Where's Waldo... Again?
This is a fictional joke story written by Schizima. Don't take it seriously.
Does anyone remember those books, "Where's Waldo?" They were a series of books released by Puffin, then Candlewick Press, created by Martin Handford. Well, I was a huge Where's waldo fan. I had every book, and even during my depression when my car broke down, the kids went to school, my wife left me and the bank took every penny I had, I still had the Waldo.
Created by Martin Handford, he was originally called "Where's Wally?" But who was Waldo? And why were we supposed to be looking for him? The red and white striped shirt, the puffy snow cap and the googly eyed glasses truthfully conceal some really terrible things that I am honestly NOT at liberty to talk about.
I initially ordered "the book" from Little Brown and Co's now defunct website. As of 2009, there are seven primary Wally books. As far as I know, I am the only one that owns copy #8. It was called- and I'm not kidding "Where's Waldo? He's inside your House!" Kind of creepy, I mean Waldo was usually in big crowds, intermingled with his dog Schmuppin (Later named Woof, a clever form of onomatopoeia) Odlaw, Waldo's sinister nemesis, and Wizard Whitebeard, who holds one of the seven elegant blood skulls that guard the gate to the furnace of the necrotic underworld.
The book came in a manila envelope. The numbers 4-9-5 were scrawled. "Hope you enjoy the tape! – Waldo" was written, even though it... was a book. It was printed on, like one of those things to make It look like it was scrawled, but actually printed, but the numbers were actually scrawled. It made no sense.
I picked up the book. My favorite book, something I dedicated a good 20 years of my life to. I had found waldo countless times, I could even find waldo in some of the books with my eyes closed. No one could stop me from finding waldo, I even won a local prize held by me to see who could find the most waldos. I was the only competitor, but nothing could take that glory away from me because I was the best at finding waldo.
When I first opened the book, I noticed a surprise! One of those little pull-out recorder bits that makes it seem like there's talking, with a little speaker attached! "It's the nature of the mind to search for patterns!" The garbled waldo voice chattered, sounding like he was dying, warbled, a cat under a dish sink, a ghost in the fridge, sinister rats in the walls, something horrible was coming.
I turned over, licking my finger to make sure the pages did not get frayed. I wanted this page to stay in mint condition, like a mint. Page 1. Waldo... he was just standing there. In the middle of the field. Smiling at me. My old friend waldo. In the field. Smiling, and smiling, and smiling away. My tired index finger pointed downward, straight down, I had found waldo within .000000052 seconds, beating my old time.
I dropped the stopwatch. A pimento from an olive that was glued to the mustard on my shirt collar from my hot sack lunch fell onto the page, not unlike my hopes and dreams. I turned the page. Again, waldo was just standing there in plain site!
This was no waldo I knew, no waldo at all. Where's waldo? Another one of those speakers. "I'm right fuckin here!" The voice crackled.
What the fuck. What. The fuck. No.
The next page showed waldo purchasing chicken sandwiches at a local gun shop. The next page showed him standing on the sidewalk, smiling at me. Page after page and he was always in plain site.
I felt a strong sense of nausea when I turned the next page. Finally, a crowd. But it was not the picture I wanted to see. September 10th, 2001. A large crowd of people walking around in front of the old twin tower building in NYC. Hot dog standsman, happy go lucky tourists, and plenty of cheer. Finally, this was the Waldo I knew. The waldo I was a fan of. My favorite book, back to being my favorite book.
But my heart skipped a beat when I saw what happened next. My eyes scanned the pages frantically as I started to notice something really, really weird. George W. Bush was in the crowd, smiling. I know what you're thinking, but it was him. On the level the disheveled face simply looked, astonished, smiling, as though he didn't even know why he was there. I was looking for Waldo, not George w. bush, former president of the U.S.
He was...eating a chicken sandwich.
Oh my god. They were all eating chicken sandwiches. And then I saw it, beholden to me, to all of my horror, Waldo. He's carrying pallets into the back of the world trade center. Smiling, and smiling, and smiling away. But obscured under those glasses was a slightly tinged look. When the artist drops the eye dot down a peg and turns the brow just 3 degrees downward, a Gaussian curve of sinisterness, gone sinister. Well, I had found him. I circled him with my sharpie, as I usually do, noticed the wizard was flying a plane and circled him as well, and even found the dog, also eating a chicken sandwich, and pissing on the bushes.
I turned the page.
What the fuck? Every page was a different American tragedy. The boston marathon. 9/11 two more times. And waldo was always there, smiling away.
The last page was the most disturbing.
When I finally found him...
What? No...what the fuck. No, this cannot be. I refuse to believe it.
Waldo...was fucking my wife. His tiny cock was penetrating my wife on the great wall of china. He was smiling and winking mid-thrust, with his hand on her hip in a matter-of-fact fashion. The three inch cock was only a few painted pixels but drawn in highly graphic detail.
I shot a load of puke all over the book, permanently destroying the only known copy known to man. And that man is me. I contacted Puffin press and demanded a refund, but they refused. They said "If you want to find waldo at your age, get a fucking job and you'll meet all the real life waldos you want, dork mcmuffin" but I knew what they meant. They sent me a check for 6 million dollars, a little "hush hush" money if you will, to stop me from talking about the waldo.
A few days later I found a striped red snowcap on the lawn.
Oh I knew. I had come home late because my big presentation at the supermarket had gone on a few minutes too late, so I came home late. I was a little too late, and by that I mean TOO LATE. I found the striped shirt on the couch.
The blue jeans on the floor.
And his pink underwear. Yes, Waldo wears pink underwear. Disgusting.
He...showers with the glasses on. "Where am I now?" Waldo grinned big, rubbing my Irish Spring soap all over his naked body. Oh he was fucking my wife. Waldo...was fucking. My. Wife.
I picked up the black sharpie and lunged at him.
He wrestled me to the floor. I had been the victim of identity theft. "He's always in the last place you look!" The bespectacled naked cartoon man smiled at me. Indeed, he had already moved in. He had refiled the papers, taken the wife. He was sanding off my finger prints and surgically grafting them onto his. Waldo had taken over my whole house, the fish, the ferns, the laundry. How long had he been watching me. "It's not a question of WHERE'S WALDO." He smiled at me. "It's a question of WHO IS WALDO!" I swear to god, his face puckered into George W. Bush for a second, morphing like a strange shapeshifting reptilian. I screamed and he punched me in the face, knocking me unconscious.
I woke up on a Mexican prison bus. My identity had been entered into the computer different. Just a single mouse click to swap my face with someone else, and now hispanic Waldo and I had switched places. The wizard was sitting next to me, smiling. "What are you in for?" Wizard whitebeard smiled. His eyes were like iridescent jewels that mesmerized me. "My exceptionally long beard is often the key to finding me." He smiled, offering me protips on how to complete the books. I just wanted my old life back. He...waved his wand, smiling. He waved, and waved, and waved his wand. "SEE YOU NEXT TIME ODDLAW!" His eyes became firey hot coals and he exploded into confetti.
Waldo is oddlaw spelled backwards. Waldo is oddlaw spelled backwards.
And then the dog began to narrate. I could hear the voice, outside the prison bus. "It was from that day forward that Cinco De Mayo became the official dogs can't talk! Dogs can't talk!" The dog huffed, screamed and choked, falling over, crying. I looked out the window, scared. We weren't going to Mexico. We were driving into the book.
Truth is, Ever since I was a kid, I had these clairvoyant, psychic powers. I knew I wasn't like them. Oh, I wore their clothes, played their "tag team foot ball" and even ate at the dinner table. But I am from another world. The Waldo dimension. I came here to share with you the secrets of the universe, but you stole my identity and fucked my wife. I will keep the secrets of the universe, enjoy your shitty daytime tv and polyphenols. I have to go now, my planet needs me.
The book sat at the edge of the road, propped up by the choking dog. We were going to do it. We were going to go back to the future. The Mexican prison bus went faster, and faster, and faster some more. We had to dilate time by driving in there, and yeah, we were bringing prisoners. Anything you bring into the book world stays there fuck you. "I AM THE WLADOWOR!" I screamed! The wizards in the back shook their tribal sticks. The dogs danced. The prisoners howled at their refried bean dinner. The bus ran over the book.
The bus drove over the wall and fell off a cliff, incinerating all of us to a hot, crispy plate of hotcakes. Or did it? It didn't, just...between you and me. I'm...in the Waldo dimension now. I'm in the books. There are the other Waldos, but I'm- I'm printed in. It's better here, safer. I cannot move, my smile is etched in ink. I'm at the medieval dinner, a permanent barbecue. You see me, don't you? You and I...and everyone. We're together here and everything is happy. It...can be hard to find a man who doesn't exist. I am a...vagrant traveler of the cosmos, before the dawn of man. Before time broke. Before red and white pajama's. Captain of the football team 1987. I should warn you, now that you're here, with me, in the book. And now you're in the book with me forever. Forever. If you get scared, get lost, you can't move. No one moves here, you and I, we're just ink. I should warn you us, me, you. Don't look too hard at the book. It may look back.
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