Book 2 of the Popcornata

So here it is, guys! The mysterious, horrible Book 2 that corrupted Dervish's mind. I apologise if it corrupts your mind too. Popcorn Thief is sort of a song-fic, only its mainly parodies rather than the actual song. I won't use the entire song. At the start of each chapter I will list the songs used, and I suggest you listen to them first before actually reading the chapter because it will otherwise be confusing. ANYWAY, the blurb!

When Kernel Fleck's popcorn bowl – still containing the popcorn – is stolen demons, he is left with no choice but to follow them into their world. It is a place of magic, chaos and incredible chocolate. Kernel has three aims:

- Find his popcorn

- Take his popcorn

- Eat his popcorn

But a popcorn-less demon awaits him, and it turns out he's not so popcorn-less after all...

Tagline: He always gets what he wants...


Que Sera, Sera – Doris Day

Vois Sur Ton Chemin – Les Choristes

Mean – Taylor Swift

Beat it – Michael Jackson

Disclaimer: I don't own the songs or the Demonata.

Chapter 1

In which Kernel enters the light

People think I'm crazy for numerous reasons – the first being the fact that I see lights or all shapes and sizes everywhere. Sometimes they're big and shapeless, sometimes they're small and triangular, sometimes they're as red as blood and sometimes they're as subtle as the soft glow of the sunset. A few pulse, but they usually just hover there.

I can control these lights. I often use them to make beautiful pictures – normally of popcorn. However, the popcorn I create with my lights end up looking... you know, strange because, well, the lights vary in colour and shapes. Once I made this weird irregular kernel that I assembled completely out of rectangular, muck-coloured lights.

That reminds me – my real name is Cornelius, but when I was one I found a large bowl of popcorn and began stuffing myself. From then on my parents nicknamed me "Kernel", as in popcorn kernel. I'm proud of my name, but when I tell people about it they usually tell me to never ever get within a five metre radius with them. People are strange these days.

However, they are constantly telling me that the fact I see lights is nothing compared to my other unique aspect. I love to sing. I would sing you my life story, but my parents tell me that I shouldn't sing it because the people I sing it to usually end up in the mental hospital when I finish. Oh well. I suppose I'll only sing the first part.

"When I was just a little boy

I told my mother, turn on the TV

So she turned it on

I gasped at what I saw

'Cos what I saw was amazing."

The musical Grease was playing, and, let me tell you, it changed my life forever. My parents tell me that letting me watch Grease was the biggest mistake of their life. They say that it makes them regret having me.

Anyway, I saw Grease as my golden opportunity. It's my lifelong dream to be in a proper musical. And I said proper musical because my entire life is a musical. I sing whenever I can. Usually I improvise, but sometimes I write songs beforehand, such as my life story song. The songs I often parody are actually written and sung, like, thirty or forty years from now, but who cares? This is a parody. I can do whatever I like!


Out of spite and loneliness, I begin to sing:

"Vois sur ton chemin

Gamins oubliés égarés
Donné leur la main
Pour les mener
Vers d'autres lendemains."

My parents enter my room and my mother says, "Do you even know what that means?"

"Um... I'm all alone in the world and I like to sing?" I guess uncertainly. My parents sigh.

"No. But you are all alone in the world and you do like you sing," says my father. I frown and take a deep breath.

"Well, someday I'll be

Living in a big old city

And all you're ever gonna be is mean...

Yeah someday I'll be

Big enough so you can't hit me

And all you're ever gonna be is mean..."

"That song doesn't even exist yet," my mother protests.

"Well, it looks like it's an original song, then, isn't it?" I say.

"Oh no," says my father, "I hate original songs. I nearly went deaf when you sung your last one."

"Yeah, you suck, Kernel," Mum agrees. She carelessly dumps my meagre dinner on a desk next to her and she and Dad exit the room.

As I eat my dinner in complete silence, I tell myself that my parents are jealous of my undoubtable talent, that they're just belittling me because they know they'll never be like be. They don't know what true talent is – never mind that what I just wrote contradicts what I wrote earlier.

In fact, my parents are just like my classmates and teachers. They're all weird and so narrow-minded. I remember once I was in the annual talent competition at school (singing an amazing and beautiful rendition of Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head – I modified the lyrics slightly to match my personality) and the class bullies began throwing tomatoes at me... eventually the entire school, then the teachers and the parents and even my parents. Yeah, well, they shouldn't thrown popcorn instead... and least I would've liked it! I hate tomatoes.

As I mentally rant to myself about my envious peers, in my fury I notice the lights pulsing. Goddamn lights – can't they see that I'm busy? I glare at them, attempting to intimidate them enough so they become subdued, but it's not working – obviously they're desperate to be turned into another magnificent masterpiece by the One and Only Cornelius Fleck – so I sigh, roll my eyes, and begin to form them to a shiny kernel of popcorn.

And I can mention kernels whenever I want now because I am Kernel!


Oh, woops, I misspelled the last 'Kernel'. Hahaha. Woops.

Anyway – back to the program. The beautiful, radiant, massive popcorn of lights before me is glowing like something that glows (ha, I'm so brilliant at similes). It flashes, it flickers, it flares and it flames until the light is too bright and I'm forced to look away. A buzz of static, and then I glance back.

The popcorn light is now ablaze, the unearthly hue of red resembling a dancing fire. The edges of the light flicker like a lamp about to gutter. It's like nothing I've seen before.

Suddenly, chips begin flowing into my room. Ew – they're covered in this thick red fluid – blood, what else can it be? Surely not chips are saturated with salt – very unhealthy, you know. Tut-tut. Whoever made these chips must have no common sense.

And then a face slowly materialises in the leering disc of red. It's a real screwed-up, mangled face – kind of reminding me of Play-dough after you hand it to a weird little toddler thingy. There's this weird red stuff – kethcup, obviously – oozing out of cracks in his weird face. What the hell? Ketchup? Who the hell would have ketchup oozing out of their face? But it can't be anything else – I mean DUH, it's not like we have blood in our bodies! I know my anatomy!

The weird thing has small, beady red eyes, almost like cranberry raisins.

At first, I'm startled by the appearance of the weird thing. But then I remember that this weird thing intruded upon my territory – and people like that don't leave unpunished!

So I clench my fist and growl my growliest growl, and start singing along to the instrumentals that have begun playing out of nowhere:

"I told you don't you never come around here!

Don't wanna see your face,

It makes me really scared!

What's up with your eyes?

They look really weird

So beat it

Just beat it

You better run, you better do what you can!

Don't care you have no legs

Just want you to scram

You wanna be tough

Better do what you can

So beat it

But you want to be bad!

Just beat it -"

The weird thing has already beaten it. I smile smugly to myself, but then I realise that the weird thing had taken my unfinished dinner – that little rascal! Well, the big rascal. What the hell is a rascal anyway? I think I'll just settle with big meany-pants.

Anyhoo, that big meany-pants dumbface was going to pay. Haha, that sentence I just typed was full of red squiggly lines! I hate red squiggly lines. If red squiggly lines had faces, I would punch them all.

But I digress.

So, where was I? Oh right, that big meany-pants dumbface was going to pay. Hey, he owed me ten bucks for that crappy dinner! Doesn't he have any manners? Doesn't he know he should at least PAY me if he's going to steal? Weird things these days!

I jump up in sudden anger and let out a long, strangled wail that unnerved everybody who heard it. I had made a decision! I was going to ENTER THE WEIRD RED LIGHT FLICKERY THINGY! NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE SAYS!


Oh, woops. That was autocorrect just then. Let me try that again:


That was my loving, compassionate mother by the way. I contemplated singing from my heart, but decided against it. I had to save some amazing songs for the happy place beyond the light!

To come to think of it, it probably wasn't a happy place. I mean, people didn't pay to steal there, obviously! What manners!

And then I happily frolicked into the not-so-happy-on-second-thoughts place, and I was engulfed in red.

A/N: Sorry it took so long. I kinda wrote half of it after I uploaded the last chapter of Lord Boss, and forgot about it afterwards. And then I rushed. So yeah... sorry?

As you can tell, Kernel is quite mentally disturbed. And I hate my computer for autocorrecting "Kernel" to "KERNELKERNELKERNEL etc.". Why that, of all things?