This story is not by 'Anonymous'. It's by DaveTheUseless.
Hi, I'm Troy McClure. I was going to say you might remember me from some other things, but you're a total stranger to me, and I'm about to die. Yes, unfortunately, we don't have much time to get to know one another. (Blame yourself or God.) You see, when I was a child I never got the chicken pox, which means you might get them when you're older, and if you do, you'll die. And I did, and now I'm dying.
I sense that my foreshadowing has peaked your interest. As for what happened: it all started when a mysterious note came in through my doggie door. Before even considering reading the thing, I felt the need to catch glimpse of whoever it was that dropped it, seeing how I never met a dog before who cared enough about me to tease me with love letters. Furthermore, I didn't even have a dog, so I'm unsure how I ended up with a doggie door. I assumed it had something to do with illegal immigration.
Since my uncle Magoo and I are legally farsighted, I reached for my princess pink granny glasses, but I accidentally knocked over my homemade Ice Blue Raspberry Vodka Lemonade Ice Blue Raspberry Lemonade Kool Aid UV Blue Vodka & Ice in the process of grabbing a kaleidoscope that had been inadvertently drenched in my homemade Ice Blue Raspberry Vodka Lemonade Ice Blue Raspberry Lemonade Kool Aid UV Blue Vodka & Ice. I drank out of the kaleidoscope and all I saw were freaky colors. Feeling horribly defeated and, after venturing out to my driveway, realizing that the dog/person had long escaped in my Harley-Davidson bicycle--not an actual motorcycle, but a bicycle shaped like a motorcycle that I have owned since I was five, but still scrunch up in and ride in my 40s--I went back inside to read the note.
I finally found the granny glasses after squinting around the house George Costanza style, and so, I perused the proffered literature. Thankfully, the person drew in a picture of himself, so I got to know what he looked like. It reminded me of a dating website, except no one was asking me if I'd consent to wearing one of those condoms that change color if you transfer over an STD to your partner. As for the picture itself: a skeleton in a top hat and a monocle on graced the note. Ah: so it was my next door neighbor, Bernie. That solved that issue, though it still made me wonder why he stole my bike. He could've just asked. And I would've said no. And, he probably would've beaten me up again. And, I probably would've called the cops, but since he's the only cop in town, so much for that.
Now, I hate to say it, but things got worse. Much worse. When I read the note, a single chill went straight down my spine. A chill that would not go away until I applied a Shaquille O'Neal icy hot patch to my back, but once I did, that solved the problem. ... For now.
The note itself was written in size-42 Webdings, but since I studied Webdings in school I had no trouble translating it. "Turn on Fox News in 15 minutes. Signed, your Secret Admirer." Now, I've never had a secret admirer before, but I do watch a lot of Fox News, as I am a furry with a fox as my fursona. I like to imagine that Sean Hannity's spirit animal is a tortoise named Wilbert, and that Megyn Kelly is a wolflady with ginormous, swinging tits.
For the next 11 1/2 minutes I ate ice cream cones. Obviously, I didn't only eat cones, but since I was out of ice cream I filled the things up with ketchup and hydrogen peroxide. I have a habit of dipping hydrogen peroxide onto q-tips prior to applying them to my skin, so I included q-tips inside the ice cream cones to satisfy my traditional eating habits. Admittedly, when I eat by having my skin absorb the food product and letting it filter straight to my organs, solids don't usually traverse all the way through my skin and blood, but as I am a lizard person, I simply morphed into lizard structure, and my scaly surface had no problem swallowing the food. Good times.
Now, I realized that the 15 minute period was up, so I searched for my remote. I was still in lizard form and didn't have time to change back, so I slid my tongue under my couch cushions in order to find it. After swallowing a considerable amount of lint and stale cum from used gym shorts that I never bothered to wash, I found it, wrapped my tongue around it, and pulled it out of the sofa. Wanting to watch in HD, I changed the channel to Fox News HD's number 576 after turning on my television set.
But I've gotta tell ya... as soon as the thing came on, I was startled again and shrieked in horror.
Yes, Bill O'Reilly was there, and so was the Fox News logo and everything. But... what wasn't there was Bill O'Reilly's head. You would never believe in a million years what I saw, but I'll tell you anyway: Bill O' Reilly's head was replaced by a giant baked bean. In the corner of the screen opposite of the Fox News logo was another icon, too, for Bush's Baked Beans. This didn't make ANY! SENSE! AT ALL!
I don't know how beans can talk, but this one did. A single line formed his mouth, as if hand drawn, vibrating up and down as Mr. O'Reilly gave his Talking Points Memo as if it was just another day in talk show conservatism paradise.
"Bill O'Reillyyyyy! Thank you for watching. Beans: The Magical Fruit. That's tonight's memo. You see, we in America have a sense of entitlement: we think we can eat whatever we want and just shit it out and not have a problem. The best way I can explain this dilemma is in song, with a unique poem that I wrote while I was stationed with NBC's Brian Williams in Richard Conquerer's England back in 1066 AD: 'Beans, beans. They're good for your heart. The more you eat, the more you fart. The more you fart, the better you feel. So eat your beans at every meal.' As you may have guessed, my poem is satire, which a lot of liberals don't understand. It also parodies liberal themes of excess. In fact, eating any food for every meal is not a good idea. In fact, I am going to summarize this issue facing many young Americans today in a way that Talking Points believes even liberals can understand: eat lots of beans, and you get gas. YES, there ARE supplements to reduce this, but we must NOT over-rely on drugs to help us get through the day. To rely on anti-flatulence medication induces laziness and creates a sense of entitlement that will not only greatly impact honest capitalistic businesses, but indoctrinate our youth into thinking that beans are, indeed... a magical fruit. Therefore infringing on religious freedoms. ... And that's tonight's memo."
I... was disgusted. And feeling a little bit disheveled. I didn't know what it was I was watching, or why my neighbor wanted me to watch it, but I find all bodily functions immature and sophomoric. I went to shut off the channel with my tongue, but I couldn't--the power simply refused to shut off. I got up and tried turning the dial on my set, but that didn't work, either. Even twisting the clothes hanger antenna on top of my TV only got me a little static and something that looked like a goofy pirate show for about 10 seconds, but otherwise, that was it. I couldn't turn off this Bill O'Reilly episode. I even went to the channel guide, and the name of the episode... well, it shocked me. It didn't say 'The O'Reilly Factor', but instead was listed as 'The Lost Episode of The Bill O'Reilly Program'. Now how in the world can the thing be lost if it was being broadcasted on live TV? It just didn't make any sense at all.
I considered watching the rest of the program because I had no other suitable course of action, other than maybe to report my stolen bike to the guy who stole it, but that was when the newspaper arrived. It went flying through my window, breaking the glass as the shards flew into my homemade Ice Blue Raspberry Vodka Lemonade Ice Blue Raspberry Lemonade Kool Aid UV Blue Vodka & Ice kaleidoscope. I picked the newspaper up off the table and it read 'Christmas Cancelled Due to the Attack of the Giant Killer Beans from Neptune's Moons', but then I realized I was reading a tabloid so I laughed.
At this point I tried changing back from lizard form, but it just wasn't happening. When I do this I make 'ungh' noises, kind of like you might do when you sit on the toilet and nothing's going on, but I just kept going 'ungh ungh ungh ungh' and really, nothing was happening. I heard a rumor that if you eat a lot you go back to being a regular old fat person, so I ate the newspaper and the clothes hanger off the television, and that started to work a little bit.
Yet... wouldn't you know it? The TV was still on, and fixed on the Bill O'Reilly Lost Episode Program. I just couldn't get rid of the darned thing!
"Here with us tonight is a very special guest: a guest who is a ghost, Ann Poulter-geist. Ann, what do you think about the Attack of the Giant Killer Beans from Neptune's Moons?".
Now, you may have expected a real picture or live broadcast of Ann Poulter to pop up, or at least a picture that stays on your screen for a minute and slowly zooms in or out so that the story you're listening to is slightly less boring even though the video maker doesn't have much in the way of video making skills... but no. Instead of Ann... there was a chicken. Not a poulter... but poul-try. Where did the real Ann Poulter go? She may be a lot of things, but she certainly wasn't a chicken.
O'Reilly went on to debate with this bird, and even though all I could hear were clucks, he seemed to understand what it was saying. Sometimes he talked over the clucks as if the chicken had a powerful point to make that Bill O didn't want to get out, but if there was a message in there, I couldn't hear it. As a lizard man, I'm used to eating live chickens, but talking with them and understanding them... that's a whole other issue. All I could make out was that the chicken was an emergency replacement for Poulter, who had made sharp comments about the Neptunian bean men entering this country without passports.
My eyes remained glued on the television set until I heard a buzzing of my doorbell. Given that I didn't have a doorbell, this sent another shiver down my spine, and since I was out of icyhot patches, I simply had to deal with it. The pain was too excruciating for me to walk to the door, so I just shouted 'Come In!' loud enough that whoever it was would make their way in.
I guess the first sign that something was really wrong should've been that I didn't hear footsteps, or a closing of the door. In fact, what, or who, I ended up seeing, likely came in through the doggie door. And no, it wasn't a dog. Or Bernie, my next door neighbor skeleton who stole my bike. It was...
It was a chicken. A motherfucking, cock sucking CHICKEN.
And this one didn't cluck. He... he spoke perfect English at me, so well that I could barely keep up with him. Eventually he took pity on me and started writing his messages out in Webdings, but I'm not so good with literacy so he just spoke to me in good ol' slow English instead.
"Troy. It is time that you learned the shocking truth", Mr. Chicken started at me.
"That I'm a lizard? I've known that all my life, so why don't you cluck off?"
Mr. Chicken sighed at my poor attempt at humor. "No, Troy. In actuality, you are just a boy. A boy who has been in a coma for the past 25 years. The past 25 years... you have made everything up. In your mind. And we have been watching you. Spying on you, you might say. You have been like a tape inside of a tape to us. But now, we are done with this charade."
I was horrified. Was what he was clucking at me... true? Mr. Chicken ran over to me with his silly little chicken feet and pecked at me. "The hell was that for?", I barked back.
"I have infected you with the chicken pox, Troy. You now have one choice left to make, with two opposing options. You can either wake up from the coma... or you can die as a man... infected with the chicken pox."
IF YOU WOULD LIKE FOR TROY TO LIVE, PRESS 1 NOW. IF YOU WOULD LIKE FOR TROY TO DIE, PRESS 2.
Troy neither lived nor died, because life and death are both illusions of the mind that we make to symbolize a process that is actually much, much deeper than we could ever imagine.