Zurp
I have misplaced my pants.
The day started out like any other day. Troppo woke up, brushed his teeth, showered, and continued with his normal morning ritual. Unfortunately for him, the evil Kropler family, from two towns over, was successful in launching an enormous anti-matter missile at the sun, in an attempt to destroy daylight savings time. (The Kroplers weren’t very good at setting the clocks on their VCR, and hated that the time "magically" changed twice a year.) Trog, the head of the Kropler family, built the anti-matter missile out of twirly pasta, some D-cell batteries, a string of dental floss, 15 ball-point pens, and a stolen VISA card. He used the VISA card to order an anti-matter missile capable of destroying the sun (so claims the magazine ad), and Trog used the rest to throw at the mailman.
As Troppo stepped out of his house on his way to work, he heard the blast of the missile, and he immediately knew his job: he must round up all of the squirrels and teach them to reenact his favorite Shakespeare play, Ghostbusters. Unfortunately, he was only able to find enough squirrels to play the four Ghostbusters, the receptionist lady, the dude who makes them free all the ghosts, the mayor, the Sigourney Weaver lady, the Rick Moranis guy, and the evil lady at the end. He had to find a pigeon to play the two dog-like creatures that Sigourney Weaver and Rick Moranis turn into.
Of course, anyone who’s ever tried to get some squirrels and pigeons to reenact a play, it’s a little bit like yelling at nothing. The squirrels won’t come down from the trees, even for donuts, and the pigeons won’t stop eating the donuts. Troppo decided he had a better idea. Using a rope he found on the street, he tied a fancy lasso and threw it around the anti-matter missile. With a firm yank, he snared it. Unfortunately for him, the missile was blasting with about 15 million horsepower, and poor Troppo left his horsepower in his other pants. The missile yanked him up like a pair of intelligent mice trying to get out of the toaster oven.
Up, up, up, he flew. He flew through the air for what seemed like 70 thirty-fifths of a second. Troppo then felt pretty thirsty, since his eyeballs had become bone-dry with the force of the air all around him. And, he figured, since he was flying through the atmosphere at possibly a thousand miles an hour, the wind friction was burning him into a raisin the size of a pumpkin. He knew he better get something to drink, and soon!
He climbed up the rope toward the missile, remembering that missiles like this often were fueled with liquid Oxygen. He knew he liked Oxygen, and he liked liquids, so he probably would like some liquid Oxygen. However, there was a problem with getting the liquid Oxygen: there was a huge flaming explosion coming out the back of the rocket. "No problem," thought Troppo, "I’ll just turn the thing off." Using his cell phone, he called his girlfriend to ask if she wanted any liquid Oxygen. She, like many of us would, thought it was a prank caller, and promptly fixed herself a sandwich.
With the rocket off, it was no longer headed for the sun. However, it hadn’t gained enough momentum and was not far enough away from the earth to be able to escape the earth’s gravity. Troppo, who was still trying to figure out how to get himself a drink, was now plummeting back to the earth.
He figured that he better warn everyone below, because a missile that had enough destructive power to destroy the sun, could possibly put someone’s eye out. He used his keychain pocketknife and threw it at the ground. He figured that the pocketknife would get to the ground, first, and people would think, "Weird – a pocketknife just fell to the earth." Then they’d look up and see a missile coming right to them and they’d have a chance to escape and maybe live a better life in the jungle or on the moon or something. However, the terminal velocity of a pocketknife is much lower than that of the missile, and the missile flew right by the pocketknife in much the same way that you might go flying by the gum you just spit out while you’re driving 70mph on the freeway.
"Think, Roger, think." Then the voice of his old high school gym teacher spoke up: "Stupid Troppo! Your name isn’t Roger."
"I miss Roger," Troppo thought.
And that’s why Troppo was having such a bad day.
As Troppo stepped out of his house on his way to work, he heard the blast of the missile, and he immediately knew his job: he must round up all of the squirrels and teach them to reenact his favorite Shakespeare play, Ghostbusters. Unfortunately, he was only able to find enough squirrels to play the four Ghostbusters, the receptionist lady, the dude who makes them free all the ghosts, the mayor, the Sigourney Weaver lady, the Rick Moranis guy, and the evil lady at the end. He had to find a pigeon to play the two dog-like creatures that Sigourney Weaver and Rick Moranis turn into.
Of course, anyone who’s ever tried to get some squirrels and pigeons to reenact a play, it’s a little bit like yelling at nothing. The squirrels won’t come down from the trees, even for donuts, and the pigeons won’t stop eating the donuts. Troppo decided he had a better idea. Using a rope he found on the street, he tied a fancy lasso and threw it around the anti-matter missile. With a firm yank, he snared it. Unfortunately for him, the missile was blasting with about 15 million horsepower, and poor Troppo left his horsepower in his other pants. The missile yanked him up like a pair of intelligent mice trying to get out of the toaster oven.
Up, up, up, he flew. He flew through the air for what seemed like 70 thirty-fifths of a second. Troppo then felt pretty thirsty, since his eyeballs had become bone-dry with the force of the air all around him. And, he figured, since he was flying through the atmosphere at possibly a thousand miles an hour, the wind friction was burning him into a raisin the size of a pumpkin. He knew he better get something to drink, and soon!
He climbed up the rope toward the missile, remembering that missiles like this often were fueled with liquid Oxygen. He knew he liked Oxygen, and he liked liquids, so he probably would like some liquid Oxygen. However, there was a problem with getting the liquid Oxygen: there was a huge flaming explosion coming out the back of the rocket. "No problem," thought Troppo, "I’ll just turn the thing off." Using his cell phone, he called his girlfriend to ask if she wanted any liquid Oxygen. She, like many of us would, thought it was a prank caller, and promptly fixed herself a sandwich.
With the rocket off, it was no longer headed for the sun. However, it hadn’t gained enough momentum and was not far enough away from the earth to be able to escape the earth’s gravity. Troppo, who was still trying to figure out how to get himself a drink, was now plummeting back to the earth.
He figured that he better warn everyone below, because a missile that had enough destructive power to destroy the sun, could possibly put someone’s eye out. He used his keychain pocketknife and threw it at the ground. He figured that the pocketknife would get to the ground, first, and people would think, "Weird – a pocketknife just fell to the earth." Then they’d look up and see a missile coming right to them and they’d have a chance to escape and maybe live a better life in the jungle or on the moon or something. However, the terminal velocity of a pocketknife is much lower than that of the missile, and the missile flew right by the pocketknife in much the same way that you might go flying by the gum you just spit out while you’re driving 70mph on the freeway.
"Think, Roger, think." Then the voice of his old high school gym teacher spoke up: "Stupid Troppo! Your name isn’t Roger."
"I miss Roger," Troppo thought.
And that’s why Troppo was having such a bad day.
