Going Postal
Kent's shoes clapped against the hot pavement; his mailbag swinging wildy at his side. Sweat was pouring down his face, and his blue cap was clutched firmly in one hand. Letters trailed out behind him, but he did not care in his frantic state. He was running for his life from something he could not comprehend.
Not more than 20 feet behind the slightly-plump mailman was a mailbox, giving chase by jumping up and down on it's wooden post. The door on it's front slammed open and shut menacingly, and a metallic growl erupted from it's hollow insides. It's red flag was sticking straight up in the air, though it was wobbling slightly from the box's bizzare means of locomotion.
The chase soon passed by the local supermarket, where a policeman was trying to buy a large tire made of chocolate. While Kent managed to slip by, the copper attempted to jump-tackled the besrk mail box, and was suprised to find he merely accidentally mounted it like a horse, only he was facing backwards.
This did not slow down the enraged box one bit.
While passing an Italian fruit shop, Kent grabbed some bananas which he peeled and tossed behind him. Then he remembered it was the peels that caused people to fall, so he tossed those behind him as well. Unfortunatly this did not work, as banana peels only make people fall, and not, it seemed, mailboxes.
The policeman was blowing his whistle as hard as he could, but this merly attracted a large croud of other policemen who gave chase to out-of-control mailbox. At this point, they all pass a small brass band, who strike up one of those wacky chase tunes and bring up the rear, tootling and bellowing along.
Kent tossed aside his mailbag and hat; the mailbox shot steam from it's gapping maw; the officer atop the box started crying; the mob of policemen waved their billy-clubs and blew on their whistles; and the band continued their theme.
This continued for half an hour or so, and they traversed many locals including a country road, ocean, porrige factory, highway, ancient temple, corn field, and a lagoon (at night).
And my lands, if you can think of an end to this story, then you are a better person than I.
Not more than 20 feet behind the slightly-plump mailman was a mailbox, giving chase by jumping up and down on it's wooden post. The door on it's front slammed open and shut menacingly, and a metallic growl erupted from it's hollow insides. It's red flag was sticking straight up in the air, though it was wobbling slightly from the box's bizzare means of locomotion.
The chase soon passed by the local supermarket, where a policeman was trying to buy a large tire made of chocolate. While Kent managed to slip by, the copper attempted to jump-tackled the besrk mail box, and was suprised to find he merely accidentally mounted it like a horse, only he was facing backwards.
This did not slow down the enraged box one bit.
While passing an Italian fruit shop, Kent grabbed some bananas which he peeled and tossed behind him. Then he remembered it was the peels that caused people to fall, so he tossed those behind him as well. Unfortunatly this did not work, as banana peels only make people fall, and not, it seemed, mailboxes.
The policeman was blowing his whistle as hard as he could, but this merly attracted a large croud of other policemen who gave chase to out-of-control mailbox. At this point, they all pass a small brass band, who strike up one of those wacky chase tunes and bring up the rear, tootling and bellowing along.
Kent tossed aside his mailbag and hat; the mailbox shot steam from it's gapping maw; the officer atop the box started crying; the mob of policemen waved their billy-clubs and blew on their whistles; and the band continued their theme.
This continued for half an hour or so, and they traversed many locals including a country road, ocean, porrige factory, highway, ancient temple, corn field, and a lagoon (at night).
And my lands, if you can think of an end to this story, then you are a better person than I.