The Never-Ending Ted [Story Blog / Blog Story]

Hello Sense, how are you?

2008-10-29T16:34:00.000-07:00

Commonality. Conformity. Common. Common sense.

What is sense and why is it so important? So f@#king important. I cannot even remember the last time that I made sense. Most of the time, this world (not to be confused with that parallel one over your shoulder), quite frankly doesnt make any sense at all. Imagination - no sense at all. Imagination is a free-ride. Imagination is a magical mind-meld of non-sense.

Do I make sense to you? No? No surprise there.

Do I make sense to myself? You must be joking (I tell myself).

"Across the stream of your store front cemetary.........staring at the sun," my eyes are bleeding, blotchy and broken. Am I blind? Time passes and time heals as my sight is revealed.

Science makes sense, but science requires nonsense.

There I stood screaming, ablaze with agonizing audio in the center of the breakroom. That didnt make sense. Enter sense, stage right.

"Hello sense, how are you?"

"Clear and succinct. How about you non-sense?"

"Weird - let me tell you. I am not making any sense at all today."

"Sucks to be you."

Then Sense left the breakroom and was immediately impaled by a forklift.

"No, it sucks to be you sense," said nonsense as he hi-fived the forklift driver and tossed him five cents; it takes a little bit of sense to get rid of it.

June, July or Maybe August 21st - 28th: Cracking Moore's Code

2008-09-10T16:52:00.000-07:00

Part II:

There we were peacefully riding the train to peaceland. Ahhhhh, it was so f@#King peaceful. We made a stop in Jerry Junction and a plethora of dead yet greatful old twats hoped on - literally, the largest bearded vaginas I had ever seen.

It was so peaceful that it was too peaceful. Luckily, a pro's astute was getting busy with her f@#k the police campaign in the seat next to us.

"Nice Seacaucus," she said. I told her thanks.

"Wow, these train-types are friendly," I thought.

Bubba the Crusher of Donuts suddenly called my attention by crushing some donuts in donut code by morissey - a designer version of the original morse codex. Long - short - long - long - short - hole - the donuts were dominated.....

"Listen to the brakes - do you hear that?" Bubba said in crushed donut-code.

I did hear it. It was Moore's Code!!!!!!

Uh-oh. We were in trouble. Gaseous stench began to fill the boxcar chamber. I had to act fast - before we were taken over by the bad scent - unlike my wife's farts which smell like freshly baked cherry cheesecake.....good enough to eat. It is kind of like scented chapstick though...smells great, but tastes like s#$T. Like a chemical reaction.....I jumped into my napkin suit.

"Whoa dude! Its Napkin face....." the tie-dye hair snatch face man said as the gaseous rex overtook him.

"Save us...." said another, dirtier than the other.

"Bubba, crusher of donuts - lets crack this code for good (no pun in ten did)," I said in a heroic yelp. Moore didnt realize that my napkin face and suit blocked all stench - her plan was foiled like aluminum.

I would get into details but:

1. I am lazy.
2. Read a newspaper - I am sure it is in there. It was like total headline worthly.

Time passed like gas and we finally arrived in peaceland. I was very surprised by what I saw. It appeared that peaceland had a Greenland-Iceland complex and everyone was practically dead. I asked a 3-eyed donut where Elvis was but Bubba crushed it before it had a chance to answer.

"Thats Graceland you wanker," she said in donut code. I felt like a donut hole after that. Luckily, Bubba the crusher of Donuts ran out of donuts on the ride home - stifling our communications.

I tried to give my wife the Jailhouse Rock later that evening, but she closed down that station, so I ended up playing Love me Tedner.

June 15th - 21st: Moore's Code [Name that Verb!]

2008-06-23T04:54:00.000-07:00

Part I:

There I was shooting the shit...wondering if I would make it out of this place alive. I sat gazing into emptyness. The kind of gaze that other people catch you doing; this usually would result in a red-shaped hand print on the right side of my face and some comment like: "stop staring at my tits you perv." Why did they all have to be right handed? Couldn't I have had some lefties to even me out?!?!! Oh well, I guess I will have to settle for this crooked face.....

Anyways, there I sat.....staring at two nearly identical coils of two-ply. One obviously had served more use. Did this mean that he, she, or it (or as I like to say he-shit) was more popular and therefore a better choice? Or was the neighbor - Good and Plenty (unlike the candy) - ready to satisfy my desires? This was truely a predicament.

An hour later, after my legs woke up, I made a choice. I chose the roll less traveled.

After the colon-cleansing, I picked up a newspaper at the store to see what was going on in the world. The world was pretty lame (that may have been because I realized later that I was actually reading a local car trader book - no wonder they acted surprised when I asked how much it was). Next stop for the day was to head into work at my toy facotry - aptly named "Toy Ranch - "we grow and nuture you childs joy." We were responsible for such public outcries as the Harry Potter Broomstick and what we dubbed the next "Cabbage Patch" doll - the Briar Patch Children. Only design flaw? Razor sharp thorns that cause small (and actually quite large) children to bleed; Emo kids have adopted them as a much more artistic way to slit their wrists. They are like inanimate Chucky-dolls. America has unfortunately banned them, but they are selling like hot-cakes in China! Work was pretty lame today, so I went home to my wife.

She said there was a package for me.

Enter the nemesis.

Enter the flatulant nemesis known as Moore-Bot;

My vision began to blur.....I realized I was passing out from the flood of perfectly packaged gaseous attack on my senses. Dreams began to flood my manframe (not a typo). I was dressed as a distressed Darth Vadario (cross between Darth Vader and Super Mario) - Rainbow Bright was there along with Princess Peach. Styx was playing on the Boom Box - castle walls. Schwa-Bot was there too.....dressed up as Moore-Bot. Suddenly, I Usainly Bolted to my senses and ran a 100 meter dash in record time. It was time......

Time to reawaken my secret identity......

I quickly rushed to the nearest MoneyCo Warehouse and bought 5 million napkins for 3 dollars........unfortunately, I was stilled dazed from the bog of eternal stench so I couldnt drive safely to my destination. Thats what friends are for, eh? Bubba the donut crusher and Rex (because he has short arms - like seriously elbow length).

NAPKIN FACE IS ___________[Name that verb]!!!!!!!!!!!!!

June 8th to June 14th - Teddy Noir says "Name that Noun!"

2008-06-10T20:11:00.000-07:00

There I was - smoking candy cigs while the no-smoking sign burned my retinas - blinding my reality (not much to blind, but a completely blinded reality nonetheless). I felt like Daredevil, beating bandits with my billy club - then the stewardess told me to put my nightstick away. Others gave me the left-eye "Creep" glare as they shielded their childrens eyes. Some cried. Fudge 'em - Teddy Bitchsap don't need 'em - whoever he is.

Jumping into 2nd person omniscient, you become me (ladies grow a pair). You see the stewardess finish dropping off "punch" of the magical variety (gummy-beary juice to the power of 63). Bouncing here, there and everywhere, the plane dances through the sky. You barf all over the place. Everyone elses barfs follow like the wave in a sports stadium. "Is there an echo in here," you ask with distinct perturbation. Suddenly, you notice your feet are getting wet due to the rising tide of puke. You notice the stewardess seems unphased by the events currently transpiring. The stewardess then begins to unzip her uniform revealing a ridickulously hugely, hard pectoral muscle (strangely only one) - like a dude (cool version of a man). In the following sentence, you realize it is a dude. You realize it is a dude as opposed to a dudette as flatulent air escapes your rear. "What a clever trick!" you say in disbelief.

Going back to first, I began to scratch my ______ [enter noun] in bewilderment. "Don't worry about third - too godlike for me," I said to my barfing neighbor. The stewdude began to open the overheard bin in row 3 (interestingly 3 rows right and center of me) - then climbed in.

I looked like fun, so I opened my bin, but to no avail. It was packed full of oversized bags - assumingly belonging to the oversized woman sitting in seat A, B, and C (she must be glad those armrests move). I swam up-vom - 3 rows right and center of my former position - to row 3. That is where the predicament began.

There sat the beautiful siren and her valley of joy - averting my gaze with ease from my final destination - the bin above. Like a bron-ski I was drawn towards the great divide, raising my Moses-stick to part her Red Sea (note: she was native american). Utilizing special techniques, I learned as a high school student - I quickly came to my senses. I Looped, swooped and pulled myself away all the while grabbing a blind private school kids brail Anatomy book for a shield of anti-embarrassment (I was ninja quick so he couldnt see me, though he was drowning in barf so that may have helped too). Luckily, I reacted just in time as a cute kitty paw snapped out of the valley of death - leaving adorable claw marks across the anatomically correct text.

Seeing my escape, I leaped into the bin that was surprisingly spacious and found myself singing notable songs from Aladdin in a New World that was curiously cowardly (not brave) and alliterated for effect. Damn I wish I had some soma right about now (this funk is SO brother).

Go north....

Realizing this wasn't a text adventure, I moved onto other notable showtunes as this world was quickly shifting away from being new.

Tune in next week for "Name that Verb!"