Carl was in to deep. It had started out with the simple lie “I like trucks”, and now he was about to box Jesus and Gandhi for the championship.
Carl wondered how he had gotten here, the triumphs and tribulations, the dinners with the stars, the battles with the ghosts. In fact I the writer wondered how Carl got here… huh… well, It seems as if we’ll never know.
The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword
Jake joined formation with his legion as they marched towards the Pit of Doom where thousands of orcs awaited them. The glow of Mt. Doom’s lava illuminated the dark evening air.
“Formations! Weapons!” Someone ahead yelled. The clicks of pens filled the air. You see Jake had missed all of the training sessions and briefing, he’d had a REALLY bad case of diarrhea, so he was very poorly informed for the wave of pens that emerged.
“Wait? What the hell guys?! Why did you bring pens? Where are your swords?” Jake questioned his marching ally to his left.
“Dude! Didn’t you hear? We’re taking the term poetry slam to a whole new level!” Jake’s ally said.
Speaking of taking things to a whole new level, Jake felt a whole new level of being out of place. You’ve never felt being a black sheep tell you bring a sword to a poetry slam.
Jake had had enough of this! He pivoted around, kicked down the door and yelled,
“Who took my sandwich?”
Jake had in-fact eaten that sandwich himself, but he wouldn’t let that get in the way of him achieving Justice.
Jake stared at the room, sitting in the middle of it was what appeared to be a nursery of disabled children.
“Ooh sorry my fault…” inside though he knew he had achieved Justice. He stalked away looking for somewhere else for Justice to be achieved.