Second Hand Stories
Not having anything as funny as these relating to myself, not that I remember anyway, Unca Ravenswept is gonna today tell you two stories from people he knows about things that happened to them. Expect in the case of one story, which itself was a story told to them, so it's a third hand story; maybe second hand, once removed. Never did understand how that "removed" nonsense worked. Anywho.
My roommate has a sister. Growing up, they had the normal amount of "bad" things occur to them in life; having to move unexpectedly, the untimely death of a pet, relatives sick, life in general in its not so fun moments. But what his mother did to him and his sister is just... odd.
See, his mom can cook (when she wants to, which isn't often). One thing she will do fairly often is bake, mainly cookies. Anyway, my roommate has an aversion to lemon bars. Won't look at them, won't eat them. He says he gets the sweats when he sees them, but that I think is him being just a tad melodramatic. What happened was, whenever one of those bad things happened when he was a kid, his mom would bake lemon bars and present them to he and his sister. To soften the blow, as it were. This had terrible consequences.
She did this act every time something unfortunate happened. So, as they grew, they built up a horrific knowing when their mother came bearing lemon baked goods. They were sent into a worried frenzy when she made them once without there being a reason. Both brother and sister was sure something horrible had happened. Lemon bars did not come without a price.
To this day, their mother believes that they just made that story up. To which they ask why is it they both developed the same phobia. She's still in denial.
Childhood trauma is fun!
The second of our two tales involves the wonderful folks at Penny Arcade, specifically head guy-who-makes-sure-the-company-doesn't-collapse-everyday dude Robert Khoo, and newest member of the asylum Erika Greco. This story comes to be by way of telephone by best friend, and PAX Enforcer, [name withheld for privacy], related to her by way of Robert Khoo at the Enforcer/staff/PAX survival party.
Robert, busy as he is, is sometimes a bit absent minded. Once upon a random day, he left an unopened can of Pepsi(tm) on the main table of the office. Erica, for dark and twisted reasons unknown, wrote a snarky little note, taped it to the can, and placed it on Khoo's desk.
And from humble origins, the first shot fired.
Thus was the war of "That Fucking Can/Opponent's Name" begun. For months, back and forth they traded the can, but not merely from desk to desk. At some point, i.e. the third trade, they began to be tricksy little Hobbits's. They started hiding the can. Behind office toys, taped under desks, any place that could hold an 8oz can of carbonated sugar and caffiene was not left unspoiled. Why was this such a matter of importance? Pride. And fun. Mainly vengence.
And then Erica had a plan. Or an idea, that turned into a plan. But evil it was undoubtedly.
One Mr. Khoo was not officely present one day, and she struck her terrible blow. Taking one of his office couch cushions she proceeded to open, insert the can, re-sew it as to look untainted, and replaced said cushion to its herd. And she waited.
And waited.
And waited longer.
Some time, we're talking like a month or two, and he never found it. He knew it was his turn; well, if not he should have. So, being fed up and wanting to see the return of her investment, she nonchalantly wandered into his 10x8 florecent realm. And casually (read, goaded) remarked that he looked thristy. That he may have been has no weight; she wanted results. So she again and again mentined his parched appearance. He was confused; why mention liquid nurishment and not at least tease him with something she herself was drinking. Oh, hell no, she didn't!
In front of her - and whoever happened to pass by his office window and open door - he proceeded to "tear" his office "apart" looking for the damned aluminum cylindar. Erica laughed her evil laugh, having finally gotten the better of Mr Khoo. She bade him hints to steer him closer to the couch.
Finally he understood. Loudly proclaiming "Is this it? What did you do?" he cluched a pair of scissors and tore into his cushion from the couch. Fluff and stuff flying, he triumphantly pulled forth his prize and thrust it into Erica's face -
A can of Barq's Rootbeer.
A cursed Khoo! Naive and fuming, young Erica let loose a loud and angry roar of disapproval (and most likely a long string of cusses the likes of which hasn't been heard since the last time someone stubbed their toe), and ran back to her own offical dwelling, for it was her turn to rend assunder her own workspace. Mighty Khoo, having found the damned can some months ago, had played his own game well. He too had carefully dissected his couch, removing and inserting his own twisted mockery of the game, like a pig's heart into a failing crash victim. What pray did he do with the Pepsi of can? Only he and his dark ways know.
What moral, if any, did this story have?
You cannot win; Robert Khoo is better than you. Definitely smarter. Most likely more handsome as well.
*EDIT* As of 4-8-11, the story is now very public, and they tell it much better than I. Also with much more gusto*
My roommate has a sister. Growing up, they had the normal amount of "bad" things occur to them in life; having to move unexpectedly, the untimely death of a pet, relatives sick, life in general in its not so fun moments. But what his mother did to him and his sister is just... odd.
See, his mom can cook (when she wants to, which isn't often). One thing she will do fairly often is bake, mainly cookies. Anyway, my roommate has an aversion to lemon bars. Won't look at them, won't eat them. He says he gets the sweats when he sees them, but that I think is him being just a tad melodramatic. What happened was, whenever one of those bad things happened when he was a kid, his mom would bake lemon bars and present them to he and his sister. To soften the blow, as it were. This had terrible consequences.
She did this act every time something unfortunate happened. So, as they grew, they built up a horrific knowing when their mother came bearing lemon baked goods. They were sent into a worried frenzy when she made them once without there being a reason. Both brother and sister was sure something horrible had happened. Lemon bars did not come without a price.
To this day, their mother believes that they just made that story up. To which they ask why is it they both developed the same phobia. She's still in denial.
Childhood trauma is fun!
The second of our two tales involves the wonderful folks at Penny Arcade, specifically head guy-who-makes-sure-the-company-doesn't-collapse-everyday dude Robert Khoo, and newest member of the asylum Erika Greco. This story comes to be by way of telephone by best friend, and PAX Enforcer, [name withheld for privacy], related to her by way of Robert Khoo at the Enforcer/staff/PAX survival party.
Robert, busy as he is, is sometimes a bit absent minded. Once upon a random day, he left an unopened can of Pepsi(tm) on the main table of the office. Erica, for dark and twisted reasons unknown, wrote a snarky little note, taped it to the can, and placed it on Khoo's desk.
And from humble origins, the first shot fired.
Thus was the war of "That Fucking Can/Opponent's Name" begun. For months, back and forth they traded the can, but not merely from desk to desk. At some point, i.e. the third trade, they began to be tricksy little Hobbits's. They started hiding the can. Behind office toys, taped under desks, any place that could hold an 8oz can of carbonated sugar and caffiene was not left unspoiled. Why was this such a matter of importance? Pride. And fun. Mainly vengence.
And then Erica had a plan. Or an idea, that turned into a plan. But evil it was undoubtedly.
One Mr. Khoo was not officely present one day, and she struck her terrible blow. Taking one of his office couch cushions she proceeded to open, insert the can, re-sew it as to look untainted, and replaced said cushion to its herd. And she waited.
And waited.
And waited longer.
Some time, we're talking like a month or two, and he never found it. He knew it was his turn; well, if not he should have. So, being fed up and wanting to see the return of her investment, she nonchalantly wandered into his 10x8 florecent realm. And casually (read, goaded) remarked that he looked thristy. That he may have been has no weight; she wanted results. So she again and again mentined his parched appearance. He was confused; why mention liquid nurishment and not at least tease him with something she herself was drinking. Oh, hell no, she didn't!
In front of her - and whoever happened to pass by his office window and open door - he proceeded to "tear" his office "apart" looking for the damned aluminum cylindar. Erica laughed her evil laugh, having finally gotten the better of Mr Khoo. She bade him hints to steer him closer to the couch.
Finally he understood. Loudly proclaiming "Is this it? What did you do?" he cluched a pair of scissors and tore into his cushion from the couch. Fluff and stuff flying, he triumphantly pulled forth his prize and thrust it into Erica's face -
A can of Barq's Rootbeer.
A cursed Khoo! Naive and fuming, young Erica let loose a loud and angry roar of disapproval (and most likely a long string of cusses the likes of which hasn't been heard since the last time someone stubbed their toe), and ran back to her own offical dwelling, for it was her turn to rend assunder her own workspace. Mighty Khoo, having found the damned can some months ago, had played his own game well. He too had carefully dissected his couch, removing and inserting his own twisted mockery of the game, like a pig's heart into a failing crash victim. What pray did he do with the Pepsi of can? Only he and his dark ways know.
What moral, if any, did this story have?
You cannot win; Robert Khoo is better than you. Definitely smarter. Most likely more handsome as well.
*EDIT* As of 4-8-11, the story is now very public, and they tell it much better than I. Also with much more gusto*