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Goosebumps
Make that title all bumpy and slimy looking
Written by Nick on October 14th - 2003

Gather 'round, kiddies. In spirit of the looming All Hallow's Eve Nick has prepared a spooooky story for you

I

It started like any other day: I woke up, took a shower, and went to school. I couldn’t quite figure out why, but something just didn’t feel right. The sky was particularly gray, the wind just as frigid, and I had just kissed another boy. My dad was going to kill me.

THEN BLOOD STARTED SHOOTING OUT OF MY FRIEND’S FACE.

II

“Haha! I fooled you!” Will said, removing his bleeding-face-mask.

“Oh man! You fooled me!” I retorted.

“Yeah!” he belched.

“I can’t believe you still have that mask, I thought for sure you were spontaneously bleeding out of your pores this time.”

“Nope!” he bazooka’d.

“Want to go to the abandoned warehouse on the corner of West and Maple?”

“Dude!” he duded.

“…what?”

“I mean, uh….”

THEN HIS FACE MELTED OFF REVEALING HIS TRUE IDENTITY: A ROBOT.

III

I smashed him in the face with a bat and was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Times were never better, given that over the weekend I had turned myself into a bug with my mad scientist of a neighbor’s time machine. Good thing I remembered that bugs are small, allowing me to fly through a keyhole and down my dead carcass’ throat. Yeah, flying down your own throat cures temporary transmogrification.

THEN SOMETHING BAD HAPPENED.

I forget what, though…

THEN I WENT TO BED

IV

The next morning I had my robot friend’s mom drop me off in front of the abandoned warehouse. I waved goodbye as she spun her head around 360 degrees. I felt bad because I forgot to say “thank you”. My mom would have been so disappointed.

So I broke into the old warehouse with a crowbar in my hands and a granola bar in my pocket. I was unconquerable. Attempting to break open a locked door I accidentally smashed my leg with the crowbar, causing what appeared to be a compound fracture of the femur. I fixed it with some chewed bubble gum I found stuck under a table. NO I DIDN’T CHEW IT, I WET IT UNDER THE FAUCET IN THE BATHROOM, SICKOS.

I ventured downstairs to look for pirates. Much to my surprise the door labeled “Basement” actually led to Detroit. I saw Dean Palmer of the Detroit Tigers walk by.

“Hey, Dean, I have a question. Which quantity is greater, the number of wins you guys had this year or the number of autographs you’ve signed in your life?”

“You’re mean.”

I felt bad for the rest of my stay in Detroit. I went home and threw away my Dean Palmer jersey.

V

The next morning on my way to school I was stopped by a strange car. A man stuck his head out of the tinted window and told me he had pokemon cards for me. And boy he wasn’t kidding! He had squirtle, ravenhawk, dingbat, they were all there! I couldn’t wait to play with all my new friends! He then proceeded to press a chloroform-soaked rag against my face.

I woke up on a cold, cement floor. It was pitch black except for a weak light bulb half illuminated in the corner. Something drew me towards it. As I approached it a monster broke down the concrete wall to my right. I jumped on his back and we flew to Antarctica where we played scrabble and checkers forever.

That’s about all I can take of that.

They all turn out the same in the end anyway. Everything is the way it was except that the main character forgot THAT ONE THING that allows a sequel to be written in a few months.

Allow me to draw you a plot outline of a Goosebumps book:

Sometimes the bug I drew is actually a pile of goop, just to let you know.

R.L. Stein is a pretty smart guy, when you think about it. It probably took him twenty minutes to write each of these books, right? Charge a few bucks a book and you’re making some odd 15 dollars an hour for every book you sell. Horror stories for kids. Not a whole lot you can do with a subject like that, though, given that the word “blood” will send most six year olds into seizure fits. Not the good kind, either. The bad kind.

So the books inevitably began to fall into loops, only distinguishable by small idiosyncrasies, such as character names and the monster’s skin color. SOMETIMES THE MONSTER WAS INVISABLE. Sometimes the monster was actually just a coathanger. Boy was I relieved. PHEW!

I loved these books. My friends and I used to have contests to see who could read the most Goosebumps books in a week. I won, because my friends were just piles Goosebumps books, and they can’t read. BUT THEY CAN BE READ. I used to make out with the books with girls on the cover. I lied to my mom when she caught me that one time. I told her I spilt soda on it and wanted to keep it from getting sticky. I didn’t understand the concept of semen at that point, or I probably wouldn’t have said that. She laughed, and left the room. Y’know if you said Kate Mallard with a cold it would sound like Kate Ballard.

What was most appealing to the kids at this age was the chapter. Just like grown-up books, these books were separated into chapters. Completely useless chapters. Some books even broke into new chapters mid-sentence. These chapters also ranged from half a page to 2 pages. My penis is longer than 2 pages. I had crossies. Chapters chapters chapters.

There also weren’t any pictures in these books, creating an even greater sense of pride within the young reader.

Lil’ Jimmy: “I don’t need pictures anymore!”

Cool Dude: “That’s great, Lil' Jimmy! Too bad you still shit your pants, huh?”

I’m awesome.

Parents loved the idea that their children would rather read books than watch television. Free television, as opposed to an 8-dollar book that takes half an hour to read. A book that presents absolutely no challenges to a child, but merely spits 2 syllable words them until they say “uncle”. I swear to god South Park is more educational than these books. That’s right, I capitalized “South Park” over “god”. pwned.

Then R.L. Stein had an epiphany. He realized that kids grew up, so he began releasing new scary books for teenagers. Teenagers thought the books were totally gay and that their parents couldn’t tell them what to do. They were their own person and they did what they wanted. They listened to Linkin Park and put patches on their jackets. Jackets that their parents paid for. Because they’re too retarded to get a job. Get a job, retard.

So his new series of books were the first pieces of literature ever to be cancelled. Poor Steiny, what was he to do? Put sparkles on the covers? Worth a shot, I guess. That didn’t work either. What about EVEN SHORTER STORIES? THREE STORIES PER BOOK? Nope. What about nudity? I should’ve been so lucky.

As quickly as it rose to fame, the beloved Goosebumps books fizzled to the pile of vomit it grew from. Life was good again, as there was again peace in the streets from giant globs of monster blood eating people. No more piano lessons leading to death. No more monster blood II. …Or III.

AND THEN THE ARTICLE ENDED. GOOD NIGHT.

-Nick
Nick@progressiveboink.com
AIM: WaterAndCoffee