That One Story

January 23, 2008
By Yixin Lin, Fremont, CA

“Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.”
Mark Twain, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
I do not own:
Mark Twain, Aventures of Huckleberry Finn, James Bond, Barney, the Genre of Fantasy, the world, the name Bob, the ideas of old crones, castles, dungeons, etc.
If you find a copyright violation, tell me, and when I feel like it, I’ll correct it.
This is meant to be a COMEDY. If you think that this is too inappropriate for you, first consider that a children’s book will have more violence than this, then throw this away.
If you’re a jock and think this is way too complicated a book, then go get a dictionary and try using your brain. If you’re a genius and think that this is way too easy a read, first consider that THIS IS MEANT TO BE A COMEDY, NOT LORD OF THE RINGS and then throw this book away.
If you don’t get the jokes in this story, then first consider the fact that most children will get the jokes in this story, then throw this book away.
If you don’t feel like throwing it away, don’t. I sincerely hope you don’t.
My Attempt at Comedy on the basic concept that the Genre of Fantasy is WAY TOO CLICHÉ
Title Page: Page 1
Notes and Such: Page 2
Table of Contents…page 3
Chapter 1: Serious Doubts…page 4
Chapter 2:The Magical Powers of Sheep Bones (and Chocolate)…page 5
Chapter 3: It’s a Deal! 7
Chapter 4: Taking Over the World…page 9
Chapter 5: Finding “It”…page 10
Chapter 6: Packing for an Adventure! What Fun…NOT! 11
Chapter 7: Getting Captured is Not Very Fun…
Chapter 8: This One’s a Smart One…page 15
Chapter 9: Man Make His Own Luck, (Except When He Doesn’t)…page 17
Chapter 10: Confronting the Confronter…page 18
Chapter 11: The Aftermath, Not to be Confused with After Math Class…21

Chapter 1: Serious Doubts

Bob was not very excited. It’s hard to be when you have been waiting in line for more than 2 hours, despite blatant statements that “you’ll get your service in a snap of a finger” in those advertisements.
“NEXT!” cried the old crone lady. Of course, she wasn’t talking to Bob. He is still halfway in line.
Bob was having serious doubts about spending half of his entire supply of money to get a old lady throw some bones (which are claimed to be dragon’s bones, by the way, but it sure looks like sheep’s bones to Bob) and tell his fortune, which is probably going to be lies and ego-massaging anyway. However, it is apparently the new fad, according to Bob’s friends and Bob is already rock-bottom in the social hierarchy. So there he was, standing there in a stuffy old reception room with a possible hypocrite hoarding enough money to pay all of his bills with money to spare.
He knew some people have already died from the extreme stuffiness and complete boringness.
Bob sighed. Why on earth was he here again?

Chapter 2: The Mystical Powers of Sheep’s Bones (and Chocolate)
After some time, it happened that Bob finally got to the first in line. This amount of time is equivalent to the amount of time it takes to invent a cure for cancer, but Bob, being Bob the wannabe cool guy, waited.
And waited
And waited some more.
"NEXT!” cried the old crone, like she did the last twelve thousand times. “COME ON IN! Or you’ll be booted out…”
Bob took a peek inside.
And quickly thrust his head back the door.
He didn’t do so because he was amazed at the mystical look inside. He didn’t do so because of a mixture of fear and awe.
No, he did so because, apparently, the old crone was a chocoholic.
The space inside was gigantic, yet it appeared small because it was filled to the brim with chocolate. Piles of wrappers littered the ground, like leaves on an autumn day. Still unwrapped mountains of Kit-Kats and Hershey’s Milk Chocolates (99 cents each!) stood impassively, as a chocolate fountain happily spewed candied delights.
This place is better stocked than Wily Wonka’s Chocolate Factory! Bob thought.
This was a 5-year old’s dream. With a 100-year old in the middle of it.
“COME ON IN!” cried the crone.
“Erm, sure. Mind me asking if—“
“Why I love chocolates so much? Well, you might think I’m some old chocoholic, but I’m not. Did you know, in fact, that chocolate enhances the brain’s ability to see past the mundane wall…and into the future!” She spoke like someone near the deathbed of a close family member.
Bob chortled.
“Yeah right,” Bob said.
“What, do you doubt my abilities of precognition? How dare you… We shall see your future in the crystal ball!” Then she grinned like a demon and the cackling sound filled the warehouse of chocolate.
“Hm… your future is shrouded in a cloak of mystery! My sources predict, lemme see your palm, that is one of the best ways to talk to the extra ordinary, they say, um, that you are supposed have died yesterday!” she cried dramatically.
Bob laughed.
“No, wait, wait, let me see. Erm, that may be because of an impossible fluke of the divinities…” Her voice trailed off into nothingness. “WELL… um, let’s try throwing sheep—I mean dragon—bones. Um, so, as you can see…”
Bob observed the “dragon” bones which have fallen into a pattern. The shape look like a toilet to me, thought Bob.
“Well, the divinities say that you will—“ She peered down.
Her eyes widened.
“NO! It cannot be… YOU ARE THE ONE!”
Then she collapsed on her own special pile of Crunch chocolate bars.
“You… are… the…”the old lady panted with the last of her breath, “hero…”
Now, a normal person would have just said “screw you” and gone back to farming and agriculture, like he’s been doing before. But Bob likes grandeur. Bob wants to be “cool”. And how better to do that than be some awesome hero?
I guess it’s my turn to save the world, thought Bob.

Chapter 3: It’s a Deal!
A winter breeze blew across the garden, sending shivers in a blond man. His companion did not do so much as glance at the grass, rippling to the shock wave of the breeze.
“So. Is it a deal?”
“Now…? Does the decision have to be made… now?” The blond quavered at the thought.
“Yes. You must understand that it has to be made, sooner than later. At the count of 15. Fifteen…”
“Good. I’m glad we can do business together. Now, the fifteen trillion dollars will be sent tomorrow, via UPS. The other half will be given to you on completion of the assignment. Remember: I need to be in power in 15 days. The horoscopes declare it.”
“You actually believe in this—“
The blond uttered a word neither I nor you should ever utter. Yes. That includes you.
“Yes, I believe in this (insert swear word here). Now, take the candy gods’ blessings.”
“Why do you believe that the candy gods exist? Just because you are addicted to chocolate—“
“FINE, I’ll go!”
And the candy gods, apparently, favored him.

Chapter 4: Taking Over the World
The domination of the world took less than I take to brush my teeth. Instead of guns, WMDs, and James Bond making a move, there was just one blackmail. That may sound evil. It is. After all, it was threatening—you guessed it—Barney.
No, seriously, it was threatening the one supply of food that children want to eat nowadays. Sad but true.
The presidents and monarchs of the world shuddered as a piece of chocolate was forever destroyed by a microwave oven.
“Fine!” The world’s emperors screamed pitifully, as though rehearsed.
“Be that way,” sniffed one particularly offended one.
Now that’s settled and the world is under tyranny.
And guess who’s here to save the day?
What a lucky day for humanity. Some idiot takes over the world, then some other idiot tries to take it back.

Chapter 5: Finding “It”
“I found it!”
Bob grinned with relief. The sweat invested seemed like no importance now. The day moved slowly as the sweltering sun beat relentlessly against him. At first he had not an idea where the Evil Tyrant’s lair is. It was supposedly cleverly concealed by state-of-the-art engineering, involving complex subjects such as Superawesome Physics to the power of 2 squared plus E=MC2 cubed. He also had no idea what that meant. Bob lost hope after he read about the systems modern people use to conceal things. With an increased amount of greed, everyone searched for ways to conceal, which resulted in bizarre procedures. Including one involving the seat of a toilet.
Bob did not read that particular one further.
However, apparently the evil tyrant did not choose this path. Bob had been looking in the wrong places. Instead of it being hidden underground, or in secret forests, or in desolate mausoleums that no one comes near, or in underground desolate mausoleums which are in secret forests that no one comes near, it was hidden in the busiest place in the world: James Bond’s Autograph Signing Bureau.
No, seriously, it was hidden in Tokyo’s streets, in plain sight. The Japanese Ex-Emperor gave the evil tyrant his own palace after seeing the horrific blackmailing the evil tyrant’s henchman conducted on chocolate. He was glad about it, too; the palace had a huge mice problem. According to the Scientific Community That Doesn’t Exist, mice have a population of about twenty bajillion gigamillion to the power of 76 times two squared, and as no one has any idea how much that is, everyone just assumes that mice have a population that rivals the amount of clichés there are. And, therefore, because mice prefer to have grand, magnificent shelters, mice have populated the Japanese palace precisely two seconds after it was built.
As the evil tyrant soon found out, no mice exterminator program works.
All the better for Bob. He was going to remove the filth of the evil tyrant and allow the spring of humane reason to burst forth.
How cliché.

Chapter 6: Packing for an Adventure! What Fun… NOT!
Bob rubbed his eyes wearily, bored to the edge of insanity. He had been packing for the last 5 hours, most of which was spent attempting to stuff 8 tons of popcorn in a handbag.
OK, now the 13th cup of coffee.
What he needed on his quest is…
He got enough (squished) popcorn to last for a year. Check.
Now, next on the list. Water. Well, he doesn’t have water, but he most definitely has 7 quarts of soda and 6 quarts of coffee. This is compressed into a square millimeter.
Hopefully, it didn’t get in the popcorn. Hopefully.
Next. Something entertaining and intellectually stimulating, such as chess or a musical instrument.
Check. He also somehow managed to stuff a pack of cards in the handbag, too. Of course, it’s probably sharing its room with some popcorn, and it’s not going to be pretty. Who cares, it’s not like he actually knows how to play solitaire. Or any card game at all, for that matter.
Next. A weapon? Bob burst into laughter. He can barely wield a toothpick, let alone some deadly weapon. The mere thought of him actually using some weapon… the notion of it was impossible.
OK, that’s it, right?
The door creaked open. Bob ran like the wind. Or an extremely slow breeze, anyway. Plane rides were not the most tempting when you are burning with excitement.
This is going to be a long night.
A very long night.

Chapter 7: Getting Captured is Not Very Fun
Bob was not impressed at the display of wealth. The design included solid gold pillars and diamonds that are apparently larger than the brains of the architects who designed it. Don’t they get that using house-sized pearls or dazzling lights directly imported from Las Vegas do not, in fact, conceal the secret hideout of the most despised person on the planet?
Not to mention the fact that it says, in big, bold letters, “EVIL TYRANT’S SECRET LAIR: DO NOT DISTURB.”
Bob’s shadow darted among and between the pillars and trash cans consecutively. Of course, that wouldn’t have fooled any competent security personnel. He moved with a clumsiness that would have appalled a three year old. However, this particular day was lucky for Bob, as half the security crew took the day off, with the result that he actually got halfway to the entrance before someone spotted him. However, one look can destroy a disguise. As he found out.
“HEY, WHO ARE YA?” cried the burly man who emitted the sound. He was swathed in the formal attire of the new Tyranny Regime, which was, of course, a hot pink shirt with the words “TYRANTS ROCK” emblazoned on the front, with very colorful lettering, too.
“MY NAME IS BOB!” Bob screamed back. “And by the way, tyrants do NOT rock.”
“YOU ARE IMMEDIATELY PUT UNDER ARREST BY THE GOVERNING BODY OF ALL AWESOME-NESS. By the order of section 3, part 2, point 3, words 4 to 16 of the Constitution That Rocks—“
“Yeah, yeah, I get your point. My point, however—“
“YOU HAVE NO POINT. By declaring that tyrants do not rock, you are immediately arrested as a convicted criminal, by the order of section 4 point 5, part one, point five, words 3 to 736 and a half—“
Bob sighed melancholically. Why do I have to be arrested by a lawyer in disguise? he wondered. He even learned English in less than 2 days. How’s that for a determined suck-up?
Getting captured is definitely not fun. Especially getting arrested by a lawyer in camouflage. Worse is getting arrested by a hypocrite of his former country. Even worse than that is getting arrested by a lawyer hypocrite of his former country.

Chapter 8: This One’s a Smart One
The cage was, above anything, disgusting. Not the fact that this seemed to be a breeding ground for mice, nor the fact that it was full of what we might call waste, demonstrates this enough. No, what was more disgusting was the fact that the place was literally filled with melted chocolate.
Bob simply hated melted chocolate. He hated the fact that the chocolate was ruined, that there was less of something good to pass around. This was not simply some small hate. No, this was loathing. He loathed the waste.
Especially when said chocolate is mixed with mice and what we might call waste. Now, if that’s not inhumane, then I, for one, have no idea what is.
A man walked in the chocolate cell.
“Hoho, what do we have here? A small, insignificant dent in my quest for power?” cried the man. And then, as though clichés need to be told again, he did the evil laugh. The malevolent grin, the evil glint in his eyes, the whole brouhaha.
“Bwahahaha!” he cried, and his cry went on for a long time, ricocheting around the prison like a ripple.
“You do not know the meaning of mercy,” cried Bob. “You evil, disgusting, devilish, pinnacle of the Antichrist’s power! Though that is blatantly religious, I shall continue in the vilification of such an evil entity. I—“
“I know the meaning of mercy! Do you take me as an ignoramus?! The definition, according to is:
compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy, or other person in one's power
and the definition from Merriam Webster is:
compassion or forbearance shown especially to an offender or to one subject to one's power
I simply choose not to show you any mercy.”
Bob groaned and rolled his eyes. This one’s a smart one, he thought.
“And now I must go back to my… peaceful… governing of the world. See you later!” At this the evil tyrant cracked a wicked grin worthy of Hitler himself.
Bob rolled his eyes again. What an self-promoter, he thought. Then he immediately thought of the melted… chocolate…
Bob went into a fitful sleep, punctuated only by fits of mutterings about the cruelty and waste of melted chocolate.

Chapter 9: Man Make His Own Luck, (Except When He Doesn’t)
Bob was sleeping soundly in his dungeon. He had managed to remove most of the (wasted!) melted chocolate, and became as cozy as anyone could be, surrounded by waste in more ways than one.
Which is not saying a lot.
Therefore, it came as a great relief when the door was cracked open. Then, as he did not hear any insults, he cracked open an eye.
A thin rope of light showered in.
Bob’s heart beat faster. Was this some helper?
The door was pushed open. His eyes were blinded by the light. As his eyes adjusted, he thought of who could possibly release him. Who let him out? A disgruntled soldier? Some fire-branded rebel general?
When he recovered, he was surprised, to say the least.
A monkey suddenly covered half of the world he could see. It was grinning devilishly, just like Bob looked like when he rebelled against authority. Somehow wearing some clothes stolen from a small human, it jumped in its devilish deeds.
Clinking keys obviously filched from some snoring guard, it smiled from ear to ear. He then took in the smell.
And then quickly jumped down the hallway, leaving Bob with the keys in his furious attempt to run away from the smell.
The smell.
Bob shrugged. At least he was free.
He was also very, very dirty.

Chapter 10: Confronting the Confronter
Now that Bob was out of the disgusting dungeon, he needs to confront the tyrant.
He wandered about the castle, as he has no idea where the bathroom is, let alone some moving entity like the Tyrannical Overlord. He moved down the corridor, fast as a leopard. He peers out the corner with one eye—
“Surprised to see me?”
Bob got over his shock after a couple seconds and responded in the fashion of a preschooler.
“Holy cow!”
“What are you talking about, cows aren’t holy. The candy gods deny it. And we both realize that the candy gods are—“
“Totally fake. Just because you like candy so much—“
The Tyrant sighed. How many times will he hear this impudence?
“How dare you call me a fool! I have a doctor’s degree on—“
“Who cares.”
“I care!”
“I have faith that this conversation is not getting anywhere.”

“How do you know?!”
“WHY do you question everything I say?!”
“How do you know I do?!”
Bob gritted his teeth. He slashed towards the Tyrant with the nearest thing—a candy cane.
And, needless to say, missed.
The Tyrant tore the air with his rapid response, jumping towards Bob as he did so—and also missed. Bob jumped and tackled the other—and ended up on the floor, fighting as viciously as they can.
That is not saying a lot.
As Bob took the lead, the Tyrant called upon his security guards—
Guards rushed towards the scene and crowded towards the vortex of struggle. As the Tyrant gained the upper hand and advanced into certain victory, he grinned with the malevolent grin only he could possibly contort his face into.
“I’ve got you now! Bwahahaha—“
The power of a pebble cannot be understated. When your worst nemesis is about to destroy the last hope of humankind (you) a pebble has the potential of George Bush’s red button.
That’s not an insult or exaggeration.
As the hope of victory dawned upon the Tyrant, he ran like his pants were on fire.
He did not notice a seemingly insignificant pebble in his way.
With the dexterity of approximately a rock, he tripped and fell.
The henchmen could not believe their eyes as their Emperor fell to his death.
Wait, no that is Star Wars. Sorry, a bit confused there.
No, the henchmen could not believe their eyes as their all awesome Evil Overlord tripped over some pebble.
And destroyed what was once the Reign of Terror.
Not to be confused with the Rain of Terroir, which is a French term.
“Deus ex machinas are SO cliché. But they are SO awesome!”

Chapter 11: The Aftermath, not to be Confused with After Math Class
Bob did an interview on the aftermath of the war on Larry King Live. He had protested in the naming of aftermath, as too many children might think it meant after math class.
As Larry said, “not that many people are ignoramuses.”
Bob sighed. And agreed to the whole deal, providing he got a huge amount of money for no good reason.
And lived happily ever after.
Provided he got a huge amount of money for no reason other than being the main character of this incredibly strange story, of course.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!