Stick Stickley Was in Someone's Ass
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NSFW WARNING
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Hello, my name is Bradley Dentures and I work in the. I work. in the frozen's section. I like to tell myself I work at a morgue because it makes me feel more powerful and like a public servant. I would sell myself into indentured servitude if I could, but I wear dentures and let me tell you my spine chilling tale of terror. Gather 'round all you clowns, sell your frostees and impossible floppers, flappy bird, the nerd is the word and I am the nerd and I am going to play your favorite Nintendo games after I'm done here. But it's too late for me. I cannot play your favorite NES Nintendo games anymore because I am dead, or I have no hands because my hands have fallen off. Lol j/k. I bit them off because I got stuck in the frozens.
Once upon a time I was at home sitting upside down on the couch which is a bad idea because the blood rushes to your brain and it could give you a brain aneurysm. I was watching brain the mouse when it occurred to me why the fuck was I not watching Nickelodeon. I got up and flipped the knob and then I let out a bursting loud scream like a banshee. I went into the kitchen and took out 17 cups of yogurt and a single plastic spork. I stuck the spork in my ear and punctured my eardrum. I let out another scream. I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream and my name is Harry Henderson and I work in the frozens. Stick Stickley was on screen. "Hey kids, thanks for writing!" He sung his signature trademark song, which made sense because there was writing on his stick in my favorite font, Comic Sans font. I read it and my ice cream melted in the heat of the moment because of how hot and bothered I was in terror really so! I read the message on the stick but I won't tell you until later because that's part of the story. I stuck the spork in my other ear and I felt a single shock of lightning. I was unconscious. I was scared. When I woke up the rugrats were on television, but this time they were actual rats. "I want to eat some pickles!", shouted Tommy Pickles, but he sounded like an angry German man. I melted my yogurt into every orifice and continued watching the tape.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. "Come on in!", I shouted, disheveled in disgust. At first no one came in and I felt a deeper sense of emptiness than I had ever felt in my entire life. Then the doorbell rang and the person came in at the same time. "Grab yourself a beer. And a corona. A corona beer." I chuckled to myself, because I knew he would end up with the coronabeer virus. I scratched my ass. It was the last time I would ever scratch my ass in my life. "Oh, I cannot drink beer!", a high-pitched girlish voice contorted. "Okay honey sell me your cookies. I'll take a couple Mormon bars.", I stated. You know, I always thought Mormon was an ice cream flavor. And maybe it was. Smoremon. Smores. Fuck. Shit. Damn. Piss. Smores. Damn. Duhr. Dumb. I'm dumb. Fuck. Shit. I'm sorry, have sympathy for me I have no hands.
I woke up 30 years later. I was working at the frozens section. I was doing the tedious task of tossing out the rancids. I licked the spoon that I had been emptying them out with. It was a curiously thronged spatula. I heard the doorbell ring. "Come on in!", I shouted, with bloodshot eyes. "Oh, I cannot come in! I cannot drink come on in! In!". Oh no. That highpitched girly voice again! I turned around. I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eye, but I was in a coma.
Thirty years later I woke up from the coma. In the coma. I was in the frozens. I was in a freezer. I was freezing. I was frozen. In a state of disheveled terror I bit off my hands because of those news stories about saving your life if you get stuck under a boulder. It hurt like fucking hell. My face frozen next, because mother always said that your face freezes if you make faces in the grocery store freezer. I felt a sharp, disheveled, and clearly bloodifying pain lodged up my asshole. I turned around and stared up my chocolate starfish and I screamed in horror or something.
It was the writing. It was the ominous verse from the Stick Stickley television program seventy-five years prior. I cannot tell you how bothered horrified humiliated deviled disheveled bewildered mewildered Matilda things sucked I can't say it anyway here's what it said: "I am your proctologist. I am lodged up your asshole. I am Stick stickley and you are chronologically frozen. You see, when you are a child you are bright eyed, jewel eyed, a jewel eyed miscreant pretzel innocence no salt high sugar, you see life in a satisfying way because the nine month gestation period predicated it and besides grape juice and cookies and bean bag cushions while Mrs. Wildebeast gives you a gold star sticker for raising your hand to use the toilet. Well, now you're older, wiser, wrinkled, Henry Winkler and you work for $5.76 an hour at the grocery store frozen section and your life stops. You are frozen. But was life entirely frozen all along or had it just been passing us by faster than the speed of frozen light, like an aurora borealis? Disheveled. I am stick stickley. I am your real dad but I couldn't pay for baby supplies and I fled to Argentina. I have a knife, but you didn't need to know that. Somehow, I think you already did. I am freezing you. I am splintering you. Your whole life is frozen, splintered, like a 500-year old tree spared by Washington's ax only to be chopped down for paper for gold star stickers. Gold star stickers. Gold star stickers. Gold star stickers. Gold star stickers gold star stickers gold star stickers gold star stickers gold star stickers gold star stickers gold star strickers gold star. Gold star. I am stick stickley and stars are nothing but heat and gas that science suggests will one day cool, and I lodged inside your ass, deep within your rectal cavity, and you're about to burst."
Is what it read on the popsicle stick lodged upside my ass and I did explode and my intestines froze. After all, who doesn't love a frozen sausage?
What the fuck is wrong with me.
YouTube reading
Credited to DaveTheUseless
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