Homestar Runner Wiki Forum

He woke up that morning and said to himself, “I need to go to Savon and buy a Chiapet.” So he got out of bed and put on a pink t-shirt that was supposed to signify his involvement with counterculture but instead got him called gay (which, in today’s day and age, is a counterculture by itself). In addition to that he put on a generic pair of blue jeans that were bought at Target and had a stick figure with breasts and male genitalia doodled over the right knee. He put on his sneakers and stepped out the door, just like all of the other characters in my previous short stories.

During the walk to the store he was hit by a car, bitten by a dog, and run over by a train. However, I have made this character invincible so my plot isn’t driven by a physical injury. He arrived at Savon and entered the edifice. He turned to his left and following that his right. His eyes became plates as he spotted a wide variety of Chiapets along the wall I lovingly refer to as “the wall of shame,” or “that one aisle where they put all of they stuff they’re required to sell but very few people actually buy.” Choose whichever one you find more fitting. He stood and debated in his head what Chiapet he should get. In fact, let’s do a Choose Your Own Adventure type of thing.


If you want him to purchase the Garfield Chiapet, turn to page 2.
If you want him to purchase the Shrek Chiapet, turn to page 3.
If you want him to purchase the Scooby Doo Chiapet, turn to page 4.


Your choice doesn’t matter sometimes. He picked George W. Bush Garfield, even though most of you chose Scooby Doo. He approached the check out counter.

The line consisted of three people. The guy in front was purchasing a Playboy and was one drop short of drunk. Had you built a glass case around the area he made smell bad, you would have built a glass case around the entire front half of the store. He didn’t seem to notice but he smelled like shame, stupidity, and ignorance. The second and third people were a mother and her son buying a bag of Skittles. This reminded our main character that he wanted some breakfast because Skittles are the quintessence of a balanced breakfast. He stepped out of line and looked at the selection of candy they had.

“Holy crap there’s so much to choose from! There is a red bag, a green bag, a purple bag, and a blue bag! What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?” The question is: what do you, the reader, want him to do?


If you want him to purchase the red bag, I don’t give a crap.
If you want him to purchase the green bag, I don’t give a crap.
If you want him to purchase the purple bag, I don’t give a crap.
If you want him to purchase the blue bag, I don’t give a crap.


He grabbed them all. By that time the drunk, smelly guy; woman; and little boy had left. The scent lingered. He placed Garfield and the Skittles in front of the cashier, who was an ugly teen whose face was enveloped by acne and was just trying to make some quick cash to buy a piece of crap car.

“Twenty-six seventy-three.”

He rummaged through his pockets. Nothing was available for his spending.

“Oh noes, I left my monies at home.”

And with that, he ran home.

He burst through the side entrance of the house and rushed up the stairs. Unfortunately, he tripped over the top stair and tumbled to the bottom. He repeated the walking up the stairs part and stopped in front of his room. He couldn’t get the door to budge because the wood was so old that it became weak and misshapen in such a way that it was the occasional minor inconvenience. After several frustrated slams he was allowed in, but he was so thrown by the sudden opening that he fell backwards down the stairs again.

He repeated the walking up the stairs part and entered his dormitorio. I used the Spanish word for room because I couldn’t think up another synonym for room. Deal with it. He did a quick scan of the room with his eyes and spotted his wallet on top of a dated compact disc player. He carefully stepped through his room in order to assure that he didn’t get tangled in the wires to newer, fancier technology. He picked up the wallet and opened it up to see how much cash he had on hand.

“Aah, a spider!”

He dropped the wallet on the ground and dashed the other way. When he approached the staircase he turned to go down them but he lost control of his inept body and he rolled over them.

He repeated the walking up the stairs part and aimed straight for his money container. The wallet he opened had nothing in it. To fix this problem he did a search through the room for twenty-six dollars and seventy-three cents.

Three hours later he had found two thousand, six hundred seventy-three pennies. When he found the last one he realized he needed a bag, which he knew he had in the closet. He opened the closet and reached for the bag. The bag contained three ten dollar bills in it.

“Oh, cool.” His right eyelid twitched a little.

The character we’ve been following returned to Savon. Along the way he was hit by a car, bitten by a dog, and run over by a train. Once he was in the building he headed right, grabbed the Garfield Chiapet, stepped up to the counter, picked out all four varieties of Skittles, and waited behind the three people ahead of him.

“Ok, I’m back,” he explained to the cashier, “here you go.”

“Thirty-five forty-two.”

He gave the cashier a blank stare.

“What? It was twelve dollars cheaper last time I was here.”

“The Chiapet sale ended twenty minutes ago and sales tax rose ten percent in the last hour.” The cashier popped the bubble she had blown with her gum and resumed chewing it.

“Fine, I’ll give up the blue and red bags of Skittles.” He handed the cashier his money and snatched his purchase out of her hand. Then he left the store and headed for home.

The television was clicked on and he sat down to watch the news. He opened up his two bags of Skittles and began to ferociously chew on multicolored globs of them.

“Tonight, on the Channel Four news, M&M Mars discontinues their Skittles line. Any unopened bags of Skittles are going for thousands of dollars on eBay right now.”

“Funk,” announced our main character as he continued to polish off his delicacies.

*****

Is anyone reading this? If so, please comment.

Hmm, narration has attitude but it seems good enough.

Keep going, it seemed like it ended, but who knows, there may be more.

I like it.


That's a good thing.

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No it isn't, if people keep on rebelling against established norms like that, then people will stop cutting down rainforests to stimulate the economy and all of the Christians will die out in a humongous fire and Barack HUSSEIN Osama will become president and since he's a Muslim we'll all likely die I think.

Also, it made me feel threatened-- I read stories to escape the tumults and twists of everyday life, not to see them in a new light. Stories shouldn't talk to the reader it's dumb.

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I like it, and it made me smile more than once. I'd like it better no I wouldn''t don't mind my stupid grammar stuff

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The remainder of the night did not serve as an outlet for more rants or pop culture references. That subliminal morning he messaging went to doesn’t the bathroom work and took a shower. I just wrote a sentence without any adjectives. He did his usual after the shower things; the most relevant to the plot of these is staring at himself in the mirror.

“Is that a pimple I spy? I think it is. It’s sexy.” He continued to play with it for several more minutes. Don’t take that sentence out of context; it might break rules depending on your surroundings. Then he popped it.

“Crap.”

He traveled back into his room and spent two hours searching for a pad of post-it notes.

“Oh wow, at least it didn’t take me three hours like it did to get that money yester- whoops, I need a pen.” You guessed it: three hours later he found a working pen. The “working” part is a necessary detail because there was a foot high stack of dead pens in the corner of his room that he had found over the course of the past one hundred eighty minutes. He should recycle that plastic.

He began to write on the post-it note, “I am going to kill,” but the pen died before he was able to finish the sentence.
“Screw it.” He dropped the pad and the dead, recyclable pen and left the room. Wait, I forgot to narrate the part where he gets dressed. I don’t want any of my five readers to think that he was walking around naked, because when I mention his clothes in the next paragraph I won’t know whether or not you guys are able to infer that he got dressed before he spent five hours searching for paper and a writing utensil.

He trudged down the stairs, almost tripping and falling down them, and found himself in the kitchen somehow. I can’t remember the exact location of each room every time I sit down to write some more of this, so I’ll just place them where they’re necessary at each moment. He stepped up to the drawers by the sink and opened each one of them until he found a butter knife. He placed it in his pocket because, as you all know, pockets are the safest places for knives. It’s not like there’s anything down there that could suffer from a serious injury caused by knives, right? Right. Now that he was equipped with a butter knife – which, if you’re trying to connect everything right now, is not the most effective knife in killing people – he left the house and started another trip to Savon.

“Wait, I need to water my Chia Pet.”

He turned back around and walked back inside the home, just barely avoiding getting hit by a car. But it wouldn’t have mattered if he had, because he’s invincible.

*****

Thanks for the comments, folks. I just want to make people smile.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Cheesy.

Naw, only kidding, it's good, sometimess draggish a bit, but the character seems interesting...and klutzy.

You refuse to form to a running plot line and almost write seperate individual adventures, which is pretty great, it's new, it's fresh.

The "Sometime draggish a bit" is intentional.

Also, I write each page as it's own short plot because I've been fed cliffhangers at the end of chapters since I started reading, and I'm tired of it. I don't want to make people to wait a week (or however long it is before I write more) for an answer, just to be given another question.

I love this story.
It's got that whole not-really-lol-but-still-funny thing going, especially when it he keeps talking about how he wrote it. It's almost like Bugkiss is another character, which is good because you need more than one character.

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SIBHoD.