Can the collective write a (sequel to the) short story?

I’ll start:

As I stepped out of the

shower, I tripped and fell on

the end.

the soap, at which point I

startled the cat who knocked over

a spittoon. After mopping globular juices

out of my orifices, I wondered

why my brother left the spittoon

on the bathroom floor.

When I see my brother again,

I am putting the spittoon in

his favorite easy chair so that

he sits on it and ruins

the cheesy floral pattern that covers

those stupid bermuda shorts he got

from his blind girlfriend last year.

She’s a sweetheart, but the clothing

she picks is the weirdest stuff

like this shirt she gave me

that shows my tattoo of a

drunken monkey sailor who’s had his

virginity stolen by a dirty, freaky

Monk in southern Africa who

haunts my dreams and makes me

wonder why I even bothered to

make him pumpkin pie from the roots of

the Feces tree that grows around

that giant shithole. Next time I’ll

be sure not to stub my toe

on the petrified lump of stinking

skunk carcass. I really should clean

the carpet where the rotten flesh

is still sitting. Boy I’m lazy!

As for that burning rash I

should go to the dr. and

have him smell it, seeing as

it looks a lot like my

brother’s shorts, but then again I

need to stop smelling my brother’s shorts

and switch to smelling his funky

new line of cologne for men

,”Essence o de Cheez-Whiz” which actually

attracts farm animals of every type.

which led to a rather embarrassing incident

involving two sheep and a large

alpaca named Bob

who is minus one leg but

sings a beautiful rendition of The Wind Beneath My Wings

Then there was the sacrificial chicken

who refused to be sacrificed and led a chicken coup

that ran roughshod over the entire

farm, including poor old bob the alpaca

and then ran over the goat who

kicked the famer in his jewels and

ceased all production of the perfume.

Now it was time to start making

spill-proof spittoons, so that I

wouldn’t waste any when I drank

Boy, do I like to drink.

This way, my brother won’t leave

and my big sister won’t try

to steal my glorious collection of

vintage spittoons, which I have locked

away in the safe for my

safekeeping, guarded by 3 large Albanian

sumo wrestlers who have ran into

a spot of trouble with a gang of kamikaze midgets little people

who robbed the Wallmart last

friday night wearing only their colored

golashes

to distinguish themselves from the rival midgets little people on the other side of town

that looked even more like demented

cream corn

that has escaped from the can

that Ward the chinchilla boy

stole from the local market in

the most daring robbery ever

Catmandoo

(that was Robmandu’s secret superhero alias)

,shouted Ward as he stole the

creamcheese

cream of mushroom soup from aisle 7

durnit

or burn it!

…Ahem Ahem… Six Words…cough cough….

Ward was very interesting, hailing from

the supremely lovely country of Canada

, though he was a spy for

yearning for that sweet

dream the famous rock group

slice of American pie, which he

promptly stuffed

into his mouth, not even savoring

the end of the recording

of his favorite band of musicians

For anyone who wants to reminisce

who played his fave song called

”ode to pie”, which was featured

on the website “Music 4 Deaf Folks” last year, during the great

sock monkey recall, which was really

catastrophic, seeing as the Germans had

no knitted puppets for their kids.

The situation was made worse when

the angry children turned on them

with an ear-splitting cry of

“They all lived happily after.”

The End

Thank you, Astro Chuck.
You win.

Chuck cheats!

I guess the sequels are never as good

a large spider monkey on a

crazy acid trip in the amazon

met up with a friendly baboon.

Not long after, monkey love ensued.

In the quiet moments that followed,

many cigarettes were smoked. Then, suddenly

and without the slightest warning, a

huge fart escapes the baboon’s ass. the monkey is

paralyzed

with embarrassment. the baboon says

“Dear me…the bananas must be

escaping me.”

Just then, a large cloud of

locusts descends upon the unsuspecting horde

and is repelled by the gas

with such a reverberating gust that

no one is aware of

because the force knocked them out!

The locusts proceeded to eat all

the socks in the nearby village

while chester was about to release

the angry German children. When they

huddled together and prayed for their

story to end.

So it did.

<THE END>

Oh RichardHenry, we have a job for you…

Err…not to sound mean (as it was mildly entertaining),
but don’t think it warrants RichardHenry’s attention.

Yes I know, I was only kidding :)

If I have time I might compile it.

How exactly is this a sequel?
No beaked aliens.
No Nordic tree penguins.
I just don’t get it.

@AstroChuck
Don’t forget about the whiskey, oh how I loved the whiskey…

Well I never read the first story, but this one certainly made me giggle! You’re a creative bunch ;)

Yes, where is the first story? I want to read about the Nordic tree penguins and the beaked aliens. The only tree penguins I know of are the coastal bearded tree penguins.

Here it is!

Took me forever to find it!

Here is another link about the short story.

Ah, indeed. Thank you, Augustlan. I can see why there’d be some deep nostalgia for an experience like that, Albert Hoffman and octopi and all. So who is writing the music?

The (newly) famous group called

Albert Hoffman and the Nordic Tree Penguins