If you prefer: I have the Google Doc version for you—written in Garamond. 🙂
DISCLAIMER:
ALL CHARACTERS, SETTINGS, AND OTHER ELEMENTS DEPICTED IN THIS PIECE ARE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OWNED BY THE SHOW’S CREATORS—ZACH HADEL AND MICHAEL CUSACK—AND THE ORIGINAL NETWORK, ADULT SWIM. THE FOLLOWING SHORT STORY IS A WORK OF FANFICTION AND DOES NOT CONTRIBUTE TO THE OFFICIAL CANON OF THE SHOW ITSELF. I DON’T OWN RIGHTS TO THIS INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY. HOWEVER, NO COMPENSATION IS GIVEN TO ME NOR EXPECTED—THIS PROJECT IS PURELY FOR FUN AND EXPERIMENTATION. THE FOLLOWING PROGRAM CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND COARSE LANGUAGE AND SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE
“Last night, the White House held a press conference in regards to foreign affairs with the Soviet Kingdom,” the news anchor worm reported on the small cable box TV in the break room. “President Frog made quite an effort in trying to negotiate an agreement to cease the manufacturing of nuclear warheads with King Georgestalin. Here’s what President Frog has said to the Soviets:”
“I’m Mr. Frog, hello,” Mr. Frog chuckled at the press. He raised his middle finger and said, “suck me, communist bitches, hello.”
Pim and Charlie were eating lunch from Meep Donalds on the breakroom table. Near the table, Glep laid on his bean bag, playing on his Sweetch. “Escoobettiwoobabadadomat wahjahjah huh,” he swore as he lost a race in the game.
Pim, devouring a Big Meep, initiated their usual break room conversation, “So Charlie, do you have any plans over the weekend?”
Charlie took a sip of his Dr. Meep soda. He cleared his throat, “Well, I’ve been meaning to try out this bizarre bar from Bizarzar that’s right around the corner. It’s called McBoingloing’s.”
“Hmm, sounds like a lovely quaint establishment!”
“Yeah man. I heard about it on Tiktok. They say that their liquor comes from this Bizarzarian Bizarharian Daniblizarian Tardtar—a natural ingredient you wouldn’t find anywhere in the States. I’ve heard it’s twice—maybe three times—as strong as tequila.”
“Hmm. Well I hope you get home safe, Charlie,” Pim said. “And I hope you don’t overdo it with the drinking—considering you almost stabbed me with that fake plastic knife.”
“Meh, I’ll be fine, man. I’ll just take a shot of those pre-hangover fluids from the pharmacy.”
“Hey boys…” Mr. Boss peeked into the lounge from the hallway. “I got a new assignment for you.”
Pim’s chipper eyes glimmered as he and Charlie turned their attention to their boss.
“Hoo-ray! What is it, Mr. Boss?” Pim chimed.
“I would like you to meet this client,” Mr. Boss moved into the lounge where a Crusader-era knight in silver-plated armor, helmet, and chainmail followed him. “This is Celsior.”
“Hey,” breathed out of Celsior’s deep, tinny, English-accented, voice as he was greeting Pim and Charlie by waving his metallic knight glove.
“Hello Mr. Celsior,” Pim waved back. “I’m Pim, and this is Charlie.”
“Hey man, what’s up?” Charlie said.
“So anyways,” Mr. Boss started explaining, “your job is to make Celsior smile. And in order to get him to smile, he wants you to help him master the ways in taking back the Holy Land and slaughterin—I mean combatting the evil people that are currently occupying his land.”
Pim and Charlie eyeballed at each other, uncertain on what to make with this. Charlie turned to Mr. Boss and Celsior to ask, “could you give us a moment?” The boys huddled together, away from the client and their boss. “Pim, I don’t know how I feel about this job. I’m not really used to helping people kill others, you know what I mean?”
“Well yeah, Charlie,” Pim whispered. “It be rotten for us to be responsible of the deaths that Mr. Celsior would bring.” Pim turned his head at the knight for a brief second. “But then again, we have to do our job and make him smile. If anything, Mr. Boss did say that his enemies are ‘evil.’”
“I suppose you got a point, Pim. If anything, we could just help him in training. Like, we wouldn’t be the ones doing the direct killing, right?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Pim nodded.
“So pretty much, all we could do is help him in fighting and—”
Celsior decapitated Mr. Boss.
The boys’ heart rates accelerated as their eyes widened to the sight of the severed head bouncing off of the floor before hitting the leg of the breakroom table. His face came before Pim and Charlie’s eyes. Each cavity of his head trickled out copper-scented blackish-red blood at an unimaginable fast rate.
“Holy fucking hell!” Charlie shouted.
“OH MY GOD!” Pim covered his mouth.
Mr. Boss’ slender body stood for what seemed to be a minute. Four seconds to be exact. The exposed jugular vein gushed out a highly-pressurized stream of blood, splashing all over the goddamn kitchen appliances and furniture.
A small drop of the blood landed on Glep’s face. “Esckebetiwactawawayoweshdamnisupadoodadosh!” he complained.
The headless body slammed to the ground. Its jugular vein formed a blackish-red pool on the tile floor.
Celsior approached Pim and Charlie with his bloodied sword in hand.
Pim hugged Charlie like there was no tomorrow; he covered his face by planting it onto Charlie’s orange sweater. Charlie embraced Pim while watching Celsior approach them in horror.
Celsior looked at the boys eye-to-eye. He then retreated back and chuckled like a mad man. Eventually, he laughed like a professional prankster.
Pim and Charlie stared at each other, confused. After that brief moment, they turned their attention to another laugh; it sounded gurgly like a slaughtered pig.
Mr. Boss’ head sprayed out a mixture of saliva and blood while laughing.
Celsior composed himself after a while. “Oh my God! Did you see the looks of their faces?”
“Yup,” Mr. Boss slowed his laughter. His dismembered body stood back up and picked up his animated severed head. “We got them so good.” He spun his own head back in its place like a lightbulb.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Charlie let go of Pim, throwing his arms in the direction of the two pranksters. “That was not funny. I am not laughing. I thought you were dead. You created a whole mess Allan has to clean.”
“That wasn’t right, Mr. Boss,” Pim frowned, disappointed. “I thought we were past this.”
“Well it was all worth it, guys,” Mr. Boss said, comforting Pim and Charlie with his warm embrace. “I just needed to find a way to deliver you information about the actual assignment.”
“Well, why couldn’t you just tell us directly?” Charlie asked.
“Because it wouldn’t be as fun as this. Am I right, Celsior?”
“Uh-huh,” Celsior nodded as he finished wiping out the blood from the sword and concealing it back into the sheath.
“Anyways,” Mr. Boss stepped back. “We have an actual client that needs a smile on their face. You two would need to find a way to get into their world, as they are not a part of our realm. I think you would be able to get to their world if you meet up in one of your homes and deconstruct.”
“What do you mean by ‘deconstruct?’” Pim asked.
“You’ll see,” Mr. Boss responded. “Meanwhile, Celsior and I will be heading over to McBoingloing’s for some of those tardtar shots. So if you have any questions, that’s where we’ll be at. Now chop-chop before you get ‘chopped-chopped.’” He gave out a wide slender grin showing off his hundred teeth with blood seeping through the small gaps of each tooth.
The boys went over to Charlie’s apartment to get to the client’s location. They had parked their Smiling Friends mobile on the side where street water was flowing away from the sidewalk and hitting the tires of the car. A sky-blue skinned homeless man approached the driver’s side of the vehicle only to bash his head against the window which shattered, and collected some cash from one of the compartments.
Inside Charlie’s modest, gray-walled apartment, he and Pim were sitting on the floor cross-legged. Still figuring out how to deconstruct.
“Are you quite familiar with deconstructing, Pim?”
“No, not quite. I’m not at all familiar with this peculiar practice.”
“Man, I don’t know how I’m gonna go about this considering that image scarring in my head.”
“Yeah,” Pim shivered. “We’ll probably need to see a therapist for that. That was pretty ugly.” Pim’s exposed nerve fiber sprang up—a revelation. “You know, Charlie, I think I know the reason why Mr. Boss pulled that nasty prank on us.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I guess to ‘deconstruct’ we gotta meditate. I guess that’s something we could try to rid ourselves of the trauma.”
Charlie placed his finger on his chin, before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
Pim and Charlie shut their eyes. The room was quiet as an anechoic chamber. All they saw was blackness with faint sunlight seeping through their eyelids. They breathed in and out. In and out. In and out.
In and out.
In.
And out.
Their brains had started slowing down. Their nervous systems slowed the rate at which signals were being passed around. Their minds emptied. Their trauma deconstructed. Everything was deconstructed. Just deconstructed. D e c o n s t r u c t e d. D e c o n s t r u c t e d.
d c n t u t d
e o s r c e
After what seemed to be a minute, they finally opened their minds. Cleared their thoughts.
Nothing changed. They were still in the same apartment unit.
“Hmm,” Pim said. “I thought we deconstructed.”
“Well, at least we tried. I don’t know how else we’re able to ‘deconstruct.’”
“I guess we should tell The Boss that we’re unable to get to our client.”
“Yeah, at least we tried. Let’s hope he was joking about chopping our heads off. Besides, even if he wasn’t, I could go for a round at McBoingloing’s.”
“Fair enough,” Pim nodded as he and Charlie got up from the apartment floor and started making their way to the door.
As soon as Pim touched the door handle, Charlie said “you know, Pim: while we were doing the meditating deconstruction thing, I couldn’t help but think.”
“Think about what, Charlie?”
“How is it that unlike any other adventures we’ve had, this one feels kinda off?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, I’m just not seeing anything clearly honestly. It’s like there’s not really a picture going on in my head.”
“Now that you mentioned it, I noticed that too.”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m not able to have an actual visual in front of me. It’s like there’s something that allows us to experience what we’re experiencing right now.”
”Yeah, I guess you’re right. In fact, I know that you’re here with me, but you’re not. I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Me neither. Like um, this is nothing. This is literally nothing.”
“Oh heavens! Where are we, Charlie? You’re still here right?”
“I have no idea, dude.
Oh my God! We’re literally text. Shit. No fucking way we’re a combination of letters and sentences!”
“Oh dear Lord! This is mind-blowingly new! I never knew this state even existed. Where are we?”
“I think we clipped ourselves into a backroom, Pim. We’re literally just dialogue with quotation marks around us!”
“This must be where Mr. Boss wanted to send us. I guess that worked but it’s just you and me. How do we even find our client?”
“Hmm. I don’t know, Pim. How are we ever going to find this person?”
“Maybe, if we try to announce our presence, they might pop in. We’ll just have to pay attention to an unfamiliar block of text and see if it’s a person different from us.”
“Fair enough. It’s worth a try.”
“Hello?”
“Hello??”
“I’m Pim and the other one is Charlie, and we are the Smiling Friends. Is anybody out there? Did anyone need a smile on their face?”
“Where are they? I don’t sense anyone else in our presence. Why did The Boss even send us here to this weird-ass place?”
“Well a client’s a client. We need to find them. It’s not like we have any other choices. We are manifesting ourselves in words.”
“‘Manifesting ourselves in words,’ hmm… Well, I mean, there has to be someone who is able to manifest our own voices and everything.”
“I suppose you have a point, Charlie. You also said that we’re just a string of dialogue that you would find in a book. Oh wait. If we’re just a block of text that some entity is perceiving from their perspective, then what are we if we’re just words? If there isn’t anybody to witness what we’re saying, then what are we?”
“Ah. So you’re suggesting that someone else is present during our exchange, right?”
“I believe so.”
“Oh my God. I think I know who our client is. Hey you! The one who’s processing my words. Are you our client? Say something to let us know that you’re here.”
Yes.
“Aw you see that, Pim? An unquoted piece of text indicates that we got the idea.”
“Ah splendid! Why hello fellow reader. This is Pim speaking. And the other guy who just spoke is Charlie. And together we’re the Smiling Friends. How can we be of service today?”
[…]1
“So you want us to do what?” Pim asked.
[…]
“Well, I don’t know how we’re going to do that,” Pim continued. “We’re literally just a string of text that you’re currently processing right now.”
“Um yeah,” Charlie said. “You know? Maybe you could try to visualize us as physical beings? I just noticed that there are dialogue tags that were just added in our conversation.”
You visualized Pim and Charlie in human form.
“Woah!” Charlie’s eyes widened at the sight of Pim—a 5’ 4” person with purple-dyed hair. “We’re actual humans.”
“No way, Charlie! Your nose has gotten smaller. And you no longer have those beady eyeballs anymore.”
“You know, friend? Would you mind interpreting us as our normal selves?”
You said fine and switched their bodies back to their own style. And also their voices.
Charlie inspected his own hands to verify that they were yellow. “Alright bet—” his beady eyes widened to where the whites of his eyes were showing. He covered his mouth upon hearing himself. “What the fuck?” Charlie said in a Pim voice. “That’s not what I sound like.”
“I don’t enjoy hearing ‘myself’ swear in Charlie’s body. Can you change that?” Pim asked in Charlie’s voice.
You laughed. Snap. You changed their voices back.
“Sounds like you’re already smiling.” Charlie said. “That’s basically what you needed from us?”
There’s one more thing I need from you, you said.
“Well what is it?” Pim asked.
You asked them to do something egregious and outright disgusting.
Pim, covering his mouth and widening his eyes, took a few steps back to process the shock he received.
“No way!” Charlie objected. “There’s gotta be something else to help you smile besides that.”
Well, I guess you’re stuck here forever.
“Charlie,” Pim looked down at the barren white space floor, running his hand down to his other arm like a child, “if we don’t do it, we’ll be stuck here forever.”
Charlie stared at Pim for a moment, trying to process his next steps. “If we do it, can you make us forget about this?”
Okay fine. Just do it.
Charlie gulped and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Pim. At least it’ll be over soon.”
Pim turned his back from Charlie. Charlie struggled to put his hands on Pim—
Chime. You smiled.
“Huh?” Charlie said.
“But wait, we haven’t even done our favor yet,” Pim said.
I’m just messing with you. Besides, Mr. Boss has a surprise for you.
“Are you kidding me?! Mr. Boss put you up to this?!” Charlie shouted right before he found himself sitting on a barstool. “Huh, where am I?” He looked at Pim next to him, with a glass of water. He then gazed at the exotic liquors and beer taps along the wall and bar. The bar itself was artisanally hand-crafted on cocobolo wood in exquisite detail of people and hieroglyphs.
“Welcome to McBoingloing’s! What can I get for you?” a cyan-colored bartender asked.
Charlie tapped his fingers on the bar deciding on what to drink. “Something to help me forget about today, I guess.”
Woohoo!! Pim and Charlie turned toward the commotion. They see Mr. Boss riding on a mechanical bull while holding a bottle of Meepo’s Vodka. Celsior was among the crowd that surrounded the mechanical bull ring seeing his friend doing hammered activities. “Fuck man! Let’ssss get liiiit.”
The boys then looked at each other—confounded by the events spanned over a couple of minutes. “So,” Charlie said, “do you understand what just happened, dude? Is there anything we should learn from that experience?”
“I don’t know, Charlie,” Pim said. “That was pretty bizarre. It was nothing like what we’ve experienced so far.”
The bartender handed Charlie a glass of coke with a single shot of tardtar. “Are we opening or closing the tab?”
Charlie took out his wallet to take out his debit card. He turned his attention towards Mr. Boss throwing up and passing out in the mechanical bull ring. He then gave his card to the bartender, “ehm… we’ll open it for now I guess.”
End credits.
Glep was still in his beanbag with blood stained on his face—occupied on his Sweetch games. The blood stains and giblets of gore remained on the tile-pattern kitchen floor and appliances. Allan wheeled a custodial cart into the breakroom.
“Okay,” Allan said. “It’s time to clean up all this blood-uh.”
He stuck his tongue out, licked the floor and surrounding elements clean. All in one lick. Within a second. “Mmm… del-ish-i-ose!”
- the dialogue marked “[…]” are your lines. you get to decide. 🙂 ↩︎
poopydavid's blog 