Thank you to Brian A. Klems from Writer’s Digest for this entertaining writing prompt!
This article is based on a true story. Though highly exaggerated for comedic purposes, the story still holds to be true.
Pensacola, Florida. Early Fall 2010.
The sweltering Swahili heat beamed unforgivingly from the sky down on the citizens of the U Won’t Fail university (also known as the University of West Florida, local competitor to the formerly known establishment People Just Chillin’/Pensacola Junior College now known as People Still Chillin’/Pensacola State College). Our antagonist of this story and his friends take shelter from the Haitian sun in their apartment and are greeted with a Jean Claude Van Fuckin’Damn It kick to the entrance door.
“Peter here?” asked the booku-fro clad gentleman named Sylvio Duval the third and three-quarters.
“SHIEEEEEEEEEEEET, nah son,” said the coconut bikini clad chief Lonex Louisdormama.
Our antagonist, Jerico “no H goddamn it” Magalagalahnes, sat next to chief Louisdormamasaymamasahkumahkusa giggling like an Asian school girl, in which him being Asian didn’t help.
“He good?” Duval asked chief LouisCKdor about the giggling school girl.
“SHIEEEEEEET, yah son,” replied the chief.
Duval the third and three-quarters then marched in as if he were a sheriff in a lawless town, surveying the scene for any flaws or possibilities for a crime to be committed. Little did he know, a crime would be to be committed in the future the crime to be but has not been but will be have been and will be when it is committed.
But for the meantime, the future crime scene had an XBox and a budget flatscreen TV across a budget couch with generations of gluteus maximus’ having shared the gift of sitting upon; a bare kitchen with an even barer fridge except for the ingredients for a breakfast of champions: milk and cinnamon toast crunch because the dwellers felt chilled cereal was better to its typical counterpart; and in that bare kitchen was an island table that served as a throne to the jewels of sir Peter “Jackson” Roehl: his doughnuts.
“Aw shiet, doughnuts!” exclaimed Duval as he opened up the box and took the last one. “He’d be cool with this right?”
“SHIEEEEEEET, yah son,” replied chief Louisandclarkador.
For continued approval, Duval turned to Jerico, who attempted to speak in between his effervescent giggling, but was futile as told by the confused look on Duval’s face.
Duval then left, not before making another Jean Claude GoddamnIt kick to the entrance door that did absolutely nothing since he had to pull to open the door because it made sense kicking the door from outside but he’s really just breaking their door kicking it from inside.
Minutes passed while the chief read up on his coconut stocks. Jerico continued to giggle, this time at the headlines of the chief’s paper. The air was then broken with the entrance of Peter Jackson (Roel). PJ greeted the two with a simple nod and walked over to his family jewels throne and opened the box.
“Hey, who ate my last doughnut?” he mildly shouted.
“SHIEEEEEEEET, Sylvio son,” said chief Julia Louisdreyfusdor. And on cue, Jerico giggled.
“Damn it Sylvio!” PJ mildly shouted.
This moment; this is something I could exploit for future use, thought Jerico. He continued to giggle while PJ pulled the entrance door in a mildly angry manner and mildly shouted Sylvio’s name into the outdoor hallway, making his way to his enemy’s quarters.
A week later.
Another box lays on PJ’s throne and again there’s one doughnut left. So our genius giggling antagonist boxed the doughnut in a tupperware and hid it in the pantry. He didn’t eat it nor did he throw it away; he’s no monster. After setting the crime scene, he needed one last puzzle piece.
“Just write ‘thank you’ and sign it?” Duval sat in his chair with a sticky note and pen on hand.
Our little giggler giggled at his face and nodded his head, incapable of making any attempts at spoken communication. Duval shrugged, did as he was asked, and handed the sticky note to Jerico. He giggled and giggled, where Duval was pretty sure Jerico said thanks somewhere in his giggle fit.
A couple minutes later.
“Damn it, Sylvio!” PJ mildly yelled as he burst through the quarters of Duval. Duval scurried to his feet from his chair, confused and afraid at the mildly angry PJ. And before Duval could scream in defense, he saw the empty box in PJ’s hands with a note reading “thank you,” signed by himself.
And our giggler giggled and giggled and giggled.
Jerico J Says 