Yes, Chantal I Am Happy Now
So me and chantal....erhmmmm....Chantal and I......are in school and we get an assignment. Creat your own skit/poem/story or anything of your choosing using all the vocabulary words given. Needless to say we had to come up with the most outrageous story possible. So enjoy....
P.S Ms. Weaver is our teacher for that class.
How the Smurfs “Went Away for a Very Long Time”
(Which is Really a euphemism for DIED)
OR Why Ms. Weaver was Absent That One Day
Our story begins in the quaint hamlet of Smurftown. Here the tiny creatures known as smurfs play out their day-to-day mundane lives. Little did they know that these joyful days would soon cease to exist.
“Hey, Brainy” I said in a saccharine sweet voice while tapping meaningless patterns along the inside crease of his soft, white hat.
“I think you’re missing something of yours”
Softly, I placed his standard-issue cap upon his unmoving left hand. I stepped away and picked up the hammer that lay forgotten on the ground nearby.
“You know,” I said, cleaning off gray matter from the head of the stained tool in a lackluster and familiar manner, “once you get past the skull, you can’t really tell who’s brainy and who isn’t”
~*~*~*~*~
Minutes later I exited Brainy Smurf’s irritatingly well-organized place of habitation and went off in the general direction of Clockwork Smurf’s miniature house. Scuffing my already dirty shoes on the unpaved road, I remembered exactly how much I loathed walking places. I would ride that oaf, Gargamel’s cat, but every time I approached it, the miserable creature would bristle in fear. Apparently, I have an ominous air of some sort about me. Psh. Right.
Luckily, drivers of Greyhound buses don’t discriminate- at least not until caustic blonde-haired individuals wrest control of their buses away from them. Unfortunately (and I say this with the utmost of chagrin), I, the ever-incipient bus driver, managed to inadvertently run over Clockwork Smurf.
The infamous inventing individual had implanted his innovative self into middle of the road in hopes of a client purchasing one of his ideas. The rules of the deal stipulated that he stand in the center of Main Street and not to move for at least as long as it takes for the first bus to go by. I would’ve asked the poor dupe exactly what part of the ‘deal’ sounded smart to him if I hadn’t already known he was feeling so run down.
~*~*~*~*~
After dropping off the expired entrepreneur’s tool bag at his uninhabited hut, I headed off for Papa Smurf’s little house to offer my heartfelt condolences on his recent loss of life by way of flesh-eating insects. I hadn’t just made a mountain out of a molehill, but a murder out of an anthill! (A degree in the Language Arts helps improve one’s abilities to successfully make puns)
Anyway, I picked up yet another smurf’s misplaced possession, waved at the only half-eaten Papa Smurf’s remains, and strode off to my final destination.
~*~*~*~*~
“Ah. Such perfect aesthetic sensitivity.” I remarked, standing back from my work. “It’s a shame no one’s here to see it.”
I gazed out proudly at my completed work. Smurfette stuck facedown to a sticky flytrap to my left, Painter Smurf loaded up on lead paint and unmoving upon a nearby grass strip, Jokey Smurf’s ‘body’ consisted of a blackened spot upon the ground where one of his firecrackers (well, a firecracker filled with c-4 after I got to it) had exploded, and Hefty Smurf had had a rather ‘unfortunate’ fall (due to a small bit of jostling from a well placed moving beam). Oh, and ironically, Clumsy Smurf had managed to run a full 20 yards without tripping or stumbling at all. Of course, when you’re running through a minefield, running straight doesn’t exactly help anyone. As for what happened to Harmony and Hefty Smurf…well… so as not to be repudiated by protective parents, I will merely say that their tools of trade (trumpet and dumbbell respectively) had been put into certain uncomfortable places. Strewn haphazardly about the town were numerous other blue-skinned citizens, in numerous positions of agony.
Oh how I love the springtime!
~*~*~*~*~
It was only later that I allowed myself the luxury of relaxation. Removing my comfortable sneakers, and tossing them in an arbitrary direction, I pondered my next actions.
“Well let’s see,” I began, tapping my chin, “I’ve done the Smurfs, the Thundercats, Jem and company, and most of the Transformers. What other memorable 80’s cartoon casts do I wanna’ get rid of?”
Silently, I thought for a minute before concluding that a good night’s rest was in order before a good day’s killing spree. With a sudden jolt, I sat up realizing what was clipped to the end of my blouse - my teaching I.D.
“Crap! I have summer-school to teach tomorrow!”
Sitting back and letting racing heartbeat calm to something less life threatening, I came to a fast decision, which I then announced to the empty air before me.
“Ms. Weaver’s takin’ a sick day tomorrow”
~*~*~*~*~