posted on Jul, 10 2005 @ 07:43 PM
I originally wrote this story for the contest, but when it was finished, I realized it only contained one of the three required elements. This is the
first time I write a story in English (my native language is Dutch), so please feel free to correct my grammar and spelling.
"There's nothing like taking a dump in the woods", thought John Braggord, while taking a dump in the woods. John knew he had to hurry. Aliens were
on his tail. They were out to probe John's anus. They were interested in probing human anuses in general, that's why they came to Earth, but they
were interested in John's anus in particular. The mysterious reasons for that may or may not be revealed later on in this story.
So John had to hurry, to protect his anal integrity. Wiping could wait. He'd do that tomorrow. He pulled up his pants, picked up his backpack and
walked. John was a bigfoot, alien, and spirit photographer. He took pictures of rocks and trees in the woods. Afterwards, he would magnify parts of
the pictures and in fuzzy shades and shapes, he'd recognize ghosts, bigfeet, aliens or other anomalous entities. He'd circle them with a marker and
show them to others. Most people didn't recognize any beings, but that was just because they weren't psychic enough. And also because aliens and
bigfeet were in fact shapeshifting entities. They'd never hold one shape for more than a split second before shifting to another shape. That's why
on pictures, they always appear fuzzy. And ghosts appear fuzzy too, of course, being dead and all.
Once, in Spain, John rode up an elevator with Ava Gardner, the famous movie star. He didn't dare to speak to her, but every day since, he thought
about the two of them being together, happily married, with kids. John's acting career had taken off, because of his wife's connections, and they
lived in a huge villa with a private beach. The kids had grown up by now, one had become senator and then president, the other was a movie star like
his father, and Nobel prize winner. For what he had won the prize was an insignificant detail John hadn't bothered to think of yet. By now Ava had
become so old and wrinkled that John had to dump her in favor of Uma Thurman, or another hot young actress.
But anyway, John had to hurry now. No time to think too much of what would have been if he had just opened up his mouth back then in the elevator.
He actually rather liked the gliding feeling between his buttocks he experienced because of his wiping delay. There was no one in the area to smell
him, so what did it matter anyway? He hadn't bothered with washing either for a month now. John was on the trail of Paul McCartney's ghost. You see,
the real Paul McCartney died more than thirty years ago, when his look-alike killed him and stole his identity. It's obvious, isn't it? How else
could he have made such crappy music since going solo? So anyway, The real Paul's ghost had gone mad, and thought he was someone else. He thought he
was Elvis. When the delusional real Paul's ghost and the real Elvis's ghost met in Naples, Italy, in 1980, they had a huge fight and Elvis kicked
Paul's ectoplasmic *ss real hard, resulting in a major Earthquake with over 3000 casualties. Ever since, Paul was on the run. John tried to capture
him so he could hook him up with a shrink. Of course a medium had to accompany Paul to the shrink, John Edward had already agreed to do that in
exchange for the book rights. The movie rights were for John of course.
John felt he was closer on Paul's tail than ever. But he also felt the aliens were closer on his tail than ever.
Ten years later
John felt he was closer on Paul's tail than ever. But he also felt the aliens were closer on his tail than ever. John hadn't washed in at least ten
years. He still thought daily about what would have happened if he'd opened up his mouth back then in the elevator. By now he'd have divorced Uma
and married Scarlett Johansson.
[edit on 10-7-2005 by Zaya]