STORY TIME: Ryan Seacrest Presents Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve on Ice

"Ryan."  

"Yes, Margret."

"We want to pitch you an idea."

Ryan looked at his producer, "Ok, I'm all ears."

"You know that show you host?"

"American Idol?"

"No, the other one."

"American Top 40"

"No."

"On Air with Ryan Seacrest?"

"No."

"Oh, Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve."

"Yes!  Well we have an idea for you.  You can say no if you want."

"Ok, I'm listening."

"It's exactly like New Year's Rockin' Eve, except with a twist."

"Hmmmm..."

"It's...on ice."

"Wow!  What an incredible idea."

"We'll sell popcorn and cotton candy.  We all make tons of money."

"That sounds great."

"Ryan how are you at ice dancing?"

"I mean, I could always learn."

"That's the spirit!"

"Ryan, we are going to make a ton of money, kid."

"I mean, I already have a ton of money but there is always room for more."

"That's just what I wanted to hear Ryan.  Ice dancing it is.  2017, the way of the future."

THE END

STORY TIME: I Fell in Love with a Houseplant

I wouldn't have said anything.  I would have walked away.  I just couldn't help myself.

I was walking home from school one day and there she was.

A beautiful houseplant.

She was just sitting there, waiting for the bus.

It was love at first sight.

Her name was Pep.  Peperomia.

I couldn't help but compliment her leaves.

She turned green.  I asked if she was sick.  Turns out she's always green.  What an embarrassing faux pas.

We liked the same things.  Water, sunlight, etc.  I even tried to get her into some of my favorite bands.  Turns out she didn't have ears.

I walked her home.

It got dark and I asked her if she would be ok in the moonlight.  Turns out she's excellent in low light as well.

Makes sense.  I just wanted to keep her indoors.  All to myself.

Then the big night came.  The school dance.  I was wearing the best tuxedo money could by.  It was a middle school dance so there really was no need for me to be wearing a tux.  Nevertheless, I had to impress Pep.

I will never forget that night.  I waited for her for hours.  I threw rocks at her window.

A week later I learned what happened.

She left me.  She left me for a radiator.

THE END

STORY TIME: I Won a Contest to Have Judd Nelson Come To My School

Ok, so I don't even know who Judd Nelson is.  

I'm fourteen and I was trying to call in about Selena Gomez tickets and now Judd Nelson is following me around at my school.  

Everyone thinks Judd Nelson is my dad or my tutor or something.  I keep having to explain to everyone, "Ugh...this is Judd Nelson, the actor.  I won tickets on 101.1 The Weasel to spend a day with Judd Nelson."

Judd Nelson doesn't really do much.  He seems to only talk about the band Rusted Root.  He's really into their discography.  I had to do my science fair presentation with Judd Nelson sitting at my booth.  How humiliating!  

I still don't know who this guy is.  At lunch, Judd Nelson kept borrowing money from everyone.  He ended up buying six chocolate milks.  I wish Judd Nelson would go away.  During gym, Judd Nelson played basketball with us.  He actually has a good mid-range jumper. Other than that, Judd Nelson is weird.

If I could go back in time, I would have never entered a contest to have Judd Nelson come to my school.

THE END

STORY TIME: A Lot of People Keep Telling Me I'm Fat But I'm Actually Two Husky Children in a Coat

This is me

Yes, they laugh at me.  They call me names.  I waddle down the street and they chant, "Fatty" and "Lose some weight, fat pig."  They yell things of this nature at me.  These things hurt me.  However, little do the haters know, I'm not actually a fat pig whom cannot walk...I'm really two overweight children in a coat.

Most don't see it.  If you squint hard enough, you will begin to realize the truth.  Most big pigs aren't even pigs at all, they are children, overweight kids.  Just like you and me.

Why did we decide to be a pig, you ask?  Good question.

It's a social experiment for our Youtube Channel.  "PigPranksxo" is our username.  It started as a gaming channel, then we began covering news in the gaming community.  We would replay the best Call of Duty trickshots and plug G-Fuel giveaway codes.  Then...we saw the future.

Pig Pranks.

We tested the waters with a few videos on our second channel, "PigPransxo2".  We gave a homeless piglet one-hundred dollars worth of slop.

The video blew up.  The subs kept rolling in.

That's when we decided.  We would put on our pigskin coat, strap Go-Pros to our heads and live our lives as a large pig full-time.

Who's laughing now haters?  Jokes on you, I guess.

If you liked this article leave a like or let us know what you think in the comments below.

THE END

STORY TIME: Judo Camp Isn't As Fun When You're 50

Yes, I know.

I'm the only fifty-year-old at Judo Camp.

They said I was too old.  They said I couldn't succeed.  They said I'm just here to make sure my daughter Jessica doesn't fool around with any boys.

But these judo children will never know what it's like...to be a warrior. Hiy!

The warrior lifestyle is not just a lifestyle...it's a way of life. Hiy!

Someone wants to mess with my Jessica? They get a swift...Hiy!

Do you think you can play games with my daughter fool? Huh?  How about this...Hiy!

I am centered.  Hiy!

I am one with my inner Craig.  Hiy!

I am not balding, my head is undergoing spiritual transformation more powerful than any 14-year old boy at this judo camp will ever realize!  Hiy!

I am Craig!  And I will stick up for myself at this judo camp!  Hiy!

The YMCA will not define me!  Hiy!

Craig defines me!  Hiy!

Jessica stands in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Hey, dad."

Craig looks away from the mirror.

"Yes Jessica."

"I think I want to go home, now."

"Me too, sweetie.  Judo Camp isn't as fun when you're 50."

THE END

STORY TIME: Alex Fails Gym

Alex was absolutely terrible at gym.

Alex was bad at gym because Alex was obese.  That's pretty normal, obesity effects around 17% of children ages 2-19.

Alex didn't care though.  He was still very confident in himself.

Alex disliked gym more than anything.  He disliked his teacher.  He disliked getting made fun of by his classmates.  He couldn't stand being in gym class.

One night, Alex built a robot to replace him in gym.

This robot's name was Alex-Bot 2000.  Alex-Bot 2000 was a perfect replica of Alex.  Alex-Bot wore glasses and he loved wearing Dragon Ball Z stuff.  Everyone at school was convinced Alex-Bot was Alex.

Alex loved staying home and watching the camera mounted to Alex-Bot's head.  Everyone at school through it was Alex with a Go-Pro strapped to his head.

However, it wasn't.  It was a robot with a Go-Pro strapped to it's head.  Everyone was completely fooled.

Alex-Bot's main problem was that he was a jerk.  He said really vile things to his teachers and fellow students.

Alex-Bot was really rude.  He called people names.  He gave wedgies.  He even spat on a kid once.

If everyone knew Alex-Bot was a robot, maybe they would be more understanding.  Alex-Bot doesn't have any emotions or any empathy because he's not human.

Alex-Bot was basically a sociopath.  One day, Alex-Bot told a girl she was ugly.  Mr. Peterson took Alex-Bot aside and told him to apologize.

Alex-Bot gave Mr. Peterson a wedgie.  Then he told him to "get bent".

Mr. Peterson failed Alex for this.

Alex's life was over.

He got a job at the DMV.  He lived alone all his life.

Then one morning he died.

Three years later, Alex-Bot became President of the World because he "told it like it was".

THE END

STORY TIME: I Didn't Get Anything Good For Christmas But I Flexed on Instagram Anyway

Ok, I barely got anything for Christmas.

I'm actually completely ok with this.

All I had to do was just google "xbox" and "hoverboard".  Then I took some screenshots and posted them to Instagram.

Once the likes started rolling in, I felt amazing.  I felt better than if I actually got presents.

It's hard to accurately describe this feeling.  It felt like...well Christmas isn't a good example in this situation but, yeah it felt like Christmas.

I flexed so hard.

Best Christmas Ever.

THE END

STORY TIME: The First Female Santa

Ok, so Tim Allen finally died and now we have a female Santa.

This is the first female Santa in history.  Her name used to be Jenny but now her name is Kris Kringle, St. Nick, etc.

Initially, some people were mad about this online.  They were all like, "Oh, Santa is a woman now?  What the heck?"  These people were just scared of change and needed to be mad about something online.  Some other people wrote thinkpieces.  The thinkpiece people were all like, "Hey, excuse me.  Why can't the new Santa be trans?  Why does our Santa have to be a white woman?"  Thses people had a point.  I'm sure a trans person would be great at being Santa.

Personally, I wanted to be Santa.  I was all like, "Hey, wait a second.  I want to be Santa.  I think I would be a great Santa."

That's actually not true.  I would have been a horrible Santa.  Tim Allen was okay at being Santa, I guess.  Our new Santa rules though.

Jenny makes everyone feel good and warm.  She is nice.  She eats cookies and had a big belly.  Jenny is what every good Santa should be.

Screw you if you don't think Jenny can be Santa.

Could you figure out the logistics of delivering every child in the world a toy in one night?  No, of course you couldn't.  You can't figure out how to unsubscribe from Facebook emails.  Jenny can get the job done.  The fact of the matter is, Jenny accidentally killed Tim Allen and now she's Santa, ok?  What about that is so hard to understand?  Geesh.

New Santa rules.

Santa, if you're reading this:

Please get my brother a new bike.  I also would like a few DVDs.  

Thank you Santa.

Good luck tonight.  We love you.  

Love,
Ronnie

STORY TIME: Mom Won't Let Me Do Archery at Night

This is bs.

Mom won't let me do archery at night.

I told mom already.  I have homework after school and then I work on archery after sundown.  I don't see an issue with this.

Apparently, mom thinks archery is dangerous.  I mean yeah, it is.  It's dangerous because it's cool.

Archery is freaking cool.  

Everything cool is dangerous to some degree.  

Ok, fine.  You tell me.  You tell me if this sounds dangerous: I am a 9-year old boy.  I am holding a bow and arrow.  I am aiming into the night at a target in the backyard.  Occasionally, my arrows go over the fence and into the neighbors pool.  

I see nothing wrong with this.  

Also, hitting Mr. Glenderson in his above-ground pool without trying would be a miracle.  When I am trying it's hard.  

Mr. Glenderson is my great white whale and I his Ahab.  I just want to launch a harpoon into Mr. Glenderson so bad.  

Archery has really helped with the stuff my counselor and I have been talking about.  It doesn't hurt to talk to someone.

THE END

STORY TIME: Curtis Saved My Life But Now He Thinks He's My Dad

So I was riding my bike, right?  Minding my own business, when out of nowhere comes this huge truck.  I didn't know what to do.  I was a deer in the headlights.  Luckily, Curtis pushed me out of the way and saved my life.

It was chill, I guess.

The only bad part...Curtis thinks he's my dad now!  Curtis is cool but my dad is cooler.

Curtis keeps going, "Oh, so your real dad didn't save your life now did he?"

"That's different...Curtis.  My dad wasn't even there when I almost got hit by the truck.  I'm sure if he were put in the same situation he would have saved his son."

"Yeah, well I saved your life.  I'm your dad now.  Get over it."

You know what?  Screw Curtis!

"I'll come to your games," said Curtis, "I'll play catch with you."

"No, Curtis." I replied.  "I'll never be your son!  I already have a dad and just because you saved my life doesn't mean you're my new dad."

Then Curtis walked out into traffic and got hit by a truck.

I could have saved him, but then I would have had to be his dad.

THE END

STORY TIME: I Think I Left My Wallet at GameStop

"Shoot!"

"What is it, Mark?"

"I think I left my wallet at GameStop!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Mom.  It's at GameStop."

"Did you check your pockets?"

"Yeah, Mom.  It's not there.  I'm sure it's at GameStop."

"Ok.  I don't want to drive all the way back there. Make sure you check all your pockets."

"Wait...yep.  It was in my coat pocket."

"Good.  I'm glad you found it."

"I guess we don't have to go to GameStop then."

"Nope."

"Hey, Mom.  Now that I have my wallet, can we go to GameStop?"

"No, sweetie.  We were just at GameStop."

"Oh, yeah."

THE END - GameStop: Power to the Players

STORY TIME: Mr. Pibb is Actually a Huge Jerk

Ok, so I waited in line for about 40 minutes.  I didn't even want to see Mr. Pibb or get his autograph but my brother was a huge fan so I went with him.

We made it up to the front and there's a bunch of kids standing around.  The whole time I'm thinking to myself, "Ok, I'm funny.  I always make jokes at school.  What's something funny I can say to Mr. Pibb. Something that will get a rise out of him.  I want to show Mr. Pibb that I'm funny, right?"

So we get up to Mr. Pibb and I whisper into his ear, I say, "ehh, Mr. Pibb you ever think about going back and getting your degree?"

At that moment, Mr. Pibb turned ghostly white.  He grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and said, "you listen hear boy, not everyone who goes to college is smart, and not everyone who's smart goes to college."  I was terrified.  He continued,  "it ain't right to criticize a man for going into the working world instead of getting a degree.  College isn't for everyone you know."

"Geez, mister." I said, "I was only making a joke."

"Oh yeah?  Well jokes hurt feelings and hurt feelings are no joke."

Mr. Pibb released me.  My brother got an autographed soda can and we made our way to the front door of the convention center.  Mom was waiting for us in the parking lot.  We piled into the van.

"How was Soda-Con boys?"  I was silent.  "Ronnie, how was meeting your favorite soda, Mr. Pibb?  Are you going to answer me?"

"Good," I said. I looked out the window of the minivan.

"Well that's just great, boys.  Want dad to pick us up some soda on his way home from work?"

"No, I think I'm good actually."  I replied.  Rain began to fall, droplets began rolling down the car window.  Mom hit the wipers.  I sat and truly thought about what Mr. Pibb said.  Jokes hurt feelings and hurt feelings are no joke.  I sighed.  Mr. Pibb is actually a huge jerk.

THE END

STORY TIME: Rob Thomas Ruined My Evening

Honesty is always the best policy.

And that's how I handle Rob Thomas.

I'm not going to sugarcoat this.  Here's what happened:

Rob and I were friends.  We used to hang out at my condo and play video games all time time.  I loved having him over.  We even talked about writing a screenplay together.

Then something weird happened.  Rob and I were playing video games one day and I was booting up the Xbox and Rob goes, "So...I guess you're player one today?"  I was a little surprised.  

I replied, "Yeah, it's my system.  I'm always player one."

Then Rob Thomas goes, "Well, why can't I be player one?"

"It's my system and I'm letting you use it.  At least give me the courtesy of being player one.  I would do the same thing at your house, Rob Thomas."

"Alright, fine."  Rob Thomas said.  He paused, then dropped a bomb.  "Well, when I get my Xbox.  I'm probably not going to invite you over."

"What?" I was shocked, "Rob Thomas, are you serious right now?"  I couldn't believe it.

"Also, remember last time I was over?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Remember when I asked to borrow a pair of basketball shorts?

"What about them?"

"Well, I like how they fit and I plan on keeping them."

"Rob Thomas, get out of my house right now."

That was the last time I saw Rob Thomas.  I will never again let Rob Thomas ruin my evening.

THE END

STORY TIME: My Big Cousin Rules

My big cousin rules.

He's the coolest cousin in the world.

My big cousin drives a Camaro.  A Camaro is a type of car.  My big cousin told me that.  Apparently, a Camaro is a cool car.  It goes fast and stuff.  My cousin got his car for free.  All cool people get free cars.  Apparently, if a car is just sitting with the keys in the ignition, you can just have that car.  My cousin told me that.

I'm on the run with my cousin and his car.  

Only cool people are on the run.  

Being on the run means you can't see your parents.  Only lame people want to see their parents.  My parents don't care that I'm on the run.  I mean, I'm sure they care but since I'm with my big cousin, they probably don't.

I wish my dad was as cool as my big cousin.  My dad sells Camaros for his work.  Have you ever driven a Camaro.  Probably not.  Camaros are only for cool people.  My dad said that if my big cousin doesn't get back here with his Camaro, he'll have him arrested.  My big cousin says being arrested is actually very cool.  I want to be arrested someday like my big cousin.

Anyway, give me all your money.

THE END

STORY TIME: Growing Up on Pangea Sucks

Pangea used to be cool.

My friends and I are Cynognathuses, basically we're huge cat things.

This is me

We're just like any other kids.  We like video games and playing frisbee golf.  We hang out at the McDonald's parking lot after school.  Oh, you didn't think there was a McDonald's on Pangea?  Well, think again.  We practically invented McDonald's.

Oh, and remember Cone-ing?  The thing where you go through the drive-thru and just take the ice cream and not the cone?  My friends and I invented that too.

That was back before Pangea got lame.  Now Pangea is f-ed up.  There's just nothing to do on this supercontinent.  When I grow up, I'm gonna move as far away from Pangea as I can.  I want to start my own clothing store.  It will be a cool place in the mall for me and my friends to hang out.  Just like a chill spot for people my age.

Oh, you didn't think there were malls in Pangea?  You think one of your dumb continents invented something as cool as malls?

Well, you're wrong again.  My friends and I invented malls.

Everyone on Pangea is so annoying.  They just don't get me.

I wish some of these idiots would just go extinct.

THE END

STORY TIME: The Legend of Pimple Boy

There once was this cool, super sick kid named Pimple Boy.  He had a lot of pimples but no one really made fun of it for him because he was cool about it.  He called himself Pimple Boy.  How cool is that?

So, ok.  This Pimple Boy was so cool mainly because of his room.  His room was sick.  He had a waterbed, a flat-screen TV, a Nintendo, and a mini-fridge.  He had everything...or so he thought.  This cool pimple kid still was missing something in his life...and that something was love.

Pimple Boy had this huge crush on this girl from his class.  Her name was Fart Girl.  Fart Girl was so cool.  Her hair was nice and she had a nice smile.  The kids called her Fart Girl for a reason, however.  She farted all the time.  It was wild.  Everyday was just one huge fart for her.

To Pimple Boy, Fart Girl was everything.  He tried a lot to win her over.  He tried making a fart noise under his arm.  He tried making a fart noise with his hands.  He even took an equine laxative.  His friend Horse Man gave him this laxative to make him fart long and good.

Nothing worked.

One day Pimple Boy jumped up and down on his waterbed.  He was great at that.  The bed broke and water went everywhere.  Pimple Boy drank up all the water from the bed before his mom got home.

The waterbed water combined with the equine laxative got rid of Pimple Boy's pimples.

He was cured.  No scarring or anything.  He was just a pimple-less teenage boy.

The next day at school, Fart Girl came up to him.  "Hey, big boy.  What's your name?"  She bit her lip.

"Uh, I'm the Boy Formally Known as Pimple Boy," said the Boy.

"Wow, I bet you used to have so many pimples.  I can't believe we haven't met before."  Fart Girl rubbed his chest.  She was totally coming on to him.

"Oh, we actually have met.  Many times."  Pimple Boy was confused.  He wanted Fart Girl to be in love with him, but this seemed strange.

"Fart Girl, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Boy Formally Known as Pimple Boy."  Fart Girl ran her fingers through the Boy's hair.

"Why are you attracted to me?  Is it because of my dashing good looks and nice skin?"  At that moment, Fart Girl let out a fart so deep and loud it broke the sound barrier.  Pimple Boy died.

Fart Girl held Pimple's limp body.  "Yes, Pimple Boy, yes."  She said. She threw his body in the river and never farted again.

Just goes to show you, kids, being shallow can be tight sometimes and not every relationship has to be super serious.  Especially, not right away.

Lighten up.

THE END

STORY TIME: Barry Bonds Bail Bonds

One day, this absolute idiot made a business based off of his name.

His name was Barry Bonds.

No, not that Barry Bonds.

It was this other guy named Barry Bonds.

Ok, so this guy was a real dunderhead.  He was an absolute dunce and he decided it would be funny if he named his bail bonds business "Barry Bonds Bail Bonds."  The real Barry Bonds saw this and of course Barry Bonds was mad.  He was all like, "Uh, hey, I'm Barry Bonds.  What's up with you using my name?"  and the owner was all like, "You listen here, Barry Bonds.  I'm also Barry Bonds and I have the right to sell my Barry Bonds Bail Bonds under the Barry Bonds Bail Bonds name!"

"Well, I'll see you in court.  Mr. Bonds..."  He replied.  Barry Bonds then stormed out of the place.

"I need a drink," said the worse Barry Bonds.  Barry Bonds then took the lonely walk from his Barry Bonds Bail Bonds store to the bar.

"What'll it be?" The bartender asked.

"Tomato paste."

"Coming right up."

"Wait a second."  Barry Bonds lifted a finger, "shaken, not stirred."

"Ok mister.  You want to pay now or put it on a tab?"

"Tab."

"What's the name?"

"Bonds, Barry Bonds."

*jazzy music began to play*

Just then a spy jumped out behind the bar.  Barry Bonds wrestled him.  The spy choked him.  Barry Bonds then got him into a sick armbar.  This armbar was so sick.  He should have never got out of it.  Then, wow, he did.  He got out of it.  Then Barry Bonds took out a gun.  Frickin' shot the guy.

"That takes care of that," said Bonds.  He lifted up the glass of tomato paste to his mouth and chugged it.  "Ahh, nothing like tomato paste in the morning."  Just then a man in the corner began to clap.

"Very good Bonds," a familiar voice said.  A newspaper shrouded his identity.  He lowered it.  It was Barry Bonds.

"Mr. Bonds.  I apologize.  Please don't sue me."

"Bonds, I've been keeping a close eye on you.  I think your ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Ready to become one of us....Mr. Bonds let me ask you something.  How do you think one man can hit so many home runs?"

"Uh, steroids."

"Wrong.  Guess again."

"Uh, human growth hormone?"

"Wrong again.  Don't you get it Mr. Bonds.  There isn't just one Barry Bonds.  There's an entire legion of Bonds.  Thousands upon thousands of unique, yet identical Barry Bonds at the ready to absolutely crush the longball."

"Do you mean..."

"Yes, Barry Bonds.  We need you."  Just then dozens of Barry Bonds flooded the bar.  They all repeated in unison: "Barry Bonds, we need you.  Barry Bonds, we need you."

"But what if I don't want to be Barry Bonds?  What if I just want to be the lowly bond salesman, Barry Bonds of Barry Bonds Bail Bonds?  What's wrong with that?"  The Barry Bonds replied:

"It is your destiny!  Barry Bonds!  Barry Bonds!  Barry Bonds!"  The group approached.

"I'll never join you!"  Barry said.  He took one Barry Bonds with his hands and crushed the dude's freaking huge skull.  Then he bashed two other Barry Bonds' heads in.  Then he took a wrench out of nowhere and bludgeoned a bunch of the guys with it.

After that, he got behind the bar and took a swig of tomato juice.

Then, using the power of tomato juice, he freaking kicked all these guys heads off.  It was wild.

"There, that's the last of them," said Barry Bonds.  "But what will become of baseball?  They've lost their best player, or is it players?  I can't tell anymore.  All I want to do is sell bail bonds."  Then the cops showed up.

"Sir, did you kill all these guys?"  The cop asked.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," said Barry Bonds.

"Do you realize how many bail bonds this is going to take to pay for??"

"I do now."  Barry Bonds hugged the cop.  This was the first time he'd ever felt good about himself.  He wasn't the worst Barry Bonds after all.  In this moment, he was just a guy named Barry Bonds, the dude who sells bail bonds at his store, Barry Bonds Bail Bonds.  For Barry, this was enough, this and the tomato paste of course.

THE END

STORY TIME: Timmy Regrets Everything

One day, Timmy became the coolest person in his school.  He did so by creating a cool catchphrase.  It began on the schoolyard, as most trends do...

"Wow, cool jacket."  Timmy said to his friend.

"Yeah, it is!"  Derek replied.

"Hey, that jacket is weggin'."

"Excuse me?"  Derek looked confused.

"Yeah, weggin', it's a word I just thought of.  I'm confident enough to say it."

"Wow," said Derek, "Do you think that could become part of the lexicon?

"We'll see."  Timmy replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Timmy awoke with a start.  There was commotion all around him.  His mother was in the kitchen yelling.  "Timmy, get down here this instant!  There are reporters here and a whole line of kids waiting to meet you.  You have a lot of explaining to do!"

"I...uh."  Just then, an old-timey reporter with an old-timey camera fell from the tree outside his window.  Timmy covered himself with a robe and ran downstairs.  "Mom!"  He shouted.

"Timmy, I'm worried.  Are you in some sort of trouble?"  Timmy's mom fixed him some oats.

"No, mom."  Timmy explained.  "I just created a meme is all."

"A me-me?  What's that?"

"It's something that catches on online.  You wouldn't understand."

"Well, ok.  As long as you aren't in trouble.  We've already been through this with your father."

"Mom!"

"Your father was a good man."

"Mom!  Dad was a Russian hacker!  He was leading a second life in the States.  You were a patsy!"

"Stop it, Timmy.  If it weren't for the USSR, you wouldn't be here!"  Timmy looked down at his oats.

"I guess," he replied.  "Now it's time to face the music."  Timmy rose from his chair and brushed the crumbs off his robe.

He opened the door to a sea of flashing lights.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Timmy! Over here."  The reporters shouted.  "Mr. Tim!  Timothy!" The crowd roared.  "Can you explain weggin' for us Tim?"  A reporter said.

"Are you weggigy weggity wet, Tim?" Another said, "Tim, why did you think to say weggin' in the first place?"  Tim was speechless.

"Tim are you worried that weggin' will be co-opted by neo-nazi twitter?"

Tim's heart pounded faster and faster.

"Tim, Tim, TIM!"

Tim fainted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BEEEEEEEEEEEEP.  Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

Tim awoke in a white-walled hospital.  

"Where am I?"

"You're in Russia, Timmy."

"What?"

"I'm just messing with you, comrade.  I mean, friend."  A doctor came into view.  He was wearing a surgical mask.

"Hey.  I..."

"Relax, Tim," said the doctor.  At this point,  Tim realized he was tied down to the bed.  He couldn't move his hands.  

"Ok,  I'm relaxed."

"Tim are you ready for a few questions?"  The doctor asked.

"Yes.  I think so."

"Now, Tim...When we created the meme,  we weren't trying to blow our father's cover now were we?"

"What?  No...it can't be...?  Yakov?"

"Timmy what if I told you...in America, you can always find a party.  In Soviet Russia..The Party can always find you!"

"NO!"  Timmy reeled back in pain.  The doctor took off his mask.  It was famed comedian Yakov Smirnoff.

"Timmy what if I told you...in America, your job determines your marks.  In Soviet Russia...Marx determines your job!"

The searing pain of the jokes plunged deep into Timmy's body.  "Stop, please stop!  I'll do anything!" 

"Now, Timmy.  This is what you get for drawing attention to us.  The Kremlin is displeased with you and your American memes."

"I'll never work for you."  Timmy said defiantly.  Timmy spit on the floor in front of Yakov.

"Timmy sadly, in Soviet Russia.  Work finds YOU." 

"NOOOOOOOOO!"  Timmy was hauled away.  "I hate you dad!"  Timmy sobbed.  "I regret everything."  Timmy was pushed through a door labeled "MINISTRY OF MEMES."  He was never seen again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wow, grandpa.  Did all that really happen."

"No, I just thought of it.  Cool story though, huh."

"Yeah, I guess."

THE END

STORY TIME: Joni Mitchell Gets Sad (Blue)

Joni Mitchell was a famous musician.  She ruled at guitar and piano and she could sing.  One day she got really sad.

"Hey, what's the matter Joni?" Her friend asked, "Why are you sad?"

"Well.  That's a good question."

"Perhaps you have seasonal depression."

"No, that can't be the case.  I began my career in music playing nightclubs in Saskatchewan
 and Western Canada.  I love snow and ice."

"Oh, that's right, it is currently winter as we speak,"  Joni's friend leaned in, "Hey, Joni."

"Yes, friend."  Joni's friend looked around.

"Would you consider yourself...blue?"

"Why, yes.  That would be an accurate way to describe how I'm feeling."  Joni's friend started laughing really hard.

"Haha, oh that's...that's just great."  Joni looked annoyed.

"What's so funny," she asked.

"Well, oh.  Wow," Joni's friend wiped her eyes.  "This is great."

"What is it!"

"Joni it's just...your 1971 classic album is entitled 'Blue'."

"Oh, ha."

"Isn't that hilarious?"

"I guess."

THE END

STORY TIME: Amanda Gets Sick of Homework

Amanda loved homework.  It's all she thought about.  She obsessed over it.  She had posters of homework on her bedroom walls.  She did homework in her sleep.  She ate, drank, breathed homework.  Homework was her life.

Amanda spent every second at school daydreaming about all the homework she could be doing when she got home.

Every evening, Amanda's mother had to pull her away from her desk to get her outside to play.  It was no use. Amanda tried everything: sports, video games, texting a boy in her class, etc. but sadly nothing compared to her love of homework.

Amanda couldn't stay away.  She started with her math book.  Most other kids dreaded math.  Amanda made up her own lesson plans and rigorously adhered to them.

Other girls liked horses, or basketball, or going to the ren faire and getting a big slab of mutton on a stick.  Not Amanda, however, Amanda loved homework.

"Oh, homework," Amanda sighed, "I wish I had more of you.  Why do teachers always go so easy on us?"

One day, Amanda asked her math teacher, Ms. Hoss, a question:  "Teacher?" Amanda asked.

"Yes, Amanda," replied Ms. Hoss.

"Why don't you give us more homework?  I mean, I've heard other kids complain about homework.  I think we could all use a little more."

"Well, Amanda.  If you need something to do you could always read a book."

"But Ms. Hoss, I've tried books and it seems to me that unless they're assigned for homework.."

Ms. Hoss stopped her, "Let me guess, you don't want to read them unless they are assigned."

"Why...yes."

"Ok, Amanda.  I hereby assign you to read every single book in the library."

"Oh, Ms. Hoss!"  Amanda screamed in delight, "I will!  I will! I will!"  Amanda gave Ms. Hoss a big hug and skipped joyfully off to the library.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Can I help you?" said the librarian.

"Yes, hello.  I'm Amanda and I've been assigned to read every book in this library by my teacher, Ms. Hoss.  Perhaps you've heard of her?"

"Yes...I'm familiar with Ms. Hoss," said the librarian, "every book in the library...well you can start with this one."  The librarian's hand hovered over the shelf.  She grabbed a book.  It was entitled, "The Trouble with Being Born" by Romanian philosopher and essayist, Emil Cioran.

"Oh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" said Amanda, "May I lock myself in the library all night reading?"

The librarian sighed.  "I guess."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The librarian went home.

The librarian made a stew.

The librarian thought about her adult son.

She slept.

The librarian woke up.

The librarian scraped ice off her windshield.

She went to work.

She unlocked the library door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ah, Amanda,"  said the librarian, "How was last night?"

Amanda quivered.  "I read...I read every book."  She held up the book the librarian gave her yesterday.  Amanda gathered herself.  "I have always lived with the awareness of the impossibility of living," said Amanda.  "And what has made my life endurable is the curiosity as to how I would get from one minute, one day, one year to the next."

"uh, ok..."

"For me, the stepping stones, the glue holding my world together...was homework."  Amanda took a breath.  "Now, I realize that life has no intrinsic meaning or value.  A single human, such as myself or even the entire human species as a whole is resolutely insignificant.  Without purpose, I am nothing.  A speck.  An ant.  My work as a pursuant of homework is entirely...trivial."

Amanda began to sob.  The librarian rushed over to Amanda's side.  The librarian rubbed her back.

"Amanda," said the librarian.  "When you read all these books last night did you happen to read Animorphs Book #31?"

"Why...yes," Amanda replied.

"And Amanda, do you remember when Jake's father was at risk of being infested?"

"Yes, Jake panicked.  He freaked out."

"Yes, Jake in his panic, expected Marco to lecture him on the importance of staying clearheaded and rational, instead of doing something stupid and reckless.  Do you remember what Marco told Jake?"

"Uh, yes.  He said. 'You're not alone, man.  You're not alone.'"

"Exactly!  Exactly, Amanda!  See, we're all going through this dark, confusing world together.  We need each other.  Every librarian needs a reader.  Every reader needs a librarian.  No matter how grim the world gets, no matter how meaningless it may be in the end, we can't go it alone."

"I see," said Amanda.  She wiped her eyes.

"This knowledge that surrounds us,"  the librarian motioned to the shelves.  "All of it.  All of the knowledge in the entire world is useless, unless you share it with someone."

"Ms. Librarian."

"Yes, Amanda."

"I don't think I like homework as much now."

"That's probably fine."

THE END