Post by Jaeger Turrok on Nov 25, 2009 2:17:05 GMT -5
This... is why DJ and I shouldn't be allowed to talk without supervision. Somehow a conversation about a college essay turned into something about bacon. Thus, this was born. This is... really random, and I may add to it a bit as time goes on.
And, hey! You find out where Duncan disappeared to!
It was a sunny day, a happy day. Little clouds drifted by on a lazy wind, leaving smiling patterns in the light blue sky, their shadows leaving patches of shade on the ground below. Birds chirped happy songs to one another, stringing a melody together. Squirrels chattered in the trees with one another, gathering nuts and other things to jam in their cheeks.
And, in close proximity to all this stood a farm. It was a small farm, not made for dairy or beef production. It just sat on a small plot of land, only known to those who looked for it. On top of a hill was a small home, barely big enough to hold two rooms, a small kitchen, and a sitting room. It was a cozy little cottage to the man who lived there.
The man wasn't in his little home at this time. In fact, he was visiting a little pen of pigs, lifting one of the oinking critters up with a grunt. The pig was carried with a little trouble to a small barn, paint chipping from the years it had stood there. Confined to a small pen inside the barn, the pig let out loud squeals, knowing of the fate it was about to be handed. With a loud choppy sound, the man started up a chainsaw, grinning sadistically down at the pig. The squeals grew louder as the toothed weapon neared.
Our story does not take place on this little farm, though. It takes place in a city far, far away, in a land called make believe, where unicorns frolic and rules can be screwed thanks to the possession of hair gel, and where everything is settled with a card game played with Old Maid. I'm not quite sure what the hell the people of this land are on, either. It's a mystery lost to time.
Anyway, in a little store sitting on a little corner in the large city named after an old, yet well-known game involving little tiles with dots on them, Mahjong, placed in a little freezer sat a package of frozen bacon. Now, this little package of bacon is no ordinary package of bacon. This certain package of bacon was home to Mr. Cannadeon and his wife Mrs. Baycoon, along with their many children. They were a happy bacon family, enjoying dinner around the plastic and talking about their very eventful days. Everything was going well for the family, until that fateful day.
Mr. Cannadeon was on his way home from work, having spent the morning hours helping the neighboring package of pork chops mow their lawn, when it happened. He witnessed his family being taken, their cries for him loud and clear in his fat-filled ears. There was nothing the poor piece of bacon could do to save his family, watching as they were bacon-napped by a complete stranger. It was the most depressing day of Mr. Cannadeon's life, and he swore vengeance for his lost family.
Taking up the local weapon of doom, the Spork of Justice, Mr. Cannadeon left on his search for his family's captor. It was a hard and long journey, filled with many dangers ranging from starving dogs and dragons wishing to enjoy a little snack, to thunderstorms and tornadoes that threatened to wash him into the Storm Drain of No Return. He eventually made it, though, locating the remains of his beloved family outside of one large home.
Without fear, Mr. Cannadeon faced the bacon-napper. There was no game of Old Maid here, for his rage had overtaken the simple piece of bacon. Nothing could replace his hated and loneliness now except the vengeance-filled defeat of the enemy before him.
It was a swift end, leaving the bacon strip just as empty as he had been earlier. His rage and defeat of the man had not brought back his family, and now he was left in an empty house with no friends around him.
And then he was eaten by a dog.
And, hey! You find out where Duncan disappeared to!
It was a sunny day, a happy day. Little clouds drifted by on a lazy wind, leaving smiling patterns in the light blue sky, their shadows leaving patches of shade on the ground below. Birds chirped happy songs to one another, stringing a melody together. Squirrels chattered in the trees with one another, gathering nuts and other things to jam in their cheeks.
And, in close proximity to all this stood a farm. It was a small farm, not made for dairy or beef production. It just sat on a small plot of land, only known to those who looked for it. On top of a hill was a small home, barely big enough to hold two rooms, a small kitchen, and a sitting room. It was a cozy little cottage to the man who lived there.
The man wasn't in his little home at this time. In fact, he was visiting a little pen of pigs, lifting one of the oinking critters up with a grunt. The pig was carried with a little trouble to a small barn, paint chipping from the years it had stood there. Confined to a small pen inside the barn, the pig let out loud squeals, knowing of the fate it was about to be handed. With a loud choppy sound, the man started up a chainsaw, grinning sadistically down at the pig. The squeals grew louder as the toothed weapon neared.
Our story does not take place on this little farm, though. It takes place in a city far, far away, in a land called make believe, where unicorns frolic and rules can be screwed thanks to the possession of hair gel, and where everything is settled with a card game played with Old Maid. I'm not quite sure what the hell the people of this land are on, either. It's a mystery lost to time.
Anyway, in a little store sitting on a little corner in the large city named after an old, yet well-known game involving little tiles with dots on them, Mahjong, placed in a little freezer sat a package of frozen bacon. Now, this little package of bacon is no ordinary package of bacon. This certain package of bacon was home to Mr. Cannadeon and his wife Mrs. Baycoon, along with their many children. They were a happy bacon family, enjoying dinner around the plastic and talking about their very eventful days. Everything was going well for the family, until that fateful day.
Mr. Cannadeon was on his way home from work, having spent the morning hours helping the neighboring package of pork chops mow their lawn, when it happened. He witnessed his family being taken, their cries for him loud and clear in his fat-filled ears. There was nothing the poor piece of bacon could do to save his family, watching as they were bacon-napped by a complete stranger. It was the most depressing day of Mr. Cannadeon's life, and he swore vengeance for his lost family.
Taking up the local weapon of doom, the Spork of Justice, Mr. Cannadeon left on his search for his family's captor. It was a hard and long journey, filled with many dangers ranging from starving dogs and dragons wishing to enjoy a little snack, to thunderstorms and tornadoes that threatened to wash him into the Storm Drain of No Return. He eventually made it, though, locating the remains of his beloved family outside of one large home.
Without fear, Mr. Cannadeon faced the bacon-napper. There was no game of Old Maid here, for his rage had overtaken the simple piece of bacon. Nothing could replace his hated and loneliness now except the vengeance-filled defeat of the enemy before him.
It was a swift end, leaving the bacon strip just as empty as he had been earlier. His rage and defeat of the man had not brought back his family, and now he was left in an empty house with no friends around him.
And then he was eaten by a dog.