Shared Stories: C-C-C-C-Combo Post!

A scene:

You’re driving down a long stretch of highway. It is the dead of night (like 7:00 PM). You’re alone in the car. Except for two of your best friends and Avril Lavigne.

Unfortunately, Miss Lavigne is there only in CD-form, so the 7-hour drive is getting to be a tad boring.

The question: What do you do for fun?

If you answered “Have a contest to see how slowly and provocatively each of you can peel a banana, creating a scoring system based on the Food Guide Pyramid and the color ‘Enchanted Forest Green’ instead of numbers and letters”, you’re wrong. So wrong.

If you answered “Write a collaborative-fiction story”, you’re absolutely write!

This is what my friends and I came up with in the car on a laptop. The rules were: take turns contributing only one sentence at a time, try to have some kind of cohesive plot going, and don’t feed the Mogwai after midnight. We broke all of these rules.

Enjoy!

 

Jack flipped open the lid on his coffee maker and looked up at the clock with a defeated sigh. He thought maybe the batteries had died again, but it turns out he had overslept for 12 hours. Jill would have a laugh at him later today. With another glance at the clock, he grabbed his particle beam pistol from the top drawer of his dresser along with his keys and wallet and headed out the door. As he turned around to lock the deadbolt, a tumbleweed blew in between his legs and into the living room.

Jack felt a cold sweat coming on as he stared at the tumbleweed; the war had begun anew. He sent a telepathic message to his partner Cady, a powerful scion with the ability to teleport, that it had begun. He ran into the street, brandishing the particle beam pistol yelling “clear the road!”

Humans and crazy cat ladies alike scattered to the four winds as he hopped into his particle beam cannon armed forklift. He had barely gotten the thing to turn on when Cady materialized in the passenger seat of his oversized industrial forklift. Jack turned to face his soliloquy camera: “Tumbleweeds ain’t what they used to be.”

Cady hit the button to turn on the sirens and the forklift shot off into the Tumblesphere. Jack tore the radio receiver from his hip and hit the button, “this is agent 719. I’ve got a code 9000: unregistered tumbleweed home invasion on the west side of the city. Requesting immediate orders. Over.”

Cady flipped the charge weapon switch with a satisfying beeewoooawwow and looked at Jack with grim determination, “We’re ready.”

“Fire up the shields. We don’t want the space tumbleweeds to tumble us into the tumblesphere.”

Jack and Cady reached the headquarters where the Interstellar Agency for the Suppression of Overactive Tumbleweeds (or IASOT). Captain Mctumness, accompanied by Mcgreggor da Beggar, met them the door.

“What brings you here, Jack? Did you tumble off another hill and break another crown forklift?”

“You know, captain? That gets funnier every time you say it, but I gotta get over to decontamination and make sure I wasn’t exposed to any tumbleweed spores.”

He replied with a smirk, “We’re all professionals here.”

“I hope so. The last tumbleweed war resulted in the deaths of 2 people and 16 kittens so your men better be prepared for anything.”

Cady spoke up and said, “We got any leads on how these things are getting inside city limits?”

Just then another call came over the radio: “This is detective Gruff Mcgruff on the outskirts of city 17! We have a breach in the tumbleweed containment field!” The static from the comm system made it almost incomprehensible.

Cady teleported.

———- (generic section-break) ———-

Down on earth, Gruff Mcgruff stared at the ground where the tumbleweed containment field, a cow fence, stood with a gaping hole in it. He turned around and was relieved to see the dust cloud heralding the arrival of Bobby Joe on his repair wagon.

Bobby Joe rolled up, launching into one of his characteristic monologues, “Goddamn holes are getting bigger every year and the prices of zipties keep going up. I might just hafta open up my own ziptie shop at this rate.”

A tremor shook the ground and they turned to look across the fence to see Cady smashing a tumbleweed with her giant hammer. Jack ripped into the atmosphere in his Pulse Cruiser 9001, flame cannons blazing the way.

Bobby Joe took the piece of straw out of his mouth and exclaimed, “Daggum!”

The triumphant moment didn’t last long as Jack’s Pulse Cruiser was quickly covered by surface-to-air tumbleweeds. Jack screamed “Code Yellow!” into the radio receiver. It was what Suppressors called the Snowball Effect.

Bobby Joe took the piece of straw out of his mouth and exclaimed, “Daggum!”

Jack quickly executed a number of invasive (yes, invasive) maneuvers, designed to shake the tumbleweeds off of his already deteriorated hull. Cady, having experience with such situations, began constructing “the Reaper”.

Bobby Joe helped her out. The Reaper was almost exactly like a lawnmower and he had a lot of experience with them. At the sight of his distraction, Gruff Mcgruff yelled at Bobby Joe: “Get to work on that fence! Those two agents risking their necks out there will be for nothing if we don’t get this fence mended double quick!”

By virtue of Gruff’s assertiveness, the fence was repaired double quick.

The ground began to shake and the air in the distance became filled with dust. Bobby Joe pumped his fist in the air and said “George Warshington’s left testicle! Them idiots down there finally got the Great Tumbleweed Eater online! Yeehee!” It was a triumphant moment for mankind.

End

 

He's my hero.

Thank you kindly for perusing this masterpiece of American literature, surely destined to go down in history as the foremost example of smarmy intellect and anti-tumbleweed stratagem.

I know you’re thinking that it probably took us years to polish it. But you’re wrong. In fact, we wrote another one during that very same drive! I’ll post it tonight.

Italicized gasp!

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