AN ABSTRACTLY ASSIMILATED ASSESMENT OF AUDACIOUS ADVENTURE PART 2.

CHAPTER II

In Which There is a Decided Lack of Adventure

By the time Phil’s hole was done wrecking the child, nothing was left but a waterwing and a single tear. I don’t know, man; Google says that good blogs need a captivating opening line. And now that I’ve hooked you with a story far more interesting than this one, which will never be mentioned again, we move on to the extremely boring parts. Ah who knows, phil could make a good spinoff.  The whitehouse is a grey, kind of circly-ish thing in keenerville. And keenervile is this collection of grey, kind of rectangular prism-y things interspersed with a pine trees and/or animals that are helpful reminders of all the animals you could be seeing but aren’t because you’re in fricking keenervile, the middle of nowhere. To Carl, everything was a dusty grey. The buildings, the grass, all the elephants that weren’t being seen. The first few days yielded a decided lack of adventure because the title of the chapter said so. Carl attempted to pass the time.  He wrote half a fairy tale about and eggplant but he ended up having an inter-vegetable affair with a zucchini, or maybe it was a cucumber. Ah, who cares? They’re all just edible sticks. he tried screaming at small children, which usually proves fun. But keener children just aren’t as good at getting screamed at. he tried learning canadian, which is basically the lingual manifestation of a guy trying to beatbox while eating a rather sizeable steak. Ah Learning. The Beatles’ Rubber Soul on vinyl was his only consolation. Or consoulation if we’re being punny which, let’s face it, we totally have to be.  

Anyway, back to the story.  Even as they all swam out of the hole, this was a pretty fricking awesome sight: hundreds upon hundreds of peoples, not all of them human, being lead by Carl, Kermit, Piggy and Arcade Fire (CKPAAF) in a mass exodus. It was like Moses and the Jews except way, way cooler. And Moses is now a 16-year-old boy accompanied by a pig, a frog and a Canadian band. So yeah, pretty biblical stuff.

Again, I’m speaking about keeners in a very metaphorical sense.  I honestly had no idea what to write about so here goes…a very non-fictional story.  Anyway nothing really happened for a couple days so I’m going to skip to the good part.  Carl’s eyes flickered open. Again. This time however, he was in the backseat of the Muppetmobile, in front of a bar named the Naughty Narwhal.  Everything really hurt. Perfectly timed, Arcade Fire was softly playing In the Backseat, Régine singing.

I like the peace

In the backseat
The CKPAAF were no longer in the desert, but driving on a dirt road somewhere in the jungle. he could hear voices at the front of the van. “So sleeping beauty’s awake, ay? Bout darn time.” Definitely Kermit.

I don’t have to drive

I don’t have to speak

He spoke up. Piggy and the rest of the CKPAAF stopped playing In the Backseat and gently walked up to him, suddenly wearing a white coat and a stethoscope and carrying a clipboard. “Carl,” he began “It’s not easy for me to tell you this but,” “Piggy, why are you wearing a doctors outfit?” “Never mind that. As I was saying, it’s not easy for me to tell you this but…but when you were on the roof of a horny rhino’s car, he…well he shoved his horn through the roof and...Carl, I’m so sorry.” Shoot. “Yeah, that would probably explain the rhino-horn-shove feeling.”   “Yea, probably.” 

Partially injured, Carl got a ride to the nearby town he’d recently been to and entered the Naughty Narwhal once more. He sat down “What’s it going to be, eh?,” Carl heard in a British accent. “stirred not shaken,” replied Carl coolly. 007 can have it his way, but stirred is totally the preferable preparation method. Also some wings. “Chicken ain’t even yo species, ‘Mingo,” said Carl when the flamingo got offended. But whatever, wings are awesome. On a lucky guess, the Flamingo’s name actually turned out to be Mingo. “Yeah. I had some lazy parents,” he said. Mingo and Carl actually talked for a bit (for it was Mingo’s break at this time) and eventually he told him his business here.

“I think I may have the guy for you.” So Mingo and the Naughty Narwhal proved useful after all. Mingo directed her to the other end of the restaurant where a figure sat, cloaked in shadow. And a cloak. Cloak guy spoke. It was a familiar voice, but implacable, off. “So whadaya want kid, an autograph?” Then cloak guy took off his cloak in a really unnecessarily melodramatic way. Under the cloak, was a little green frog made of felt who also happened to have a small goatee, not the big Colonel Sanders kind, more of a chin squirrel type of thing. Still calm sounding, Carl asked “What do you know about grey rhino.” So badass it didn’t even need a question mark at the end. The bartender, who she decided to name Amber for no particular reason, froze. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.” “I know well enough.” “No. No you don’t. This is no place for a boy.” “I’m no boy,” he said, fierce this time, as he pulled out his gun. There was an awkward pause and therein Carl realized he didn’t actually have a gun, but rather was holding her fingers like this.

-Illustration-

okay okay I don’t have a picture but you get the point.

For, if you remember, Carl was an expert kickboxer. He smashed a bottle over the head of cloak guy.  A shame to lose a good bottle of Goose, but sometimes desperate measures must be taken. Then quickly out of the ground came a really creepy old elevator, which made a creepy noise and its doors hissed open in a very creepy fashion. Out of the unnecessarily melodramatic mist stepped a figure. A naked fat guy holding a box of Fritos.  I never thought I would ever type that sentence.  “Who wants a partaaaaaay?” he shouted through burps. “Whoops. Wrong elevator.”