THE MANY STORIES IVE WRITTEN, BE PREPARED FOR LITERARY GOLD
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It was an average day for Hamwise. He lived in the city of Rome, in 2 AD, where the sun was shining bright, the air was fresh, and the pungent odor of the public washroom filled the air. Hamwise walked down the road from the food stand he ran, beyond the lavish palaces the nobles live in, past the Thermopolium he ate at 9 days a week, and finally to his little house, just a mud hut with little more than a yard, a bed and a table. But Hamwise didn’t mind. Hamwise would want no more, for he was happy. He had friends and family and all the joys of life.
He soon prepared a treat on the fire, a dessert of dates stuffed with ground up cashews and peppercorn, boiled in honey. He always made sure to grind up the pepper as fine as possible, lest he bite into a large piece and suffer an uncomfortable taste. A sweet yet savory flavor, it was always his favorite treat to make.
He gobbled many down, then settled down to sleep on the uncomfortable, thin bed that lay above a large rock that gave him back problems. He gazed at the stars surrounded by trees in the sky, and drifted off to sleep, entranced by the beauty of the night sky. The architecture was probably cool too.
In the night, Hamwise awoke. Putting on his robes and shoes, he snuck off into the night, preparing to assassinate the emperor, John Roman. He recruited his closest friend, Etheldred, to carry out his plans.
That bumbling fool, tis’ a shame nobody maimed him already, eh? He can’t run an empire for his life, he won’t know what hit him,
Hamwise snickered to himself.
We’re totally gonna do this, if we don’t we’re finished. We’ll be executed and humiliated,
Etheldred whispered.
They snuck into the lavish marble palace, armed with small lil’ knives, and successfully killed the emperor. By dawn they returned, not before lavishing in the luxuries of the emperor’s palace. They returned, and settled down to get some shut eye. When Hamwise woke up, he noticed something. His dates were gone. Not a single was to be found, not even the bowl he stored them in.
He fell to his knees. His eyesight blurred, tears streamed from his eyes. He screamed in agony, his throat drying up and hurting like when you wake up in the morning. He could never imagine such horrors, such pain to inflict on something. He slept for a month after that, never failing to leak tears the whole way through. Etheldred checked up on him.
You good buddy? You’ve been asleep for a month, I think you caught something.
You FOOL, I caught nothing. Wouldst thou truly wish to know what happened?
Hamwise spoke, jolting awake.
Hmmmmm. . .
ANSWER ME, ye heathen.
Sure.
The night before my slumber, on the day of his death, my dates were stolen. Picked off, like how one might pick off an auroch. I seek revenge, Etheldred. I seek death.
Hamwise muttered, filled with hatred.
Okay.
Doth ye realize the importance of this!? I will kill whoever did this to me. They shall regret this for as long as I live! I will retrieve my dates. No matter the cost.
Hamwise stood up, wobbling and knobby, and ran out the door. A name came to him. Porkunwise.
I will kill you, Porkunwise. Ye wronged me. Two wrongs do make a right after all, ye fiend,
spoke Hamwise.
Asking around the city, Hamwise collected all the information he could about this mysterious person. In a short, meaningless while he collected this information.
• Brown, Curly Hair
• Yellow Toga
• Filthy Rich
• Quite stupid
• Unaware of Hamwise's wrath
• Stole a bunch of dates
• Resides in the royal palace
This was all Hamwise needed to know. He raced towards the royal palace, his head fuming, bones breaking, lungs leaking, fingernails falling, eyelids falling, chest breathing, feet scraping, heart beating, mouth foaming, stomach digesting, kidneys filtering, brain braining, muscles tearing . He saw the palace approaching fast. Suddenly, Etheldred jumped out in front of him, stopping Hamwise and sending them into a tumble. Hamwise gathered his strength to get up after a long time of laying down, only to be shocked. Etheldred was dead.
Etheldred's body was nowhere to be seen, vaporized from the hit, Hamwise assumed. Hamwise weeped. He weeped for years, until the streets were flooded with the salty, murky water that came from his eyes. Hamwise sobbed for 15 years straight.
After 15 years, Hamwise came to his senses. He swallowed all his tears, eyes leaking all the while, then headed to the palace. His fury rivaling that of Mars himself, his head shone as red as a tomato hanging from a summer vine. He headed straight to the room that housed Porkunwise, and upon seeing the nobleman now grown old, he felt an emotion he'd never felt before. Sorrow. He felt immense, awful sorrow. But he didn’t stop, and went to Porkunwise and used his comically large fist to crush him. In the room was also the treasure, the most valuable thing the world had ever known. In the room were Hamwise’s dates. Hamwise teared up in joy, snatching the bowl and gobbling up the remaining 7 dates. He had done it. Hamwise was happy.
Hamwise headed home. He walked the stone streets, now corroded and blanketed with mats of seaweed. From the apartments, from the colosseum, from the mud huts of the common citizens, people emerged. Glaring eyes shot at Hamwise, furious with pain and suffering.
Fifteen years of pain, for merely 7 dates? Curse you, stranger. May your name be forgotten,
someone yelled from the street.
Hamwise felt guilt, he felt anger, he felt sorrow. But most of all, he felt nothing. His mind was an empty universe, once bumbling with light, now devoid of life and planets and stars. When he arrived home, he found a curious sight. A bowl of dates, stuffed with ground up cashews and pepper, boiled in honey. His eyes lit up. There were fourteen dates, exactly the amount he made 15 years earlier. His mind, then an empty universe, flared bright with shining stars, galaxies appeared from nothing, planets swarmed with life. He picked them up, and ate seven. 7 dates remained in the bowl. A sense of euphoria washed over him; this is what started his journey. His quest. Soon, from his lowly, lumpy bed, he glimpsed a bright, shining light that engulfed him, then woke up. Arising from his bed, his head spinned and turned, a terrible headache pounded on his skull. His eyes, now crusty with hours of sleep, squinted in the morning sun. He saw his old friend. Etheldred. Nothing happened. It was all a dream.
What happened?,
asked Etheldred, who was gnawing on a piece of bone.
Nothing, nothing at all.
Hm.
How strange it is to be anything at all,
Hamwise whispered.
Read ’em and weep,
I said, a wicked grin stretched across my wicked face.
4 seconds to detonation. The rudimentary nuclear explosive I hid in my coat pocket blew, blowing my body to smithereens and leaving my unarmed assailants unscathed. As my spirit rose from the thin layer of goop spread across town that was once me, I vengefully vowed to enact revenge on the dastardly deviant who dared to deviously deceive me.
Not cool bro, I thought.
Soon I reached the gates of heaven, and a booming voice erupted from the immense cosmos.
You don’t belong here. Go home, my child.
Before my eyes, Jesus Christ of Plainview, Nebraska appeared.
Go home.
His kind eyes and warm smile comforted me, a deep warmth in my bones.
You killed me,
I said, knees weak, palms sweaty, arms heavy. Literally.
My bad Original Gangster.
He said, and with the wave of a hand, he picked me up and threw me back down to Earth at supersonic speeds.
As I shot to the ground, the air resistance from re-entry seared my body to a lifeless husk, and soon I again appeared in the Great Beyond, and Josh appeared yet again.
It is not your time yet, son. Go home
Is it cool if I call you Josh?
Yes, my child.
Totally tubular brah. I’d best be getting home now.
I turned around, to the infinite staircase blocked by a billion-person long flow of people, and clambered upon the rails to jump to Earth yet again. As I zoomed, I saw a large, blue planet, green and yellow and white and blue, surrounded by an infinite cosmos of black, sprinkled with the little dots of life. A grand gesture, I thought, and protected by my 7 inch thick cranium, I screamed through the atmosphere and landed upon 3 particularly large hay bales.
From the smoke and ash of 6 burning pigs, I rose. A chaotic cacophony of crazy crawfish danced around me, a bright red tornado of crustacean pinching at the universe, red with unparalleled rage. They were mad. Thinking quickly, I ate 17 of them in an attempt to consume the fleshy mass,but fell short by about 600,000 sea bugs. Eventually they crawled away in one gigantic crawfish wave as my body attempted to digest the 23 pounds of raw crustacean in my stomach, subtly convulsing in the charred mud.
9 hours later, I awoke to a violent pain in my abdomen. I lay in the mud for a while, gazing at the beautiful night sky, a river of milk streaking across the cosmos. I assumed all the crawfish had clogged my intestines in a dry porridge of meat, and as I attempted to stand, I found my lower abdomen could not bend or squish at all, hard like cartilage and painful to the touch. Dazed from the extreme salt poisoning, I dragged my body through the now-abandoned pig pen to the little house by the road, trying to yell, but my lungs and heart were far too compressed with the mass of food in my body, my blood thickened to a sludge with salt and proteins and little lobster eyes. After 40 harrowing minutes, I reached the house, and with the last of my strength I threw myself against the door.
From the little rickety house a little rickety boy appeared, shaggy blonde hair and big baggy suspenders adorned his flannel-clad torso. Gee, you look like you need help, mister.
The boy said quietly.
Sure do sonny, sure do.
I weakly affirmed, before passing out on the scratchy hay doormat that said Live Laugh Love. I didn’t like the phrase.
Next thing I remember, I was on a little rickety bed, my back raw from the bed springs jutting out.
What time is it?
I muttered to the 6 people standing around my bed, a primate-like look across their faces.
We don’t got a clock ’round here, city boy.
The eldest one said in a gravely, withered voice.
Yea, tell ’em pops!
The littlest yelled, 2 or 3 days old I guessed.
This is ’gon be tougher than I thought, I thought. I’d battled many a poor farm family in the past, but this presented a new challenge. I analyzed the family. One eldest, and two children; one infant and the one who answered the door. Two women, the mother and grandmother I guessed, and a rather flamboyant drag queen adorned in mountains of makeup and impractical accessories.
I challenge you to a rap battle!
I screamed, blowing a vocal cord.
Challenge accepted!
The family yelled, the drag queen launching into a percussive beat.
I began. While you may not like it but you better learn how, I saw your granny, she looks like a cow, and if you wanna say no then I say moo, why? Cuz you look uncool.
Stunned, the eldest fought back. You say she looks like a cow, I ask how, you look like a gun went pow, right on your face, then a mace said ace and got you right in the back brace.
They’re good, I thought, Really good. I needed help, so I called for backup.
From the skies, bathed in the holy light of the gods, Jiminy Christmas appeared.
I hear you need some backup,
he said.
Thanks, Josh. Let’s get these nerds.
I said, and launched into rhyme.
Yo, I got my pal Josh in the ring with me, you’re about to feel the warmth of the holy trinity, he’s pretty cool, Josh and his divinity, How about you, the heretics of destiny?
Hey, my name's Jod, I’m sure you’ve heard about me, I’m sure you know a lot about my death and all my stories, well you don’t know much, except for a little place called Hell, just for homosexuals and those who ring the dinner bell.
Stunned, the family fell to their knees, defeated by the power of Jermaine. Josh raised his hand towards them, and with the power of the holy spirit, disintegrated them to dust.
Heh. safe to say they lost.
He said, and disappeared into blinding golden light.
Alright. Lets get this party started, I said all cool and rad in my mind, then ransacked the house in search of a stomach pumping device, which I found displayed on the kitchen table. Pumping the mass of crawfish from my stomach, I ran to the nearest city. Speeding down the highway, I saw a single sign.
Now entering New York.
Concrete jungle. Blinding neon billboards lit up the busy streets, silhouetted against the moon light. The cool chill of the night cooled me, soothing my aches and troubles. The rush of cars, an epiphany of millions, roaming the land.
York, I thought. How rad.
Walking the streets I thought about the plumbers underneath me in the sewers, fighting rats and reptiles alike, lest they get to the surface. I ran all the way to central park, and reaching the soft dewy grass, I collapsed, overcome with tiredness, the blades of green coldly comforting my wet body. For 15 years, I slept, my body slowly dissolving into the soil, nested in the great womb of the earth. My mind and body fused, slowly but surely, until my mind went blank, devoid of all stimuli, untouched by the world. My body blended into the earth, so much you couldn’t dig me up and identify a human was ever here. I was free.
In the fine year of 2015, I awoke.
Buried in heaps of earth, I pulled myself from the ground, stained in dirt and mud, my clothes a rich brown sprinkled with those little pebbles that carry ringworm. I stood up, soil crumbling off me, and looked into the sky. A rich blue. The world was quiet, silhouetted with the sounds of birds and trees bristling, the cool breeze soothing my body. The world was still, a silent moment in time. I walked down the hill where I slept, blanketed in long billowing grass, gazing at the world. The buildings surrounding the park were long worn down, overgrown with moss and crumbling in the breeze, cracked glass erupting from the run-down concrete.
Zombies, I thought.
But there were no zombies.
Only the beast.
From the willows a familiar face returned. The old man, that I’d rap battled so many years ago.
We don’t like crawfish eaters ’round here.
He said gruffly, his voice roughened by one billion cigarettes.
I don’t know you, stranger, and I don’t intend to.
I said gruffly, my voice roughened by one billion cigarettes.
Hearing this, he ran at me full speed, thick calloused feet roughing up the ground, throwing up huge clouds of dust. A streak in the hills, approaching me, churning grass and stone and waves of dirt, ripping the ground in two. I was scared.
A wave of fear, realization, awe. Seeing the old man was soon to reach me, I jumped, and as he raced under me, he reached out and grabbed my ankle, slamming me into the ground at supersonic speeds. My skull shattered on impact.
I died.
Soon I found myself anew. Waking up on dry, cracked earth, I stumbled to my feet. I looked at the sky, a vast blue ocean, only broken by a shining golden light. Searing my eyes, I looked around me. Oceans of drought-stricken land, dotted with islands of rocks. Not a hint of life, of water, of anything. I walked. Past thousands and thousands of huge orange boulders shedding dust, through thousands and thousands of miles of parched earth. After 8 weeks of walking, I lay down, baked by the scorching beam in the sky, exhausted.
What have I done to deserve this? What cruel god does this? Surely you’ve gone mad. You’ve abandoned us.
I whispered, my mouth dry and aching.
From the skies, a booming voice.
Evil has descended on the Earth. Night will prevail. I truly am sorry.
I slept.
O Hamwise, ye fiend that's wise, truly beaned
I salute to thee, m’lord, my true peer
Hit the head of a mean, clean, green, archfiend
I shall kill thy enemies, dear frontier
While I stalk thine enemies, my dear lord
We are the lords of all that is golden
And I will bow to only you, accorde
And we will bathe in rays of gold, olden
Ah, my lord, we’ve killed the emperor, yes!
We shall rejoice, and return home to dates
Where we shall feast, home at last, free of stress
Where the piles will be high, many plates
O Hamwise, golden being, one above
I shall worship with care and peace and love
From great billowing clouds of red ash and dust, in the deserts of the American Northwest, was a small town. Ramshackled and rickety, it yet remained strong in the tide of droughts and outlaws, carving its foothold in the great, sandy landscape of the west. PorkunTown was its name. And in the great saloon on Pork Street, was a man.
Hamwise the 8th, seated alone at a skinny wooden table, drank from his canteen attached to his hip, eyes closed, great focus on the piano in the background. A large cloth hat on his head and a raggedy brown poncho on his torso, he commanded great disrespect from his fellow saloon-goers. He’d earned quite the reputation among his travels, a man not loyal to any flag or country, morals or code of honor, no social life to be heard of.. But despite all this, he remained, feet planted on the wood floor, skin coated in a thin layer of grime. He walked up to the bartender, grimaced.
What does a guy gotta do to get a whiskey ’round here, eh? Gimme a pickle on the side,
said Hamwise.
That pickle’ll cost ya another 20 cents lad. And don’t mind me snoopin, butcha ain’t exactly made o’ money.
said the bartender, a thick scottish accent lining his words.
Eh, whaddaya gonna do. Make it double.
And so the bartender complied, giving Hamwise his whiskey and two pickles, watching him swallow the pickles whole and, with great difficulty, chew the whiskey.
Goodbye.
said Hamwise, voice gruff.
As he left, he shot the piano man in the leg and picked up one of the stray chickens roaming around the saloon, mercilessly clucking and plucking and thrashing ’round. Getting on his horse, Hamwise rode off, kicked-up dust marking his trail.
Ay Caramba mate.
muttered the bartender, polishing an already squeaky-clean shot glass with a dusty rag.
Hamwise rode for days. His horse, Human Resources Manager, worked with neither a complaint nor sweat, for he was a happy horse. Hamwise loved Human Resources Manager, and having raised him since birth, the horse had been his only friend for his 26 years of life.
I was born 1848, little horsie, and I plan on living for 500 years, little horsie, and I hope you plan to live for 500 years too, little horsie,
Hamwise said as they sped along the desert. Human Resource Manager’s shiny tan body glistened in the sun, golden brown mane flowing in the wind. 13 feet tall, he towered over the many shrubs and cacti dotting the landscape. In the little journal Hamwise kept in his bag, was a date.
July 1st, 1874
Gettysburg, he thought. The bloodiest battle in the war.
I hate John lennon,
muttered Hamwise the 8th. He hated John lennon.
Hamwise had a plan. See, on his little raggedy map, which painted the town and surrounding cities, was a blank section. Completely unmarked and unknown, Hamwise figured it would be the perfect adventure for such boring times. Hamwise would pass back through PorkunTown, stocking up on canned goods and water, then depart for the neighboring town of Mud, where he would buy as much food as he could for Human Resources Manager. Then he would pass through the towns of Gravel, Markville and Las Vegas, staying for one night in each, and only then, after 5 days, would he reach the uncharted territory. Guess I am pretty smart, thought Hamwise. He only sorta was; smart people are named Hamwise after all. Everyone knows that.
And so he set off, back to PorkunTown, where there lay a strange aura. Completely deserted, the town welcomed him in, broken wood and glass decorating the streets, but neither blood nor bodies to be seen, not a cat scratch on a mouse. Hamwise slowly walked in, scouting ’round, praying for a morsel of fight.
HAMWISE, YE FIEND, I SHALL SLAY YOU N’ YOUR BLOODLINE, DEMON!
cried a voice from the saloon.
I don’t whatcha want mister, but I’m here for it,
said Hamwise as he pulled out his revolver and shot into the saloon, where a gruff old man stumbled out.
Right in the knee, you monster! You beast! You will pay for your sins, mark my words! You wil-
the old man shouted as Hamwise the 8th cursed him to damnation and shot him in the head. Annoyed, Hamwise hopped down from Human Resources Manager and strolled into the general store, stuffing his bag with as much canned pork and beans as a man could carry, also discovering where the townsfolk had gone. Hidden in a little attic just barely able to be opened, was a most foul stench, from the many dozens of raccoons to be found. Everyone had left in a fit of rage, Hamwise assumed. He decided to stay the night, and let Human Resources Manager into the stable to get ready for the long journey ahead. Climbing into the big, soft bed at the very top of the saloon, Hamwise smiled. In the night he died of a heart attack from a diet of pure pork n’ beans.