around and walks to the stairs./

rap rap…rap rap rap.

He walks up the stairs to the second floor.

Rap rap …rap rap rap is a bit louder.

The second floor looks less dusty, except for the fllor.

RAP! RAP RAP!..comes from above…knocking some ceiling dust down toward the floor.

Billy is seriously freaked at this time and sits there for several minutes…unsure what to do. Finally, he screws up his courage and heads up to the third story.

The rapping is much louder up here. The third story only has one big room and its sole occupant was a chest.

RAP RAP RAPRAPRAP…the chest even moves a little to the rapping.

Billy, almost completely gone to rational thought, pulls together the last of his courage and approaches the chest.

RAP! RAPRAPRAPRAPRAP!

Billy just can’t open it up. It is just too much for him. He starts back down the stairs…and gets mad at himself. Damnit, he thinks…I’m going to open that chest.

He approaches the chest again. RAP! RAP! RAPRAP!

He nervously opens the chest…suddenly…very fast and jumps back.

Nothing comes out. He looks in the chest and what does he see?

wrapping paper

13

Knowing you were from Boston, I thought it’d be about the BSO and Keiji Ozawa (known BoSox fan)

14

My Favorite…

Once there was a small boy named Charlie. Poor Charlie, his parents hadn’t really wanted him, he was an oops baby in a marriage that was falling apart before he was even conceived, and with a baby, his parents felt that the had to stay together, even though they hated each other, and they blamed Charlie. No matter what he did, it seemed he couldn’t make his parents happy. Not only that, but his folks were dirt poor and Charlie got a lot of hell in school for the clothes he wore, ratty hand me downs from his older cousins. Not to mention the fact that he stuttered a little, Oh yes, school was a nightmare & home was equally as bad. His teachers assumed he was dumb, and Charlie constantly felt like a failure, then he’d get in trouble at home for his lousy grades. He barely managed to graduate, coming in the very bottom of his class.

College was out of the question, but he was able to start night classes at the local trade school, and for the first time in his life Charlie found something he was good at, having a bit of a mechanical aptitude for electric work. Not only that but there was a beautiful girl in one of his classes, the only one in the program. Charlie was awkward and shy, and hadn’t even grown out of the acne that had plagued him as a teenager, but somehow this girl liked him. They eventually fell in love & she made Charlie the happiest man alive when she said yes, she marry him. And not long after they were married, Charlie’s lovely bride began knitting little booties. Charlie was finally happy, he had a beautiful wife, a baby on the way, a promising career as an electrician, and he’d begun squirreling away money for a down payment on a house. About six months after his baby boy was born, Charlie’s wife wanted to take him to see her parents. He kissed them both goodbye as they boarded the train. Charlie never saw her again.

The train had derailed, killing all the passengers. Well, after that, poor Charlie hit the skids. He started drinking, and once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop, the tidy little nest egg he’d saved was soon drunk up, Charlie’s boss tried to be understanding, but eventually, he had to let him go. The same day that Charlie lost his job, his car broke down. And when he finally managed to make it home, there was an eviction notice on his door. It was all he could take. He took the last of all the money he had in the world and bought a bottle of the cheapest rotgut whiskey the corner liquor store had to offer, and staggered off down the street, just as it began to rain.

Well it was Wednesday night, and the local church was having their weekly prayer meeting and choir practice. Imagine the shocked looks on the faces of these nice church folks when Charlie stumbled in the door, three sheets to the wind, and soaked to the skin. He fell to his knees in the aisle between the pews, and began to sob aloud. “Why me, Lord, Why me, Oh Why me, Lord, Why me??” Well the little congregation was moved by the pitiful sight of this poor man, and they took up Charlie’s cry. " Yeah, Lord, why him, why Charlie, Lord, why does it have to be Charlie?" Suddenly, the clouds parted, the angels sang, and there was a loud Voice from Heaven:

" I dunno, Charlie, something about you just pisses Me off!"

:smiley:

15

The Clown/Insult School. I couldn’t find a version I liked online, so I wrote this one.

[spoiler]Tom was from a small town, a village, a hamlet, hardly even a locality. They aspired to get a horse someday. Nothing happened there, no one famous was from there, no one famous had ever been nearby, not even George Washington.

So when a circus came to a nearby town, one that actually had a horse, Tom was excited beyond words. Everybody was. Everybody made the journey, everybody bought a ticket. Every single person Tom knew was in the audience, and many more. Tom had never seen so many people, ever, let alone in one place at one time. There were dozens of 'em.

It was a magical time. The ringleader had a big hat. The acrobats defied belief. The little trained dogs were enchanting. Tom not only saw an elephant, he also saw motorcycles driven upside down in the Sphere of Death. But the moment Tom was waiting for was when the clowns came out to make everyone laugh.

Tom was, admittedly, an odd person, because he didn’t find clowns creepy or lame at all. He found them hysterically funny, or, more accurately, he found the idea of them hysterically funny. He’d never seen one as he’d never watched TV and the Simpsons weren’t invented yet. It was a hard time to be alive in that way.

At last the clowns appeared. They piled out of a tiny car, they threw water at people out of buckets but it was really confetti, they had ridiculous attire. Tom almost hurt himself laughing.

Then the boss clown called for attention. “Would the person sitting in seat 7B please stand up?”

It dawned upon Tom that he was in seat 7B. He stood, trembling at the threshold of local celebrity. No one from his town had ever been singled out for attention before.

“Hello, good sir,” said the clown, “Are you a horse’s hoof?”

“N-no.”

“No? Why, then, you must be a horse’s head! Are you?”

“Uh… no.”

“Oh. I guess that makes you… A HORSE’S ASS! HAW HAW HAW!”

Everyone Tom ever knew laughed and Tom wished earnestly for a quick, merciful death. He slunk away from the circus, his cheeks covered in tears of shame.

His life changed radically. Before, Tom had been accepted by his peers and loved by his family. He had a sweetheart. No more. He became the butt of small town humor, known to all as a horse’s ass, haw haw haw. He became bitter, isolated, weird. Thoughts of revenge twisted his mind. He drew up plans to murder the clown with poison, firearms, implements of medieval torture, power tools, hired thugs, and, impractically, a horse’s ass. He rejected all of them. Finally, he decided how to take revenge. Let it be fitting.

Tom moved to New York City, the world’s capital of rudeness at the time. He took a job as a cab driver and was awesomely surly. He worked as a street vendor and was excessively snide to everybody. He finally became an insurance adjustor and was pretty average. At last he had enough money and enrolled in college.

His major was Insults and his minor was Quick Witted Retorts. He studied the classics. He studied the moderns. His dissertation dripped with venom and the review board fell into a deep depression. He became internationally recognized as an authority on the subject. At last Tom felt ready.

He began to stalk the clown. Disguised as a begger, a mailman, a rich gent, he attended 62 performances. He studied the clown’s routine, memorized it, generated timelines and gantt charts. After gathering his data and rehearsing his plan to perfection, he purchased a ticket for seat 7B.

The clown called out, “Would the person sitting in seat 7B please stand up?” Tom stood.

Suspecting nothing, the clown said, “Hello, good sir. Are you a horse’s hoof?”

Tom shrieked at the top of his lungs, “Fuck you, clown!”[/spoiler]

16

One of my college physics professors was a fellow punster, and related this one to us :

17

Bwaa haa haa!! I finally found it! One of the longest I’ve ever seen (over 3,000 words) and one that I thought was lost!
(Skip the first two paragraphs on the page. The story starts where it says “The Story.”)

18

This reminds me of a guy I met, Billy Bob Beasley, from Beeville, Texas - link to a post here from 2006.

(Thanks to psiekier for saving me a lot of typing. Though I seem to remember that his name was Bobby Bell, he was most assuredly from Beeville, Texas.)