Some names have been changed to protect identities of the innocent.
Once upon a time, there was a man, so evil, even The Evil League of Evil wasn’t evil enough to have him ceremonially inducted as a prime member. For the purpose of this fairy tale, his name, from now on, shall be Theodore Dungeonmaster III.
— Act One: May —
a.k.a.
- The Spaceman Strikes Back -
It all began seven months ago. Theodore was quite the happy man. Wife, kids, white fence around the front yard, a middle-class job with a middle-class pay, a middle-class house with a middle-class garage for a middle-class car, a middle-class colon, watching middle-class porn. His life could of course have been better, let’s not kid ourselves, his wife’s third nipple distracted him, the mortgage was a beast, and his son was sitting around in front of the computer all day, playing some sort of stupid, stupid aeroplane simulations. But for now, all was okay, all was bearable.
Then one day, Theodore went to the doctor. A standard, routine inspection, nothing to worry. Dr. Leo Spaceman ([spəˈtʃɛmɨn], I tell you!) was licensed, in his mid-thirties, and totally awesome.
Dr. Spaceman: “Please say ‘aaah’.”
Theodore: “Aaah”
Dr. Spaceman:“And again, ‘aaah’.”
Theodore: “Aaaaah”
Dr. Spaceman: “Now once more please, ‘aaah’.”
Theodore: “For god’s sake, aaaaaaaah-frickin’-aaaaah”
Dr. Spaceman: “Alright, now for your severe illness…”
Theodore: “Illness? Illness? What the hell, man?!”
Dr. Spaceman: “That’s right, friend, you suffer from an astronomical small penis. It’s actually funny, it’s really that small. Makes you wanna buy a Porsche, right? Yes, sooo small! By the way, could you give me your wife’s cell number?! Awesome! Oh, and here’s your lollypop.”
He wasn’t talking about an actual lollypop.
On his way home, Theodore started thinking. Something he usually didn’t do too often, but given the circumstances he had to try applying new measures. What had his life come to? It all became so clear for him now, he saw things directly before his eyes. His wife was a cheating cougar slut; his daughter was in love with an iPhone, only days away from sexual relationship; his son was a secluded maniac, only to become a not-so-anonymous alcoholic in the future. And now this. A medically proven small penis. Biologically speaking, for his height, his penis now put him in what was called the “laughing stock” range. Now, kids, you think it would be easy street from here, with everything laid out in front of him now. Well let me tell you, as always, you’re wrong. Downhill, from worse to the most baddest worsest. Divorce, loss of job, finding himself a dark cellar to live in, you know this ages old story. Cliché? Maybe. True story nonetheless.
— Act Two: June —
a.k.a.
- Attack of the Frones -
Viral infection. Now here’s something no one has ever done before,” Theodore thought to himself. And he got oh-so creative: “Here’s something that’ll make me famous, rich, strong, good-looking and awesome again. I’m gonna hack. I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna spam some random website, put my little itty-bitty virae somewhere where they do most harm with the least effort.” Theodore was back on his feet. He didn’t think that much about his enormously small penis anymore, but rather about how to hack the shit out of the afore mentioned random site.
CSI: The Internets!
Scene of crime: The Fruit Stand, a small company, almost six decades under family control, baking pies, singing songs and worshipping the correct Gods.
Modus operandi: destroy The Fruit Stand’s administrators’ nerves, calm, coffee and nicotine supply at least once every three hours, by using a self-replicating and self-spreading virus.
Chronological order of the crime: None. Random virus attacks from 30 May 2009 until 01 August 2009, when the plug was finally pulled.
Suspect: at large
This was the official report from the investigators. ‘Nuff said.
— Act Three: November —
a.k.a.
- Revenge of the Fruits -
It took months. Months of recuperating, moths of vacation, months of calming the nerves, months of negligence, months of porn, months of simply not caring. It took two-hundred and fifty-seven men, seven bunnies, one-hundred and forty-two metric tons of Colombian coffee, seven tachyon-beams, twenty-three apes, one glass of water, it took even more nerves, seven-thousand three-hundred and sixty-one man-hours, it took chocolate, ponies, chocolate ponies, thirteen tequila shots. And two clicks. It took all that to get The Fruit Stand’s site back up and running. Smaller, slower and worse than ever.
It took one countdown to let millions and even more go crazy.
Yes, The Fruit Stand is back from the grave. No, The Fruit Stand did not release anything just now. “But, but, the countdown! Why?”, you cry, trying to control your twitching eye…
Because we love getting people’s hopes up in the morning, and smelling their dire disappointment in the afternoon.
Forty-two metric tons of Colombian coffee and only one glass of water?
That must have been some powdery coffee.
Great to see my favorite fruit stand back!
I really miss it