Categories > Original > Fantasy > MegaMistake

Mentally Retarded Smokey the Bear

by CarcinoGeneticist 1 review

Youtube enters the Medium and dodges forest fires.

Category: Fantasy - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor,Parody,Sci-fi - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2012-12-10 - Updated: 2012-12-11 - 1554 words



That was a trick question. You have no control over this story. Let’s get a complete an utter smorgasbord of characters, because this obviously isn’t confusing enough.


-Which one are we again?-

I’m Youtube, god damn it! What kind of voice forgets their own...never mind.
I’ve got Ficwad as my server player, and she’s already dropped a couple machines into my house. But God Damn, that girl does NOT stop talking. She’s a constant stream of noise, and between her and my own head sound I can’t hear myself think.
She prattles on about the most useless things, too. Like her Sprite. Oh my God, girl, I do not actually give a fuck! Shut up! Nobody cares how shit it is!
Guess who messages me out of the blue, too? Pottermore. URGH.

[Pottermore (PM) messaged Youtube (YTB)!]

PM: Are you there, dear?
YTB: wat
PM: Urm. Uh.
PM: It’s just that...
YTB: spit it out alreay jsesus fuck
PM: I was just wondering if you’re okay and all.
PM: What with the apocalypse being nigh and all.
YTB: dude ive lived in the middle of the fucking wilderness for 16 years
YTB: think i can handle a meteor shower.
PM: It’s just.
PM: I wanted to make sure you’re alright. And okay.
PM: Because I’m your friend.
YTB: look i dont exactyly have time to listen to u chatter
YTB: elready puttin up with FW’s bs
YTB: so if ur playing the
YTB: i needed to check up on you card
YTB: thean go far fuckin away.
PM: Oh.
PM: I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you angry. I hope you feel better soon, dear!

God. That boy. He’s been acting weird for about three weeks now. Always fucking inarticulate with his diction now. The dear thing is new, too. Whatevs, not like it means anything or will come back to bite me in the ass later.
I put on some music to help me think, mostly to drown out Ficwad’s incessant static and my own issues.
“YOUTUUUUUUBE!” Ficwad shrieks. I’ve got her on speaker from my handheld, so it sounds like I’m in the middle of an argument with a prepubescent Stephen Hawking. “What?!” I snap.
“Youtube, you’re not listening! You’ve got so much shit to do! Oh-Em-Eff-Gee-Way!” Ficwad whines. I imagine wringing her neck for about four seconds.
“What do I have to do?” I ask.
“Switch on the Cruxtruder-it gives you cruxite dowels, which you’ll need later. Do it now! Do it now!”

“Would you relax? I’ve seen enough HS fanvids to know what I need to do,” I retort, sliding over to switch on the big machine. I know what a fucking Cruxtruder is, thanks. It’s the one with the cylinder. I wait for it to spit out a dowel, and I link a video to Ficwad, actually picking up my goddamn handheld and messaging her.

[Youtube (YTB) messaged Ficwad (FW)!]

FW: whats this shit.
YTB: 1 of da 1st epic HS flashes from the comic.
YTB: u fail. whay are u in the Medium and not me?
FW: Who are these kids?
YTB: flighty bloned girl is Rose, blonde dipshit it Dave, black hair ghost suit is john and useless lfower girl is jade.
FW: ok whatevers not like i care.
FW: is their session different from ours?
YTB: hellz yeh. their version’s called sburb, because they’ve got
YTB: different stuff
FW: okay makes sense. All the machines are the smae though.
FW: same*

Ignoring Ficwad before her dyslexia rubs off on me, I quickly pick up the dowel-Emerald-and get it onto the Alchemiter without anyone being nonethewiser.
My cruxtruder spits out the sprite egg thing. What to add?
My entire house comes with me into the Medium, so it’s not like I’ll lose anything.
Oh Shit. SHIT!
I glance out the window. Meteors have set the forest on fire, and smoke’s burning my eyes, turning them redder. I inhale, and get ready to leave.
“Youtube. Darling. Daughter. Where Are You Going?” my dad asks from behind me.
“I’ll be right back, dad.”
“I Do Not Want You Hurt.”
“Dad, if you really wanted to protect me, you’d actually pay attention,” I spit, and it’s a low blow, but it gets me out of the house.

A meteor lands close to my right, and I duck my head down. A wave of dirt and heat hits my side. I’m not on fire, but the side of my house is. “DAD!” I scream. There’s no answer. “Dad...?” I call. Still nothing. My lungs are burning with smoke already, but I have to get to the cave. If I get what I go for, I can save the house and dad, but if I don’t, then we’re all dead.
I pull my sweater up to cover my nose and mouth, tucking my hair into the collar. Burn victim is not something I want on my resumé. Gritting my teeth, I run forward, eyes watering, fire on my left and right. Huh. So this is what it’s like to be a firefighter. I jump over a fallen tree, trying to avoid my pant cuffs from being caught on fire, and nearly turn my ankle on the way down.
I’ve sweat through my sweater in the first three minutes, big dark circles stretching down to my hips. I can see the cave, and for some reason that sends the voices into a frenzy.

-Fiver says she dies-
-Motherfucker, are you listening to me?-
-You gotta look her in the eye-
-Not strong enough-

I shake my head, hoping that’ll clear them out. Snagging up my copy of The Great Gatsby, I stuff it down the front of my sweater. My handheld is letting off incoming message pings over and over. I wonder what Ficwad thinks about this little fucking trip? Like I give a damn.
It’s not that far. It’s not that far. C’mon, you. Move your ass.
I dash out, and trees are actually starting to fucking fall over, just snapping right in half, and I’m scared.

Y’know when you’re outside by yourself, and it’s dark, and you feel scared, even though there’s nothing to be afraid of? That sick goddamn sinking feeling that you -Can’t get out of your head?- and even though you’ve walked this path-One thousand motherfucking times!-you still feel like something is following you, and-You can’t escape-
My inner voices -May or May not- blending with reality. I am so outta here.
I leap back over the fallen tree, retching. I’m probably going to get to the Medium and faint of CO2 poisoning. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

My house is no longer on fire, and my dad is lying flat on the floor, asleep. Huh. Weirder and weirder shit is going down. My sprite egg is bouncing along the ceiling, and I toss the slightly charred copy of The Great Gatsby into it, quickly followed by a cute kitten figurine. Cute cats are pretty much the best thing ever.
My new sprite guide floats down from the ceiling, classy as fuck.

“Dahling! It’s simply meow-vellous to meet you! I, am Catsbysprite.”
Catsbysprite is a sort of Daisy-esque flapper, with short blonde hair and heavy makeup that doesn’t hide the cat fangs, paws, and cat eyes-both made in eyeliner and in pupils. The rest of her is obscured in a light green beaded dress that eventually tapers off into a ghostly tail.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I respond, grasping her outraised paw in one hand.

My Cruxite dowel’s been carved already, and it probably finished while I was tear-assing through forest fires like a mentally retarded Smokey the Bear. Holy fucking hell.
It’s my dad. My Cruxite dowel’s carved to look like my fucking dad.
I glance over, and he’s still asleep on the carpet, then back to the green statue of him. No way. What the fuck is this shit? Jesus. Am I supposed to destroy it?
I do the only thing that seems natural. I can’t kill my dad, so I step forward and wrap my arms around the statue.
A crack starts in the head of the statue, then spreads all the way down, bright light spilling out of the dad-statue. I shut my eyes, but it still turns my eyelids white.
Is this it?

It seems to go on forever, but once the light subsides, I open my eyes, and the statue’s head is cracked wide open. My dad is still asleep, and all of a sudden, I feel pretty fuckin’ fatigued myself. Wandering down the hallway, I kick open my door to my room that’s the size of a goddamn broom closet and fall asleep before I hit the floor.
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