Tales From the Burgerverse: Cliché Madness

"I was an intern at a garage sale, as well as Sega. Naturally, I was in places only Yuji Naka could be without getting in trouble from his boss, like where he did all of his insider trading. In the incredibly quite town of Sigh, Kansas, where the Rake and some fish sandwich grafted disgrace before food and science fought some fucking bitch with a gun he called Pacemaker of all things, was where I lived. Everyone in Sigh, Kansas, was incredibly fucking bored with life because they lived in Sigh, which was boring even by Kansas standards. Anyhoozel, I found a garage sale to become an intern there. A spooky scary skeleton with hyperrealistic and blood eye gave me a free game off of eBay and GameFly to make the plot advance for free and demanding I pay 20 bucks and a pack of lunch. meat" Bob read to himself, unable to fall asleep.

The grandfather clock in the living room struck four o'clock, the owls in the distance hooted. Coyotes marked their territory with howls. 'Twas a dead silent ass crack of dawn in the small, empty town of Sigh, Kansas. A heavy tome of stories didn't just fall on the ground, but left a small crater where it collided. Jeff the Killer, real name Jeffikage Kira, and the Rake, who somehow had its brain capable of understanding human speech and the English language, having its vocal chords adapt to human speech as well, and sounding like someone doing a really shitty voice out of a sheer lack of giving a fuck, returned to settle the score once again. It's been front page news in Sigh for months now, considering the last front page news in town was that someone made the unfortunate choice of moving to Sigh. The unnamable protagonist, who's going to be named Bob, shuffled from his tattered couch and out of the basement. The fridge, much like Bob, was emptier than a void. Sighing, much like the winds of Sigh, Bob trudged to his laptop and in an incredibly plot contrived way that won't be explained because I'm an unimaginative fuck, he got sent to a new dimension. The sounds were pixelated. The static was in specific time measurements. The blood was hyperrealistic. The only colors were black and red. To Bob's horror, he was stuck in the Creepypasta Dimension. A skeleton popped out to spook him!

"What the fuck, asshole!?" Bob yelled as he punched the skeleton square in the jaw.

"Ah shit! God damnit, this is literally my job, human!" The skeleton answered, before running away.

Hundreds of uninspired creepypasta OC characters came to the aid of Skeletons McSpookson CI, all of them receivering several thousand paragraphs of descriptions for what specific hue of nail polish they're wearing because fuck you.

"YOUR NEXT!" The horde of OCs said, before using their Mary Sue powers.

Bob simply walked past them, ignoring their presence. He felt something he never felt before: emotions.

"Is this the emotion you humans call, excitement?" Bob asked, overcome with joy.

"Uh... where are you from where you WANT to explore this dump?" An unnamed OC asked.

"Sigh, Kansas." Bob wept. "It's horrible."

Bob sort of shuffled off and into the nearest Taco Hell.EXE.AVI.JPG.GIF.WTF and bought a hyperrealistic bean burrito. The flavors were indescribable! It tasted like respite from dull boredom, and the feeling of a warm blanket cocooned Bob. He finally felt comfort. He was truly happy now, having the ability to feel.

A seven handed, eighty foot tall crustacean from the Hieroglyphic era sat across from Bob. With it's big, read, mean old eyes, it craned its neck to face Bob directly eye to eye.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, MONSTER?!" Bob yelled.

"I... I need about tree fiddy." The Loch Ness Zalgo answered.

"I ain't got no damn tree fiddy." Bob said back.

The Loch Ness Zalgo shrug and walked away, meeting the obligatory tense swap for the paragragh. Bob felt a surge of strength within himself. He saw, before his very eyes, a pair of silver gauntlets. At each knuckle, a different color mist rose from. A button on the wrist launched a spike from the underside, spewing pen ink in a violent manner.

"I've done it... I'll name this... Art of Dying." Bob proudly muttered in awe.

Equipping the gauntlets, they latched themselves to his hands and forearms with chains. Somehow, these felt weightless despite the fact they looked like they'd weigh at least twenty pounds individually. Bob cared little for this, as he was experimenting with how Art of Dying worked.

"You! You dare ignore my!?" A creepypasta OC bellowed, dinky utility knife at the ready.

Bob got in a kickboxer's fighting stance before delivering a swift jab to the foe's rib. The yellow mist made his left hand crackle with lethal amounts of electrical current, as the red mist immolated his right. The foe, using their Mary Sue powers because the plot wouldn't work otherwise, simply ignored the several thousand amps of current directly to the heart.

"Face my Stand! Bring Me To Life!" The Enemy Stand OC said.

Ignoring the rules of monologuing during combat, Bob used the button to splash the foe with pen ink.

"The fuck's you're problem?! Don't you know the-" The Foe kept whining with before a purple haze befell them.

The purple haze, much to Bob's shock, replaced the ink coating the foe with a noxious gas.

"Maybe... I can mix things together!" Bob yelled before encircling himself in a rainbow mist.

The mist, mostly to advance the plot more than anything, became a physical being. A serpentine monster with hundreds of spines and eyes, stretching for tens of miles. A tree reaching the troposphere grew from where the serpent coiled, blotting out the red sun over paradise. A total eclipse befell Spooksmouth, Massacrechusetts, Creepypasta Dimension.

The Shadow over Spooksmouth swiftly dove down onto its foe, entirely erasing them from existence. Not a single trace but the few memories remained, despite being entirely erased. The serpent and the tree didn't fade like a fog, becoming a permeant part of Spooksmouth instead. Bob simply stared in awe at Art of Dying and what it could create. He kept testing the limits, trying to see what couldn't be made. The tests resulted in the creation of a hundred meter tall colossus with twelve arms, a horrific parody of a dragon with thirteen jaws and a head that opens like a grotesque lotus, and a clown. Bob didn't have to raise a hand but merely thought them into existence. He realized there was very little he couldn't do, and with the raising of his hand, he got... bored. Bob simply applied for an internship at Nickelodeon out of boredom. He didn't have to worry about money or anything since he could simply imagine them into existence, but he was bored.

Turning his effort into more artistic ventures instead of brute strength, Bob saw little success since the people in charge of the television air waves didn't want something new nor exciting. They had hundreds of thousands of letters demanding that something new and exciting be made, but the statistics on the most rehashed of their broadcasts said otherwise. Jeff the Killer had the highest statistics of all the direct to television movies with millions of watchers through the hour and a half. The cognitive dissonance of the average consumer confounded Bob, since he was willing to give something unique.

"Listen, Bob. This is the ninth time this month you've tried giving something new. The people don't want something that makes them think." Bob's boss told him with both understanding and mild annoyance. "Nobody wants to watch a movie where a they're left to wonder who's the hero. They want to be given a generic bad guy they see get beaten up by the hero to feel good."

Bob simply walked out, hung up his hat and went to his small house in the mountains where madness reigns. Sitting at a small desk, he grabbed a typewriter and tried writing a story of his own.

"'I was an intern at a garage sale, as well as Sega. Naturally, I was in places only Yuji Naka could be without getting in trouble from his boss, like where he did all of his insider trading. In the incredibly quite town of Sigh, Kansas, where the Rake and some fish sandwich grafted disgrace before food and science fought some fucking bitch with a gun he called Pacemaker of all things, was where I lived. Everyone in Sigh, Kansas, was incredibly fucking bored with life because they lived in Sigh, which was boring even by Kansas standards. Anyhoozel, I found a garage sale to become an intern there. A spooky scary skeleton with hyperrealistic and blood eye gave me a free game off of eBay and GameFly to make the plot advance for free and demanding I pay 20 bucks and a pack of lunch. meat" I read to myself, unable to fall asleep.'" Bob wrote with fury, uncaring about making a legible or even good story.

He simply gave up after that, accepting the fact that it wouldn't be successful. The typewriter was thrown into the valley, along with his canvases, paintbrushes, sheafs of loose paper and all of his writing instruments. His Stand demanifested and he simply turned on the TV to watch the Jeff the Killer movie.

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