Abuse of literature, bacon style.

Status
Not open for further replies.

bacon

!!!!!
Member
This is me mixing literature, imagination and logic into one giant goop and then sieving out any lumpy bits that look interesting. You might think the story is random, and you would be right, as none of this has been planned and I’m making this up as I go along.

But be a good reader and assume there is some deep and meaningful message burried underneath all those horribly complicated paragraphs.

Enjoy :]

------------------

Far beyond the scope of what we might call “regular” reality exists a place so full of logical contradictions most of us might wonder if such a place is really there. It is a place full of mundane wonders, gruesome beauties and moral evils. Everything about it is logically impossible, and as it is logically impossible for a logically impossible place to exist, it therefore follows that the logically impossible place does exist because it is in fact impossible for it to be there. In other words, it only exists because it isn’t supposed to.

It really is enough to make any Philosopher throw a tantrum.

Fortunately for us, most of the impossibilities cancel out with each other and we are left with a world that we can at least make some sense out of. Even better, this strange world also houses some interesting and intelligent life forms who will no doubt get embroiled into some sort of magical adventure at some point in this story because that kind of thing always happens. Welcome, friend, to the delightful world that is Talnem.

The locals of Talnem believe that their planet is the centre of the universe. And they are indeed right. Talnem exists within its own impossibility bubble and as such takes up all the room, making Talnem the centre of the universe and the universe at the same time.

At this point, a Philosopher would start to rip out his own hair.

Just above Talnems atmosphere is the sky’s limit, the edge of the impossibility bubble. Hundreds of tiny holes puncture its surface, where logical energy in the form of light cascades down to the surface. The Talnemians call these “stars”. Then there is the big hole, the hole emitting so much energy it lights the atmosphere of Talnem into a pale blue color. The locals call this the “sun”. And finally, to conclude this lesson on Talnemian astronomy, there is a big round rock pockmarked with craters which circles the planet every twenty-four hours. The locals call it “Walter”.

At this point a philosopher would tear his clothes off, run around the local neighborhood and proclaim ducks do not exist.

----------------------------------------

Because this is a story, we have to begin in a quiet area that is insignificant in every possible way. This is how all good stories begin, it’s been done for a long time now. I’m not sure why really, it seems a bit pointless in my opinion. Because the insignificant place is the start of the story, it is henceforth significant, thereby leaving us with a lovely paradox.

Here we see vast fields curving off into the distance in every direction, dry dirt roads scarring the bright green sea of grass rippling in the wind. Large trees dot the landscape, their leaves shining in the sun like emeralds. There are no birds or beasts, only the sound of rustling leaves travels through the flower scented air.

Whump.

“Whump” is the precise sound someone makes when they have just been called into existence and hit the ground, in a field, at precisely 12:00 pm. Vertal was not aware of this fact probably because he was unconscious, and had he been awake such a useless fact of information would not have bothered him anyway. One thing that would have bothered him is why he whumped in the first place, because he had no memory prior to the whump and now had a lump on his head. Aside from the whump and the lump, he might have recognized the bump in his coat pocket, because this bump was the cause of the whump and henceforth the lump- not the bump itself of course, but what was causing the bump. Had he known what was making the bump, his reaction might have been to jump.

But he didn’t know, and rested quite peacefully.

----------------------------------------


End of the first bit of the first chapter. I’m not sure what on earth possessed me to type this up, but I’ll continue the story if it goes down well. It should be noted that writing comedy is a lot more difficult than most think; I discovered that the hard way by the looks of it.
 
Perfect, Bacon-Boy, just perfect.

A few laughs for the day from that. Naturally funny. Especially your prologue. And this part:
Bacon-Boy's Story: Chapter One said:
Because this is a story, we have to begin in a quiet area that is insignificant in every possible way. This is how all good stories begin, it’s been done for a long time now. I’m not sure why really, it seems a bit pointless in my opinion. Because the insignificant place is the start of the story, it is henceforth significant, thereby leaving us with a lovely paradox.
That is absolutely perfect. Even my friend and I, who are definitely the lamest people in school, would not be able to make that one up.

Ten toes up!
 
Crazy Weavile said:
XD! Great work... have you been reading Douglas Adams?

Yes, I'm a big fan of his work. Same goes for Terry Pratchet.

Wow, I'm quite surprised it went down this well. I'll post the next bit soon, so stay tuned!
 
Makes me feel like reading one of them hitchhikers, My friend read one, thinks it's great, and I have to read stupid books for English anyways, so why not enjoy myself when I do :)
Some stuff in there did remind me of some stuff in the book my friend read and he told me about, but it's not quite the same.
TEN NOSES UP for merging traditional humor with your own humor to create the wackiest mess of humor known to c-m :)
 
Oh god, here's the second part of the first chapter.

------------------------

It wasn't a regular house, as far as houses go. The windows were triangular, it had 5 walls instead of 4, and the roof was a sort of slanted cone shape that threatened to topple over if ever a bird landed on it. It was all made of mud and sticks and hay that looked like it had been stuck together by someone who was blind and didn't actually know what a house was. A hexagonal door put the icing on the geometrically challenged cake.

The insult to architecture stood (barely) on a steep hill that overlooked vast forest land spreading out from every direction like a dark green carpet. It stood out like a pimple. Smoke spiraled up from the crooked chimney into the clouds, which at least indicated that its occupant was intelligent enough to create fire.  

Let's assume we're very brave, and will now enter the.. uh, "house". In it we will find a single pentagonal room, which is lit up by a roaring fireplace that happens to be circular. Everything is neat and tidy, with sensible wall paper and rather valuable looking ornaments displayed on polished, perfectly horizontal shelves. This is rather strange, because the inside is actually quite pleasant compared to the exterior of the house that looks like, well anyway, it's strange.

An old man is sitting in front of the fire. He looks like one of those old wise men with the long robes, the long white beard and hair, and looks like he can give some really good advice, looks like he can use long words, and looks like he can do some magical things too.

But looks can be deceiving. The man is rather like his house, in that his outside appearance completely betrays what is inside. Basically, he looks clever and capable but is in fact a bit loony and is totally useless to the nth degree.

However, this old man by the name of Lenthook does have an important role to play in this story. I'm not really sure what it might be because I'm making this up as I go along, but please be a good reader and assume it's something great and fantastic. Thank you.

Lenthook was staring intently into the fire, as if something very interesting was written on one of the burning logs. He didn't move, not even a blink You would never be able to guess what he was thinking about, so I'll have to tell you. What Lenthook was thinking, to a precise degree of accuracy, was this:

"..."

This was because he was dead.

Don't worry! He's not permanently dead, it's just a temporary health concern.

----------------------------

Back to Vertal.

Vertal was still unconscious and completely unaware of his rather unusual predicament. The human brain is meant to cope with thoughts such as making important decisions, solving mathematical problems and finding the nearest KFC. It is not able to cope with sudden 'whumping', and so had taken the rest of the day off to calm its nerves and had shut down.  

Just above the horizon Walter was cruising amongst the clouds like a phantom cookie, throwing a dead light onto Vertals face. A slight drizzle fell in veils over the field from the clouds directly above (well where else would they be?), filling the air with that strange damp smell one commonly associates with misery.

There was no lightning, no thunder, not even a single vampire bat. Despite the overwhelming boringness threatening to take over this paragraph and hold it hostage, anyone who was there at the time would have been able to sense that something significant and mysterious was about to happen. Something that would affect the lives of everyone and everything on Talnem.

This is a serious bit, so start reading with your mouth hanging open and your eyes so wide they look like they might pop. Don't actually make them pop though, because you won?t be able to read what happens next making the whole endeavor pointless.

------------------------

CLIFFHANGER! AHAHAHA!

Will Vertal ever wake up? When will Lenthook recover from his 'temporary health concern'? And will you ever bother to find out?

No, I don't know the answers to these. I was hoping you could tell me.

I'm quite proud about the Lenthook bit, to tell the truth. All those "?"s appeared all over this when I posted it, so I had to do a lot of editting... bleargh.
 
Excellent piece of literature, b-b, you've outdone yourself. Heck, no you haven't, this is standard b-b comedy, IMO.
 
Yeah, if I posted this anonymously you'd be able to guess it was me who wrote it :p

I'm so very tempted to turn this into a pokemon fanfic...
 
Oh dear lord... did anyone notice Talnem is an anagram of "mental"...? I really didn't mean to do that but...

Next section will be done soon. It involves a wooper and an angry crow, you can't miss it.
 
bacon-boy said:
Yeah, if I posted this anonymously you'd be able to guess it was me who wrote it :p

I'm so very tempted to turn this into a pokemon fanfic...

Why? And why not? Just so long as Lenthook doesn't pull his beard out, anything is fine. Lol.
 
Oh, quite a big chunk for you here. Here be part two:

Chapter two: Ancestral memories

Before we get back to the story, I’d like to explain a few things about pokemon and how it is, in every sense, morally wrong and anyone who likes it should be shot.

The life of a pokemon begins (even if it is a mammal) inside an egg. Being entombed in a cramped shell that came out of its mothers you-know-what is probably the most enjoyable experience of the pokemons life.

It hatches, and sees the face of its blood thirsty master, or a “trainer”. Right from the word go this trainer forces it to fight with other sorry pokemon, and a battle only ends when one of them faints due to exhaustion. And so the pokemon grows, learns new ways to beat the living daylights out of other pokemon, and sometimes even changes shape in order to do its job better. All in all, the life of a pokemon is very violent and tragic.

Now, the pokemon are not happy with this. Slavery is one thing, and being forced to beat each other up is another. Whenever a pokemon sees a human that isn’t its master, it does its very best in trying to rip that human to shreds. Yet it never succeeds in doing this, because the human will either run away or force it to fight one of its own enslaved pokemon. The wild pokemon does not stand a chance most of the time.

Oh dear, this fanfic is getting very close to having morals so I’ll stop now. Just bear in mind the views pokemon have on humans, because it is rather important.

------------------------------

A quiet cracking noise eased out of Vertals bulging pocket. This noise was then replaced by another sound which was almost identical to the one a cat makes when it leaves a fresh fur ball on your pillow.

But the thing that tumbled out of the pocket was not a cat, nor a fur ball. The blue something tried to stand up, but found it rather tricky due to a lack of arms, two useless legs, and a head bigger than the rest of its body. So to compensate, it had to roll. This was a Wooper.

Pokemon are born ready. They are thrown into the world and fend for themselves as soon as they learn to breathe. Instinctive urges flooded the Woopers brain, telling it to find a water source or die. Water was its home, it could defend itself in water; on land, it was about as powerful as half a tangerine.

But something was stopping it…

It had seen Vertal. Ancestral memory told it to hate humans, and that whenever a human was sighted it was a pokemons duty to inflict as much pain on the overgrown Aipom as possible. On land it couldn’t really do much, but it was going to give it a hell of a try anyway.

It screamed the Wooper equivalent of “Die!!! YARG!!!”.

With the strength of a disabled snail, the Wooper put all of its efforts into rolling at maximum speed in an attempt to end this humans life. It very slowly carried out its death charge, and one minute later collided with Vertals face; it had about as much impact as a marshmallow falling on a trampoline.

“Urgh…?”

Vertal slowly sat up, holding his head in his hands. The world spun around him in a dull blur as if he were in a washing machine, his brain felt like a heavy lump of cold clay, and something kept on nudging his leg. As the dark world around him came into focus, he suddenly became aware of an angry blue thing rolling into his thigh. It looked rather angry.

Vertal cleared his throat, and said in a polite, curious, and tired voice “Excuse me, what are you doing?”

The Wooper did not clear its throat, and said in a rude, furious, and passionate voice “NYUUUGAAAAHHH”.

Oh dear, thought Vertal. I’ve got a massive headache, have no clue where I am, and am being slowly attacked by something that looks like it should be friends with Kermit the frog. This is not a good day.

After a while, the Wooper had given up. It was completely knackered* and so put all of its remaining energy into what it thought was a demonic stare; this failed on the account it had one of the most non-threatening faces in existence. A teddy bear would of done the job better.

“Ok, look you.” Sighed Vertal, picking its small body up (twice, it was rather slippery) and holding it at eye level “I don’t know what your problem is, and the only reason I haven’t kicked you yet is because you seem to be about as confused as I am. Now, why are you trying to kill me?”

The Wooper blinked. It didn’t know… instinct told it to hate humans, but it didn’t tell Wooper why it should hate them. This human didn’t seem to be all that threatening after all. After a while, the Wooper figured it might as well be nice to it.

“Oh, uh, sorry” It replied in a voice that sounded like a frog with a bad throat who had breathed nothing but helium for the past half hour “I thought you… um, never mind. Yeah. Sorry.”

The Woopers face was not designed to be adept with facial expressions, but Vertal took that manic smile to be apologetic. He put it down, upright, and watched it waddle around for a bit. Its blue damp skin shone in Walters light, giving it a ghostly appearance.

After stretching its “legs” the Wooper sat down next to Vertal. It felt it should make up for trying to kill him, it seemed the right thing to do.

“So…” it began awkwardly “What are you? Um, and what am I?”

-------------------------

There is some stuff in there that will get explained in later chapters, so don't worry if some/all of it makes no sense.

I haven't forgotten about Lenthook, he just hasn't recovered from being dead yet.
 
LOL, isn't Wooper the cutest/stupidest Pokémon in existence?

Your story makes me wish Ash' pikachu had some sort of instincts :p
 
Yeah, I rather liked the marshmallow thing. It was either a marshmallow, or a pingpong ball.

About Pikachu... you'll have to wait. I will actually explain a problem that occurs in the anime. It involves the fruit of fate.

Anyway, I felt like more was needed on Lenthook so...

----------------

Not a lot had happened. The fire had died out, the sun had set long ago and a gentle rain pattered the triangular windows impatiently. Lenthook was dead, but he was also alive. It really depended on how you looked at it.

Lenthook was alive, in the sense that his heart was still beating, he was breathing, and still retained the god-awful flatulence that only an 80 year old philosopher could have.

On the other hand, he was not thinking.

Now, not thinking is a tricky business. For one, how do you know you aren’t thinking? You have to think about it, don’t you?

Lenthook figured that if you were dead, you stopped thinking because the brain no longer worked. It wouldn’t matter if your heart kept beating, because as there was no thought process going on you wouldn’t know whether it would be beating or not. So, Lenthook reasoned, if you stopped thinking, you would be able to experience what it was like to be dead.

Don’t worry, he got it completely wrong.

What Lenthook forgot about was that, when your brain stopped working, you wouldn’t be able to remember what had happened because memory is a function of the working brain. In other words, Lenthook had wasted ten hours of his life. He would of wasted them anyway though, so it wasn’t a huge loss.

He wrote, in his philosophical diary (like all diaries, apart from the fact it uses long words that no-one knows the meaning of):

Cherished chronicle of discoveries,

Today I embarked on crossing the magnificent threshold that separates said evolved ape from his subsequent chance in life, thereby expunging all doubts concerning said subject. In doing so (i.e. Experiencing the phenomena of not being animate, i.e. being deceased) I had learnt many details regarding the other world, other world in the sense of formerly stated said subject which, I might add, and I do add, others thought impossible to reach. I now feel inclined and prejudiced by my own apparent lack of reticence to revel, and henceforth will now engrave on this paper “hah!”

Unfortunately, I forgot what happened.  


Lenthook was a philosopher and as such had to write in a bizarre style that no other human could read. The job of a philosopher is not to answer the big questions in life, the job of a philosopher is to pretend he is very clever, to smoke pipes, and abandon any kind of social life. In NO situation does one ever give a clear answer, or indeed any answer at all.

He laid his enormous and exaggerated quill down and stared at the empty fire through deep pit less eyes. Lenthook mulled over the possibility of blinking, but decided he already had too much excitement for one day.

--------------

Huh, I've written quite a lot now.
 
Rather than write any more, I might just edit what I have at the moment, make it better, and then after all that continue. I might be rambling, lol.
 
Yay, double post!

I didn't want this thread to die, because I'm posting up some new stuff soon. The reason I haven't updated it lately is because I've found other ways to waste my time.

So, stayed tuned!
 
And this is another bump in the hope that when your update is ready, the thread is not dead.
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Back
Top