1567: Prince Tuesdays NightmarePosted: October 19, 2016
*Crunchy stalks into the riffing chamber with Jiwe riding on his back.*
So it has really come to this. Everyone in the Library is called to hunt down the escaped librarian and I am left watching the larva in order to avoid helping.
*Crunchy deposits Jiwe onto one of the chairs and then takes a seat himself*
So be it. Your mother said she was going to pick something out that was more appropriate for younger viewers, so let us see what we get to read today.
Hmmm, it appears to be a fic based on something called Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood; some kind of children’s show it seems.
*Jiwe rubs his nose on Crunchy*
Gah! Truly mammalian spawn are a strange lot. In any case, this seems harmless enough, but perhaps we should see what the summary has to say about it.
Prince Tuesday has a Nightmare he gets Drunk and steals a Footballs from every Quarterback in the NFL.
Your mother has a strange idea of what is appropriate for younglings. I wonder if she even bothered to read past the part where it was based on a children’s show.
Inebriation, kiddo. It is what Taco does when the stories get really bad.
I am beginning to suspect this environment is providing a less than a wholesome upbringing for you. Still, at least your mother does not view you as a source of emergency nutrients.
Prince Tuesday has a Nightmare.
I presume the other, less interesting kind.
See what happens in it. It is just a Dream. Even thou he is back home he still has a Nightmare he is in the United States.
I can see the grammar is going to be a delight in this fic. I shall also keep an eye on that tense situation that is developing.
He is Drunk in the game. We see he is getting ready for bed. He is in his pajamas.
Hold on, what game? What sort of game requires you to be in pajamas?
*Crunchy throws up his talons*
Sure, use logic.
Since he is ready for bed so he has his crown off.
That is not how you grammar, author.
Good night son,” said King Friday, “Sleep well.”
GAH! Where did he come from!?
Good night Dad,” said Prince Tuesday, “I, will sleep well.”
That is most definitely not how you grammar! The comma of address goes to the person being addressed, not to yourself.
And it looks as through our tense has shifted again. I am sure that we will not see another shift.
After the King left Prince Tuesday feel to sleep.
I think that would be your pillow.
The Nightmare began. In his Dream he finds himself Drinking a Bottle of Beer.
And Tuesday began To realize That Ike’s friend The Capitalization Demon is Starting to Affect him.
Since he is only 18 so he can’t Drink legally until he turns 21.
Provided the model of the United States is used, yes. A more European model would put him at legal drinking age.
Regardless, two years old is not legal drinking age.
Shameful that a Prince is Drunk,” said a man, “He, was drinking.”
That was fast. Generally the random shame squad takes a few minutes to get warmed up.
Yes indeed Dad,” said a boy, “I know you don’t drink Alcohol.”
Yep,” said the man, “Since we are Born Again Christians.”
Oh good, we are going to get author tract as well. I will need to have some stern words with Swenia about appropriate literature.
I suppose the author is not aware of the rich history of European brewing and who was responsible for making most of the alcohol in the middle ages.
This game is in St. Louis. Where the Rams take on the 49ers. The game will begin in 5 Minutes.
*Crunchy tilts his head*
This is some kind of mystical language, yes?
“Footbaw! Go Packs!”
Your mother taught you to say that to Taco, yes?
She is more devious than I give her credit for.
“Look a Drunk person,” said a woman, “He, looks young.”
While I will continue to assert that all monkeys look near identical, I presume the difference of three years would be neigh undetectable in this case. Though I doubt such considerations would stop a freelance shame squad from doing their job.
“He looks like Prince Tuesday of the Neighborhood of Make Believe.” a woman said.
I think it is.” said the woman.
“His Dad must be mad now.” said the girl.”
I am struggling to understand what connection this has to the game in St. Lewis, but I suppose the author would hide behind the ‘it is a dream’ excuse, so it is likely better to just move on and ignore the terrible pacing.
A Woman said “I think your right.”
*Crunchy looks to his right*
Woman, can you explain what the larva has to do with Tuesday being intoxicated?
Them 2 went inside the Edward Jones Dome.
*Crunchy writhes on the floor*
*Jiwe jumps off his chair and flails around on the ground*
Please do not mock my pain.
Since Prince Tuesday has a Ticket he also went inside. See what happens in Chapter 2. It will be a longer chapter.
I suppose pacing is that thing which other fics do. Like a brain, it appears to be more optional than one would otherwise assume.
*Flips over to the next chapter*
Prince Tuesday sneaked into the Edward Jones Dome.
Craftily using his ticket to fool the guards into letting him in.
This is Chapter 2. See what happens. It is only a dream. Might be as long as i said. Maybe a bit longer.
It is a word shorter than the first chapter. And even then, both chapters are less than three-hundred words long. I am not sure you understand what a long chapter is.
” I will steal the ball,” said Prince Tuesday, “But first i will steal a Beer.”
Both things requiring some of the most inept security you could possibly find at a sporting event. But, once again, ‘it is a dream’ would continue to be the author’s defense of any foolish thing we discover in the story. Reason enough to never write stories based on dreams.
*Voidlord peeks around the corner of the door*
He stole a Beer and started to Drink it.
Still too young, kiddo, but how about a sarsaparilla?
*Crunchy sighs* A ‘root beer?’
*A Darkwraith glides in with a tray laden with drinks, selects a bottle of old-fashioned root beer, and hands it to Jiwe*
Do you by chance happen to have a seltzer water on that tray?
*The Darkwraith leaves*
I see they are still grumpy about that whole yarn fiasco.
Making him more drunk.
That is, amazingly, how drinking works, yes.
Then snuck into the Rams Locker Room.
Whoever is in charge of security should be fired. Though I suppose the prince may just get to bypass whatever security he wants due to his status.
He hid in the showers. Waiting to make his move. To steal the ball from every Main Quarterback in the NFL.
So he is hiding in the showers to steal balls from quaterbacks?
*Crunchy covers Jiwe’s eyes*
For shame, author! Does this horrible story really need smut in it as well!?
In a moment.
He is Drunk after all.
Because hiding in the showers and coveting monkey balls is something all intoxicated people do.
” That we hope we can win this game” said the Quarterback.
Runningback said “I sure hope we do.”
Tackler said “I hope are Defence does good today.”
“We did beat them the last time.” said the quarterback.
“Oh yeah,” said the tackler, “I, also hope so.”
Truly a nuanced cast of deep characters. I remember when tackler did the thing with runningback. It was very eventful.
They got Dressed and is getting ready to head out to the Field.
Tense, monkey, TENSE!
“Can see yet?”
Not until after Tuesday snatches the quarterback by his nethers.
You are better off not knowing.
They are now on there way to the field now.
You are going to miss your moment, Tuesday. Not that I am at all invested in seeing you capture Quarterback’s goulies.
” I will make my move half way through the first quarter.” said Prince Tuesday.
*Crunchy releases Jiwe*
Sorry, apparently Tuesday is going to be spending the better part of this fic in the shower. We are not in range of the icky part yet, I suppose.
Half way through he made his move. He stole the ball from The quarterback.
GAH! The bait and switch!
Wait, he stole the football? Oooooooooooooooooooooh.
Then from the 49ers Quarterback. Then made his escape.
I suppose it is very fortunate that most sporting venues have several full sets of replacement equipment at their disposal, otherwise this would be an actual problem.
“So far so good,” said Prince Tuesday, “More,to go.”
His master plan of stealing balls in order to [redacted] is going exactly as planned!
Now the announcer is talking. About it.
Right. It. Swenia has disallowed the posting of ‘the picture’ so you’ll need to imagine It.
“I never saw a Prince do that before,” said the announcer, “He, must, be drunk.”
Prince did that… thing.
Yes, yes, you are very smart.
Next Chapter Prince Tuesday will make his next move on Sunday. In another game of course.
Is this what the entire five chapters of this fic is going to be? Tuesday stealing balls? There is a metaphor there, I am certain. Something, something, Sisyphus.
Here at last is chapter 3 of this story. He steals footballs from more games.
And that is as long as the fic should have been.
See what happens. We see Prince Tuesday entering yet another football stadium. He made his way to the field. To see if he can steal it.
The whole field!? Silly monkey, you will never be able to-
He stole it from the quarterback.
For his plan of course.
His plan, which involves lots of balls.
“I, got it!” said Prince Tuesday, “Catch, me if you can.”
“Stop, that guy,” said the quarterback, “And, I mean now!”
Darkwraiths! We need a level twelve isolation field around this fic right now! It is displaying signs of having been infected with Shatner syndrome!
They missed him.
But he has only been gone a few minutes!
He made his escape yet again. He is going to another football stadium.
I wonder where he is keeping all this stuff. He now has a ball and a field that he presumably is just dragging along behind him. The last time I had dreams that outlandish was following hallucinogenic pizza night.
“It, happened here,” said the announcer, “What, will happen now?”
Prince Tuesday went to another stadium after stealing a ticket from a fan.
Which is a thing he did not do for the second stadium but is required now for some reason.
He got a beer and went to the field. He stole it from that quarterback.
Another field!? Somebody stop this madman!
Who was going to throw it at his Wide Receiver.
That sounds immensely dangerous. A good thing Tuesday stole the field before quaterback could lob it at somebody.
He was going to get a touch down. Would have won. That game of course.
If that were a Packers game, Tuesday would not have left that stadium alive.
Your mother must be so proud.
“Catch, me if you can,” said Prince Tuesday, “That, goes for, all of you players.”
“Get, him!” said the quarterback, “We, must, get it back!”
“We, will try,” said the players, “We, hope we do.”
Where is that containment field!? The Shatner is getting worse!
They could not stop him.
Because dream, undoubtedly.
He made his escape. He is going to two more stadiums for now. To steal more footballs of course
Of course, for plan. So he can thing.
Yes, we got it. Drink your root beer.
He went in one of them and stole another football. That is all on Sunday night.
You can actually see the author getting bored with his paper-thin premise. Personally, I am quite surprised he was able to stick it out for two more chapters after this one. He seems nearly as sick of this story as I am.
“You, all can’t catch me,” said Prince Tuesday, “I, don’t think you can.”
“Get, him men!” said the quarterback,”And, tackle him.”
“We, will try,” said the tackler, “Only try.”
Yoda once said, ‘Do. Or do not. There is no try.’
In contrast, my master said, ‘Failure leads to a quick, yet immensely painful death.’
I shall let you chose which is more motivating.
He yet again made his escape. He stole from one more stadium.
My maxim is, if you find a reason to steal more than three fields, you may as well just conquer the entire planet. I have many such useful lessons to teach you, youngling.
*Jiwe bats the empty root beer bottle across the floor and then chases after it*
I am certain he is taking these words to heart.
Next he goes to yet two more games on Monday night. See what happens in the next chapter. It will be up as soon as i can.
Let me see if I can guess the plot. He gets in, steals the field, and runs away without anyone actually trying to stop him beyond shaking their fists at him.
Prince Tuesday is again drunk.
Still. The word is ‘still.’
He took a cab to another football stadium to steal yet another football.
The two closest footballs stadiums in the United States are O Co. Colosseum and Levi’s Stadium in California and are thirty-three miles apart. The average cab fare in San Francisco is fifty-five cents per fifth of a mile, plus calling fee and tip. So, best case scenario, the Prince just dropped over a hundred dollars on a taxi ride. However, seeing as one of those stadiums would have had to be the first one, the next closest pair would be forty miles, which would push the cost up to around the one-hundred and fifty mark. Royalty, am I right?
He is also crazy but it is only a Nightmare he is having.
One or the other, you cannot have both in this case.
Did you get the bottle?
The one you were chasing.
One more chapter after this chapter. See what happens. He went in with a ticket.
Stolen this time, or one he just had? Yes, yes, it is a dream it does not have to make sense. It is okay for it to be horrible since it is just writing about a dream.
He is now going to the field so he can steal that football from a Quarterback.
So Tuesday is back at footballs? Seems a bit of a downgrade after he stole those two fields.
“I have a fiewd!”
You get some strange gifts for your birthdays.
“It, is that crazy, drunk prince,” said the announcer, “We, heard of that guy.”
You build a name for yourself very quickly when you steal football fields.
“I, will steal it,” said prince Tuesday, “From, you.”
*Crunchy points at himself questioningly*
Shh, we do not use that name where others can hear it.
He took the football. And started running to leave the stadium with it. Like he did the others. He can’t be stopped.
Not that anyone would want to get in the way of somebody who can lift an entire field on his own.
“Stop, him!” said the Quarterback, “And, i mean now!”
“Yes, sir,” said the runningback, “We, will sure try.”
Lots of trying, lots of failing. I hate to give a Jedi credit for something, but Yoda does appear to have a point.
He out ran the football players and made his escape. He is heading to yet another football stadium. They can’t stop him. He arrived at that other football stadium. He stole that football as well and got away. They could not stop him.
The author, like Sissypus- *cough* Sisyphus, is bound to continue doing the same thing over and over again. Truly the author is cursed by the gods themselves.
“Oh, yeah, another football stolen,” said Prince Tuesday, “Not, bad at all.”
Not really very good either, to be honest. Stealing footballs is rather neutral territory, existing between speeding on the freeway and painting goats pink.
He arrived at more football stadiums. He has lost his mind. As in he is crazy not just drunk. Last stadium he has arrived at.
Why must you torment this poor man, gods!? He obviously cannot stand this awful premise any more than the audience can! Why must you force him to write!? What foul crime did he commit to deserve such a fate!?
“Last stadium, not bad,” said prince Tuesday, “Now, to get it.”
Now he plans to steal the whole stadium!? I suppose the footballs were just a break to cool down after those two fields.
“Oh, no not him,” said the announcer, “Stop, him now.”
*A field of energy snaps into place around the riffing computer*
Finally! We were all at risk of being permanently Shatnerized.
He stole that football as well. He is running for it like he did many times before. He is fast. Is why he can’t be stopped.
And apparently impervious to being cut-off, tripped, or shot with force lightning.
“Stop, him now men!” said the Quarterback, “We, must get him!”
“We, will try,” said the players, “Our, best, that is.”
I presume the message of this ‘episode’ will be something along the lines of ‘trying your best is often not good enough’ or some such. Good message for the whelps; it keeps their expectations low and can help prevent future uprising.
He got away. Next chapter will be the last.
And the author finally escapes his literary purgatory.
You know my policy about bedtime stories involving hyper-intelligent and/or talking dogs.
“No siwwy voice.”
Prince Tuesday wakes up from his nightmare. See what happens next.
I can imagine it has something to do with him finally waking up. But maybe I am reading too much into things.
After stealing football’s he has gone crazy. Just a nightmare. He will wake up soon.
I would complain that this fic defeats any chance of tension, but it is based on a children’s show, which are notorious for their lack. Also, the premise itself precludes the inclusion of tension of any kind since we know the end will inevitably be: ‘but it was just a dream.’
Not to mention the idiotic nature of the premise to begin with ruins any interest that might lead to tension.
He wakes up in this chapter. We begin with Prince Tuesday heading back to the Neighborhood of Make Believe. With the football’s he stole.
The football owned a he stole?
I suppose it would be flattering in the right situation, but why does a football need one?
“Well, i did it,” said prince Tuesday, “Look, at all, these i stole.”
Apple! The stole was good enough as-is. You did not need to create cyber-age version of it!
Police are now chasing him. Trying to catch him to see if he is crazy or not. He is in trouble.
Because that is what the police do. Most definitely.
I see somebody has been pilfering the Library for bedtime stories.
“That, is him,” said a policeman, “He, stole the footballs.”
You, are right,” said another policeman, “We, must get him.”
“Yes, we must,” said policeman, “We, will get him.”
See!? The police know better than to try!
He was caught by them.
And as soon as you stop trying, things get accomplished. One of the best messages I have ever seen in children’s literature!
They took him to the police station jail. They know he is crazy now. Not just drunk. They indeed will send him to a mental hospital.
What tense are we in now? Past future present conditional? Taco warned me about these. There should be a folder in our policy cabinet on what to do.
*Crunchy rummages around in the filing cabinet*
Aha! There is a bottle of twenty-one-year casket-aged single-malt whiskey in this folder. And it is empty.
I cannot see why not.
*Crunchy scoots the bottle off across the floor*
“He, is insane,” said doctor Black, “He, must be sent, to the Mental hospital near by.”
“He, is all your,” said the police chief, “I, knew he, was hen he came in here.”
*The containment field snaps and pops as Shatner particles inundate it.*
I rather wish we had gotten that field in place a little earlier. I have no idea what the three chapters of, exposure might do, to me.
I am sure it is, nothing.
He was there with a strait jacket in a padded room. He woke up in bed at home screaming.
A natural reaction to suddenly finding yourself in the Stygian nightmare that is this fic.
His parents came in to see why he screamed. To see if he is okay. Along with his brother prince Wednesday.
As my mother used to say to me whenever I had a night terror, ‘Your screams are the marinade in which your tender meat stews. Go back to sleep, and let the dreams season you to perfection.’
“Are, you okay?” said king Friday, “We, heard you scream.”
“Just, a nightmare,” said prince Wednesday, “That, i was drunk, and stole footballs.”
Sounds like the standard sort of dream that Eliza’s cooking gives you. You can have some wild ones while sleeping off the stomach pump.
“It, was only a dream bro.” said prince Wednesday, “Dreams, are like that.”
Like what? Like a poor basis for literature? I whole-heartedly agree.
“I, am glad it was,” said prince Tuesday, “I, hated it.”
‘Try, to get more sleep,” said Sara, “Just, try, please.”
“I, will try mom,” said prince Tuesday, “As, you say.”
And so Prince Tuesday tried to sleep and spent the rest of his days completely awake. So remember, children, never try. Ever.
He indeed got more sleep.
Author, this, right here, is what the monkeys colloquially call, ‘dropping the ball.’
False alarm, go back to chasing your bottle.
He had good dreams the rest if the night.
Ah, and there is the insult to injury. Thank you, author, for robbing your work of any substance whatsoever.
Not going to make a sequel. The end.
And that is the happiest ending anyone could ever hope for.
Thank you for joining us on this tepid journey, readers. As for me and the larva, I think we shall find ourselves a nice little cubby somewhere to avoid responsibility and watch Ducktales.
Erm, maybe just ignore that last part.