Categories > Original > Humor

It's the Small Things

by Blueman 0 reviews

23 year old, Miles Styles, is thrown into an unfortunate adventure with a strange companion.

Category: Humor - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor - Warnings: [V] [?] - Published: 2009-12-30 - Updated: 2009-12-31 - 880 words

January 1st
New Years
Orange City

Miles' eyes lazily drifted open, and as he picked his head up off of his pillow, strings of drool kept them in touch. He brushed his face of the drool in disgust, then slid out of the silk covers on his bed, stepping onto the cold, polished wood. He walked over to his bedroom mirror, and took a look at himself.

"Still a handsome devil. You owe me lunch Mr. Styles. But, I do believe that a haircut is in order before the date, so we'll hold off for an hour or so." He gave himself a classy smile, then slipped into his burgundy robe and house slippers.

Walking down the stairs, he nodded to the maid, a rather round, Latino woman. He wasn't sure where she was from, but he knew that she had an iron fist, so he kept from ticking her off. It kept him on her good side for the most part. Still continuing down the stairs, the next person he greeted was the gardener, who was coming out of the second floor bathroom. Miles shook his head at the man when he was offered a handshake. This upset the gardener...who cared?

Finally, at the bottom of the stairs, Miles was met by none other than his Oh, how he, loathed that woman. Her and her pearly fur-coat...and that plump-lady smile...and God have mercy, that red, red, RED hair of hers. Everything about her struck him as utterly awful. Still, he forced a perfect smile, and even a wink, as he reached the bottom stair.

"Hello, my darling Miles. Are you ready for your interview today?"

"Yes mother, but I may need a haircut before we meet Mr...oh what's his name?" Miles scratched at his scalp with one pointy finger.

"Dear boy, you're not ready if you can't even remember his name! Hansel, sweety, Drek Hansel."

"Disgusting, what kind of name is Drek?"

"Boy! Manners! You need to learn a few, else you'll get a boot up your ass."

"That is a most unpleasant thought..." Miles rubbed his bum, frowning at the vile image now stuck in his head. "Anyway, as I said mother, I must stop by Shelly for a haircut."

Miles' mother's face suddenly fell into a dark expression, full of hate and sorrow. "Oh, I most definitely shall not be attending the trip with you then. I don't see how you can stand that man." Yes, Miles' favorite barber was a man...named Shelly.

"Without that man, I simply would cease to have the most wonderful hair ever. It's that simple." And with that, Miles headed towards the kitchen, where a pot of his favorite coffee brand, Donigans Mix, was brewing. He resisted the urge to clap his hands while hopping in the air gleefully. He loved his coffee.

---The Interview---

"So Miles, tell me...why should I hire you as the face of this company's product, and not Keith Rykeman?" Mr. Hansel leaned back in his rolling chair, smoking a very nice pipe, and twirled his goatee around his finger.

"Well, Mr. Hansel, because I have what Keith lacks."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"A clear mind. I hardly believe that with all of these important awards and ceremonies that Keith has been receiving for being famous, he could focus on your work right now."

"Well," Mr. Hansel straightened up his tie, "I'd say you've got a point...but that's not good enough. Besides, we actually already hired Rykeman."

Miles stood abruptly, "You what?! And you've been wasting my time? What was the point in this interview?! I demand to know!" Miles felt his face getting hot.

"We just want to know what kind of competition Keith has out there, and from the looks of things, the competition isn't very...competitive." Hansel smiled. "Oh, and hey, go get a haircut." could I have forgotten the haircut. It's all about the hair, and I forgot it. Shame on you, Miles. Shame.

Miles walked out of Hansel's office, steam coming out of his ears, and stormed out of the studio. And that's when it happened. Heavy gusts of wind. Figures clad in black. Silhouettes of rifles. Helicopters. Yelling. And to top that off, it was all directed at Miles. He sighed, oblivious to what was about to happen. "Sorry, no autographs tod-" A rifle stock smashed across his face, and he landed with a thud onto the ground.

His vision was quickly blurring, but before he fell unconscious, he looked up at one of the police and heard something.

"Yes sir, Miles Styles...yeah this is him. Okay, terrorist detained. What did this guy do, exactly? Ah, uh-huh...uh-huh...wait, he did what?! Oh! Not what he did...but who he is? Wait, are you kidding me...then where's the terrorist?! You're the one who can't speak correctly! So we just sent a whole platoon of men after Miles Styles, the celebrity?! What do you...SERIOUSLY?! Kyle Styles? Where's h-"

The man was cut off by a loud 'boof' noise in the distance. Miles managed one last squint out into the world. A big green cloud was rising from city-square. "Oh boy brother, what've you gotten into this time?"

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