The Fat Albert Lost Episode
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This is a fictional joke story written by Schizima. Don't take it seriously.
It must have been a nightmare when they woke you from that dream. Do you remember the show Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids? I sure do. Well, it was one of my favorite shows until one episode caused something weird to happen to me and my dog, that's now dead. I'm not kidding. This show killed my dog.
The lost episode started with bill cosby being kind of a dick and roaring wildly into a tubamaphone. His own instrument. What a dick. He started:
"This is bill cosby comin' to you for fun and you might learn something before it's done! Heebadeejeebadie bing bang boom! My dick looks like a small mushroom!" What the fuck. Then the music. And fat albert. To be honest, the show was pretty innovative if you're an easily impressed dumbass. Bill cosby had an afro and lived in a junkyard. "Yo fat albert, get yo fat ass out here!" Fat albert looked really mad. Steaming mad. "It's just albert, you fucking asshole." "Hey hey heyyyy!" bill cosby yelled, smirking. He looked a little weird. Spanish flies were buzzing around him.
The episode was titled "Mushmouth's dead." I could tell, because mushmouth was dead. At least he looked dead. He wasn't moving, he was covered in flies, and the characters kept talking about how he was dead. Especially that one kid in the red snow cap. Bill cosby was bleeding from the nose. Then the cartoon started. This fucking sucked. How did I even get this tape. I wanted to watch star wars. "HEY HEY HEY!" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" that red-capped kid yelled. Then bill cosby popped in. "Inner city kids live in the junkyard because republicans cut funding to urban communities! I am the lord of the flies bing bang boom!"
Then there was some singing that I didn't really care about. Mr. Cosby appeared to be mixing a drink. "Get on the treadmill tubby mcbutterpants!" Fat albert was really pissed now. "That's not even close to my name!" He had angry eyebrows and he looked slightly outsheovl what the fuck?" WHAT. THE FUCK.
I started to scream at what I saw next. Bill cosby had cut his own head off and was bowling with it in the junkyard. Blood was spurting out of the hollow hole as he got a tin can strike. The body slumped over while bill cosby began to sing. Or he started to. "He ba jeebie moral lesson 2 you, spaghetti in your pockets a gurfu muffin-" he had swallowed his tongue and his eyes rolled back because the blood vessels and capillaries had cut off access to his brain. He was wearing an old A Perfect Circle t-shirt, that had holes from years of use.
I shut the tape off. "If you shut that tape off." Mr. Cosby began. "I'll kill your dog." Two days later I found Sir Snarful the third dead next to his food dish. Poisoned by Mr. Cosby. "Spiders." Cosby began. "Cheap plastic spiders." The way I had original won this tape was in a spider raffle. Not actual spiders, men dressed as spiders, holding a raffle. He forced the Fat albert gang to watch him as he bathed his feet In an ice bath, demanded to be called mr. huxtable, and had the cast of jewel-eyed miscreants prepare him a footbath from Irish cremes and foreign perfumes.
I was really uncomfortable now. I knew I shouldn't have taken that drink that came with the VHS. I knew there was no such holiday as Spider de Mayo. And I knew no one would hold a raffle promising you that the grand prize was that they wouldn't kill your fucking dog. "Yo sir tubworth the third!" Cosby squinted, made fish faces, and blew a hot raspberry into fat albert's ear. "You know goddamn mothafuckin' well that's not my name!" Albert stated. "Obesity is a serious epidemic in America!" "Herba gerba fling flangen and a waddle of gum!" He yelled. Now it was just gibberish. Mr. Cosby again swallowed his tongue. How could someone who brings joy to so many people be such a terrible person? When I was a kid, I wanted to be just like mr. cosby. I wanted to be a doctor, have a beautiful wife and three apple-eyed children. I wanted to have big chili cook-offs and teach moral lessons, toe the line in the household while smirkily making jokes about the fact that I'm required by law to support the children I birthed. I wanted to jump into a cartoon junkyard and sing songs about the heebedie jeebie and the flim flam. I didn't know about all these problems in society. In character. In people.
All that was shattered not unlike the drink in my hand, the fake spider raffle, my previously named dog, the complete lack of fat acceptance in the wake of the obesity epidemic, the poverty gap in inner city America, and my face, which was now covered in spiders and barbecue sauce. "It's time for the spider barbecue." Bill said. "After all these years, I finally caught the spiders. They're always in the last place you look." "Where?!" I screamed, suffering from extreme arachnophobia. Fat albert started to laugh and lifted his shirt up. He wasn't fat. Eight hairy, tingly, frothing spider legs slithered out, and fat albert began to scurry across the junk yard, He ate his own face from the inside out, revealing a horrific spider head as he entered the queen chamber. Spun in the silk were women of various ages, some young, some old, all unconscious. "The past is a ghost. The future a dream, and all we have is now." Bill sprouted pterodactyl wings and flew off into the sunset, as the tape slowly ended, slowly, ended slowly. The tape ended slowly. And then it was over. My head was pounding. I was sweating. And bill cosby appeared to be on my couch, if not a bill cosby impersonater, or my relative who looks kind of like bill cosby. But it wasn't a relative. And it wasn't bill cosby. It was my imagination playing tricks, like an old man running naked through a house of mirrors while you threaten him with a spider raffle.
I started to feel woozy as I looked at my drink. Never drink anything that comes prepackaged with a VHS from the 1970s. I knew it was a trap. This had nothing to do with fat albert. This was cosby propaganda, promoted by the cosby agenda, an agenda of violence toward spiders. Innocent spiders, who would never harm a fly. Well, that's not true, but anything but a fly. Maybe a field mouse. Anyway it's just a metaphor for something, something sinister. Something amorphous. Something you don't understand. Hell, I don't even understand it. "If you did." Cosby began whispering in my ear. Several tarantulas, huntsmen and American sawtooth backwildsmen crawled out of his face. "Then you'd join the other kids in the junk yard. And I would own your soul for all eternity, just like the others." And then he smashed me on the head with a lamp that I had purchased at bed bath and beyond.
When I woke up, Mr. Cosby was in a bathrobe, brushing his teeth. All I remembered was coming over to watch a VHS. There was semen between the couch cushions and a smile crept across his face. It was a sinister smile, I'll tell you that much.
"Herba jeeba fling flang flannel!" He made fish faces. "And the jello puddin'!" Another fish face. "Gerber baby food jibba jabba!" His lips puckered. And as he turned to the side, I could see something hairy and black, like a spider leg poking out of the side of his face. It could've been hair, but given all of the spider references, It was probably a spider leg. I don't know how it could stick out of someone's face, but being that this is a true story, and quite a terrifying one at that, I trust you just take my word that it was spider related. It may even have been a spider. Whatever it was, it was scary, creepy and totally not for kids.
Mr. Cosby saw himself in my bathroom mirror and began to scream. He dropped the bathrobe. He was naked underneath the bathrobe. Completely nude in my kitchen. Bill cosby's face exploded into spiders. "where are my children!?" The voice screamed, violently. "Where in god's name are my children?!" He fell over the sink, spiders pouring from the blood hollow hole that struggled to form words. He knew then, that we were all like that, as he stood still among the chewing and accepted his fate.
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