I stood in shock at the development that this tin-foil sombreroed man had just revealed to me, just as shocked as a squirrel being told by a sombrero wearing deer that her aunt is still alive. Alive?! What could this mean for our dear brothel, which had since come under new management as Rusty Ted’s Waffles and Landscaping Emporium!? As I contemplated the implications of – Wait, something’s wrong here.
Loyal readers of our most humbled alloyed soldier, you must be thinking, who is this VP-Bandit? I know this, because after my previous foray into journalistic excellence in Fall 2011, Issue 2, I disappeared into the Tibetan Wilderness to study the ancient secrets of mind-reading and car salesmanship. Many cups of the squirrel-adrenaline-and-tree-sap mixture they call iul’ghcv (pronounced “man-must-learn-keyboard-smash-before-understand-secrets-of-our-people”) later, I have mastered control over your thoughts, which is why you find yourself continuing to read my harrowing tale. I have also found an incredible increase in Impala sales, but I digress. In any case, if you find yourself confused at any point during my regalation, please refer to my previous “Tale of Captain Jack Sparrow”.
As I was saying, I stood in shock at the development that this tin-foil sombreroed man had just revealed to me, just as shocked as a squirrel being told by a sombrero wearing deer that her aunt is still alive. Alive?! What could this mean for our dear brothel, which had since come under new management as Rusty Ted’s Waffles and Landscaping Emporium!? As I contemplated the implications of this harrowing news, I thought to myself, “Whatever happened to John Stamos? I mean, he was Uncle Jesse. Uncle Jesse would know what to do now.”
Big Al shifted uncomfortably in front of me, idly chewing on an Oreo stem while he waited for my train of contemplative Stamos-thought to reach its inevitable Full-House-Station. “She’s gone into witness protection. She knew the true identity of…”
Big Al looked around, suddenly struck with panic. The sound of his heavy breathing and the bittersweet melody of his slightly-less-than-melodic bells filled the air like the raspberry jello filled the void in my soul after Aunt Ethel died. I swatted away an errant cloud of raspberry jello and leaned closer to Big Al. “Was it….La Muerte De Los Oreos?”
Big Al instantly smiled. “So you know? Excellent. The bilingual mute didn’t let me down after all, then. Let me show you where your going to –“
I cut him off quickly. “Did you just say ‘your’? I believe it’s pronounced ‘you’re’.”
I’ve never seen a man move so quickly. Before I knew it, Big Al had one arm around my waist and was was reaching under his desk with his other hand. I reacted out of sheer unkempt bravado, a remnant from my days serving as John Stamos’ butler (often, Mr. Stamos would jump around a corner and attempt to stab me with a live piranha while I was doing the dishes). Reaching into my pant leg and pulling out the first Iguana I found, I swung with all my might, only to hear a sad “clink” as the iguana went spinning away like an errant Beyblade (Pokemon was to be later invented by my Aunt Ethel, who had disappeared and was thus unable to carry out her destiny. In her later years, Aunt Ethel tried to reclaim her youth by creating hundreds of terrible spinoffs, but that is another story for a later date).
“What in the world?!” bellowed big Al. “Your iguana almost damaged my new The New iPad!”
I stared at his new The New iPad. My eyes began to water at its 9.7 inch revolutionary retina display and high definition camera, weighing under 700 grams. It truly was the most amazing iPad yet.
Big Al leaned in close. “Your Aunt Ethel….you’ll find her at this location.” He pointed to his iPad, which displayed only the reflection of Big Al and myself. The cruel joke suddenly unravelled before me. Could it be true? The cruel, yellow smiley-face loomed before my vision, taunting me like the Higgs Boson taunted science.
I knew their low prices hid something much worse, much more sinister, than reasonable savings ever could. I knew where I had to go, and more importantly, I knew what I had to do. Grabbing the nearest object, which happened to be Big Al himself, I hurled it at the window and grabbed his The New iPad as the glass shattered melodically around me. As I ran off into the inky blackness, Big Al’s last words to me were “Not my new inky blackness! That cost me double!” before the grim silence swallowed me.
I found myself walking through the forest, lost among my thoughts. A ringing in my ears from the glass was the only sound. As I listened harder, the ringing became louder, reaching an almost melodic crescendo. Wait, was that in my ears? I listened carefully. It seemed to be coming from my pocket. How could that be? As I stared at the screen of Big Al’s The New iPad, the message flashed before me in the notification center, introduced in the new iOS5: “Aunt Ethel has requested you as a Facebook friend.”