It'S All Good (384 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Brandon Fabish <brandino_the_great.at.yahoo.com> (View user info) at 2004-09-19 21:11:16 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1: My Encounter With a Damnpire
Chapter 2: I Go AWOL
Chapter 3: James I.T.S. Allgood
Chapter 4: Careen-Abdul into a Ravine-Jabbar
Chapter 5: Eating Pies While James Flies
[An excerpt from "A Story of James" Chapter 3]
"How fast are we going now?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," replied James. "Probably close to seventy miles an hour. You just passed four telephone poles in three seconds."
"Alright. So what's the speedometer say?"
"I don't hear anything," James told me.
I was driving with James through the open road, deep inside the heart of Nebraska. My eyes were closed, and all I could see was the orangish-red flesh tone of my eyelids. Although I couldn't actually see anything, I thought I could just make out the yellow dotted line, which I was using more so to stay parallel with the road then to determine which lane I should stay in.
In the passengers seat to my right was my best friend, James. James was a peculiar person, who lived a very methodical life. Everything seemed practiced and routine no matter the situation at hand.
James's father, Jack, had always wanted a boy, and he told his wife they were going to name him James. When his wife got pregnant and had a child, it was a girl. Jack told his wife that they were going to name it James, rather than start from scratch, so they did. She also had three middle names, a trait in which I admired.
This is basically what I use to explain why James does anything. She seems nearly flawless in whatever she does. Nothing ever bothered her. You could put her in any situation and she'd respond to it as if it'd happened to her every day, just like getting out of bed. She's extremely witty and oftentimes never responds to anything directly, that is when she decides to speak. Most of the time I have to think about what she means after she says something, or I just ignore what she says and hope that I figure it out sooner or later by luck.
We met in second grade, and ever since then we've always been together. It wasn't until I was sixteen that I found out James was really a female. Personally, I just figured she was born with some birth defects and I just left it at that.
I heard a thump come from the trunk of the car. I turned to James and asked if she heard anything.
"Quayle," replied James.
I slowly started to decipher what she meant when I heard the noise again. It nearly made me open my eyes, so I ignored the thump, and focused on trying to stay on the road.
I felt gravel slipping under the right side tires, so I swerved manically towards the left.
"How am I doing, James?"
"You're on the left side of the road, and we're about to crash. If you do crash, make sure you kill us both. I don't feel like answering questions all night."
I felt another thump and stomped on the brakes, while whipping the wheel to the right at the same time. I decided it was time to open my eyes, which I did just in time to witness an oncoming vehicle smash into the back left fender of the car, shattering the tail lights and spinning us back to the left.
The car that hit us had to be going at least ninety miles an hour, because once it hit us the car tilted onto two wheels, then it's side, and finally it flipped over and crashed into a telephone pole about seventy feet down the road.
I had started to get the car back onto the highway when James opened the door and got out. I shut off the car and followed her, wondering why she didn't want to get out of here as fast as possible, especially since the police could show up and start asking her questions.
As I passed the rear end of my car I saw that the trunk lid was bent upwards. Great, I thought, and slammed my elbow on the top of it, which caused the lid to pop up. Inside was a man wearing a suit with a button on the lapel that had '1988' printed on it. He was in the fetal position sucking his thumb.
I wondered whether or not this man was alive, but more importantly, what his name was. I hate seeing someone and not knowing their name.
I stared at him for a few more moments until I finally decided I'd call him Phil. I saw his foot twitch, and then his whole body convulsed. His right eye opened, and it slowly rolled in its socket until it rested on me. I was more scared then I'd ever been in my life so I turned and ran to James, who was standing next to a pile of fire and metal. On the ground next to her feet was a machete.
"James," I shrieked. "Phil's awake and he's trying to kill me."
We both turned and watched Phil dive out of the trunk into a summersault, and spring up onto his feet. Delighted at such a display of acrobatics, I started clapping.
Phil started walking towards us with his arm extended. I thought he wanted to crush my hand, so I stayed behind James, rubbing my hands together, and let her greet him.
James said to Phil, "How'd you get in the trunk of our car, Dan?"
I leaned in from behind and whispered, "You know his name is Phil, right?"
"No, it's the 1988 Vice President, Dan Quayle."
"Are you sure?" I whispered back, looking suspiciously at Dan who was straightening his suit while looking into the fire, as if it were a mirror.
"Can we make sure it's him?" I asked. "He looks crafty, like he's going to use our friendliness against us. First he hitches a ride with us without asking, but who knows what he's planning to do next."
"He misspelled 'potato' once," James told me.
I pondered at the idea while looking at Dan, who saw something inside the flaming debris, and kept burning his hand trying to get it.
"I don't think it's a good idea, James. Look at him; he's up to something. And if he was Vice President that means he's practically a genius. One time on the news I saw him drunk, and a reporter asked him about Hawaii. He said it has always played a very pivotal role in the Pacific, and it was in the Pacific Ocean, and that it was an island, and that it was right here."
I was panting from talking so fast, but finally finished up with, "He's a geographical prodigy."
She shook her head in disbelief before shouting "Hey Dan," over the roar of the flames. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Make it quick. There's a sandwich in here and it's only half eaten," Dan whined while dancing back and forth, tiptoeing around like an impatient child.
"How do you spell potato," James asked.
Dan's face shriveled up like a raisin in deep thought. He rubbed his temples with his fingers and started saying the word one syllable at a time.
"P...o...t...a...t...o..." He was murmuring now, repeating 'poe-tay-toe' over and over. "I've got it now. P-o-t-a-t-o-e. I just used phonics to make it easier. Just like I still use my fingers to count to ten."
I crossed my arms and leaned back in towards James. "Potato is spelled like tomato, except with a 'p' instead of a 't' right?"
Dan was still hopping up and down, waving his hands all around.
"My stomach is growling," Dan complained. "I need that sandwich, now!"
I looked back at James and she was shaking her head 'no' at me, but I wasn't sure if she meant that potato isn't spelled like tomato, or that Dan can't have the sandwich.
Suddenly Dan collapsed on the ground. I thought he had fainted at first, but then I figured he was playing a trick on me. So I waited for him to do another summersault and spring back to his feet. My hands were already waiting to applaud him.
James looked at me with pity and picked the machete up off the ground. She stared at her reflection in the blade, and then angled it to watch Dan.
Dan got back up a few seconds later and walked to side of the road and stood on a rock. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. I was tense with anticipation, and eager to start clapping.
"Well let me just tell you what a pleasure it really is..." he said, "to be chosen as the 1992 Republican nominee for Vice President..."
"James, is he from the future?" I asked.
"Together we must not go past...towards the...back," he stammered.
"If he can travel through time, how come he had to ride in our trunk?" I asked James. "Isn't there a scientific law that states if you are in the trunk of a car for more then two hours you'll die?"
"No," James told me. "The greenhouse effect isn't a law that says you have to die just because you're in the trunk of a car. Besides, it's only seventy-nine degrees out."
"Oh," I responded, perplexed at her reply. I wondered who Mr. Greenhouse was, and why his bill was never passed into a law.
"...and I believe that I've made good decisions in the past. I also believe I've made good decisions in the future..." Dan's speech was taking forever. If he wanted an encore he could forget it.
I nudged James and said, "See, he IS from the future."
"...what he meant by that is a good defense can't not...always be a...good offense. Thank you."
Dan's speech was over and I started clapping until I realized I was the only one. Dan peered to his left, then his right, and made way for the fireball to get his sandwich.
Somehow he managed to grab it without catching his arm on fire, and although the bread was blackened and charred from the fire, that didn't stop him from bolting it down.
I noticed something on his pant leg and glanced towards the ground.
"Pant o' fire, pant o' fire!" I screamed while pointing at Dan.
His face contorted and he was mumbling again. I couldn't hear what he was saying because I was in hysterics but after a few seconds he saw a tumble-weed roll by so he got on the ground and started mimicking its movement.
I thought he was trying to roll away from us but instead he accidentally went into the flames first, and then upon realizing his mistake, he rolled the other way. By this time it was too late, he was completely engulfed in fire and the flames were eating him alive.
"Should we throw dirt on him?" James asked calmly.
"And ruin his expensive suit?" I bellowed, twitching from side to side, not knowing what to do.
James took a deep breath in and after holding it for a second or two in thought, let it back out.
I was running around the fiery car in circles looking for water, but I couldn't find any, so I just kept running for fear of having an anxiety overload. Coming around the left side of the car, Dan rolled into me and I tripped over his charcoaled leg and hit my head on his speech-standing rock.
Through a haze of tears I saw James kneel down next to a now motionless Dan Quayle. Her arm was raised; she looked statuesque. I felt the sudden urge to urinate, but I held it back, biting my bottom lip and sobbing.
Down went James' arm into the Dan Quayle barbeque. For five minute James was pounding into James with that machete, determined to put him out. I can't remember a time when I saw her so focused on accomplishing a goal. But she used that same nonchalant flare she'd had since before she was born, and sure enough, after her shirtsleeves were smoldering and her entire body steaming with sweat, the fire was out.
When she was finished she came over to help me up.
"Am I concussing right now?" I wondered out loud. "I don't know what a concussion is like --- I've never had one."
"Are you sleepy or anything?" James asked me.
"No, but it's about time for dinner," I said bending over Dan and rolling up my sleeves.
James slapped my hand as I started to turn Dan over.
"What? I asked innocently. "I just need some money."
I grabbed Dan's wallet and we headed back to my car. I stopped and grabbed James's shoulder and spun her around, looking her straight in the eyes from only a few inches away.
"Wait. You didn't think I was going to eat him did you? Because you know I'm allergic to rep---"
I fell onto my knees and then to the ground lying on my stomach, unconscious. Apparently I did have a concussion. James drug me to the car and put me in the drivers seat, and then got in on the passengers side. She started the car and we drove off into the evening sunset.
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