Alliterations Are Abominations: A Very Stupid Fiction III

A/N: This is what happens when you're up too late trying to be funny! You've been warned, kids! This makes no sense at all! Rated T for Terrible and containing many pointless references including: References to scientific calculators, The Princess Bride, Basquiat, COPS, the author, English professors, itself, and many other things.

One lovely August morning, the sidekicks, Will, and Warren were lazing about Will's house when the SPECIAL phone rang. They all dove for it at once and smacked their heads simultaneously together. Once the stars had cleared, Ethan picked up the receiver while feeling around for his glasses.

"Yes?" He yelled, exasperated, "Hold on! I can't find my glasses!"

"There's a problem downtown! We need you –"

"I can't hear you, man, I need to put my glasses on!"

The mayor pondered this logic. The author laughed. Ethan found his glasses.

"Okay. Go!"

"We need you downtown, you're a bunch of crazies, goodbye!" Click.

"Why is it always downtown?" Layla grumbled.

Once downtown, they rushed to the side of the long-suffering Fire Marshal, who explained that there was an armed robbery at the local grocery store.

"We've been called for an ARMED ROBBERY?" an incredulous Will asked.

"Yes, well. Budget cuts in the police department, you know how it is…" The heroes ignored him as they rushed to the aid of the produce section.

Bursting through the door, the super team spotted the culprits: Triplets, rapidly throwing bags of Tostados Mexican Chips into a shopping cart! Supervising them were two burly men in hats bearing the logo "Kenworth" and wearing frilly pink tutus. Warren took a deep breath to catch their attention and calmly recited:

"Truckers Train Triplets

To Triple Their Tostados

(Tricky Thing To Try.)"

The truckers and triplets tossed a sackful of snakes at our heroes and made a valiant escape.

Layla tossed the sack of snakes at a nearby street artist. "Here, hold onto these, will ya?"

The artist shrieked and attempted to stomp on the snakes while changing accents and dialect rapidly. "Ah am Jean-Claude Basquiat, ya'll! YOU SHOULD RESPECT ME AND MY BAD GRAFFITI ART! But no! You throw vile snakes at me! Why you send me zese monsters! Zey should be shot!"

Layla snarled:

"Apathic Artist:

Antsy Anacondas Are

An Art-form, Always."

"Man, now we've lost the suspect." Warren sighed.

"Not to worry!" cried the mayor, suddenly beside them. Warren jumped.

"How did you do that?"

"No idea. The point is that in order to defeat this team of truckers and triplets, you must go to their secret hideaway! Which is not so secret anymore! It's a factory outside of town, appropriately creepy and threatening!"

"How do you know this?" Layla gasped appreciatively. The mayor pointed to a billboard.

'Enemies bothering you? Call 1-800-BADBOYZ or visit our showroom 3.2 miles west on Highway 63! No appointment necessary!'

The mayor accompanied them to the scene of the crime. Unfortunately…

"Warren, you were supposed to turn on 55th street!"

"!"

"Are we there yet?"

"I have to use the bathroom."

Just kidding.

"Here's the spot!" Shouted the mayor suddenly, whacking Warren with his hand as he pointed. Warren hit the brakes and the airbags deployed.

"You don't have to shout," grumbled Magenta from underneath the white monstrosity.

The mayor glared.

"No, really!" She insisted, "Why does he need to 'shout' in that sentence? It's a ploy! A stock verb! A ruse to avoid originality!"

"SHHH!" hissed fanfiction authors everywhere.

"Avada Kedavra!" Shrieked the author, jumping out of the shadows and waving a tree branch at Magenta. Somewhere, a headmaster fell off a castle and died. Layla turned the branch into a tree and smooshed the author, who cursed wildly.

The mayor took control of the situation again.

"The man who those truckers work for –"

"WHOM!" insisted the author's English professor. The author killed him violently.

"– He's sending out deadly non-local diseases from those smoke stacks during the night! They settle into the water molecules in the clouds, and when it rains, they get everywhere!"

"Then what were the Tostados for?" wondered Warren.

"To feed his army of slaves, of course! The master plan is to make everyone sick!"

Ethan groaned.

"Eschewing Entry

Eccentric Ecdemics

Exit Every Eve"

Will counted on his fingers. "Wait, that's not enough syllables!"

"Shut up! YOU try making an alliterative haiku about this with the letter E!" (A/N: I dare you. It's hard!)

The mayor continued, "All you need to do is get over that wall over yonder!"

Said wall was fifty feet high, with spikes and Big Red Searchlight Eyes and Pits of Despair and gargoyles to top it off. No problem for our heroes.

They scaled the wall in heroic fashion.

Once over the wall, they looked around themselves. The only light was coming from the small church approximately 51.36767676767… yards away.

"What's a church doing here?" Zach demanded.

"It's convenient for the next joke! Let's go!"

They snuck in through the bell tower and hung around inside the pulpit and were very cramped. All of the attendees were robotic clerks, who typed diabolical fanfiction all day long instead of doing something productive!

"Maybe if we tell them what their truck-driving masters are doing, they'll stop their evil takeover plan!" proposed Layla.

"Maj, get their attention." Will ordered.

"Ugh." Magenta said, "That figures." She stepped up to the podium and announced:

"Count on Creepy Clerks

Creatures of Crazy Culture

Calmly Crusading!"

Will stepped up.

"Give it up! We know your master plan!" Will began.

"Dude! It's my turn to do a haiku!" Zach cried.

"All right, Zach! Tell them what their masters are doing!"

Zach stepped up.

"Triumphant Truckers

In Tutus Bearing Truffles

Tantamount To…To…"

The super team cringed. The audience looked at him blankly. Zach gave up and pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket. He read aloud:

"The Tiger Tires Of

The Terrifying Tundra

Trying To Transform!"

Everyone stared. Zach shrugged. The preacher showed up and gave them a weird look. The super team slunk away as the author snickered and dove into the confessions booth.

"Forgive me Father, for I have written something truly terrible. How may I repent?"

"Post it on fanfiction . net!"

"Thank you, Father!"

The End.

A/N: Oh, dear. I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what I was on when I wrote this.