Miss Red: The Really Real Story of Little Red Riding Hood

Everyone has told and re-told and re-told again the story of Little Red Riding Hood. There are even versions where Little Red Riding Hood seduces the wolf in order to birth the first werewolf – not kidding here! But really what surprises me more isn't the insane number of versions there are out there but how intact the story manages to stay over all this time.

I mean, think about that game Telephone where you whisper a message into your friend's ear and they pass it one and so forth until you get to the end and it is something completely new. That's the fun of it after all, and there are probably a few people in the line who intentionally garble the message to make it more interesting.

Well, that's how real life works too, and I would continue to be impressed if it wasn't for the matter that most of the story isn't even accurate. You've got a little girl dressed all in red skipping off into the woods to deliver food to Grandma. Somewhere along the way, she is pursued by a wolf, and a confrontation happens at Grandma's house. This is what they all agree on.

Well as the great great great great great great great great granddaughter of Little Miss Red herself and the owner of her diary, I'm here to tell you that the whole thing is basically bullocks.

First of all, Red isn't a color or a nickname. It is our family name. Her name actually was Sylvia Red, and she wasn't no itsty bitsy thing either. Nor was she a teenage seductress. She was 12. The cloak is just ridiculous and so is the hat. What fool goes into the woods wearing the brightest colors possible? This wasn't exactly in the time of search and rescue, and if that were the case, she'd probably be known as Miss Orange or Miss Fluorescent Yellow. In fact, fashion was such a nonissue she doesn't even mention what she was wearing in her diary.

The woman she was delivering to wasn't her grandma either. She was just an old lady that lived in the woods that the village people took turns checking in on. Before the old broad got all tired and out of sorts, she was like a pillar of the community or something. Everyone called her Grand-mere. Anyhow, it was a sad story but the poor old dear was practically completely insane by the time Miss Red made her oh so famous trip.

Now here's the biggest surprise yet! There was no wolf. Yeah, you heard me. No wolf. First of all, wolves only bothered you if they were starved anyway, which just wasn't the case in this area. Secondly, people had more an issue with bears and the occasional snake or wild boar. Foxes were wily but would run if they saw you, so unless you had chickens they weren't an issue.

No, Miss Red arrived at Grand-mere's in tact and a bit bored.

So what's the big deal, you ask? Well, when my great great great great great great great great grandma got to Grand-mere's house, Grand-mere was outside running around naked, chasing chickens, and howling at the moon, even though it was high noon. Miss Red tried to calm her down, but Grand-mere simply barked at her, then plopped in the dirt, and performed an illicit and pathetic attempt to lick her own butt.

Eventually, Miss Red was able to lure the old broad in by taunting her with one of the more docile chickens. She felt sorry for the old woman and decided that she would tell the town people that only she would take care of her anymore. You see, this was a time where you could be burned for being a witch or some crazy nonsense, and my so many greats grandmother just didn't think that a fitting end for Grand-mere. So she continued to make trips and help the old woman out. This lasted for about a year. But soon, Grand-mere started to sneak off at night and raid people's farms. She never did any harm, just startled the animals and scarred a few young lads brave enough to investigate only to be rewarded by seeing her wrinkly, wobbly fanny by light of the moon.

But after another year, people began to talk you see. So what Miss Red did was admittedly a bit drastic. She decided to disguise herself as a wolf and go tell Grand-mere that she made a horrible woodland creature and to return to being a person. So that is what she did. Only it didn't work. Grand-mere actually had the nerve to argue with her. Well, they got into a big old fight and Grand-mere ran away naked into the woods, this time in broad daylight. So Miss Red chased her, in her costume, straight to and then straight through town.

It was quite a hallalopp since it was market day in the square. Vegetables were tossed and more people were scarred by the day-lit nudity. Oh, and you should have heard the shirking when they saw what they thought was a wolf running on two legs. Clearly, this is what had been scaring the old lady out of the woods every night. Probably harassing her whenever she bathed (they bathed outside you see).

So people did what they always did in big groups and they freaked the fuck out. They sent a woodsman to guard Grand-mere's door and set up nightly hunts for this monster wolf. Well, the woodsman sent his son instead. He was still good with an axe, but the woodsman didn't beleive in a big walking talking wolves, especially ones that squealed like little girls when vegetables smacked into it. Well the woodsman's son –and this part of the story is true – was very fetching and quite sweet. So Miss Red simply explained the situation to him, and they both worked together to keep Grand-mere's craziness both under-wraps and confined to her own yard. Between the two of them they were able to keep her nightly runs down to the area around her cabin. They grew quite found of each other over the years, given all the time they spent watching the old lady.

Now, I can't tell you for certain that Miss Red ever wore her wolf suit again, but I like to imagine that the bit about the Woodsman cutting her out of the wolf's belly is really referring to him sexyily ripping off Miss Red's wolf costume before making hot passionate love to her in the chicken coop. Splitting right into her if you will. (Don't freak! They were at least 16 by this point, and back then they'd be getting arranged marriages if they didn't pick their own soon anyhow.)

Afterall, he did end up being my great great great great great great great great grandfather, and Miss Red's diary becomes a bit romantic soon after their encounter.

At any rate, the hunts for the wolf eventually stopped as people became bored and convinced they'd all eaten bad imported fruit or something resulting in a shared hallucination. Don't ask me! Though I suspect Miss Red had something to do with the suggestion.  Grand-mere eventually passed and there you have it. A ball of rumors passed down generation after generation. So there it is: A lot less scariness and naivety and  a lot more crazy and much more sexy.

But, go ahead and believe whatever you want. Who am I to expose Grand-mere's insanity after all these years?

The End

Moral: If you want to meet the right guy, disguise yourself as a wolf and chase a crazy naked woman through the town square.

Classic Silly Story: Voodoo Dick:The After Effect

So, one of my most remembered classic silly stories is also one of the raunchiest. If that is the right... word. It's based on a dirty joke called Voodoo dick. So, for the purpose of understanding the story, you must first understand the joke:

The joke:
A lonely woman goes on vacation to a very far away land. In search of an authentic souvenir, she wanders into a little shop and finds a strange object in a long velvet box. The shop owner explains that it is a voodoo dick and that it will have sex with whatever you tell it to. You just need the magic words. Closing the box, the shop keeper whispers the instructions.
The woman at first thinks it is all a gag but buys it anyway because she finds it amusing. A few weeks later when she is unpacking at home, she finds the voodoo dick. Curiosity gets the best of her and she takes it out of the box and says, "voodoo dick cat." The voodoo dick springs up, finds the cat, and starts having sex with it. Shocked the woman says, "voodoo dick stop!" and it does. Then, because she still can't believe it, she says, "voodoo dick dog." The same thing happens with the dog until she says, "voodoo dick stop!" and it does. So then she thinks about it for a long time. (I also like to imagine that she sanitizes it as well.) Finally, she gets ready and says, "voodoo dick me!" And it does. And it is great, but then she wants it to stop, so she says, "voodoo dick stop!" But it doesn't! So she says it again and again, but it's not working. So she rips it out and starts to run away.
And it chases her!
She gets in her car and drives, but she can still see it hopping down the road after her, so she slams on the gas. A cop sees her speeding and pulls her over. When he gets to her window she is hysterical.
"You don't understand," she says, "I'm being chased by the voodoo dick. It won't stop. It's coming right now!"
The cop smirks, crosses his arms and says, "Yeah, sure. Voodoo dick my ass."

And that's the joke. If told properly it can be quite amusing.

Anyway, believe it or not, I wrote a story based off of that.  It is as follows:

Classic Silly Story (Silly Story 129)
Voodoo Dick: The After Affect

The voodoo rested on the the therapist chair and recounted his tale.
"I can't believe they abused you like that," said the therapist.
"I know," said VD "I was so shocked. That man... in the uniform... I had never realized before that moment that I was ...."
"It's ok," said the therapist, "You can say it."
"Gay!" cried the voodoo dick "All those years of having sex with foreign women and animals... I knew I was lacking something in my job. I just wasn't satisfied. So then I thought, maybe it's because I never was satisfied. I was working for their pleasure not mine. So this last women, the idea came to me as she was pondering using me... maybe if I went until I was satisfied... well then... then maybe I could find some joy in my work."
"That's perfectly understandable," said the therapist.
"But she ran away and told me to stop. I became... is it ok? I mean I became..."
"It's ok to say it," said the therapist.
"I became angry. I was, well mad as hell and I wasn't going to take it anymore. But you see, I have to follow orders. I'd been following them for so long that when that man, the cop said..."Voodoo dick my ass!" I just obeyed... reflexes you know."
"I understand," said the therapist.
"And for the first time," said voodoo dick, "I was satisfied, me. I went first. It.. it... it was beautiful." The voodoo dick began to cry.
"It’s ok," said the therapist, "just relax and go on."
"But you know the worst part?" he went on "is that that cop... he .. he...."
"Yes? What is it?"
"He didn't even call!!!" The voodoo dick sobbed. The therapist beckoned for him to come over. The voodoo dick got out and hopped over to the therapist. He hopped right in his lap and the therapist put his arms around him. They snuggled for a few minutes while the voodoo dick collected himself.
"Some men are like that," said the therapist "but you know what voodoo... I'm not. I'm not the kind of professional that wouldn't return a call. And I know better than you think, what you are going through. You see, I'm gay too."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. Not many people know it, but I'm completely flaming... and I think you're cute."
"Even though I don't have balls? Even though I'm basically a cheap vibrator with magical powers and the will to give great sex?"
"Oh yes, for those reasons the most. You know, I think you might be ready to begin a relationship. It would be good for you. And it so happens that I'm free..."
"Really?" said voodoo dick "Cause I thought you were pretty attractive, but you k now. The whole doctor patient relationship thing."
"Well from this moment you're cured!"
And the voodoo dick and the therapist lived happily ever after for about 2 years when the voodoo dick realized he was better than the therapist who had taken advantage of him in a weakened state. He sued for mental trauma and won everything the therapist had, including his convertible which the voodoo dick used to speed on the weekends to pick up cute gay cops.
The End

Moral:Snuggling in your therapists lap may lead to money, a convertible, and many cute gay cops.

The Boy Who Wanted More

Once upon a time, when life was simple, like super simple, like so simple that fashion was defined by if you wore more than one shade of brown, there was a little boy name Kutso. Kutso was not satisfied by his life, like everyone around him seemed to be. He couldn't explain why eating the same porridge every night for dinner didn't satisfy him or why going fishing didn't actually seem like that big of a deal.

The other villagers had suspected something was wrong with Kutso for quite some time. The boy just didn't seem to take much pleasure in life, and when his parents asked him what was wrong, all he could say was, "I don't know."

"Why not?" his father persisted. "It seems silly to be sad without a reason."

"There is a reason," said Kutso, " I just don't know what it is."

His mother chewed on her porridge for a moment. "Why Kutso dear, that just doesn't make any sense."

Kutso admitted that he had to agree. Though secretly, he knew what it was. He simply wanted more.  More what exactly? More everything. More color, more food choices, more talking, more music, more games, more laughing, more crying, more, more, more.

So one day, Kutso set out into the woods in search of just that, more. He told his parents he was merely going camping, a concept they found strange. Who went camping for pleasure? Indeed, who needed a break from a life so simple and nice?

But off he went. Kutso journeyed into the mountains, crawled through caves, and trudged through rivers, but everything seemed to be just he same as the areas around his village.

Then, one day he emerged from a particularly dark and twisted cave to see the strangest bird  he had ever seen in his life. It was bright pink with spotted green feathers on its head and stood on two tall skinny orange legs. Kutso didn't have a word for those colors, but liked them immediately.

The bird looked at Kutso and tilted its head. It squawked loudly, unlike any bird he had ever heard before, and flew away. Only then did Kutso realize that the place he was now standing in was FULL of colors, so many colors. He could not have imagined so many different flowers and plants and trees. And more animals too! Of all shapes and sizes, making an assortment of all kinds of sounds.

And, for the first time in a very long, long time, Kutso felt happy.

He ventured down further into the foliage, where he discovered a village full of people. Unlike his village where everyone had the same color skin, eyes, and hair and wore the same color of clothes, these people were multicolored. Nobody seemed to have exactly the same colored hair and their outfits were not only diverse in shades, but in styles. Kutso wondered out into the center of everything, not thinking, simply in awe. Suddenly people started to noticed him and stop and stare at him.

Kutso finally realized what was going on and became very self conscious. He had never had so many people staring at him before.

"Uh, hi," he said uncertainly waving.

The crowd burst into sound and motion, diving in on him, proclaiming him "the cutest damn thing" they had ever seen.

"He's such an autum," one said, " a true leafy winter."

Kutso had no idea what these people could possibly find fascinating about him.

"Look at those big brown eyes!" one exclaimed. "And that dark hair!" said another. "Isn't his get-up just divine? So simple. So sublime!" said yet another, "Get a look at those sandals! Tan! Tan sandals!"

They hosted a dinner in his honor that had so many different types of foods that Kutso didn't know what to do with himself. Everyone bombarded him with questions. Where did he come from? How did he get here? Was everyone in his village so adorable?

"They all look like me, if that's what you mean," Kutso said over and over again.

Then they had dessert and dancing, and by the end of the night Kutso was so tired, he barely took pleasure in the luxury feather bed he slept in that was so unlike his hay mat at home.

In the morning the people demanded that Kutso take a group of them to his village. They just had to see this adorable place he had described. Shrugging and waving his goodbyes, Kutso lead a small group all the way back to his village where they went ballistic with excitement. They just couldn't get over how quaint everything was.

The people of Kutso's village had no idea how to react. They had never even heard of anything like these crazy, colorful people. Not even in their dreams, for they also dreamed largely in brown and green tones. But the colorful people were so friendly and complimentary, it wasn't long before everyone started talking and getting along, admiring each other.

Kutso let out a sigh of relief. He had feared that they would take unkindly to these crazy different people, but instead, he found out that his people were just as bored as he was, even if they didn't know it yet. In fact, a group of them demanded to be taken to the other place to see it.

And of course, when they arrived, another group wanted to go back to his village.

In fact, for the next few years Kutso lead countless groups of people back and forth. In fact, most people started staying behind in the village that was new to them, until one day, as Kutso waited at the cave opening, ready to make yet another journey, he realized that no one was coming. A complete transplant had taken place so that everyone that lived in the colorful village, now lived in the brown village and vise versa.

At this point, Kutso didn't know what to do. It had become increasingly difficult to tell the two sets of people apart and hardly anything surprised anyone anymore. Kutso himself was indeed, growing a bit bored.

So what did he do? He set off again. This time in a new direction, in search of new things. In search of something else. In search of something more more.  And he found it, again and again. And he spread the news, again and again.


And one day, when he was very old, Kutso realized he had created not a village of travelers, but a world of travelers. And his descendents were always seeking more and always finding it. And on the day he died, he watched his Great, Great grandson get into a homemade ship and fly to the moon in search of even more, and he died a very happy man.

The End

Moral: If the grass is greener one yard over, it must even greener another yard over, and another and another and another and another and another...

See Dot Run

    .   


See Dot.


    .   


She that Dot is an invisible dog, well almost invisible.

    .  


Everyone can see her nose. 


                      .  

See Dot run ... and fall.

    .    



See Dot jump . . . right smack into that invisible tree.

    .    

See the invisible squirrel laugh at Dot.
    .  

See Dot get upset.

     .  

See Dot chase the mean squirrel.

    .    "coo coo" -

See Dot get thwarted when the squirrel pretends to be an invisible pidgeon.

    .  

See Dot press on to find the squirrel.
    .  
See Dot forget what she is looking for.
    .  
See Dot pause in the middle of the sidewalk to think about it.

    . 
See invisible Bill and Jill trip over Dot.

    .    

See Dot happily chase the stolen money that fell out of Bill and Jill's stolen bank bag.


See Bill and Jill frantically scramble to get their money back.


See the invisible police coming!

    .    

See Bill fight with Dot over the money bag. See that Dot thinks it is a fun game.

"Bad dog!"

    .  

See Bill yell at Dot.


See Bill try to kick Dot. See Jill stop him.
    .  

See Dot likes Jill.

See the invisible police tackle Jill.

\/
.
See Dot's angry face.

    .    
See Dot attack police.

See that this gives Bill and Jill time to escape.

See Jill stop at the top of the hill, the invisible sunset darkening the sky.

"Dog!"


See Jill call Dot.

    .    

See Dot stop attacking police officers.
    .  
See Dot run.

    .  
See Dot join her new family as they make it to the get away car.

See them drive off into the sunset. Bye Dot!

See The End.

Moozie: The Most Exprienced Party Goer

Moozie was the biggest partier in town. All the bartenders knew her by name and she was a hit with everyone she talked to. She was also 92 years old.

This didn't seem to phase Moozie, and in fact, Moozie didn't even seem to realize how old she was. The fact that she could name every pop artist from the 1930's up just made her think she was more knowledgeable, age had nothing to do with it. If someone was introduced to Moozie and commented on her white hair, she'd tell them that is what happens when you bleach your hair too much, and believed it. If anyone mentioned how Moozie was older than they thought she'd be, Moozie would laugh and say she always looked older than she actually was and that she could buy beer when she was only 10. The fact that it was the end of prohabition and it was from her grandfather's speakeasy somehow never made it into the conversation.

Perhaps Moozie would have realized her age if she hadn't stopped keeping track at around 40 or so. Or maybe if she suffered from any physical aliments that she couldn't write off as side effects from "partying so hard." Financially Moozie did alright because usually people bought her drinks and dinner because they thought she was such an awesome old woman, though they all knew better than to call Moozie old to her face.

Moozie even kept a part time job at a burger joint. If anything, Moozie seemed to think she was getting younger, not older. There was nothing wrong with her mentally. She knew what year it was and who the president was and "all that jazz," she just simply didn't keep track of her own age. You could never accuse Moozie of not keeping up with the times.

Then one day Moozie, preoccupied with a major party coming up that night, forgot to give some kid his fries. The kid was kind of a punk about it, and instead of asking nicely, demanded that "the old senile broad" pay better attention or "go back to your retirement home where you belong." Moozie laughed, "That's the worst insult I have ever heard. I'm not even old."

"Oh yeah," retorted the punk, "You're older than my grannie over there and she can't even walk straight." Sure enough the kid was there with his grannie who was walking sideways with her walker into the drink dispenser and demanding they "play some God Damn Disco Already!"

Moozie gave a disbelievable fart noise with her lips and laughed, "puh-lease." But then it happened. Moozie recognized the old crazy woman who had now, in a very feeble attempt, began accosting the drink dispenser as if was a jukebox, pointing her finger threateningly at the Fanta button and demanding Blondie.

Moozie's hands went up over her mouth. It was Carly Sue, her old friend she used to go to Discos with. She indeed was older than Carly Sue by almost 20 years, but Moozie didn't really know that. She saw them as equals. She tried to do the math in her head and figured she was in her 70's. That was impossible she decided, so she went home and dug out her birth certificate and nearly had a heart attack. "92! I can't be 92!"

Suddenly Moozie saw every little wrinkle on her face and her white hair didn't seem so cool any more. She took to her bed for the next three days.

In that time her pink bedazzled iphone had run out of message space, her facebook and twitter were littered with "where the hell are you"'s, and people had even tried leaving messages on her Myspace account, something they didn't even use anymore.

Moozie was oblivious. She was too busy being depressed that she was old.

Finally her almost hundreds of friends and aquaintances took to doing things the old fashioned way and started showing up on her doorstep, pounding it hard and demanding to be let in. This went on for a few hours, and eventually, Moozie found this not only difficult to ignore but annoying as hell, so she got out of bed, pulled on a random sparkly halter top and some skinny jeans, and went to the door.

Her yard was full of party-goers of all ages. Someone had the radio in their car jacked up to full volume, others had made a beer and pizza run, and there was a huge party going on. Jack, her favorite bartender met her at the door, "Oh thank heavens! I thought you'd died."

"Died!" Moozie exclaimed, "I'm not THAT old am I?" She was about to retreat back to her bed and forget all the fun only three feet away when Jack stopped her.

"Sugar, No. I don't care what year you popped outta your momma. You're only as old as you act. And Honey, you're a decade younger than me!"

Moozie looked Jack over. He had nice hair, clear skin, washboard abs. "I mean hell," he continued, "Is that what this is all about? You're only 3 days older than this past weekend when you out partied Petey the Party. I mean you know why they call that guy the Party right?"

Moozie laughed a little. That was quite a night. It would have been better if Petey hadn't passed out just as things were getting good, leaving her alone on the beach with a hummer limo full of passed out co-eds.

Moozie laughed, swung open the door and demanded Jack let everyone inside immediately. "This is my party now!" She was ecstatic and suddenly she was seeing things in a whole new light. She had years of experience on these people. She could out drink and out dance anyone there. She could stay awake longer and had no children or parents to go crawling home to.

Suddenly Moozie realized being "old" wasn't so bad because she had a solid 67 years of partying under her belt and unlike most party goers was able to keep a job, even if she sometimes forgot they wanted fries with that.

Moozie never worried about feeling old again, and 30 years later, on the day of her funeral, the whole town threw a party in her honor that lasted 8 days. Of course, they all knew that had Moozie still been around she was would have scolded them for stopping then because now Moozie was laughing up in Heaven where she didn't need to sleep and couldn't get drunk and could party foever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever.

The End

Don't let some punk kid ruin your party. He doesn't deserve fries anyway. 

The Life of Molly the Mango

Molly the Mango lived in Africa in a tree with all of her mango family. Molly didn’t know a lot about the world, but what she did know was this: Mangos were the best fruit ever. After all, all the other mangos said so.

In fact, that is all the mangos ever did; they basked in the sun talking about how wonderful they were. They may have occasionally stopped to fuss at a nearby bird for shaking their branches, but some even felt the birds were not worth their time.

It never occurred to Molly to ask why mangos were the best fruit ever. It pretty much just seemed to be a fact. If anything, the humans seemed to think so. Every morning they came in droves to care for the trees (the mangos homes) and the mangos themselves. They chased away bugs, made sure the mangos had plenty to drink, and that they grew into big, beautiful mangos.

In fact, Molly longed for the day when she would be big enough and plump enough to be carried off by one of the humans, but day after day they passed her by, finding her unworthy. Molly didn’t talk about her disappointment, though it occupied her mind all day long. She dreaded being one of those mangos that went over looked, grew fat with depression, and dropped from the tree on their own accord, left to rot in the grass. How awful!

Then one glorious day, a human climbed a ladder, gave her a gentle squeeze and pulled her from her branch. She was ecstatic! Being disconnected from her branch had stung a little, but quickly it numbed, and she rode happily with the other basket of mangos.

She waited in anticipation after their basket was placed in the truck. All the mangos gloating and boasting -- We were picked! We were picked!

They soon went to what Molly could only assume was an industrious beauty parlor where everyone was inspected once again and washed all over. There was a moment of fear when a worker reached down and grabbed Molly. She had seen others being tossed  out of the conveyor belt and she dreaded this fate, but the worker placed her back down just as quickly.

Then all the mangos were stored in boxes. Molly was sad she did not get a window seat (a spot near a round little porthole in the cardboard) but the mangos who had them anxiously shared what they saw and when it got dark all the mangos talked about the great things that awaited them.

Then one day Molly woke (she’d been dozing off a lot lately) to find that she was in a bright, cold room surrounded not only by other mangos but fruits and vegetables of all kinds! Clearly, Molly thought, this was a contest, what she had been born for. The mangos were in a pyramid in the center and at the tip top, Molly had a good view of all the whole area. Humans came in and poked and pinched and rubbed and sniffed all the fruits and vegetables. Clearly, they were the judges.

She figured the contest would be won by who was picked the most. Well! The mangos would surly win and all the other mangos agreed with her.

But to their ever growing dismay, other fruits and vegetables were being picked much faster than the mangos were. The apples laughed mockingly as they passed in the their plastic swinging bags, and the bananas chuckled heartedly. Even the ugly, rough potatoes were going more than the mangos. Molly just didn’t understand.

People seemed hesitant to even touch them let alone buy them. Then, two young boys came over and started poking them.

“What are these?” asked one.

“Monkos,” said the other incorrectly, “They’re monkey hearts!”

“Ew!” screamed the first little boy, running to his mom in terror.

“Lies!” cried Molly, “Lies!” But only the other mangos heard her.

Just as Molly was about to lose all hope, along came a young woman who stopped curiously and, reaching randomly, grabbed Molly. She hefted her in her hand. “Hm,” she said and dropped Molly gently in her cart. The other mangos cheered widely and Molly gave the other fruits a smug look as she rolled out.

Molly was full of suspense-- now what!

When the woman took her out of the bag at home though, she hmmed over her again and then took her to a computer where they watched the most dreadful video together! A man in a white jacket showed, to Molly’s terror, how to sliced up a mango!! And he seemed happy about it and the woman tossed Molly in her hands, nodding the whole time. Then, at the end of the video, the man actually took a bite!!!!!

Then the woman took Molly to kitchen and got out a big knife. “This can’t be it!” Molly thought. “What is so great about this?” But just before the knife hit her skin, a loud ring echoed through the house and the women went off to retrieve the phone.

Molly sighed and using the last of her mangoy strength rolled across the counter and out the window. She plummeted to the soft grass below and hidden in the long leaves decided that was the life for her, lying outside in the sunshine. All that other beauty pageant glitz was the pits. She decided right then and there that she would stay there and start her own family tree and she, she would tell all the other mangos the truth about humans. And that’s exactly what she did.

The woman in the house however was not pleased about this, but there wasn’t much she could about it besides punish the family dog, who obviously must of stole her mango thinking it a new play toy.

The end.

Moral: Don’t be a silly mango. Investigate facts for yourself.

Victor the Cranky Vampire

Victor was a vampire, and he was cranky.

It seemed to him that something had gone wrong with the world. There had been a time when everyone feared him, and since frighted people were the most tasty, this made his dining pleasure quite exquisite. However, along came some Mormon chick with silly, fictional ideas and the world the turned on him. And it wasn't just her. Suddenly TV, movies, fan fiction, bookstores, bathroom stalls --it seemed everywhere, the idea that vampires were in fact nice, no worse, tamable!

Victor just couldn't beleive it. He wasn't sure what had happened. There had been plenty of attempts in the past to make Vampires seem cool or not quite so bad, and though interesting, they never effected his life. But after having to slump away from yet ANOTHER silly girl screaming in his ear -- not from terror, not "Oh my God don't eat me!" but from excitement and joy, "Oh My God, you're a vampire!!! Please Please Please make me a vampire too! Do you want to marry me?"-- he just couldn't take it any more.

Happy people just weren't as tasty and their squeals were far more annoying. He'd rather them at least try to kill him. At least that was exciting. Got the blood pumping and all that.

What was even worse though was that Victor was quite convinced he had a stalker. He'd sensed her peeping him his windows more than once and her shiny red convertible was not exactly covert. Now, Victor was a fan of stalking. He thought it a most pleasing past time, but somehow when it was he being the one stalked, it just didn't seem as fun. Plus it put a damper on his own stalking schedule. Something about sitting there being watched watching someone just made him uncomfortable, and well, cranky.

So Victor got an idea. He would show the world once and for all just how utterly terrifying he was and that vampires were not only real, but dangerous! He would need a lot of publicity. Something to make a really big show of it.

So Victor picked the Today Show. He figured there would be plenty of people watching and the shock of seeing him would help increase the fear. He planned on terrifying everyone. He'd take a bite out of Al and throw Matt through the glass. He had to admit he regretted this a little. He secretly enjoyed their show and these were his two favorite people, but he had a statement to make after all.

So the next morning (that whole burning sun thing is a lie, at least the Mormon chick had one thing right) he flew (like a bat, but not as a bat. That would just be silly) down to the street where all the people were crowded with their cardboard signs and happy faces. They gasped at he sight of him and for a moment, he was happy. He showed them his teeth and gave an evil hiss, but just as he was about to pounce on poor Al, the crowd started cheering and applauding. Al wandered over with the mic and asked him who he was.

"I am Victor the Vampire," said Victor. "I am going to eat you all!!"

The crowd went wild, but not in the way Victor was hoping. Suddenly they broke past the the little metal bike racks that were meant to contain them and the ambushed Victor.

For a brief moment, Victor thought they were an angry mob, only pitchforkless. But as the girls and guys rushed him and started screaming "Bite me! Bite me!" he realized how wrong he was. Soon he was buried under at last 50 joyous bodies, all exerting their happy pheromones, smelling up the place; it was completely unappetizing and he almost threw up his breakfast (a lost puppy, the only things that still had sense enough to fear him).

Then one girl actually thrust her neck into his mouth, her hair getting in his eyes and nose, and Victor used his super vampire strength to fly straight up out of the crowd. He also threw up a little in his mouth.

But he swallowed it down and hovering about 10 feet above them (just out of reach Thank God!) he demanded, "What the bloody hell is wrong with you people? I am a VAMPIRE! I am scary! I want to eat you for breakfast!" But the crowd just went wild. Someone in the back yelled, "I love you!" and another "Aw, you don't mean it!"

Victor grabbed an innocent out of the crowd by the back of his shirt and threatened to eat him. The crowd applauded, great show, great show. Victor really would have eaten him too, if the guy hadn't looked up at him with a big dorky grin and inquired, "does this mean I'll be able to fly too!"

That was the last straw. Victor dropped the guy and flew away, the guy's threats of suing for breaking a verbal contract ringing in his ears as he fled America.

Victor hid out in Russia for a few weeks. He tried to avoid the news. After his big appearance things had only gotten worse. Even the people who wanted to kill him (few as they were) were just too happy about it to be appetizing. He spent his days eating puppies, playing solitaire, and renting videos off Netflix. Until he was nearly starving. Lost puppies just were not a fitting diet.

Then one night as he was sitting back shaking his head at the final episode of Walking Dead demanding the TV tell him what made Zombies just so terrifying since real zombies didn't even want to eat people (They were more useless than mummies. Just wandering around like idiots), a thought occurred to him.

That night, he went hunting. Only instead of his normal dark suit and suave hairdo, he covered himself in smelly ratty clothes and used leftovers from his lunch to create realistic wounds. And he stalked about the alley behind a night club, just like a zombie.

And what do you know? It worked. The guy taking out the trash was terrified and tried to beat him with a trashcan lid. Lucky for Victor he wasn't really a zombie. It wasn't really lucky for the guy taking out the trash, but at least Victor did him a favor: He made damn certain the guy wouldn't come back as a vampire.

And in this way, Victor lived happily ever after, for quite some time.

The End

Moral: If fame isn't for you, you should probably spend your nights stalking around alleys full of trash cans.

Classic Silly Story of the Month: May "A Muddy Tragedy"

Each month a classic silly story from the old mailing list will be posted for those who are curious and those who are nostalgic. This month's story is in honor of a very loyal silly story fan who has supported the stories, even while they were sleeping (but not in the creeping I-was-watching-you-sleep kind of way). Though she doesn't actually go by Kendra the Krush, the silly stories will always remember her as such.

Enjoy!

"A Muddy Tragedy "

It has become tradition for many sororities to show how truly reformed and sophisticated they are by having an annual romp in the mud. Or, as it is more commonly known, a mud wrestling competition. As sophisticated as this dirty sport is, it can get quite rough. Never underestimate the furry of a sorority girl covered in mud from head to toe. The ones who have, have never been heard from again.

 This particular story is in fact about one of the fiercest mud wrestlers in the land. The babe that made all the other mud rollers hike up their bikini strings and bound out of the mud pit. The one, the only, the muddy, Kendra the Krush! She had 44 wins in 43. (She gave one girl such a wrasle, the judges decided it HAD to count for two wins.) She had the power. She had the love. She had the umph. She had the official no-slip mud-wreslin' special edition swimsuit. She walked the walk. She talked the talk. She was unbeatable and unbelievable. She was Kendra the Krush. And when she was asked to visit Rolla and participate in the annual mud wrestling competition, she was honored.

 She said "Sure thing." She slipped on her official no-slip mud-wrestling special edition swimsuit (the blue one) and headed right over. The competition was a piece of cake. The first wrasle of the day, Kendra the Krush V.S. Tina the tiny. Not a very fair match perhaps, but there was no fair match for Kendra the Krush. Tina the Tiny tottered in and gently stepped into the mud pit, giggling like a nervous apple fritter in front of a hungry chipmunk. Then the crowd silenced and stepped aside. Kendra the Krush had entered the room. They watched as she gracefully made her way to the mud pit. Everyone watched as she hiked her leg to step proudly into the mud pit. Her foot came down – right onto of a harden bikini top left from last season, stopping her foot about six inches before it was intended to. She paused, grimacing at the pain that shot up her ankle all the way to the bottom rim of her blue official no-slip mud wrestling special edition swimsuit.

She then let out a slight squeal and fell into the mud.

The whole crowd rushed forward to her aid and rushed her immediately to the hospital where it was discovered that her ankle had been broken and dislocated! With no way else to call it, Tiny the Tiny took the win. Kendra the Krush's mud wreslin days were over. Even if her ankle healed in time for next year’s competition, the humiliation was just too much.

So that's the story of how Kendra's the Krush's career as a mud wrestler came to an end. But do not feel bad for Kendra. In the Hospital she met a very good looking and rich doctor who fell immediately in love with her, and they lived happily ever after.

P.S.
It was of course later discovered that the doctor, Amanda, was not really a doctor. Kendra was perfectly fine with this of course, though why Amanda was at the hospital dressed as a doctor was never really discussed. But perhaps that is another story. ;)

The End

Moral: Beware a harden bikini top hidden within the mud, for humiliation and someone named Tiny are sure to follow.

The Announcement

A Quick Note: The following story "The Announcement" was actually written as a part of the NYCMidnight's 2009 Flash Fiction Contest. I had 24 hours to write a 1000 word political satire that mentioned an air conditioner and that took place in a recording studio. I had never written a real political satire before and typed up a bunch of hooey before arriving at this, which I was still a bit surprised to see qualified. Though I had 48 hours to pull it together instead of 1/2 an hour, I feel that this tale is still a Silly Story at its heart and very center, and since I know not what else to do with it, here is just as good a home as any. Since I'm spending the next two days in D.C., it is also a rather fitting way to kick off the re-revival.

"The Announcement"

 

Media adjusted his mic again, checked the levels one more time, and tapped the counter.

“Excuse me,” said Liberty, pushing her crown back up, “I don’t mean to be a bother, but can we get started? The heat in here is killer and this ever burning torch is well. . . ever burning.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Church said, grinding his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” Media said. “I placed a work order for the air conditioner a week ago. I’m dying in here. They’re really slow. I’m thinking of doing a story on it actually. Give a human face to it—”

“Before we get too hasty,” State said eyeing the silent device in the window, “did you fill the form out correctly?”

“They kept sending it back to me. Something about procedure.”

State nodded. “It seems they know what they’re doing then.”

“Freedom of speech aside,” Liberty cut in, “I’d really appreciate if we could get a move on.” She smiled politely, waving her torch again for Media to see.

Media checked his dials one more time. “I can’t convince you to go on live? The station’s got central air.”

“Tempting,” said Liberty, “but Justice prefers an uninterrupted recording. This studio will do.”

Justice nodded and adjusted her damp blindfold.

“Ok,” said Media and pressed record. “Good Evening! We’ve got a little bit different of a show for you tonight. I’ve still got celebrities, but tonight’s theme is togetherness. No, no big reunions. This relationship is over 200 years old. Please welcome the very beautiful, Lady Liberty and, her partner in the pursuit of happiness, Lady Justice. And here with them tonight, both famous and infamous, Church and State! Welcome.

Now Miss Liberty, it seems that you have a very astonishing announcement that you want to make to the American public.”

“Indeed we do. For years now the public has been aware of mine and Justice’s partnership.”

“And what a beautiful partnership it is.”

“Well, we would agree,” continued Liberty, “and that’s why we want the world to know of it as it truly is.”

Justice reached over and rubbed the top of Liberty’s knee gently.

Media immediately wished he had talked them into doing a televised interview instead.

“We’re getting married,” she finished.

Media immediately regretted not pushing harder for a live show.

“Officially—” began Justice.

“I just want to say that I disapprove,” said Church strongly. “Not of their love. Although it’s against most of my religions, it’s been bloody obvious for years! The real issue is how it reflects on State and I as their roommates. We already have a questionable reputation.”

“Rumors,” said State. “Only rumors. Polls indicate that few believe it.”

“Someone believed it!” Church went on in a fluster. “Why else would they bother working up so much paper work to officially separates us?”

“Precautions,” State sighed. “Procedure.”

Justice nodded.

“Are you implying the precautions aren't necessary?” asked Media.

“Not exactly,” said State, “but the fear that taking such measures indicates is simply absurd. Church and I don’t want to be legally paired and never will be. It’s bad enough living with him. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a really nice guy. Wonderful cook, throws fabulous shindigs, great taste for wine. But a horrible roommate. Leaves dirty laundry everywhere. . . But what can you do? The economy and all that. Got to do what you have to.” State waved his hand loosely to emphasize his point.

“Yes,” said Media, “everything is due to the bad economy. But do you take Church’s position on the ladies’ announcement?”

“It’s complicated,” said State.

“I respect their concern for their reputation,” said Liberty, “but it’s time. Justice and I deserve a legitimate, public marriage.”

“Public? What’s not public about it now? They hold hands and kiss everywhere they go!” Church cried.

“On the cheek,” Liberty said.

“All girls do that,” said State, fanning himself with the air conditioner’s instruction manual.

Justice shook her head.

“All girls do not do that,” said Church. “Just like you tried to convince me that all roommates get a little drunk now and again and accidently make out! It just isn’t true!”

Liberty sighed, switched her torch to her other hand. Media’s jaw was hanging open. He barely had time to confirm he was still recording.

“He spiked my seltzer,” explained Church.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” said State. “I spiked your seltzer cause I wanted you to loosen up a bit. The other part. . . Well, I was so drunk I thought you were Liberty.”

“When are you just going to accept that Liberty loves Justice more than you? No wonder you can’t see their lesbian flaunting,” Church demanded, exasperated.

Justice sighed.

“I would hardly call it flaunting,” said Liberty.

“You know,” said Media, “Church does have a point. You two have a reputation for being friendly. Also, there is the matter of the pictures of you and Justice groping each other at the last inauguration.”

“Oh, Justice had a piece of fuzz on her chest. That’s all.”

Justice blushed.

“No it wasn’t,” said Church loosening his collar. “Even if it was, I’m surprised how quickly that went over. Sure, the pictures are bouncing around dorm rooms, but otherwise— no backlash. Nothing. But State tries to knock a tea bug off my back at a picnic and everyone goes wild! We’re just friends!”

“It was a nasty bug,” said State, “and I wouldn’t even go as far as to call us friends. As for the pictures of the ladies, lesbians are more acceptable than gay men.”

Justice shook her head and frowned. Church looked puzzled.

“They’re sexy,” continued State, “and possibly not completely gay.”

Media nodded in agreement.

“You may be right on one count," sighed Church.

“I've been with a woman for centuries!" cried Liberty. "The same woman. Which brings me to our next announcement: We’re pregnant.”

“That’s not possible,” cried Church and State.

“They have a point,” said Media, his eyes wide.

“Oh, new technologies can do wonders!” said Liberty. “We plan to name our first born Compromise.”

“I can’t abide this,” said Church.

“We shouldn’t need anyone’s permission,” said Liberty. “Thank you, Media, for listening, but I believe the interview is through.”

Liberty stood, took Justice’s hand, and together they walked out.

“This is Inconceivable,” said Church.

“This is complicated,” said State.

“This is news!” said Media.

The air conditioner remained silent.

It's Coming. . .

The re-revival is on its way!

The site's been re-designed and in honor of the second silly story collection coming to print, I'm re-reviving the blog, for real this time. Seriously. Go ahead and get excited. We're sticking to the old quota of at least once a week, but no longer than every two.

In the meantime, sit tight and wait for the next round.
A non-handmade version of  A Short Stack of Silly Shorts for the Morally Sidetracked will soon be available, and shortly following that, a second collection of Silly Stories both new and old.

Sorry for the delay between tales, but brighter things are coming!