||Holyyyy Mackeral You Guys!
Yep, it has been 3 years since I posted here. Let's have some Spore stories, shall we? I've got 3 - one for each year I haven't posted I guess.
1. The Md Story
It was the year 2012, and despite suspicions of the end of the world, the world was, in fact, still there. It was around summertime, about a year from when aliens landed and humans found a use of all of their excess packing peanuts. You see, aliens, in fact, have a severe Styrofoam allergy, and what better way to use useless garbage than as ammunition?
Anyways, it was about a year after the aliens had been banished from earth, and Spore had finally found his calling in a biology lab, studying bacterial spores left behind by the aliens that liked to embed themselves into peoples’ feet while they were relaxing on the beach and grow into tentacle monsters. Sometimes while Spore was working he would hear clamour and shrieks coming from the basement, but he had been told not to worry about it. Gossip among the employees had informed him that the lab had previously belonged to a mad scientist whose crazy experiments were not generating him any income. When Spore’s company of employment had taken over, it was said that the scientist had been so difficult to remove that he would have caused more harm had they thrown him out, so they just left him in the basement. Rumour was he never came out. No one knew how he even survived.
One day, Spore was working alone when he heard a particularly loud yell coming from below.
“Does no one ever check on that man?” he thought. He was about to ignore it when he heard it again. He shook his head and sighed. He would never get his work done at this rate. And besides, he was extremely curious.
Spore got up from his station and headed over to the door marked, “Private, do not enter there is a mad scientist who would like to be left alone and may be dangerous, possess weapons of mass destruction, or kill a puppy if you proceed”, and kicked it open.
“Helllloooooo?” he called down. “Are you okay down there?”
Spore descended the steps one at a time.
It was dark and damp in the basement and Spore squinted while his eyes adjusted to the dark. He was amazed by what he saw. There was an entire tropical paradise spanning the large basement, with various ripe fruits hanging from the tree branches. Amidst some of the foliage Spore could see lab equipment and pieces of machinery.
“So that’s how he sustains himself,” Spore thought. “But where is he?”
Spore pushed his way through the branches until he came into a clearing. There sat an enormous machine, covered in wires and knobs and pulsing with electric current. And on the floor lay a dirty old man, scrunched into a ball.
“Hello sir!” Spore called out to him. “Are you alright?”
The ball didn’t answer. Spore approached him warily and nudged him lightly with the toe of his shoe. Spore yelped in surprise as a jolt of electricity surged through him.
“What a stupid old coot,” Spore remarked as he saw that the man was curled up and holding a live wire, which was coming from the giant machine. Spore approached the machine and hit the giant OFF switch. Instantly the man on the floor burst to life.
“What are you doing down here?” he hollered, along with some other incoherent words.
“Well,” replied Spore. “I heard you dying so I came to save you.”
“Fair enough,” said the man. “But don’t touch anything.”
Spore looked around.
“What are you doing with that thing?” he asked, pointing to the machine.
“Top secret,” the mad scientist replied, but Spore had already lost interest and had picked up a set of blueprints from a desk nestled in the trees beside the machine.
“Hmm… a device that causes an electric current to go through the entire world, making everyone forget about the letter A, and making it impossible for them to ever utter the sound again… interesting…” Spore remarked.
“Why you! I thought I told you not to touch anything!” the scientist scolded, running at Spore. Spore shifted to the side, dodging the scientist, who ran into a tree.
“And is this your life’s work?” Spore asked. “How odd. You really must be mad. What use could erasing the letter A from the English language ever have?”
The scientist mumbled something incoherent under his breath.
“Well, if it means that much to you, you’re in luck. I think I can help.” Spore pulled off his shoe and sock and bent his knee so the bottom of his foot was facing upwards. Embedded in his heel was a tentacle monster the size of a large thumb.
“I research bacteria and small organisms that were left on the planet from the alien invasion. Of course, maybe you don’t even know about that since you lived down here this whole time,” Spore said, “But I happened to be able to tame this one. And he is very intelligent.”
“Spore Jr.,” he said, addressing his foot. “What should I do to make this machine run?”
“Why, just switch the red and blue wires and insert that wire on the ground there into that socket,” he replied, pointing his little tentacle arms at the machine.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” said Spore, turning toward the scientist, whose eyes were wide open in awe. “Do as he says if you really want your machine to work!”
The scientist scrambled to the machine, picking up the wire from the ground and plugging it in as the tentacle monster had said. He then switched the wires on the side and stopped moving, staring at his machine.
“How did he know to do that?” the scientist asked, gaping.
Spore ignored the question. “Now, if you hit that ON switch you will be erasing the letter A from the English language forever. Think about it. Think about how much impact this will have on the world. Think about how it will change. I mean, it doesn’t affect me personally, but it does affect you. Think about it. You’re a mad scientist, correct? If your plan succeeds, you will become a md scientist….”
“But that’s what I want!” the scientist cried. “All of my life people have been calling me mad. They refuse to recognise my Medical Degree! Now, instead of being a mad scientist, I will be a md scientist, or scientist, MD and will finally be recognised for my talent as a medical doctor!”
“Oh,” said Spore. “Well, that makes a lot of sense. Go ahead then. Just remember, once it’s done there’s no turning back.”
You cn only guess wht hppened next…
2. A Sporey Story (A.K.A. Operation Sporeout)
The lone wanderer, Spore McSpore, woke up on his maggoty, stained mattress ready for a new day. The bugs had given him a crawly full-body massage overnight, relaxing his tense muscles. He sat up, yawning, and checked his flesh-eating disease.
“Hmm,” he remarked. “Better than yesterday.”
He slipped into his banana peel slippers and headed downstairs to greet his children; a smiling lawn gnome and a grinning chainsaw with a pair of eyes spray-painted on.
“Hello, Beardy-Spore,” he said, addressing the lawn gnome. “I trust you slept well. Sparkly-Spore, quit baring your teeth!”
Spore sighed, shaking his head at the chainsaw. “Well, let’s see what we have to eat, shall we?”
Spore opened the fridge and pushed aside a jar of glowing slime in favour of a lone egg on a shelf. He took a pan from the pot rack and set it down on the stove’s only functioning burner, switching it to high. He cracked the egg into the pan and happily fried the rotten, bloody chicken embryo, humming a tune that sounded a bit like Madonna’s hit single ‘Secret of Mana 2’. When he was finished, he split it into three portions for his family.
“Well, this is it,” he stated, scratching the flesh wound on his cheek. He gobbled up his portion quickly, eating it straight from the hot pan with his calloused fingers. Then he went into the bathroom to wash it down with some toilet water.
Next, Spore fed his children, stuffing the egg into the gnome’s gaping mouth. He turned on the chainsaw and put its portion up to the blade.
“Ow! Sparkly-Spore, you bit me again!” he scolded, frowning at the oozing gash across his palm. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
He wrapped his wounded hand in a blood-stained towel, clicking his tongue.
“Well, time for work!” he announced, kissing his children goodbye and splitting his lip in the process. He wiped the blood dripping down his chin with the back of his hand and waved goodbye, heading out into the world.
Spore gallivanted to the post office to pick up his deliveries.
“Hello!” he called to the boss, Mr. Morrison, whose door was closed as usual. He reported to the front desk.
“Oh, Miss Evans, what do I have for delivery today?”
He looked into his drawer.
“Oh! Only one today! 26 Maple Lane. Alright!”
Spore headed out. He walked until he got to Maple and put the letter in the mailbox. Then he returned to the post office to fill out his paperwork. Then it was back home again.
Before heading inside, Spore checked his mailbox.
“Oh! I have mail!” he exclaimed. He tore open the envelope happily.
“Dearest Spore,” he read, “You are a handsome devil! Love, Spore.”
“Oh Spore,” he cried, shaking his head, “You are so sneaky, sending me mail! To think you would still be writing me, after all this time! Well, I might as well respond.”
Spore went inside and wrote a quick response on a soiled napkin.
“Dearest Spore,” he wrote, “Thank you for your message. You’re not so bad looking yourself! Love, Spore.”
He checked on the kids before he went to deposit it in the mailbox. They were napping peacefully. On his way back he scrounged through the trash heap that was his front yard for something for dinner.
“Oh! Lucky find!” he cried, pulling out a crushed squirrel corpse.
Spore spent the rest of the afternoon preparing a green gloop and squirrel casserole and put it in the oven. He set the table and seated his children. Before plating his masterpiece he played his obligatory daily round of Russian Roulette. He lost.
3. Another Sporey Story (A.K.A. Hair Today, Spore Tomorrow)
It was the beginning of winter when Spore decided to grow out his hair. His purple tresses had just passed his earlobes, and rather than getting them trimmed like usual he decided to see how far he could let them go. His female friends congratulated him on his endeavour, looking forward to seeing how their prince would look with long flowing locks. His male friends just shrugged and told him he could do what he wanted, even if they thought it was stupid.
By the end of December, Spore was starting to look a bit emo. His bangs had just gotten long enough to sweep to the side and his nearly shoulder-length hair was slightly dishevelled. Girls swooned when he entered the room. Boys looked away in embarrassment. Spore, as always, was enjoying the attention. He thought he looked quite dashing, and even applied a bit of eyeliner to his lower lids on occasion. For Christmas, he asked for a straightener and on New Year Day he resolved not to cut his hair for the entire year.
By mid-February, Spore’s hair gracefully swept his shoulders and he had a stunning side-bang. During lunch hour girls lined up to braid and style his mane. Some of Spore’s friends tried to reason with him, saying his hair was starting to change him, but Spore would hear none of it. As far as he was concerned, he looked amazing. Why quit now?
When April rolled around Spore’s hair was trailing down his back. He took care to brush it 200 strokes a day while watching some of his latest addictions, Gossip Girl and One Tree Hill, or while listening to his new favourite artists, The Backstreet Boys and Justin Bieber. On Friday nights he went to the clubs and drank cosmos with his girl friends.
By June it was getting hot out. Spore opted to put his hair in a ponytail to keep it off of his neck. Some students from the 12th grade data class had secretly been studying Spore for their culminating activity, and their analysis concluded a strong positive correlation between the length of his hair and his feminine demeanour.
Spore went to prom in a pink suit, and was just as likely to dance with the boys as he was with the girls. At his graduation, the keynote speaker detailed his accomplishments while referring to Spore with the pronoun ‘her’.
The month of July was a blur. Spore’s hair had reached mid-back and his bangs had completely blended in with the rest. His detailed hair-care routine assured he had no split-ends. When asked about his hobbies, Spore would reply “Doing my nails and reading slash”. He had started applying lipstick and occasionally wore heels to the supermarket.
Friends who had not seen Spore in a while barely recognized him. Family members wanted to nominate him for intervention, but his mother wouldn’t allow it, insisting she was happy to finally get the daughter she never had. Spore himself seemed oblivious to all comments regarding his gender. He refused to listen to anyone who said he had changed.
At the end of August, Spore prepared for college. He was unaware of the dilemma his parents, as well as the school’s staff, had over whether to house him in a dorm with a male or female roommate. His roommate Kyle seemed uneasy with his presence, and Spore could not understand why so many guys were checking him out. He continued to watch Gossip Girl religiously every Monday night.
Kyle, on the other hand, tried to make the best of the situation. He invited Spore to a LAN party with some of his buddies. Spore wore his hair loose. It fell gracefully to the top of his buttocks. When they got to the party Spore felt uneasy. How could he play such manly things, like Call of Duty or even Little Big Planet? But the moment Kyle put the controller in Spore’s hand, something magical happened. Spore started winning. He was owning people left and right. Suddenly, his hair didn’t matter. All that mattered was the game. Spore remembered the good times – beating his friends at Super Awesome Amazing Street Fighter IV Revamped Unleashed and levelling his character in FFXXXI the MMORPG.
“Kyle, do you have any scissors?” he asked.
“Well, sure,” Kyle replied. “What for?”
“Quick, bring them to me!” Spore demanded, running towards the bathroom.
Kyle handed him the scissors and watched as Spore took a good look at himself. It was the first time Spore actually saw how much he looked like a girl.
“Hair! You have been taking over my life for too long!” he cried, and he abruptly chopped his hair off, letting it fly all over the room, hitting the walls and falling to the floor in purple clumps.
“Kyle!” he exclaimed when it was finished, “thank you so much! I couldn’t have done it without you. Now sweep up this hair and donate it to Locks of Love pronto!”
From that day on, Spore was back to his manly self. He never grew his hair out again. And even if he wanted to, because he broke his New Year’s resolution, God made sure it would be impossible to ever grow his hair past his shoulders again.
Moral: Keep your promises or God will smite you.
Well that's it. Hope you enjoyed, whoever might read this...
· Fri May 28, 2010 @ 09:56pm · 2 Comments