20 oneshots of things to do when bored. :3 The title was too good to pass up so.
The title was cool so I used it okay.
"Wait...why are we doing this again?" Mikey asked, wiping his earth covered hands off on his loose jeans.
"Because it's good for the community! We are good citizens!" I cried out with pep in my voice, flailing my arms and spewing the dark soil I was holding everywhere.
"Good citizens don't fling dirt into other citizens eyes, Frank," he replied, scrubbing his eyes from under his glasses.
"Or do they?" I suggested, wiggling my eyebrows before turning back to face the small, young tree I was working on planting.
Yes. I was planting a tree. Well, me and Mikey were planting trees. It was summertime, and I had begged Mikey to join me in this community service crap my mom had sucked me into. Every summer, she plants in this community garden, where she helps the community, and the other citizens of the community help too. Unfortunately, my mom decided it was high time that she drag me along, since I was "old enough to take the heat.".
I don't even think the elderly people were old enough to take it. The sun was beating on our backs, and to make it worse, we were stooping over for hours to no end. Ever wonder how people get arthritis?
They garden. Way too much. The ball of radiation overhead was heating up the soil and fertilizer (aka manure, I'm touching cow feces), giving the whole damn place an awful stench. Mikey and I were prepared; we had bandannas. They were originally for our foreheads, but our noses needed it more.
Anyways, we were taking small trees and other plants (whose names I don't care about) out of their pots and planting them into the soil. Some of the plants were small with tiny pots, but a couple of the trees had pots big enough for me to sit my butt into and still have room. I will tell you now, my butt is not extremely small.
I could have sworn that we had been out in the Jersey heat for hours; my skin was already peeling from the bad burn I had gotten. Mikey still looked pale, but he had lost the burning white glow he once treasured. That kid was so white that it hurt to look, and trust me, that is the time that you need to get the Hell outside and run around naked for a few days.
I looked over to the said ghost named Mikey. He was wiping his forehead, trying to get rid of the cluster of sweat-beads that had formed. All he really did was leave a big brown streak, but it looked funny, so I wasn't going to say anything. After looking at his plant-work up and down, he turned to me.
"I am going to go over there," Mikey said, pointing to a large tree that was nearby. "and sit down, and never come back."
"You're gonna be sitting in mud." It was true; it had rained a day ago, and the shade from the tree wasn't letting the water evaporate.
"Then I'll be a pig, and I'll like the goddamn mud."
"You could just take one of those, you know," I said, motioning to the large, orange plant pot that was sitting beside a man with bad sideburns.
"Yes. Yes I could. But only if you come over with me for a little. Please?" Mikey pleaded in a whiny voice, clasping his hands together and widening his eyes - if that was possible.
Possible or impossible, I could never resist the puppy eyes he gave me. That was one of things that I truly despised about him, with his ability to make my tummy run off to play with the unicorns in the magical meadow.
I hesitated slightly, trying to test myself; trying to pry my eyes away.
It didn't work.
"Okay," I agreed.
"Great! Now help me."
"The pot, stupid."
"The plant pot!"
"I know. I wanted to see what happened if I made you mad," I said with a devilish grin on my face.
"But what do I suck? That is the question. Don't answer it, the question. Let's get the pot!"
And well, that's what we did. Pulling the over-sized bowl under the tree, which I was smart enough to know was a weeping willow, Mikey and I came across a problem.
"Frank, this pot isn't big enough for the two of us," Mikey said.
"Yeah...I think I'll sit in it," I spoke quickly before attempting to fit my end into the pot. I could tell it would be a tight-fit, and I had barely even made it a quarter of the way into the pot.
"No!" Mikey screeched, pulling me out by my waist and thrashing me to the nearby ground, which was nothing but mud. My light blue jeans were now ruined; I almost had to thank Jesus for the fact that it was them and not my pure white shirt.
"My pot," Mikey purred, snuggling himself into said plant-pot.
"No, my pot!" I roared, boosting myself off the ground and pushing Mikey and the bowl over.
"My pot!" he screeched once again, this time clinging to the pots sides with what seemed like all his strength. He flew right out of it anyway.
"I shall sit in this pot and I shall be the Pot King," I declared before turning the pot-throne upright and sitting in it quickly.
That was when I realized that I was stuck.
When I say stuck, I mean stuck. Stuck like your fattest fingers in a Chinese Finger Trap; you can't get out without some physical strain. Instead of my fingers in a trap though, it was my butt inside a pot, and it was twenty times worse.
"Umf..." I muttered as I tried shifting myself within the pot, which turned out to not do anything but further sink me in.
"I'm stuck," I surrendered with a sigh.
"That's what you get!" Mikey said from his piled position on the muddy ground. His glasses were filled with mud, and his face was nothing but sloppy, brown, wet dirt. He looked like a giant, breathing piece of s-
"I'm leaving you in there."
"What?!?!" I screamed. He couldn't leave me in there, he couldn't! Just because it was shady and nice under the tree didn't help the fact that my damn ass was stuck in a pot .
"You wanted to sit in it so bad, so," Mikey said, now wearing the grin I had given him earlier as he began to walk away.
"Mikey...Mikey! Mikey! Mikey, you can't just leave me here!" I cried out desperately, now rocking the pot back and forth without success. I ended up tilting too far backwards and hitting my back on the smooth bark of the willow tree behind me, hitting my head as well.
I was in no position to ever climb out of that pot. When I had finally given up, I looked over helplessly to Mikey, who was now sitting down 30 yards away with a huge smile on his face and a soda can in his hand that had appeared from nowhere; he could do that because apparently, he's a wizard.
"I like pots!" he screamed over, drinking some of his Cola.