These stories are for the most part, anime related and mercifully short.
These stories are for the most part, anime related and mercifully short.
Married to a Magical Girl
I have to move to Japan soon. It’s not like I want to, but that is where almost all Magical Girls reside and I married a Magical Girl. You would think this is a wonderful thing. But I have a shock for you.
Having a Magical girl as a wife or girlfriend is a pain.
I tried to make a go of it here, but in Ohio, well, they just aren’t ready for this sort of mayhem. As you know, Magical Girls are either from the sprit world or from another galaxy, here to protect mankind from evil.
Apparently, fixing the potholes on my street is below them.
In order to fight evil properly they must transform themselves, to gain their special power and acquire their..uh..uniform. They usually do this by performing a geeky dance routine and in an eruption of sparkles they shed their earth clothes and become temporally naked and the magical outfit comes out of nowhere to cover them; all this is done in midair.
Now this is all well and good if it is in the privacy of your home. Heck, it is even enjoyable to watch (those schoolgirl or sailor suits can be sexy). But all too often evil raises it’s its head in public. For her to go through this routine as we are in line at the grocery checkout is …well.. Embarrassing. We’ve been banned from Wal-Mart. Did you know this transformation takes a lot of energy? When this happened at Best Buy, it blew the circuits of all the electronics. I owe them 257,000 dollars in damaged goods.
Once during a contest between good and evil at my home resulted in a power blast from an evil wizard went astray and blew up my neighbor's deck and his new Lexus, Most insurance policies don’t cover destruction by black magic power blasts. He moved away.
All magical Girls are accompanied by a sidekick to give sage advice and guidance, they can be little fairies, sprites, globs of who-knows-what, or an animal. My Magical Girl’s advisor is a talking cat.I’m not impressed. For a being with wise advice for my Girl, you would think it would have house-trained itself. There is nothing magical about Cat poop. Also, its cosmic feelings led it to invest all of my money in Bernie Madoff’s investment fund. Thank you, O great magical sage.
Once in a while magic has its uses. One day I had to drive downtown and parking is terrible. I “borrowed the magic wand and went to my destination, I waved it at all the parked cars. They all were transported to Venus. Very convenient..for a while. I too had to go through the transformation process. Try to explain to the Authorities why you are wearing a girl’s sailor suit. When My Magical girl came and got me, she admonished me like” You should not use good magic for base things, only good”. Yeah, well, the cops pretty much told me the same thing.
So we’re off to Japan where this is more common. I’ll send postcards.
Rei’s Beauty Tips, Or Why I like Orange Tang
Why hello there, my name is Rei. You know me. I’m that enigmatic, cute, EVA pilot that all otaku man-childs fantasize over. I first appeared in the mid 1990’s so I’m about 32 years old now. How do I keep my youthful, semi-loli looks? Let me give you my beauty secrets.
I find I keep my skin fresh and smooth if I pickle myself in a giant vat of orange Tang. I not only find it keeps my skin moist, but I also absorb vitamin c and other refreshing fat-free ingredients. Astronauts swear by it and so do all of my clones.
Asuka thought you could do the same with Mountain Dew, and she took in all that caffeine and look what happened to her, turned her into a manic Tusundre bitch.
It also helps to wrap yourself completely in hospital bandages like a mummy. While you are doing this also consider having Oil of Olay injected intravenously into you bloodstream.
Avoid emotions if you can. Things like crying, smiling and such creates stress and makes wrinkles in the face.
I can’t say enough about plugsuits, They are so tight that you can’t eat anything. It really keeps the weight in check.
Well, that’s it for now, more later
Revy's Advice to the Lovelorn
It’s Revy, your sensitive advisor on romantic matters. Let’s open the mailbag and see what we have.If you don't like it, maybe I should stick my bowie knife in your gut. Moving on.
I would like my husband to take me out on Saturday Nights, but I can’t seem to get him away from watching football on T.V. How do I convince him to take me out?
Why that little turd! I’ll be dammed if he would ignore me! I suggest that you fire an M-60 grenade launcher through the front window. That should get his attention. As he lays stunned on the floor, drag him to the car and handcuff him to the bumper. You should then proceed to drive to a good restaurant and if the little bugger is still alive, kick his butt into the place. I’m nothing if not romantic.
I want to tell this girl I have feelings for her, but I’m too shy to approach her. What should I do?
Gawd, I can’t believe you, If you had any stones, I would kick them. Now be a real man and just tell the little tramp what’s on your mind, And don’t forget some flowers, you wuss.
Your Friend Revy
How can I find a good man?
Lady Of Wicca
What kind of name is that, anyway? Is it a code? Do what I do. Go to the toughest bar in town and challenge everyone to a drinking contest. The last one standing will be good enough for the night. I also suggest a pair of Colt .45’s but just wing him in the leg so nothing else that matters will be injured. Have a goddanm good time
More later, gentle readers. Now get out.
Things Are Looking Up For Me Now That I Have This Chainsaw
Honestly, I don't know how I got by without this chainsaw. Now that the throaty purr of a two-stroke engine spinning seventy inches of diamond-sharpened chain has become my solution to every problem in my day-to-day routine, my life has drastically improved.
For instance, I'm enjoying a romantic dinner with teh waifu. I'm in my tux, she's in one of those playboy bunny outfits. Things are going well. When I pull a chair out for her, she notices that my muscles are only exerting half their potential power and swoons. I make her laugh deeply with my captivating tales of instant messaging with Tommy Two Tacos. The boat oars, traffic signs, and whimsical brick-a-brack adorning the restaurant's walls seem to swirl around us in a manifestation of the whirlwind love that is blossoming.
Then, the unthinkable.
Our waiter brings me a Shirley Temple after I specifically asked for a Roy Rogers. I politely point out his mistake, and he responds in a rude manner, sullying my honor in front of a lady. This cannot stand.
I lean over and remove the chainsaw from its carrying case below my chair. Our waiter backs off nervously, looking back over his shoulder. There, by the entrance to the kitchen is his own chainsaw. It is an inferior make and model. Knowing he has been outclassed, he tells us that our drinks are on the house.
Game, set, match.
Janice and the Samurai Hairstylist
“My hair looks like crap” exclaimed Janice.
“Yeah, it looks pretty gross. You should go to the new place on Main Street” offered Her friend
“I’ll do just that”
Janice soon came to a small storefront with a sign reading:
Yamaoto Hair Styling and Martial Arts
She went in to the shop to be greeted by samisen waffling in the air and bonsai trees
A young man dressed in a silk robe smiled and bowed deeply
“I shall be happy to serve you”
An older samurai interrupted,
“You shall not. I shall see to this gaijin, as you are a low caste Ronin!”
“How dare you! My hair-cutting talents are as good as yours!”
The young one grabbed the hilt of his sword.
In a flash, both swords were out of their scabbards as the two warriors battled for the honor of Janice’s hair.
“Dishonorable pig! Your hair shears are too slow, old man!”
“Dog! Your curling talents are inferior and You color hair like a weak old woman!”
In a masterful stroke the older swordsman lopped off the head of the arrogant young hair stylist.
The master stylist turned to the ashen Janice
“So sorry, but he was not fully trained in bushido hair cutting techniques. How may I serve you?”
A stunned Janice stammered “I would like a small trim”
“AAAAIIIIEEEEEE!!!!! Our clan is dishonored! The Yamaoto clan has perfected the hair ritual for over 500 years and has styled the hair of the divine emperor’s third cousin removed. I must end my life over this insult.”
At once the man kneeled down an exposed his stomach, and wrapped a pair of scissors in a white paper at the hilt. Preparing to plunge them into his body.
“Oh…No.. Please stop… I would like a complete change in my hair style”
Relieved, he Samurai got up and motioned to the chair
“Please sit. I shall make you the envy of your village”
The samurai performed and ancient martial arts exercise ritual to mentally prepare himself for the task. In an instant, with a flash of scissors and swords, he attacked Janice’s hair.
"Banzai!!! It is finished! Gaze upon a haircut worthy of a samurai geisha!” Handing her a mirror.
The mirror reveled the traditional samurai style, shaved top of the head and the remaining pulled back into a topknot.
“ EEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” Screamed Janice in horror and bolted out of the salon
The Samurai leaned out of the storefront door waving a pair of nunchucks
“Wait! We do body massages too!”
As gluttonous, buffet-ravaging hellbeast children across America know, Halloween is coming, the scariest and spookiest holiday of all, besides Thanksgiving day at your in-laws. While you read this, kids are lifting their dense, bloated folds of flesh into various Dragonball-Z costumes sewn together by Taiwanese children their same age. These children then parade relentlessly throughout suburban neighborhoods, begging for spare change and an offer to work for food.
No… wait…., that's homeless people.
Trick or Treating kids are much more demanding than the homeless, insisting you pay in advance for them to get loaded with chocolate, caramel, fudge, peanut butter, double chocolate, crispy rice, canola oil, yellow #5, methanol, Polyurethane, vinyl siding, or whatever other stuff is inside candy these days. If you don't give in to their ruthless demands, then the Russian police will shoot mystery gas into your home until you are dead. Once these juvenile delinquents are done extorting you for saturated fats, they will move on and pillage the house next to yours like midget Vikings. I found that Jesus is often the biggest threat to Trick Or Treaters. The only way you can possibly hope to escape from these marauding gangs of midget Vikings is to steal a Bible from a local motel, make thousands of copies from pages that you select at random, and then launch into the following conversation when a doughy child crammed inside a Naruto costume bangs on your door:
FAT Kid in Naruto costume: "Trick or treat!"
Outlander: (Waving arms wildly) "And sayeth the Lord Jesus Christ, 'thy wicked, thy sinners, thy defiles of mine mystic barge, begone! For this event shant not be celebrated by scurvy vermin, as it opposes our Lord, thy God upon Mount Holy Oats, and ye shall receive a penalty as harsh as thy soul upon the fiery rocks of hell itself!'"
FAT Kid in Naruto costume: "Do you have any candy?"
Outlander: (Spitting while talking) "Do not celebrate this wicked holiday my child! For with every visit, you release a demon from Satan's Magic Grain Silo, a demon sent to capture your soul and use it in the upcoming unholy war! Repent or you shall be doomed! DOOMED! DOOMED!!!" (Shove a copy of the random Bible page into their Halloween candy bag)
FAT Kid in Naruto costume: "This isn't candy! What the hell is this?"
Outlander: "It's me threatening to beat you to death with this chair leg unless you get the hell off my goddamn porch right now, you little shit."
While Jesus does a good job ruining Halloween for most kids, we adults who choose not to celebrate this silly holiday have an even bigger threat looming over our heads today: insane, possibly undead serial killers from Hell.
I haven't had any comments on my short stories. If you like them, please let me know and I will continue
Girl, Your Body Is Like A Metaphor!!
Hot damn, girl! You're incredible.
Everything about you gives me koala feet. You don't know koala feet? That's when a koala gets so dumbstruck by something beautiful in nature like a rock or a boulder that he forgets how to tie his shoes. You'd make a koala rely on a zookeeper to tie his shoes for him, or maybe invest in some velcro sandals.
I'm not exaggerating. In fact, I'm just getting started.
You're blushing... You don't even know how fine you are, do you girl? That just makes you even hotter. It's like you're a retard that wandered into NASA mission control and some balding dude with a headset and a cigarette hanging out of his haggard genius mouth sat you down in front of a supercomputer and said "Go on, save the rocket". You don't know what the flowers is going on, and you aren't even wearing regular underwear.
I like that. Yeah, you know I do.
If we were stranded together on some tropical paradise and we found a four-post bed with silk sheets and a can of whipped cream, I would give you half of the whipped cream. You'd probably have to sleep on the floor because I flail my arms about when the nightmares get bad, but you wouldn't be able complain about the poor sleeping conditions. After all, I split the food with you, right? You wouldn't even know how comfortable sleeping on the bed would be, and that would just make you even hotter.
Your skin is a gently rolling landscape, its surface a milky velvet delight. I want to spend a lazy afternoon traversing every millimeter of its surface with my fingertips, held in such a way as to make it look like my hand is skateboarding.
What gorgeous hair you've got. It's like a hundred ropes. When I smell it I become intoxicated, like I just used too much ammonia to clean up a poorly ventilated hospital bathroom. I could lose myself in your hair if it was big enough to make a maze. I'm horrible at those things, which is pretty much the only reason why I couldn't become a professional hedge maze solver.
Your eyes are like sparkling diamonds in a sparkling stream and someone went nuts with a Bedazzler on all the tadpoles. When I look into those eyes, I am blinded to everything in the world but you, and that poster on your wall with the two girls kissing in black and white.
Girl, your brain weighs roughly three pounds.
Your legs are long like the line I waited in to see Star Wars: Episode One. I sat there for twelve hours without going to the bathroom, and the local news asked me a few questions live on the air. If he were to ask me about your legs, I'd have a lot of flattering things to say but I'd probably steer the conversation toward Star Wars.
Your breasts are like a slightly mismatched pair of oversized oranges. If I grasped them with my strong but tender hands and gave them a honk, the sweetest orange juice would drip out from every pore. I'm not being poetic, I genuinely believe that's what would happen.
Your lips are a pair of pillowy security doors hiding a dangerous secret: Your teeth. Your teeth can bite and chew, but your lips can kiss and sometimes form words. Your whole mouth is a dichotomy. Think about it!
My absolute favorite thing about your body, though, is the nape of your neck. It's like an NES cartridge. I could spend hours leaning in close, exhaling hot whispers of the games I want to play into its smooth hollow, and it wouldn't have any effect whatsoever on you.
We interrupt this thread for a word from our Sponsor
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And now, back to the thread
I've only read a few of the short stories, so far my favorite is Revy's advice. It would be funny if you formatted your stories like a newspaper, with Revy doing a Dear Abbey Column; it would be funny to hear her advice on any subject.