E True Life Story -- It could happen to YOU !!!!
Rating: PG-13
Quality: (Quality: Unrated)
On his way to get a bagel, he stopped and grabbed some duct tape and slapped a piece over the gaping hole in his chest. Then, he trotted over to the giant door with a padlock on it, labeled “THE BAGEL CELLAR.” He opened the padlock, and then flung open the door. A huge cloud of fog filled the air, and for many seconds Ralph couldn’t see. Once the fog had cleared up, Ralph looked around the empty shelves only to find that he was out of bagels. This made Ralph angry. Very angry.
He stomped out of “THE BAGEL CELLAR” and made his way into the walk-in refrigerator, which he had made into a living room. Perched up on top of a pile of smelly old fishnets was a small cage. Inside it was a rat named Mortimer, who was just over two and a half years old. He had stolen the rat from a twelve year old girl who was pretending to be a twenty-one year old hussy in a chat room. But that was two and a half years ago, and his deep emotions towards the rat were long gone by now.
He flung open the door to the cage, and jerked out the little creature. He stuffed the little booger into his mouth, and began to chew it. He suddenly stopped chewing, and began to choke up large chunks of cotton. This wasn’t Mortimer, but a stuffed animal! It quickly became obvious that sometime during the night, Mortimer had been replaced with a Rascal the Rat Beanie Baby.
“No!” cried Ralph, “that was a special collector’s edition!” He suddenly knew what he had to do. He needed to go to Hallmark and try to get them to sew it back together, or perhaps trade it in for another Rascal. He hopped into his red clown car and began to head to the nearest Hallmark. As he drove down the street, men and women in prison striped suits ran about in the streets and sidewalks, screaming random phrases of joy and happiness. Out of all the people, a certain one caught his eye. It was his psychopath boyfriend, Herman. He waved and Herman came over to the car and smiled, revealing his sparkling yellow dentures.
“Hop in!” cried Ralph, and Herman opened the passenger’s side door and plopped down into the fuzzy pink seat. Ralph winked at Herman and said, “hey babe, what’s cookin’?” H replied, “oh nothin’, ya know. Chillin’ killin’, But I am in need of some grub, ya dig?” Ralph nodded as he spotted a Burger King just up the road. There was no line in the Drive Thru, so they just pulled right up. Ralph rolled down his window and he immediately heard a loud voice blaring out of the speakers. It said, “would you like an apple pie wit dat? Would you like an apple pie wit dat? Ding ba da dum, ding ba da dum…”
“How about we just go inside instead,” suggested Herman, “I’ll go in and get it.” Ralph smiled and nodded and steered into the nearest parking place. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes. Ralph became worried, and his hunger was growing by the second. He anxiously looked at his watch, he needed to get to Hallmark before the big Beanie Baby crowd came in and cleared off the shelves for the day.
Then, all of the sudden, he heard a thud on top of his car. “It’s probably just an ostrich,” thought Ralph, and checked his watch again. He heard another thump, and another, this time followed by three quick thumps. Then he heard the familiar voice of Herman coming from on top of his car. As he was trying to make out the words, he heard a scream. He opened his car door and immediately heard the voice slowly saying in between breaths, “would.. you.. like.. an.. apple.. pie.. wit.. dat?” He ran out of his car screaming into the Burger King. Once inside, he sat down at an empty booth by a window. The Burger King was completely empty, and Herman was nowhere in sight. He looked out of the window to see a massive figure in a blue Burger King uniform going at it with Herman on top of his car.
A glow of anger sparked in Ralph’s cold, permanently crossed eyes. He stomped out the back exit of Burger King, opposite of the side in which his car was parked. Across the street from Burger King was a Wal*Mart. He pushed open the doors furiously and stomped back to the discount candy section. Here, he found some candy on sale from last Christmas. He grabbed several large candy canes and ripped off the price tags. He stuck them under his shirt and slyly walked out of the store with them rubbing against his hairy manboobs.
Once outside the store he viscously tore off the wrapping on the candy canes, and began to suck on the ends until they were as sharp as the hair on his legs that hadn’t been shaved for weeks. He stuffed the deadly weapons in his pocket, and began to skip down the street singing, “I’ve been workin’ on the railroad!” He was skipping along merrily, looking for the perfect victim. Then, he spotted a jolly pink figure, almost absorbed in its own happiness. It’s mouth was twisted into the happiest grin, and he proudly stood on one leg. As he was approaching the figure, it’s grin seemed as if it was frozen, it’s eyes were staring at the same spot, and he was still standing perfectly on one leg without even wobbling.
“And would yew like to tell me what yer smilin’ about, mister?” interrogated Ralph. The figure ignored him and just kept smiling away. “Answer me!” screamed Ralph and began to reach into his pocket and pull out the sharpened candy cane. Still no answer. He neared closer to the figure, and he stared at it with much concentration. He couldn’t seem to figure out why the fellow wasn’t talking. He sat down on the step beside it and asked it questions for hours. After still no response, Ralph was mad. And when Ralph is mad, Ralph is mad. Then a young boy, probably about eleven years old came a skipping down the street. “Sir,” said the boy, “you know that you’re talking to a flamingo, don’t you? In honor of the annual Gay/Lesbian Flamingo Pride day, one was placed in every yard. See?” he said, pointing to the flamingos in the other yards.
Ralph scratched his prickly, stubbly, unshaved chin. “Oh I see,” said Ralph, and the boy skipped off. Ralph pulled the candy cane out of his pocket and began to stab the flamingo until it broke into several pieces. “Oh shucks,” said Ralph, “now what do I do with the body?” Just as he said this, a fat, but jolly, old man came walking down the street. He had a grubby old, long beard, and he was bundled up in a furry red coat. Underneath his coat he couldn’t see any prison striped clothing, so he knew that he must be an outsider. He hid behind a passing-by sheep and jumped out and hit the old man over the head with a candy cane. “Ho ho HO?” cried the man, more confused than hurt. Ralph began to jab the candy cane into his rectum until he heard no more life out of the man. He stole the large red sack that the man had slung over his shoulder, and he dumped out all the contents, which were mostly multi-flavored condoms.
He picked up the parts of the flamingo and stuffed it into his bag, then moved on to the next house. He went from house to house, chopping up all the flamingos into tiny, bite-size pieces until he had a full bag. He was now back at his house, and it was almost his bed time. He had wasted away most of the day talking to a flamingo, and it was about time he get some sleep. He opened the front door and threw the sack down, he would do something with the body parts tomorrow. He made his way through the dark house into what he called the bedroom. He wondered why all the rooms were dark, but he figured that Cornelius, his roommate, was probably just sleeping. He slid into the tub and fell soundly asleep.
The next morning, he went through his daily routine of peeling the crust off his eyelids and changing his long johns. But while he was doing all of this, he had his back faced to the outside of the tub. When he turned around, he let out the girliest scream that a full-grown man could possibly let out. On the mirror the words “aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the lights” were sloppily written in what one would think of as being blood, but Ralph knew better. “He wasted my ketchup on THIS?!” he cried, pointing to his roommates body, which was coated in ketchup. In his roommates hand was an open bottle, with barely a drop left. Life would never be the same. THE END
So, what is the moral of this story? Always keep your bagels cellar full, and you won’t have to worry about running out of ketchup or becoming a flamingo serial killer!
PS: Many of the popular Urban Legends were stolen from this story! This was one of the first Urban Legends ever created, but it is also the least known!
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