Get it through your globe, chucklehead, the PIE was a LIE. The CAKE is A FAKE, as it were.
Maybe this will come as a surprise for some, but you are still scared shitless of your mom. In the off chance she does pierce through your IMPENETRABLE disguise, you want to be more than ready.
Like what are you going to do with your dinky little keytar? Play Lady Gaga at her? Bitch please.
Rather than carry out your fantasies of prepping a reader's digest, you recaptchalogue the STORY BOOK and CROWNED CROAKER.
Still in a fugue state, you have not yet realized you can put down the statue whenever you want.
"Leo: Read Berenstein Bears book."
Now free to cherry-pick any item you please, you plop down "Computer Trouble" for a closer look at that title.
The CROWNED CROAKER is sent flying out of the deck and hits you square in the face!!!
Oww. Ooh owie. Where are you? WHO are you? And what on earth do you have on your face? You take a minute to recollect yourself and think maybe that checkbox was there for a reason.
Well you forgot your train of thought. What were you down here for again? Something about pie?
"Leo: Examine fetch modus."
You flip over your FETCH MODUS and check out the back.
You'd think there would be a lot more to it than that. Like an input for the rhyme scheme or number of stanzas or something.
Conspiracy? If there was anything suspect about the name BERENSTEIN, you'd be the first to kn-
Well that's odd. Your modus isn't allowing you to fetch your STORY BOOK. This shouldn't happen, unless the card's denomination somehow changed since you last checked.
Clearly someone- or something- is trying to keep you from learning the TRUTH about THIS BOOK.
Haha just kidding. It's actually because your modus doesn't allow for an item underneath another card to be taken out without replacing it with another item.
"Leo: Enter fireplace."
You totally would, if only you had a HAMMER on you. The ONE time you really need it, and you left it in the BASEMENT.
Your mother boarded it up in a frenzy after one of your friends kept bombarding your house with parcels via AIRMAIL. Hot diggety dog, could that pilot aim!
Your friend said she will send you some pliers the good old fashioned way so you could pry the stick out from up your mother's ass.
You have no intention of clogging your sylladex with any of these godawful...
Oh, frog dammit. In a momentary lapse of concentration, you captchalogue the CROWNED CROAKER statue.
Last, but not least, is the HEAD HONCHO HIMSELF. A wisely old king perched atop a well deserved velvet pillow, for his legend states he was crowned leader of all aquatic life after quelling the war between the reptilians and amphibians.
What a load of CROCK.
The frog on the top shelf lounges lazily a lot, listening to the pitter-patter of precipitation against the window pane deep in thought.
Then there's the red-eyed tree frog, readying itself to pounce into action whenever it can. The storm may wash in some tumultuous jams.
And the gentleman at the bottom shelf is just an indentured servant.
This chap here stands proudly with his lily parasol held straight up. Enlightened knowing the storm won't last while everyone else is downcast by it.
You quietly tippy-toe down the stairwell as youthfully as possible. Goosebumps begin to spring up with every step you take.
The storm blows frigid air into the boarded fireplace, chilling the living room.
You hear exasperated grumbling coming from the KITCHEN. Sounds like MOM'S in a good mood! No doubt she's tickled pink with the cake she surely bought for you at the store. Getting the game now should be a...
SLICE OF PIE
Oh who are you kidding, she's going to obliterate your face off the fucking planet. This mission is going to be exactly as difficult as you imagined.
"Leo: Exit the room."
You exit into the HALLWAY.
On one wall hangs a picture of the very marketable and family-friendly Adam DeVine's face. You don't know why he's wearing that ridiculous headband. Has he ever starred in anything involving aliens? He must have.
On the other wall is one of your MOM's gross frogs. Or GOD'S BEAUTIFUL AMPHIBIANS, as she is quick to correct anyone who would venture such brazen assumption.
All this item rhyming is rousing you up. You belt out one of your favorite songs to dissolve your qualms.
Strawberry milkshake in hand
I try my best to distract myself
But he really wants to be in the band
Can he play the drums, or the clarinet?
Electric xylophone? Or better yet,
The euphonium or the clockwork flute?
He’s just standing there in a business suit
Angels on the left side, demons on the right
Never in the dark, never in the light
Center of the sunbeam light show flower seed
This is all I have, this is all I need
Original synergized molecules
Revolving electrified power tools
The end of the world on April Fool’s Day
What have you done to my necktie?
You’ve tied it up in a knot
This is the final mistake you’ll make
You think you’re misunderstood, but you’re not
Got a show tonight, but tomorrow you’re out
Someone call me up a talent scout
Better yet, just usher that Diablo back
Give him a guitar, paint it with a Union Jack
Lemons on the left side, demons on the right
Never in the dark, never in the light
Center of the sunbeam light show flower seed
This is all I have, this is all I need
Life in the chair at the hair salon
Taking the time to reflect upon
Some things that are too difficult to convey
Ooh, original synergized molecules
Revolving electrified power tools
The end of the world on April Fool’s Day
You sure hope no computers give you any complications in the near future.
So far you have captchalogued the R/C FAKE ARM, BLOOD PELLETS, FRUIT SNACKS, and STORY BOOK.
This is going to be one shitty rhyme.
This is one childhood memory you'll never repress. The BERENSTEIN BEARS have always been there for you, every step of the way, teaching morals about FAMILY and FRIENDSHIP, or whatever.
Because who better to teach children life lessons than a pack of wild forest animals?
This thing makes for a good paperweight than it does as an instructional guide. Your mom bought it for your THIRTEENTH birthday. You thanked her for the gift, then tried to tell her that the book wasn't actually all that comprehensive despite its HEFTY BREADTH. This made her upset as all she heard was, "this is a real crappy gift, mom."
She started yelling about what an AWFUL LITTLE INGRATE you are and then something about how you should read the BIBLE instead. She then took away your gifts and made you actually read the Bible cover to cover to get them back.
And thus began the annual tradition of reciting passages from the GOOD BOOK in exchange for presents. Just like Christmas. And Halloween.
But it's okay, you play PRACTICAL JOKES on her the day after as restitution.
You put the book back in the box, where the memories can be repressed.
You captchalogue the BEAGLE PUSS GLASSES and ALIEN ANTENNAE HEADBAND, then combine the two cards to craft the UNEARTHLY CUNNING DISGUISE.
Mmn, what is this "Leo" specimen of which you speak? You have not nor ever will encounter...
Say, this disguise isn't half bad.
Okay, it hurts like hell though. But this isn't the disguise you got up to equip.
No no, not the one at all. You have something much, MUCH more cleverer in store...
"Leo: Open message."
-- toiletEmperor [TE] began prattling with ectoTerrestrial [ET] at 15:23 --
TE: Sup, fucker.
ET: Hey dude, sorry I didn’t reply sooner
TE: Yeah, you totally kept me hanging.
TE: What kept you? Kissing one of your posters of Neil again?
ET: Pffft. No
TE: I bet you were rubbing your butt all over it, too.
ET: What I do behind closed doors is none of your business, mister
TE: Just admit it and I'll leave you alone.
ET: Okay so I gave it a little smooch, big whoop
ET: It’s for good luck
TE: Oh yeah, I bet you want to get lucky with him, if you know what I mean.
TE: If you catch my drift.
TE: If you get my meaning.
TE: I’m implying you want some of the C-Man.
ET: *scoff* The thought never crossed my mind
TE: Okay, then what are you planning on doing with all that extra “luck”?
ET: Your mother
TE: All right, I set myself up on that one.
TE: To subvert the fact that I was totally owned, I’m going to change the subject.
TE: Whatcha get for ya birthday?
TE: Any special deliveries, maybe? Hmmmmm?
ET: If you discount the possible delivery of my Sburb copy, then jack shit. My mom’s probably going to make me do like, 20 hail-Mary’s if I want to get my hands on any of my presents
ET: All I want is to eat cake and play games with my friends today, man. What right does she have to stand in the way of a gay time
TE: She won’t let you open them? Damn.
ET: I DID find an open box of stale fruit gushers, however. Maybe today won’t be such a bad day after all
ET: Hey maybe if I’m lucky, Neil will release another mashup album later
ET: Or maybe if I’m REALLY lucky, he’ll finally release the new LD album! Oh my god oh my god omg, “’Dark Horse’ trotting your way this spring 2015” he said, remember?
ET: The hard driving guitars and soulful lyrics will rock us to our very core
TE: Easy there, tiger, don’t cream your pants just yet.
TE: This could be yet another one of his cheeky antics. Or do I dare say, “horseplay?”
ET: You really think he would do that? Just go on the Internet and tell lies?
TE: Yes. That’s like his entire bit.
ET: He isn’t some one-dimensional character cooked up by a teenaged fan-fic writer
ET: He is NEIL CICIEREGA, the most handsomest, smartest, talented, most beautiful man to ever bless the earth with his music, face, and Shitpoints™ system
ET: Speaking of which, dude I need your help
ET: Send me all your shitpoints
TE: What? No.
TE: Why do you want my stupid poopoints?
ET: I don’t have enough sP’s to beat my mom in a showdown. I will get my ass handed to me if I don’t get these motherfucking points. Please, I only need like, 300 more
TE: Ahahaha, fuck, hahahahahahaha.
ET: PLEASE dude, this is SERIOUS, my ass cheeks are on the LINE here
TE: I don’t have that many! I haven’t bothered collecting them at all for the past few months, actually. There’s no point in it.
TE: Literally, there's no points in it, because they're not real or worth anything.
ET: Get with the times, man, sP’s are the cryptocurrency of the future
TE: They’re a joke that went way out of control. People took it too far. Don’t you remember how Neil got into trouble with the FBI?
ET: Pfft, yeah right. Those people were in those coal mines voluntarily
ET: Look, are you going to give them to me or what
TE: Yeah, fine. It's not like they'll be relevant or anything ever again.
TE: Here are 90 shitpoints on their way down the toilet.
-- toiletEmperor [TE] sent ectoTerrestrial [ET] “90 sP’s" --
ET: Sweet, thanks
ET: I guess
TE: Do you really need to confront your mom like this in order to get your gifts?
TE: It’s a really ass-backwards way of going about it.
TE: Just try swiping them from under her nose. Her halitosis should hide your scent.
ET: Dude, that’s my mom you’re talking about
ET: Her nose is strong enough to cut through any powerful stench
TE: Then wear a disguise.
TE: Leo who? Never met the guy.
TE: There’s no way she’ll be able to recognize her own son. It’s foolproof, trust me.
ET: Well I do have a beagle puss, but I think wearing that while trying to steal behind my mom’s back will just make her even angrier
TE: I was just kidding about the disguise.
ET: I’ll wear it anyway. Might even get some bonus sP’s out of it
ET: Alright, I’m gonna go do that now
ET: brb. If I don’t reply in 15 minutes, call the police
TE: Haha, got it. Good luck, man.
ET: I’m serious. 20 minutes, tops
"Leo: Open Prattlechat!!!!!!"
Only one of your PEEPS is logged in. He's sent you a message.
You've left them hanging long enough.
You pull up to your LAPTOP. This is where you spend most of your time. You decorated your desktop with some rather handsome WALLPAPER which you made yourself, so to speak. You are really proud of it.
Your desktop is also littered with various MEDIA PROJECT FILES. You are so bad at these mediums sometimes you wonder why you even bother with them.
Your BROWSER is minimized. You were surfing the web earlier. And your PRATTLECHAT application is flashing. A friend is trying to get in touch with you. But since your browser is already open, perhaps some more procrastination is in order...?
You captchalogue the FRUIT SNACKS, but with no intentions of ruling as an ARTHROPOD SOVEREIGN. You just don't want more of them running around your bedroom.
"Leo: Adopt ant on head as new pet."
The ANT that was on your head is now on the OUTTA SPACE CHEST.
You dub thee, ant, GENERAL ANTONIO SALIENT. You are the leader now, Antonio.
You cannot do it. You just can't bring yourself to harm these poor innocent ants.
You decide to spare them instead, and perhaps one day they'll even return the favor, kinda like "The Lion and the Mouse" sort of deal.
"Leo: Commit formicide."
You're not making off with those gushers so easily, antholes!
The ANTPOCALYPSE commences.
You INHALE DEEPLY to blow the ants off of your shit.
Well in all likelihood, fake blood IS made out of corn syrup, cocoa powder, and red food coloring... And if it DOESN'T taste good, there's always the gushers to wash away the flavor.....
YOU CAN TASTE THE SHITPOINTS ALREADY
Oh yeah. This is definitely from 2001.
No wonder there are so many ants, there's a fucking open bag of FRUIT GUSHERS. How long has this been here?? That's not even the same font they use anymore!
Wait a minute... is that... Shrek?
That movie came out in 2001.
Has this box of hexagonal fruit snacks really been back here for 15 years?
Whoa, how did you not notice this earlier? A large trail of ANTS coming through a crack in your windowsill is kind of a hard thing to miss.
They seem to be amassing towards a specific point...
"Leo: Grab a weapon and confront your Mother. Preferably an incredibly shitty weapon, like that guitar standing against your wall."
It's a keytar numbnuts.
THE MOST SHOCKING TWIST YET.
You allocate your MIDI KEYTAR to your STRIFE DECK.
"Leo: Examine blue music note."
That's just your OTAMATONE (オタマトーン), and alongside it your STYLOPHONE, two toy instruments of sweet analog goodness. You just wish the Otamatone had a polyphonic keyboard instead of a ribbon controller, and that the Stylophone didn't need a stylus to play notes.
If only you could combine the characteristics of two or more objects, like a keyboard and a guitar. WOW, wouldn't that be something?
In here you keep an array of artistic and whimsical ARTIFACTS, each one a devastating weapon in the hands of a WICKED MUSICIAN or a STUNNING JACK OF ALL TRADES.
You are a master of none.
Among the ARTIFACTS are: ONE (1) R/C ARM and REMOTE GLOVE [CURRENTLY CAPTCHALOGUED TOGETHER IN YOUR SYLLADEX], ONE (1) STANDARD DECK OF CARDS, ONE (1) TOY ACCORDION, ONE (1) ALIEN ANTENNAE HEADBAND, ONE (1) PAIR OF BEAGLE PUSS GLASSES, ONE (1) MODEL FLYING SAUCER, SEVERAL (~) BLOOD CAPSULES, ONE (1) COPY OF "90'S DESIGN 101", and ONE (1) COPY OF "THE BERENSTEIN BEARS' COMPUTER TROUBLE", BY JAN AND MIKE BERENSTEIN.
Some of this stuff may come in handy at some point. For now, you decide to just take the BLOOD CAPSULES.
What you need is an edge over her. Something you can't get from an arbitrary bullshit game construct. Something...
Outta this world.
"Leo: Don ye mechanical arm and slay the mother beast, retrieve thine treasure post haste."
But there's still not enough for a favorable fight, or even whatever the hell KITE SAILING is.
God, why do you even bother?? At this rate, you'd have gained enough points to momentarily almost smile by the age of 80!
"Leo: Level up!"
You reach the prestigious ASSGENIE rank and are awarded TWO (2) TURD TOKENS for the vapid deed.
Hey, now you can afford that keyboard solo!
You KISS the man on the lips, SHITPOINTS BE DAMNED.
This goes on for a good three minutes.
Okay, that's enough of that. You're going to ruin the poster.
They're so lush and plump...
You consider kissing the poster strictly for the purpose of a SHITPOINT TRANSACTION, but it occurs to you that might be a bit too pleasurable? If anything, it would COST shitpoints.
But... those lips...
Oh, NEIL. How can we be as glorious as you?
THE MAN, THE LEGEND, and THE BRAINS behind the "MOUTH" series and SHITPOINTS™ system. Ever since the debut of MOUTH SOUNDS last year, he's been churning out mashup albums like there's no tomorrow!
Here are just a couple he's put out so far:
Mouth Around the Clock
Why Can't We Be Bread
Cat Got Your Mouth
Back from the Mouth
Back to the Mouth
Mouth Will Rise Again
Straight From the (Horse's) Mouth
Into the Mouthhole
Mouth in Motion
Boy, what a MOUTHFUL.
Honestly, you'd prefer a new LEMON DEMON album over a joke one any day, but you'll take what you can get.
You just hope he's content with all the shitpoints he's rolling in.
"Leo: Examine Mouth Sounds poster."
You climb up onto your bed to get a real good look of this real good-looking poster.
If you go down stairs to get it, she will likely monopolize hours of your time. You decide to chill out up here for a while until the dust settles.
Sometimes you feel like you are stuck in this room. Held, if you will, in a sense which possibly fringes on the eponymous.
Looks like a chum is trying to get in touch with you. You ought to tell them how IT is about to HIT the FAN in your house.
Whatever. You got worthless shitpoints to rack up first.
the earf sawllohws you hole!!!!!
your fuckig dead
"Leo: Your Mom must be confronted; The fastest route is out and down; Defenestrate yourself; You've got some Falling to Do."
"Leo: Perform a magical pirouette swan-dive out of the window and obtain the beta yourself."
waht a eggscellent idea
The requisite for shitpoints has never been more dire.
"Leo: Go outside and check mailbox."
You are about to hurry downstairs when you hear a car pull into the driveway. It looks like your MOM has returned from the grocery store.
Oh great, she is beating you to the mail. Now you'll never get your hands on the beta.
"Leo: Examine mailbox."
Oh sweet, the little red arm-swingy-lever-dealy is flipped up!
What the hell is that thing called anyway. You do not have time for these semantics. The red flippy-lever thing means you have new mail. And that means the beta might be here!
"Leo: Come back down to earth."
You get your head out of the sky and look down towards your yard.
The tree is barren, free of any leaves or tire swings. In a kid's yard, a tree without a tire swing is like a proper gentleman without a monocle. That is to say, HE CAN HARDLY BE CONSIDERED A TERRIBLY PROPER GENTLEMAN AT ALL.
And there beside your driveway is your mailbox.
Too bad it's too rainy to see any unidentified freaky objects zipping around, clearly anyway.
Huh? What was that?
You could've sworn you saw something.
Whatever it was, there is nothing there now. Maybe it was only a trick of the light.
Or perhaps not.
"Leo: Search the skies for aliens."
Finally, the single good idea you've had all day!
"Leo: Examine calendar."
You've marked your birthday, the 31st of March. Another day you marked was supposed to be the arrival date for the highly touted SBURB BETA LAUNCH.
It's been four days already. That's like, a WEEK in kid years.
It's starting to become a sore subject with you.
IT'S NEVER SAFE TO TURN OFF YOUR COMPUTER.
Ah yes, a poster of the blog that has provided you with countless TIPS, TRICKS, and TWEAKS to get the most out of your WINDOWS 95 computer.
That is, if you had one.
Purchased from the devil himself.
(By whom you mean BILL GATES.)
HARRY POTTER JUNIORRRR...
HARRY POTTER JUUUNNIIOOOORRRR...
Sorry, but you must be thinking of another movie. TROLL is one of the BEST fantasy movies you have ever seen in your ENTIRE LIFE. When TOROK sacrificed all his hard work to save the life of WENDY, your heart just BROKE.
TROLL 2 was good in its own respect, even though it had nothing to do with TROLL 1. Your mind was absolutely BLOWN AWAY at the "NILBOG" being backwards for "GOBLIN" revelation.
WOW, who came up with that??
But yeah, you're told to tear these posters down on a regular basis.
HARRY POTTER, right? Yeah, you get that a lot.
It's almost as if the AUTHOR, J.K. ROWLING, had intentionally modeled her character after YOU this whole time. You are very certain of this theory.
Oh, would you look at that. You don't have enough SHITPOINTS for a sick KEYBOARD SOLO right now. Try shitting around in your room some more to grind up some SHITPOINTS, greasegrowth.
Well, you guess you could always BUY shitpoints, but where's the fun in that?
Yeesh, alright, no need to get ANTSY.
You captchalogue the arm and remote glove in your SYLLADEX, using your RHYME DISASSOCIATION modus. Here's a brief rundown on how it works: whenever you captchalogue something, you assign it a word (usually what the item is called for convenience). The next object you captchalogue should have no obvious association to its predecessor. The first second card has to rhyme with the item right below it, and so does the first final card.
Say you captchalogue some LASAGNA. The card below it must contain an item that rhymes with it. A glass of water, or rather AQUA, will do just nicely.
You retrieve your REMOTE-CONTROLLED ARM from the chest. You made it yourself as a little side project!
There are other items in the chest.
"Leo: Retrieve arms from cabinet."
Your ARM is in your OUTTA SPACE CHEST, snackstain!
How can you play a single instrument when you've nary an arm, shitprince!
Your name is LEONARDO (also intimately known as LEO). As was previously mentioned, it is your BIRTHDAY. A number of INSTRUMENTS are scattered about your room. You have a variety of INTERESTS. You have a passion for REALLY EXCELLENT MOVIES. You like to program, draw, and compose music on computers but you are NOT VERY GOOD AT IT. You have a fondness for PARANORMAL LORE, and are an aspiring WEB ARTIST. You also like to play GAMES sometimes.
What will you do?
Aha, there it is! You dig up your HONORARY PLACRONYM from your CLOSET and put it on top of your CABINET.
"Try again, again."
You know what? Forget it. Hold on, where is it...
Has a nice ring to it, but still no.
No, that's not it. Try again.
A birthday, in fact, of this strapping young man standing before us. His sixteenth birthday, to be precise, the 31st of March, 2015. Though it was sixteen years ago he was given life, he has not yet bothered to learn his name!
Care to remind him of it?
Though not quite.
For you see, it was day.
It was a dark and stormy night.