Dusted

by Amy S.

Of all the creatures in Heaven and Earth, my friend, none is so evil as the dust bunny. These devilish fiends are the true monsters that lurk under your bed, these forces of destruction...

Hey, stop laughing! I'm deadly serious; if you'd experienced what I've been through thanks to these monsters, even the thought of a dust bunny would make you break into a cold sweat.

It happened on one calm, peaceful night in the middle of October. I'd yawned my way into bed early, and was soon asleep and dreaming. In my dream, I was flying through the crisp autumn air on my very own fluffy white cloud. We sped around the world, my cloud and I, dodging lightning bolts and skimming over mountain tops. Suddenly -- THWACK! -- we'd run straight into the side of a mountain. I sat bolt upright in my bed, whacking my head on the ceiling, then collapsed back limply. "Oh, thank God," I told Boba Fett, who was glaring at me expressionlessly from the Star Wars calendar on my wall, "It was only a dream." I closed my eyes and then it hit me... my bed's not a bunk bed, how could I smack my head on the ceiling?

I sat bolt upright, adrenaline coursing through my body. My bed was floating seven feet in the air, supported by a herd of dust bunnies glowing sinisterly in the moonlight. THWACK! My bed hit the wall. They were trying to throw me out the window! I shrieked, waking my roommate. She valiantly ran to my rescue, but before she was even halfway across the room the dust bunnies picked her up, threw her violently into the closet, and locked her in. I finally ripped my way free of my bedding and dove off my bed, landing painfully on the hard floor tiles. The dust bunnies dropped my bed and swarmed toward me, the bed missing my head by an inch. I fought for my life, surrounded by balls composed of lint, hair, and pure evil. Through the linty haze, I heard my roommate pounding on the closet door. "Amy, let me out!" she shouted. "I'VE GOT THE PORTABLE VACUUM!"

At these words, the dust bunnies seemed to cringe, and with the last of my strength I flung myself at the closet door and unlocked it. The door burst open as I collapsed exhausted against the wall. My roommate appeared in the doorframe, brandishing the vacuum like some sort of medieval heroine. The air was suddenly filled with the roar of the vacuum, and in mere moments all the dust bunnies were destroyed. I climbed to my feet shakily, and triumphant we surveyed our beautifully clean room.

And that is why I hate dust bunnies.

A System of Pure Evil - Part 1

by Kyle

I needed my videogame fix, so I went down to my local video game vendor to plop down $40 for a game that would take my mind off my petty troubles for a few hours. As I entered the near-empty store, an older woman came up to me, seemingly from out of nowhere, and asked me for my opinion on which game system she should choose. Being the humble information philanthropist that I am, I launched into a 30-minute lecture on the various pros and cons of each of the major video game systems avialable that day. As I began to grow hoarse, I realized how rude I had been.

"So, what kind of games do you like to play?" I queried. "What do you plan to use the system for?"

"Oh, pure evil mostly..." the kindly old woman replied.

I was taken aback. "What did you say?"

"I said 'For weevil roasting,'" the now-annoyed old lady replied. "You know, in the new game, uh, Grand Theft Weevil?"

I knew of no such game, but I let it slide. Eventually the woman decided on an XBox based on my contention that it had the most powerful processor. I could have let the story end there but my curiosity was piqued. I ran out of the store just in time to see the 'old lady' speeding away in a red convertible, throwing a gray-haired wig out the back as she did. Through the cloud of exhaust fumes, I tried to make out her license plate number:

PUREVIL, the license plate read.

I knew what I had to do.

...to be continued.

Lactose Intolerant

by Mike

The night started like any other. I was doing my homework when I got a craving for a milkshake, so I walked to the diner and got one. Now, this is something I've done many times before, and I didn't expect this one to be any different. Little did I realize that the guy making the shake was in fact a Voodoo High Priest, and one with a personal grudge against me.

I get back to my room, and begin to drink the shake. I take my first sip, when the shake flies out of my hand, soars across the room, and sprays half its contents on the wall. At first I don't think anything to odd about this. I simply assumed that I must have dropped it somehow, or was moving my hand and it slipped, or something. So I get paper towels and begin to clean it up, when the remnant of the shake rises up from where I had set it. As I watch it, it hovers in the air a moment, and then launches itself at me. Next thing I know, there are Styrofoam shards in my eyes, a straw up my nose, and I'm drowning in cookies and cream ice cream and skim milk. After a few minutes of desperate struggle, I manage to free myself and subdue the shake with paper towels and a mace I happened to have.

The immediate threat ended, I go back to the Diner to investigate the cause of this diabolical shake. As I approach the shake place, I suddenly feel a sharp pain in my side, and then my knee, then my back. I struggle towards the counter, and see the same man who made my shake sticking pins into a small doll. With my last ounce of strength, I leap over the counter, grab the fiends head, and shove it under the soft serve. Within minutes, he was dead, smothered in creamy vanilla and rich chocolate. The world was safe for frozen dairy once again.

Pajama Riot

by Amy

Pajamas have recently been banned at Annandale High School, as well as in many other schools around the DC- Metropolitan area. This ban has sparked much controversy and rivalry between students and teachers, pajamas and slacks, monkeys and buttons, and, most recently and most shockingly, fighting has erupted between Arabs and Jews over this issue. Students have taken to the streets in protest, often chanting "Free Pajamas!" and "Give Pajamas a Chance!"

Bobby Macklando, 17, a senior at Annandale High School said, "I am protesting because it is my God-given right as an American. It says so in the Constitution. And, like, I just really like pajamas. You know?" So far, the monkeys and the buttons have been entangled in a 72-hour crossfire over this debate, stunning Arabs and Jews alike. Casualties are still unknown.

Gravy on the Highway

by Mike

So I'm going home with my Dad, doing about 60 on I-68 west. We're minding our own business, obeying all traffic laws, when out of nowhere comes a beast straight from Revelations. This was a turkey that would have been the Devil's Thanksgiving dinner; it was 700 pounds if it was an ounce. It circled over the car several times, with an evil glint in its eye, and then it dove. My father tried valiantly to avoid it, but to no avail. It struck the windshield full on, shattering it completely, and showering the pair of us with shards of glass. I was lucky to only lose one eye. And the turkey flew away, completely unharmed, laughing maniacally and searching for its next victim.

Breakfast of Champions

by Bruce

So, I woke up to make some breakfast. After killing a pig for bacon, and hassling a chicken until it laid eggs, I found no cheese in the fridge. I couldn't imagine a bacon, egg and cheese muffin without the cheese. Then I remembered! If I milked an old cow I would get some cheese, and the incredibly large farm that happens to be next to my house has the oldest living cow in all "the land". So, I snuck over to milk the cow, and all of a sudden I realized it wasn't cheese, it was sour cream. That's when the farmer noticed me, and started chasing me with a typical farmer weapon. That's right, a bazooka. I ran straight to the nearest DC metro station (the Purple line stop next to the farm), and went to Wisconsin via Africa, China, Australia, Lothlorien and the moon. I acquired some cheese, and then I headed home.

That's when I realized I had no English muffins...

Keavin vs. IMAS

by Keavin

This all started when I saw IMAS appearing in several of my friends' AIM profiles. I figured it was the latest new internet fad after JesusDance or All-Your-Base. Not being the type to admit I wasn't up on the latest e-fad, I decided to take matters into my own hands and did a Google search. I stumbled on some odd sites. The Iowans for Militant Anti-Christs Society was pretty strange, in fact. I believe they were the last link Google found - right before my computer crashed. I only had a few moments to gaze over the index page. The "Phase I: Create Reality TV craze - Total Success" link seemed especially interesting. The next link was "Phase II: Red Sox Go to World Series." Not being a Bostonian, I didn't really care. The third tab just said Phase III and had a weird mushroom like graphic. Unfortunately my computer displayed "Error 403: User not in Cabal" and started to format before I could explore the site any further.

That's when the suit showed up. He said I had to go to some place called Des Moines. (It's in Iowa!) Usually, when suits show up at my door, there's a guy walking around in the suit. This was just the coat, tie, and pants floating in midair. (Don't even ask how it talked; I can't recall.) It was the oddest thing I'd ever seen. Anyway, the suits took me to the Metro station. I think we got on the purple line. What's important is that there was a totally plausible explanation for the whole cloak and dagger thing. I'd accidentally released some irradiated cockroaches into my room the month before, and Facilities was finally fumigating the room. I was "debriefed" in Des Moines and given a new computer. Apparently the 'roaches fried my old one while I was being debriefed. The odd thing is, I don't remember much about Iowa except vague images of corn fields.

I think the moral of this story is to never ever use cockroaches for anything. My next experiment will be something along the lines of Irradiated Anthropomorphically Mutated Spiders.

The Pothole of Doom

by Kyle

So there we were, driving home on route 1 with a trunk full of groceries as I've done many times before, when BAM!, we hit the world's largest pothole. This pothole had to be 4 feet deep if it was an inch. The entire right side of the car fell into this chasm, pitching the vehicle at a 45 degree angle, the car teetering precariously over the brink. The right rear door flung open and Jon fell into the pit. Maybe "fell" is the wrong word... "dragged by a tentacle" is more like it. Then some huge licks of fire started shooting forth from the gorge and a sort of demonic laughter rung in my ears... "You're next" the devilish voice echoed. I got out of the car and ran for my life.

...I swear that's how it happened