The Most Pointless Story Ever (Candidate4)

After a long wait, here's the next candidate for the title of Most Pointless Story Ever. Enjoy!

We shall begin our story with a house on a hill. No, this isn't Little House on The Prairie. Inside this house, there are several rooms. In one of these rooms lies a magical box. In front of this magical box sits a zombie. At first, you might be forgiven for thinking that this zombie has already passed on the energy stage, but look! His hands are twitching. The fingers on those hands are moving actually at near the speed of light. In those hands, lies a magic wand, of sorts. This magic wand is what keeps the magic box alive and well, supplying fantastical imagery to the zombie's mind. 

The zombie licked his lips. They felt like dry sandpaper. Well, he hadn't drank for more than 16 hours already. He blinked his eyes slowly and used a hand to rub his parchment-like skin. He lifted his arms and smelt his armpits. Ewww. As soon as this was done, he thought, I'm gonna need a shower. He refocused his eyes on the magic box and concentrated. With a sudden dexterity that hadn't been present earlier, the two thumbs on his hands flicked and jerked on the magic wand, causing even further enjoyment to scurry through his mind as the magic box responded quickly and clearly to his commands. He leant in towards the magic box, every ounce of concentration focused on it. Even though his body was completely dehydrated, a bead of sweat still managed to drip down his temple. I was agonizing, but he dealt with it. 

Let us take a minute from our story to focus on another story arc.

In the town below the hill, a storm was brewing. It was gonna be a bad one. Thick thunderclouds the color of night scurried across the evening sky. Huge drops of rain spattered down on the inhabitants of the town. Some people tried to take cover under any type of shelter. Others ran into any adjacent building they could find. Small bolts of lightning were zapping down from the heavens at random, as if Zeus was having a temper tantrum. Larger bolts soon followed. Zap! A nearby tree caught fire. Zap! The steeple of the church snapped off. All of a sudden, Zap! The electrical cable connecting the town generator to the lonely house on the hill had been struck. The cable snapped completely, causing a power surge throughout the whole town. Whole buildings were shorted out by the surge. The entire town was coated completely in darkness. 

Back to the house on the hill.

The zombie was awakened out of his stupor by the power being cut off from his house. He watched in anguish as his Xbox died a horrible death without him saving the game. He pressed a few buttons experimentally, but nothing happened. No. It was over. And he was so close.

The anguished yell that came from the house on the hill caused everyone to jump out of their skins. Literally. Some people actually died from pierced eardrums.

THE END

A Random Story

Here's a story I found carved into the frost on a Port-A-John in the middle of a park Northern Hemisphere.

It's cold out here. Why did I even choose to go out here? Oh wait, it's because I don't have a home. I see bare trees, bare in the way polar bears aren't. Ha ha. Bare and bear. Geddit? That is just not funny but I suppose I have to write something here. Well, what shall I write? I should have brought a book to read. But what's done is done, there's no turning back. 

Where shall I start? Oh yeah, the other day, something odd happened to me. A small kid threw a snowball at me. Me! Gullie Bulfool the third, the CEO of BananaBuilder Industries. For your information, we do not build bananas, rather we process them. Ever eaten banana jam? It'll be the next big craze, that I can tell you. Oh wait, gotta pause, something's coming. Ah... that's much better. 

OK, where was I? Oh yes, the banana jam. I can't tell you exactly what's in it, but I can assure you it has something to do with bananas. Great. Now I'm out of ideas. What's next? Oh yeah, my court hearing is next week. My wife is suing me for $20 000 just because I haven't spoken to her in two weeks. Oh come on, it was just two weeks! I'm a very busy man, don't you know. So, the bottom line is, I've got a lawyer who claims that he'll win the case for me. His name is Mr. B.A. Deliar. Weird name, I know. He has a pet monkey, you know. 

I love that cute little critter. Especially when boogers start to drip out of his nose. That always happens when he goes out in the cold for a while and then comes back in. I wonder what his boogers taste like. Do they taste like fish? After all, they say monkey tastes like chicken. Therefore, by the law of averages monkey boogers should taste like fish. Maybe they have a show on that on the Animal Planet. I should probably check it out when I get home. I'll be right back, something else is coming. 

Man, that felt good. Now what? There's this new social networking tool on the line, or so I'm told. The call it Facebook or something like that. I don't get it. Why would they call it Facebook if the people using it weren't actually facing real books? Or is it something like Macbook, something that you can carry around? I don't know. Well most of my staff are already using it, so why not? I might sign up for it later, as soon as I get out of this hellhole they call a portable toilet. Whoa, what's happening? The whole thing is shifting, as though it's being carried. Oh my God! It's hooligans! Help me! I need to get out! There are so many things that I need to know! What do monkey boogers taste like, for instance. Oh no. I'm being carried right now. Thank goodness, I'm back on solid ground. I'll just get out now and run home as fast as I can. Goodbye.

At this point, the carving gives way to another, detailing the many ways to cook rat meat so that it may be edible. Further under that, there in another inscription, barely visible under the frost. It reads, "Evolve animalia populo autem stercoris semper eadem manet."

THE END

I HAVEn't THE REMOTEst idea.

To keep you tiding over, here's another story I found engraved into the walls of a Port-A-John.
The sun shone down strongly on that bright summer afternoon, illuminating and heating everything in sight. Leaves were dried to a crisp, pools and ponds all dried up, and suntan lotion had never been more in demand. People dared not to go outside for fear of being singed by just the tiniest ray of sunlight. Indoors, people either splurged on air-conditioning, or lazed around in baths consisting completely of human sweat. People died just from sweating. And yet, in the midst of all the suffering and strife that was faced by the people, there was a man, a man so comfortable in his mobile home. 

The A/C in his home was turned on full blast, transforming the home from a sauna into an igloo. The man sat lazily in his deck chair and stared aimlessly at the idiot box. His favorite program was on, and it showed, well mainly people being hammered by other people. Oh, how he loved it. He felt no pity for the poor sods who suffered just meters away from his house in their own houses. In fact, he felt that they had received their just desserts. However, all this lazing was taking a toll on him. He felt that he should do something productive. 

An idea plopped into his mind like and egg plopping into the sea. Let's change the channel. Let's watch something new! He grinned to himself and reached forward to take the remote. Inches away, his hand stopped. It was as if he had come up against an invisible electric fence. Pain sizzled up and down his arm, sending hurt jolting through his arm every time he tried to move it. Unaccustomed to such pain, a fat tear rolled down his cheek. He slowly moved the other arm round and used it to inspect his injured arm. Apparently, it was a cramp. He massaged it slowly, willing the strength to come back to his hand. 

Finally feeling ready, he extended his arm again. Only millimeters away now, when another tragedy hit him. It was the wrong remote.  He cast his eyes around frantically for the correct one, his heart rate climbing up and up and up. Finally he found it. A low cry of relief escaped from his lips. Salvation was near. Twisting his arm around, he zeroed in on his target and moved in for the kill. Yes, it was there for the taking. Ever so slowly, his fingers extended to their full elgth and wrapped themselves around the remote. Almost there...  

Even so, at this late stage in the game, Fate would not allow him to win. With one last almighty push, Fate rolled the dice for him again and yet again, his dice showed SNAKE EYES. 

The mystery man watched helplessly as his fingers clumsily knocked the remote of the table and it smashed onto the floor below, along with his hopes for a better life (possibly). 

The post was followed by an inscription done very meticulously that read... 
O magnum. Stercus non mi exi me. Auxilium!   

THE END

The Most Pointless Story Ever (Candidate3)

Here's another one to keep you readers satisfied. Enjoy!

Rain fell heavily, lashing at the single sheet of zinc that formed the roof of the small box they called  home. In actual reality, home consisted of just four large pieces of wood covered by the sheet of zinc. But the condition of the house does not concern us. What concerns us is what happens inside. Inside the house lay a table. Well, more of just a overturned wooden carton than a table. On the table lay the most wondrous thing in the world, which for security reasons shall not be named. Around the table were eight people of varying ages, heights and genders. Normally, there were usually only two or three people in the house at any one time, but today was special. No it was not because of the rain, though that did help put a damper on the evening. It was because of the item on the table that everyone was gathered around looking at it, giving it their fullest attention. 

The tallest person in the room suddenly announced "It's time." Automatically all heads turned to him. Digging in his pocket, he was stunned to find out that he only had one match. This was going to be hard. Taking in a deep breath, he fished it out and turned it so it was facing the right way up. He licked his lips and used his fingers to dry a section of the box so that he could light the match properly.

Meanwhile, the youngest person in the room, who shall only be known Timmy, peered through the gloom at the tall man. In his mind only one thought ran through his head. Why doesn't he light the match? We're running out of time! His young mind had yet to fully comprehend the complexities of this ceremony.

Back to the story. The tall man took a few breaths to calm himself down. If he missed this opportunity, Tommy would never ever speak to him again. Licking his lips again, he struck the match. It flared for a few seconds before finally, it caught. Time seemed to stretch as though elastic. Slowly, ever so slowly, his hand extended down to the table. He had only one shot, one chance, there was no doubt about it. Sweat trickled down his temples, but there was no time to wipe it. The match was burning out. Only microseconds left before the flame was extinguished. Where was it? Frantically he moved the match around, trying to spot it in the dim light. There! On his right! He quickly moved it down to the candle and held the flame against the tip. 

And not a moment too soon, by his reckoning.

All the occupants of the house watched in wonder as the single candle atop Timmy's birthday cake flared into life. The wonder turned into pity the moment the match burned out and the burnt stump singed the tall man's fingers.

THE END

Salsa with an extra "S"

While waiting for the inspiration to continue with the next set of most pointless stories, please enjoy yourselves reading this story I found carved meticulously into the back of a Port-A-John somewhere someplace.

"Sitting in a comfortable chair feeling like a stuffed turkey. Look at my plate and spot a small cup of ice cream still on it. Gulping, I urge the previous three courses to swim as quickly as possible down my gullet. But of course you do not understand what I am talking about. Let me take you back in time, 72 minutes back in time to be exact. 

72 minutes earlier,

I sat in my chair, feeling hungry, unsure of what was to come. With every passing second, I felt more and more hungry before finally it was as if I would collapse from starvation. Luckily, at that precise moment, the gates of Heaven opened and salvation appeared. It was, however in the form of a salad. Dinner was just beginning. This salad, was a little unconventional. It consisted of some salad leaves, drizzled with olive oil, along with a prawn smothered in tomato sauce and some fresh sashimi. Normally, I am NOT the type of person to eat sashimi, but this time my hunger FORCED me to make an exception. Reluctantly I tucked in. Surprisingly, it was rather sweet and did not have a fishy smell though I'm probably gonna regret that later. Moving on. The starter was finished with remarkable speed, or maybe I'm just slow? Whatever. As I said, moving on, the next course was the soup. When it arrived, it looked like slop brought back to life. It was a dull brown color and it had bits of green in it to brighten the mood. However, let's not judge books by their covers, eh? I picked up my spoon and dipped it into the soup, expecting it to be runny and weak. It turned out to be thick and creamy. Slurping the soup tentatively, I was jolted as a wide palette of tastes exploded in my mouth. However, it was all dominated by one taste. POTATO. I struggled slightly to finish the bowl even though it was shallower than your average dinner plate. Well, dinner had been pretty disappointing for me, so I was really hoping for a surprise as the main course. And well, surprise me it did. The main course was brought out held aloft by a waiter. By aloft of course I mean 3 and a half feet off the ground. It turned out to be some pan seared fish. After all the disappointment of the dinner, this seemed to turn out to be quite pleasant. However, I was about to be proven wrong. It wan not pleasant. It was horrible AWESOME. The fish was perfectly cooked and it was also fresh, which was a welcome bonus. The dinner was quite enjoyable, but now return we must to our starting point, which is also our ending point. The dessert. I was too full too enjoy it but still, it was only ice cream. After an enjoyable evening, it was kinda spoiled by the presence of a pesky fly around the table. Fhwap. Went my dad's napkin but nothing happened. And that, readers, is what happened throughout the entire dinner. What an eventful evening. And on my birthday too. Well, I'm done, I must leave now so someone else can use the facility. I hope that the next person to read this will be suitably occupied. I know I was."

At this point the carving runs to the bottom of the Port-A-John but there is another carving at the bottom that on closer inspection reads...Noli cibo tuo et in fine omnia extiterit idem.

*As with Camping Indoors, this story is 60% true, 40% unavoidable dramatization.

 

The Most Pointless Story Ever (Candidate2)

Another story that I'm working on right now. I think all of you can connect with this one.

There it lay, still steaming even though it had already been 15 minutes since he had first lay eyes on it. From the beginning his eyes were transfixed on it, hoping that he would be the one to get it, but it was not to be. Every time he reached out for it, a new obstacle stood in his path. Not today. He was distinctly aware of his two closest competitors, sitting on either side of him. The same thought was running through their minds. Get it. Slowly, ever so slowly, his right hand reached out. In it, he held his weapon of choice. On either side of him, his rivals too extended their weapons. The three of them zoomed in on the prize until their weapons clicked together. Now was no time for subtlety. It was time for war. Moving with a speed that stunned everyone, he went for it. To give credit to them, his rivals reacted admirably. The one on his right stopped his weapon in its tracks while the other one swung it away. His hand fell to his side and he thought all was lost but when he looked up he saw that the two competitors too were engaged in a full pitched battle for the treasure. Not wanting to be left out, he too joined in. Within seconds, what had been a pleasant contest was now a full-blown battle. Just when he thought he was winning, One of his brothers rivals would knock his hand just out of reach. Their epic battle was watched by everyone present with rapt attention.It was a drama like no other, but there could only be one winner.

Little Winnie watched with wide-eyed wonder as her three brothers fought with great skill and fury over the treasure. Suddenly, she saw an opening and without hesitation took it. 

The entire dinner table watched with wonder as Winnie speared the last piece of pizza with her fork and bit into it contentedly. What happens next is entirely up to your imagination.

THE END

The Most Pointless Story Ever (Candidate1)

Hey readers, this is just some graffitti that I'm working on on the back of my Port-A-John. More to come.

His breath was coming up in short gasps. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He kept willing for it to arrive. For hours, he sweated, for hours he waited, but still nothing happened. He cracked open a bottle of water and doused himself with it to cool himself down. He gripped his hands tightly till his knuckles cracked. He pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more, but still, nothing. In frustration he banged against the walls. Bad idea. The small house he was in suddenly started rocking. It had been days since anyone had changed the water, and multiple people had already been in the house. He narrowly dodged a flying chunk and was repaid by being splattered with water. Sighing, he took out a pack of tissues and started wiping himself dry. Three packets later, he was dry, but not clean. Cautiously he sniffed his sleeve. The smell made him gag and nearly pass out. That was rancid. He decided to concentrate and try harder. Inside, he berated himself for not giving his best. He gathered up an unwelcome deep breath and pushed. Suddenly he felt something happening. It was time. He took several short breaths and pushed. With a rapidly beating heart, he looked down and was filled with euphoria at the sight of it appearing. He pushed a bit more and it fell out with a plop. 

At that exact moment, he was splashed with toilet water again as the poo fell with a resounding splash into the bowl of the Port-A-John.

THE END

Camping Indoors

This post was read off the back wall of a Port-A-John in a city in a country in the world.

"Arrived in the middle of the night. Darkness surrounded me, threatening to force me to lose my footing on the narrow precipice that was what remained of the drain cover. If I fell I was sure to get wet. Thankfully, I got across safely. Then, for the coming days, I was to go through the ride of my life. Sounds scary? Well, it wasn't. Throughout the entire experience, I was battered physically during the day and mentally during the night. Who knew you could stand for 16 hours in the same spot and not get deep vein thrombosis. At least that's what it felt like. Now, I am being hunted. Hunted, by cubs. Do not laugh. These cubs have bite. There are four packs of them, with each pack containing 25 animals, I think. I have already been bitten once and I do not wish to be caught again. I look up and spot my comrade, the Toilet Seat, moving restlessly in his seat. I motion at him to stop fidgeting. He refuses, anxious for me to finish my necessity. Wait, what was that? Voices! I reach over and clamp a hand over my friend's mouth. The light beams from the cougars are getting close, the sounds of their panting clearly audible. I must go soon, in order to avoid being caught. Suddenly, the Toilet seat bursts out from his hide and flees. I fall down hard and hurt myself. The commotion has stirred the beasts. They are closing, I can feel it. I must sign off here and try to defend myself. If anyone reads this, no that the answer to life is not 42, no matter what Douglas Adams says. They are h-.....

At this point, the writing becomes smudged with a red ink, or could it be something more sinister? We will never know.

*This story was 60% true, 40% unavoidable dramatization

(Second) First Looks

Welcome again. I, as you all know, am the Hero Of The Port-A-John. Due to unforeseen circumstances, my previous foray into the terrifying world of Blogging has been shut down. So, I would just want to thank you all for bearing with me and remember: Blogging saves more trees than writing a diary. More trees equals more toilet paper. 

Thank You.