Archive: 2 posts

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Version 4.0 A Man and His Bench He was sitting on a bench that day. He had fallen in love with it. The bench had been there for him when no one else was. It never left. It never cried. It never slept. It just sat there (what would you expect? It's a bench.) ?Before I continue, I wish to say that it is crucial for you to know the definition of bench I will be using for the next several thousand pages or so about men falling in love with benches. Depending on what house, street intersection, country, or dimensional plane you live in, you will have a very different idea of what a bench is. So my definition is: A long seat, often without a back, for two or more persons.? ?Now, you?re probably wondering, ?What the hell is a seat?? So I decided to get that definition too.? The narrator shuffles through many pages, while explaining to reader what he is doing. ?Oh, I didn?t get that definition. Forgive me for that and forgive me for this horrid definition I am about to give you that will probably be uglier than the Abominable Snowman?s chunky hanging cheeks after waking up from hibernation. And I?m not talking about his face. A seat is a kind of a sitting thingy where you place the majority of your body in order to not have to perform effort, while simultaneously cutting off air supply from bad posture, which is the result of being lazy and not exercising and then realizing when your overly fit friend asks you to go on a hike, you can?t without having to perform the act of sitting.? ?Now, we can finally begin our magical story of murder, revenge, and men in love with benches.? Our young hero is Jack Finnigan. He?s 46. He lives in a city on the northeast coast while working at the local supermarket: John?s Fresh Food, Drink, and Supply Store. There he is assistant manager. To say he loves his job would be an understatement and a lie. He REALLY loves his job. Maybe that?s why he?s in love with a wooden piece that one might think was a bench than had a lightly acidic substance poured on it (by the way this wooden piece is the bench I talked about in paragraph one and it did have a lightly acidic substance poured on it*). Before I cut to the chase, I want to say two things about our friend Finnigan. First of all, he?s gullible as excrement. I?m serious. This man would kill a donkey if you told him it had gold blood that would wash over the Earth and make world peace. Secondly, he has had a really bad rash ever since he started working at John?s lamer than lame store. Jack has a bouncer problem at his house right now. Bouncer=guard. So, why would having bouncers be a problem? Don?t worry they?re only guarding him so no one can kill him, until their boss is ready to kill him. Gruesome, eh? *There was more than just acid. Let?s just say a guy got pretty attached to the bench and the local mafia had it in for him. End of story. You will not find out at all (unless you skip to a later part of the story.) A tall bulky man stand within the boundaries of a condo that resembles a large slightly disorganized cubicle. This cubicle-condo hybrid resides on the 37th floor of a large city complex building. A stubby angry man with a mustache crawls out of the shadow of a sector in the condo-cubicle hybrid and begins to slip words off his tongue into the ear of an emotionless guardian. ?Excuse me, sir.? ?That?s nice.? The guard doesn?t look at the stubby mustache man. He doesn?t flinch. He doesn?t blink. The mustache man begins to talk, but is cut off with another ?that?s nice?. This continues until the guard picks up mustache man and throws him out the window. Guard looks out window to see a splat on a stretch of concrete, he mutters, and then returns to his emotionless statue-esque stance. A cross-eyed, dull-brained man we know as Jack Finnigan sticks his head out of the bathroom doorway and screeches ?Oh my god! You killed Carl!? Through the guard?s annoyance, he manages to whisper out ?And?? ?And what? YOU KILLED CARL!!!? Jack rushes towards the guard only to have is head grabbed and have his stomach receive a punch. Vomit encases the floor in a swirl of pretty colors around them, as the front door slams open to a view of three men. 3 hours earlier A.K.A. Bench love time? Jack sits on a bench at the street intersection of life sucks and I hate everything, emotionally charged; ready to set off on the nearest person like a hydrogen bomb about to catch fire. His father just died, his mother conned him out of ? of his possessions and money, and his dog now has the enlarged head of a hamster. As the days go by, he becomes more and more attached to the bench. Everyone seems to have abandoned him, but it. Jack rubs his hands across the bench as he slowly presses his lips against it. A farting sound erupts and creates a large pocket of tension between them. The nervous facial expressions in the bench?s and Jack?s face are obvious. Then the bench made a move. Not just a move. THE MOVE. So, one thing led to another and they began to live together, and got engaged, and so on. ?Bench! Bench! Bench!? Bench comes into view. ?Oh. There you are. I just wanted to tell you I love you!? The bench smiles, reality flashes in with Jack sitting on the bench making out with it while his drool flows down the side. He looks up only to see several people (some more insane, some less insane than Jack) looking at him with horrified and intrigued faces of dignity destroying power. As he stands awkwardly his drool continues to drizzle down his face. Jack sidles away from the street intersection, hoping to sidle out of existence. Jack begins his long walk home. As he walks he drinks from a giant 7-11 soda container. His bladder slowly fills? When his destination is reached, Jack realizes he drank the entire soda and has to go to the bathroom, with great urgency. So, he heads up into his apartment and goes tinkle, until he hears a large crashing of glass and the events referred to earlier in our epic commence. Realizing his immediate danger among the four men, Jack jumps out the window only to find himself in a more difficult predicament. On his way down before hitting the ground, he remembers the annoying customer that bothered him earlier in the week and utters ?**** Customer!? before hitting the concrete.

2009-05-12 18:01:00 Author: solidturtleman Posts: 16

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That's a nice story about those things we love called benches. I also found it pretty funny at parts too.

2009-05-12 18:37:00 Author: lk9988 Posts: 1077

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