Chapter 3: Rednecks, Cannibals, and other Horrible Things
(mature content. Actually, the same goes for most of these stories)
The barn looked quite brown from the inside. Too brown in fact. Inside, Bobby stood there staring directly into the face of a cannibal.
“I’m really looking forward to having someone’s eyeballs for dinner tonight! Yum yum delicious!” the cannibal exclaimed excitedly. The cannibal seemed to know what he was talking about.
“I mean some people argue against cannibalism but I really don’t see the big deal,” the cannibal continued. “It’s just as normal as lions eating lions or elephants eating elephants. What is so terribly wrong about eating your own species? Gosh! My dad always brought home people from the graveyard and we would store them in our freezer. Do you know how long a they can keep you fed? Believe me, it’s a long time!” Bobby nodded.
“Hey, you wanna be my dinner tonight?” the cannibal asked Bobby, pointing. “I won’t charge you any money.” Another man suddenly burst through the barn door and stood right between Bobby and the cannibal.
“Hey guys, my name is anti-cannibal, and I’m a cannibalism protestor,” the man declared. “I would just like to say that cannibalism isn’t really that terrible, but I’m still against it. I have a more serious problem with self-cannibalism though. You see, I think that it would be the worst thing ever if you ate parts of yourself.” The cannibal just stared at the anti-cannibal for a second.
“Ok, look!” the cannibal sighed, “I am so sick of all of you idiotic cannibalism protestors! I mean what is really wrong with eating other people! It is so in these days, man. You are so not with it. On another note I will agree with you about self-cannibalism. It is disgusting and gross. Yuck! EWW! Hey, wanna be my dinner tonight?”
The cannibalism protestor smacked the cannibal in the face, turning it red. “Shut up you dough head!” the anti-cannibal screamed. “I’ve had enough of your ridiculous human rights statements! Why can’t you just eat other species like normal? Eat cows and chickens!” But then, just as the anti-cannibal and the cannibal were about to fight even more, another man entered the barn.
“Yo everyone!” the new man yelled. Bobby noticed a strange facial feature which this man possessed. Or didn’t possess. He was missing his nose. The man continued speaking. “My name is auto-cannibal and I would just like to say that if I were either of you, I would definitely eat my nose instead of my eyeballs.” he laughed dumbly, like a surfer. The cannibal glared at the auto-cannibal. The anti-cannibal picked up a rake and starting beating the head of the auto-cannibal.
“You suck!” said the anti-cannibal. “I hate auto-cannibals.”
“Ow!” the auto-cannibal shrieked. “You’re hitting my brain. Ow! You should be happy I’m not eating you, unlike the other guy!”
“Shut up you dough head!” the anti-cannibal yelled. “I hate people who eat parts of themselves!”
“Gosh!” the cannibal bellowed after he picked up a broom and began banging the head of both the other guys. “I hate anti-cannibalism just as much as I hate auto-cannibalism! You both deserve a good whacking in the noggin!”
“I love eating myself!” the auto-cannibal cried. He then managed to pick up a cattle prod that was standing in the corner and began bashing the head of both the other guys. The next couple of minutes involved each man yelling horrible things to each other. Eventually, the cannibal was whacking the anti-cannibal, the anti-cannibal was whacking the auto-cannibal, and the auto-cannibal was whacking the cannibal. It was a truly gruesome sight. During the fight, the auto-cannibal pulled a bunch of paper out of his pocket and started to quickly shove it in his mouth, chew it, and swallow it all.
“I eat paper too,” he said.
Just as Bobby was getting sick of the drama and about to leave, the door of the barn crashed down and a redneck with a huge shotgun walked inside. The three cannibal-related men stopped fighting and stared at the redneck. The auto-cannibal even stopped shoving paper into his mouth.
“Do you actually consider this funny!?” the redneck barked, hoisting up his shotgun.
“It ain’t! Cannibals can kiss my butt! This is the third time this tarnated escapade has happened in this barn! I ain’t standin’ for it!” The redneck shot three slugs, murdering the cannibal, auto-cannibal, and anti-cannibal in sequence. The three bodies tumbled to the floor.
The redneck slowly walked towards Bobby and glared at him intensely.
“Thanks,” said Bobby. “I didn’t like them either.”
“No problem. Wanna play some golf?” the redneck asked.
Bobby slowly nodded and responded timidly. “Um..sure…” The redneck smiled and nodded in approval.
“Good,” the redneck whispered and pulled a very beaten down tennis ball out of his overalls pocket. “Ok, so here are the rules,” the redneck continued, “we each take turns trying to hit the east wall of this barn with the golf ball.” The redneck appeared to think that the tennis ball was a golf ball. “So,” he explained, “with my shotgun we will try and hit the ball at the east wall. The par can be zero. So if you don’t make it in zero shots, you lose the round. Understand?” Bobby nodded intently. The redneck then placed the tennis ball on the ground, grabbed his shotgun, and holding it like a golf club, whacked the tennis ball right into the east wall.
“Dang nammit!” the redneck screamed, dropping to his knees on the ground. “I failed. I hit the east wall in one shot! Come on! I got a bogey for heavens sake! Your turn, feller.” Bobby took a good swing and hit the east wall also in one shot.
“Ha! We’re tied! I ain’t so bad after all!” the redneck cackled, running around Bobby and sticking his tongue out at him. Then something strange happened. The redneck picked up the shotgun and shot the tennis ball, breaking it into hundreds of little pieces.
“Ya stupid golf ball!” the redneck bellowed, “you deserved that! Cain’t even get a par!” Bobby was somewhat speechless. Suddenly, the door burst open and in came a group of policemen holding tiny water guns.
“Freeze! This is the chief of police talking,” the chief of police shouted. “You are being arrested under suspicion for the murders of cannibal, anti-cannibal, auto-cannibal, and all the other cannibals from the past! There were at least five of them.” Bobby slowly backed up into a corner. The redneck tried to shoot the police, but was out of ammo. He merely put his hands on his hips and ran out of the barn with the shotgun, right past the police. They sprayed him with their water guns but it was no use. The redneck had escaped!
“Call in the big guns! Our arms are not useful against this suspect!” radioed the chief of police. Momentarily, the SWAT van showed up. The chief of police ran over to it and took out the special ultra-powerful water cannon. It was reserved for emergencies just like this one.
The redneck ran away as fast as he could, which was about three times as fast as the police were running. He decided that the best thing to do was to jump right into a pond. When he did so, the freezing water covered his body, sending shock waves of coldness throughout it.
“Dear Lord, put me in an oven!” the redneck prayed, yelling up at the sky. The police got there, and the chief readied his giant water cannon.
“I am!” said the redneck. He was shot by the cannon. The tremendous force of the blast made him sink fully into the pond, stunned and hurt. As soon as the redneck surfaced again, a frog jumped out of the water and the chief of police accidentally shot it. A strange and miraculous thing happened next. The frog actually turned into a princess.
“I like shooting missiles and destroying things with my machine guns,” the redneck explained. “God, guns, and machine guns! That is LIFE. Look,” the redneck continued, “the police are after us with water guns and a darned dangerous water cannon! You and and me have to escape them. Do you know a good hiding spot?”
The princess responded in a monotone voice. “Follow me. I believe there’s a small house which is concealed in the woods over that way. I doubt the police will ever be able to find it.” She climbed out of the pond and began running towards the dark woods. The redneck followed, keen to escape the dangers of the water gun police. They shot him in the butt with the water cannon. The redneck dropped to the ground, yelling in agony.
“Got you, you dumb redneck!” shouted the chief of police. The redneck found his inner strength and got up in a Herculean effort. He chased after the princess, again. The police pursued but were too slow.
After running through the dense, pine-filled forest for a few minutes, the princess and the redneck came to an old abandoned two-story cabin. The princess beckoned for the redneck to follow her inside as she opened the creaky wooden door. There was a strange, creepy energy inside. It was cold and the redneck thought that he could hear a howling from somewhere upstairs.
“I’m going to have a look upstairs!” the redneck called to the princess, carrying his shotgun with him. He put two shells in it.
“I’ll bake you some muffins, my prince.” The princess nodded and started to get the ingredients out for baking apple-cinnamon muffins. Just as she was about to begin mixing, she heard a noise from outside the cabin. She turned and saw a man walked directly towards the cabin door. She was horrified, and almost fainted.
“I’m a bad guy! I make fun of people that die!” the strange man whimpered sarcastically as he walked up the steps to the door.
“This moment has finally arrived and my mouth is full of saliva!” he said rhythmically.
Just as the redneck was finished clearing the upstairs, he heard the princess screaming from below.
“Help, a bad guy is here! A bad guy is here!” she called up to the redneck. Quickly, the redneck bounded down the stairs with his shotgun ready to shoot. As he entered the kitchen he saw the bad guy holding the princess against the wall with a knife pointing at her throat.
Just as the redneck was about to shoot him, he put up his hand and began speaking. “Ok look,” the bad guy began, “I’m not really a bad guy. You see I look like a bad guy but I’m actually a good guy.”
“Shut up,” the redneck growled, putting his finger on the trigger.
“No no no! Wait! I can explain,” the bad guy exclaimed. “You see, every time my dad washes my hair, it makes me look like a bad guy even though I’m actually not one. So, since every time he washes my hair I look like a bad guy, I have to act like a bad guy. If I act like a good guy when I look like a bad guy the police will charge me for identity theft. So I act like a bad guy and the police just charge me for theft, or whatever other things bad guys do. But it really works out much better if I act like a bad guy!” The redneck stared at the man attempting to process all the words that this ‘good guy who acts and looks like a bad guy’ said.
“Wait!” the redneck exclaimed after having an idea. “If you commit all these crimes that real bad guys do, don’t that make you a bad guy yourself?” The redneck smiled, feeling extra satisfied about what he just said.
“No,” the bad guy contradicted, “that’s not true. You see, at heart I’m good so it doesn’t matter what bad things I do, I’m still a good guy.”
“No way!” the redneck argued, “that would mean that all criminals who have good hearts are good guys. That ain’t right! Anyway, why would you want to get charged for something like murder instead of identity theft?”
“Are you kidding me? Murder is way more fun than identity theft!” the bad guy laughed.
“Ahah!” shouted the redneck! “So you ARE a bad guy, because you enjoy murder! Go to hell!”
“No,” the bad guy argued again, “my toy ghost goes into me every night, controls my actions and plays tricks on me! He’s the one who enjoys murder. He’s a bad guy. He is always committing identity theft by controlling me!”
“That’s not what identity theft, is you brick brain!” the redneck scoffed. “You are so stupid! You’re still a bad guy no matter what your toy ghost does to you at night! I don’t give a crap!”
“I’m not a bad guy!” the bad guy screamed.
“Yes you are!” bellowed the redneck.
“NO I’M NOT!” the bad guy raised his fist. The redneck shot the bad guy in the face. He splatted. He shot the princess by accident as well, not knowing any gun safety. The redneck swiped his hands together in satisfaction. Although the princess was slightly interesting, it was nice to have the idiotic bad guy dead. But then, just as the redneck was about to leave, he heard a horrible ticking sound coming from the bad guy’s dead body. Tick tick tick tick! The redneck screamed in realization. The bad guy had a ticking time bomb! The redneck quickly ran out of the house, his feet pounding aggressively over the soft soil. A tear trickled down the redneck’s face. Then the redneck figured out exactly what his last words should be.
He looked up at the sky and shrieked, “Dear Lord, tell Magic Man I shouldn’t have cheated on him! I was his best baby boyfriend!” Tick tick tick tick BOOM!! The cabin exploded and so did the redneck and all the land in a mile radius.
And so Bobby finished up his story and Magic Man listened to the story through his secret hearing device and called the redneck a stupid teenager boy under his breath. Then he called the princess a stupid teenager girl.
Finally, Magic Man finished up his tale in the cafe and Jeans and him went to get some gellato. It was burnt, however, from all the explosions.
“After that, I left the restaurant and joined my hysterical family outside,” said Tommy Johnson.
“Well, that’s about it.” Tommy Johnson stared idly away. He took the last sip in his pint of beer. “I’m done. Have a good night.” He started to get up.
“But this stuff can’t be real. It doesn’t make a ounce of sense!” replied Jackson, with an edge to his voice.
“Trust me, it is.” Tommy Johnson slowly walked out of the restaurant. Jackson was perplexed by all the stories. They had gotten weird and weirder until he just didn’t know what the old storyteller was talking about. Jackson was uneasy. “Well, at least I can go home and sleep. Hopefully things will get normal again. Gosh, I was just wishing my job was over but now it seems an awful lot better than listening to this guy talking to me.” Jackson took an idle glance over to the bartender. He was looking at the wall, daydreaming. “See you later. Good night.” Jackson’s comment was replied to with an abrupt grunt and “Night.”
The patent worker got out of the pub and quickly started walking to his car, which was down a few streets. The wind was considerably colder than it had been before. It was two-o’-clock in the night. The only thing lighting the streets were the dim, yellow streetlights. Jackson idly looked down a remote alleyway. What he saw made his stomach want to jump out of his mouth. There, in the shadows, was a man with six creepy eyes. He was slyly opening someone’s fence. After he got in their yard, he sneaked up to the porch. The freak cackled as he turned the doorknob and sneaked inside. He was illuminated for one brief, horrible moment.
Jackson buried his head in his hands, and collapsed onto the grass beside the sidewalk. His whole world came crashing down.