Tales From the Burgerverse: The Lost Tale: The True and Honest Backstory Episode of Dwight "Kurt" Fart Schrute, Who Is a Security Threat, from the TV Show "The Office" 2: Electric Boogaloo, or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Zap to the Extreme

It has been exactly 10000 days since I, Dwight Kurt Schrute the Third of Johannesburg have been part of this new clan. This coworker of mine, one Jim Halpert, is a right pain in the neck, but I couldn't imagine not seeing him or his albeit, and it pains me to say this, humorous practical jokes. Ugh... That Jimothy Halpert. He's got this alter ego he won't stop annoying the other workers with. Its name? Bill Buttlicker...

He insists that he's a real person and gets extremely aggressive if told he isn't. I'm considering termination for Jim, his antics are becoming more and more frequent and deranged. But at the same time, he is an excellent lumberjack and we're currently understaffed in that department. But if he Jellofies another coworker again, please contact me and I'll give him a swift desagilation. However, because Jim is my direct supervisor and he wouldn't write himself up, for only a true fool would do a thing such as that, like my Cousin Mose. Cousin Mose... I can't help but have horrid flashbacks to my time before my exile from that heinous realm under the Mayor God Emperor King... I shan't speak his name, for even a mention riles me up terribly so. That naïve manchild in that putrid, greasy, unmaintained striped sweater. Even in these empty fields of Johannesburg, I can still smell that fetid reek hundreds of miles away; the Chesapeake Bay to be exact.

"COUSIN MOSE! YOU DAREN'T THROW THAT MANURE AT THE NEIGHBOR!" I ordered in my Assistant to the Regional Manager voice.

But to my shock and chagrin, it wasn't the rather annoying neighbor, Stewart Manfeld, but a 1995 Ford Escort with a deep-sea hue of blue to its paint scheme and a middle-aged human man's forearm sized dent in the exact front middle of the hood. There was a putrid musk akin to rotten beets that rode faster than it, but before I could see the driver...

My alarm clock shook me from my traditional Schrute Slumber, or Schrutezensleepen in my German tongue as I tried returning to it. I woke up after my egregious nightmare of Jim Halpert drowning me in a silo of Jell-O. I looked at my wooden alarm clock. 4:28. 2 minutes earlier than usual. I thought this must have been a trick by the scoundrel Jim. I searched the room for any audio equipment or cameras he might have been watching me with. By the time I knew I was safe, it was already 6 in the morning. By the time I strode down the creaky, rather dusty stairs, it was exactly 6:02 AM, meaning I was late to write in my diary about my sleep. Cousin Mose hasn't arisen from his bedchamber yet, which soothed my nerves almost as much as a nice cup of coffee with beet juice. I brushed my teeth using my homemade beet tooth powder and checked to make sure the drawer didn't contain a porcupine that Jim Halpert set in there. Unfortunately, a small pile of coins of a modeling clay and painted with a sloppy, almost drunken manner in Crayola brand acrylic paint, some with a large red C in the Latin typeface alphabetical system, and the others with a W from the same source. The C Coins had a white rim and a blue inner circle surrounded by a yellow outer circle, whilst the W Coin was with a white W against a red and blue background with a yellow rim. These damnable coins are a worthless currency from a long decayed sovereign district of Virginia, right upon the Virginia Maryland border split by the Chesapeake Bay.

"It seems I got you again, Dwight." Jim Halpert spoke as he brewed himself a cup of coffee, wasting a valuable 1.291 cups of goat milk to add to his beverage.

"Very funny, Dwight. False. It was not funny, and neither were these accurate coins from CWCVille, so you LOSE." I retorted with a smirk across my victorious and handsome face to besmirch that impudent and rather unremarkable Jim's.

He pulled out a rather accursed pendant from his back pocket, of that blasted bipedal yellow rodent whom was given the nomenclature of... Sonichu. I dropped my paper cup in utter terror and warned him not to don that accursed artifact of Fail, for the legends spoke that: "If any man were to wear this evil relic, it shall consume and replace him invariably and thus make another of itself. Almost like herpes."

I tried to slap that wretched clay medallion from his hand... but alas, to quote Silver the Hedgehog... "IT'S NO USE!" It had fused itself to his wrist and tried to slither itself upon Jim's neck. I thrust my hand out to snag that vile and probably stained with orange soda and some other unmentionable substance, and it was stuck in my hand. I called upon my Cousin Mose to get the bolt cutters to snap the chain, and whilst successful, the chain fused itself back together. The horrors I've seen committed in the presence of that accursed modelling clay abomination... the unending haze of pepper spray and wails of "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" after the wearer was rejected... Although if I were to give it to my new boss to make him more willing to promote me over Jim... ho ho ho ho ho, delightfully devilish, Dwight Kurt Schrute.

Unfortunately for Cousin Mose, in his oafish naïvety, he adorned himself with the Medallion of Fail.. and transformed before our very eyes. He went from a respectable and physically fit farmer to a blubberish buffoon of a Golden Corrall. His simple blue overalls mutated into a sweater, striped with red and blue and faint interjections of white. The only remnant of the overalls were the now denim blue jeans, and his heirloom boots turned into a pair of sneakers spray painted yellow and blue. His social skills, however, improved ever so slightly, where instead of speaking in a rapid fire manner, it was more slowed and dulled, albeit full of stutters... and he spoke like my alarm clock!

I woke up at 3:16 AM to check up on Cousin Mose. He was standing outside with a shovel trying to protect the beets from feral grasshoppers. I recorded my dreams in my diary and looked at the top spinning merrily right beside it, within the faint orange glow of my kerosene lantern I inherited from my ancestor, Dwide Schrude. I dared not interfere with it, for doing so could falter the results. I walked away, and my gaze fell upon the top one last time, for a galaxy shone lovingly in the sky, and I wanted to go enjoy the view before the daylight overwhelmed it.

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Credited to Hungry Burger and Niagaranobs 

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