Tales from the Burrito BACK for November.

This is Ben Holloway making a post (finally) to say that I'll be taking over the blog for a few weeks while Master Chef is busy. I started on NaNoWriMo too, but I don't have time to do it. I already have a story partially written, though, so I'll finish it in the next few weeks and post a couple chapters at a time. Holla.

Tales From the Burrito gone for November.

As many of you know, November is National Novel Writing Month. In honor of this, I will be participating in NaNoWriMo, an event where you write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.  This will most likely take all of my spare time, so I will have to put TFTB aside. I could put my novel up as daily installments, but I don't have nearly enough confidence in my novel to do that, unless I get a lot of requests to, which I really doubt I will. Because my novel will be TERRIBLE!
    Also, Yo Yo Ma sounds like a rapper name.

      Spaghetti,
         Master Chef.

The Tale of the Goat Named Haggis, pt. 4 of 37, or, I won't necessarily do 37 of these.

As Haggis and The Man With The Handlebar Mustache left The Toothpaste Factory, they were both heavily thinking. The thoughts were so heavy, in fact, that they collapsed from exhaustion. "My! How heavy those thoughts were! If all thoughts were as heavy as those, I should never think again, for fear of being squished under their weight!" exclaimed The Man With The Handlebar Mustache. "These thoughts should go on a diet."
     "Baaaaaaaaa!" said Haggis, agreeing with The Man With The Handlebar Mustache.
      Glue.
"I believe we could both use some rest. My feet are beginning noodles." declared The Man With The Handlebar Mustache.
     "Noodles?" A passerby asked.
     "No, I wear socks." explained The Man With The Handlebar Mustache.

     The Man With The Handlebar Mustache and Haggis walked onward. They were heading to The Man With The Handlebar Mustache's apartment. Oftentimes, The Man With The Handlebar Mustache had a hard time finding it, because all apartments in the city look the same. To solve this problem, he had purchased several thousand sheets of paper and Sharpies and had written on them, "This is not my apartment," and taped them to all the apartments, houses, buildings, fire hydrants, policemen, large clouds of arachnophobia, and rented living spaces except his own.
     Since they were in Nashville, they ran into several people playing music on the sidewalk. This was quite an inconvenience for both The Man With The Handlebar Mustache and Haggis, and the street musicians, because The Man With The Handlebar Mustache kept stubbing his toes on them, and the musicians did not like having toes stubbed on them. "Hey man, why are you bringing us down? Quit trippin', man."
     "I can't help tripping, with all you hippies laying on the sidewalk!" angrily exclaimed The Man With The Handlebar Mustache.
     Suddenly Haggis had an idea. One of the people playing music on the sidewalk was playing guitar, and Haggis started rapping. It was a rap like no one had ever heard. Everyone went quiet, except for the one playing guitar.
     After Haggis had finished rapping, there was an astonished silence. A man who had been watching from the distance ran up to the group. "That was incredible! I own a recording studio that is about to go out of business, because we haven't found anyone good enough to make records people really want to buy. But with an act like you, we'll be the biggest studio in America! I need you to come to my studio immediately!" An excited murmur ran through the crowd who had gathered around the miraculous rapping goat. "Rapper goat, Hippie Guitar Man! Come with me!" said Recording Studio Owner Who Had Been Watching The Goings On From a Distance Man, as he skipped along, ecstatic over his new discovery.

THIS EXCITING EPIC CONTINUED FRIDAY!

The tale of the Goat Named Haggis, pt. 3 of 37, or, The Smile Was Fake, But The Tears Were Real.

When we last left off, Haggis and the man with the handlebar mustache were on their way to the toothpaste factory. 

    "Here we are at the Toothpaste Factory!" said the extremely white man with the handlebar mustache. The goat replied "Baaaaaaaaa," which probably meant "I need to say something here to alert the readers to my presence, in case they haven't read the first two parts, which they need to do before they read this."

    The Man with the Handlebar Mustache and Haggis walked through the doors of the Toothpaste Factory, which were made out of giant tubes of Toothpaste. A man dressed as a giant tube of toothpaste greeted them with a giant, almost maniacal smile. "Howdy! Welcome to the Toothpaste Factory! Where all your wildest dreams come true!"

    He continued smiling his plastic smile, but you could see when you looked in his eyes his crushed spirit and broken dreams. "How can we help you?" He said. "Hi there! I'm here for a job interview," said The Man with the Handlebar Mustache.

    The toothpaste man continued to smile his fake smile. "Right this way!" He said, pointing the way. 

    The White Man with the Handlebar Mustache and Haggis went the way he was pointing. They passed several people at desks smiling the same plastic smile with empty, cruel eyes. "Baaaaaah!!!" screamed Haggis, which meant something like "My, how this situation is becoming creepy!" "My, how this situation is becoming creepy," said the Man with the Handlebar Mustache, commenting on how the situation was becoming creepy. 

    They eventually made their way to a door with a giant sign above it that said "Interview Room." Haggis nervously looked back down the hallway, reading the signs hung on the wall that said things like "The Toothpaste Factory, where all your wildest dreams come true!" and "The Toothpaste Factory: No spirits broken here!" and "The Toothpaste Factory: All toasters toast toast!"

    The Man with the Handlebar Mustache opened the door to the interview room. There were two chairs, a coffee table with two issues of Highlights for kids from the 80s, a large imposing desk, and a dimly lit chair ominously facing away. The chair spun around, but it was to dark to see the face. The door slammed behind the duo, trapping them in the same room as chair-spinning-dimly-lit-face man. He leaned forward slowly into the light. As the man was leaning forward, both The Man with the Handlebar Mustache and Haggis gasped. "A BABY!?" They yelled.

    "What? No. I don't even..." said the large bald man chewing a toothbrush. "My name is Larylyn."

    "Oh. For a second a thought you might have been Baby. lol." said The Man with the Handlebar Mustache.

    "So you're here for an interview. What are your skills?"

    "Well, when I was just an infant, I was lost in this very building and I learned all the ins and outs of The Toothpaste Factory. My expertise is in toothpaste cap quality management though."

    "Interesting." said Larylyn. "You got the job. But beware, this is a high risk job. You have one shot at this. We can't afford a mistake at that level. Also, why do you have a goat?"

     "Why do you have a FACE?" said The Man with the Handlebar Mustache.

     "I was born this way. Oooo, There ain't no other way. Or whatever. Anyway, leave, and then come back tomorrow at the times for your job."

     The duo of The Man with the Handlebar Mustache and Haggis left the interview room, passing all the cruel, empty eyes. They passed the toothpaste doorman, who's plastic smile was as plastic as ever, but his eyes told of his crushed hope. "Have a fantastic day!" said the toothpaste doorman, whose cheery voice belied his broken dreams. He shut the toothpaste doors behind them as they left the building, a single tear sliding down his smiling face. 

THIS EXCITING EPIC CONTINUED NEXT WEEK!                                                    

              

You probably thought this was a blogpost.

     NOPE! Just Chuck Testa.
Since the launch of the famous Chuck Testa commercial on the YouTube channel Ojaivalleytaxidermy, it has received over 19 Billion views (This is an approximation, however, a completely accurate one).  This controversial advertisement has many people talking. "Although I myself am not offended by this commercial, I feel it could deeply offend some minority groups," said one man. "I just feel it could be taken the wrong way by the large animal population watching the Internet." Many people claim it is a hoax or a scam. "All I know is that one week, I was offered a vast fortune by a prince in Nigeria, and the next this advertisement for Chuck Testa shows up in my inbox. Of course I knew the Nigerian prince e-mail was legit, because he said he was prepared to go into any agreement for percent compensation for the 20% of the sales and assistance. But this Chuck Testa thing seemed just, well, a tad fishy."
    A former interviewee for TFTB joins us again. He's quite an expert on the subject. Listen in on this exciting interview.

TFTB: So I hear you're quite an expert on the subject of Chuck Testa.
Baby: I'm a baby.
TFTB: I see. And how would you say this ad for Ojai Valley Taxidermy has affected you?
Baby: I'm a baby, and I was a baby, but now I'm a baby.
TFTB: Very interesting. Would you think Chuck Testa has profited— in a monetary way— from the viral spread of this ad?
Baby: You probably thought I was a baby.
TFTB: Yes, Actua-- Wait...
Baby: NOPE! Just Chuck Testa.
TFTB: LOL
Baby/Chuck Testa: Would you be interested in a large sum of money from my Nigerian bank account?


    As you might guess, I was quite shocked at the outcome of this interview. So shocked, in fact, I didn't act on his extremely generous offer for his Nigerian fortune. Had I been in a proper state of mind, I would have immediately acted on the offer. Alas, the past cannot be changed, only retold in a way that isn't remotely true. On a side note, my grandfather invented cellophane tipped toothpicks.

Here's some Chuck Testa "Mimes," as he calls them.

Grammar: A Part of this Balanced Breakfast.

I want to start off by saying that I'm not an expert, although I do take grammar seriously. I always try to use correct grammar, but sometimes if I'm in a hurry I will ignore capitalization or misspell something. I often don't use a paragraph when I should. But I have a pet peeve, and that is misused commas. Granted, some commas that are unnecessary still work in a sentence. Take this sentence for instance: "I could hear crickets chirping, and the occasional frog."
     The comma was unnecessary, but it still worked. But the commas I'm talking about are horrible, disgusting, filthy drops of sludge dripped from the engine of the anti-grammar train as it rolled through the sentence, spreading its misinformation across the world. Here is an example of that: "My favorite movie is, The Puma Man written by; Derrick Chong."
    I'm sad to say this was actually something I saw written (OK, it wasn't actually about The Puma Man, but the sentence structure is the same;) on Facebook. But something that is even sadder than that... I was watching the news, and there was a segment about the world's shortest person. He had to overcome challenges, such as bullying, health issues, and not being able to wash his hands in the sink like everyone else, but the worst part was when the news anchor said "He doesn't know the meaning of the word 'can't'."
    That seemed worse to me. I mean, contractions are NOT that hard. I mean, it's C-A-N-T, then you put a comma after the 'N' and you just raise it up!

                                 Anyway, what's your pet peeve? Tell me in the comments. If you don't have a blogger account, post it on our Facebook wall.
                               

Spaghetti, 

Master Chef.

PS- This is what part of the alphabet would look like if Q and R were removed.

PPS- Don't forget to 'like' our Facebook page. https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tales-from-the-Burrito/175587009124711

Horror Story pt. 2

 When we left off, Tracyn had just discovered the wonder of baked beans. As she grew older, her obsession grew stronger.
      One day, she had a friend over for lunch. While her friend, Wyndi, ate a Caesar cilantro sausage soup salad sandwich from Cincinnati, Tracyn ate baked beans, like she did for every meal. Wyndi reached over with her fork and stabbed a baked bean. Tracyn boiled with anger. Her face turned red. She figuratively exploded with anger. Then she settled down. She had a plan.

      That night after Wyndi had gone home, Tracyn left the house with a knife, a gallon of baked beans, and evil in her heart. She got to Wyndi's house. She pulled out the knife, and cut the Bush's logo into the yard. She then threw the knife into the street. Then she realized it was a perfectly good knife, and picked it back up and carefully put it in it's sheath. Then she busted open a window, climbed inside the house and found Wyndi's room. She creaked open the door. She could hear the quiet breathing, but as she grew closer the rate of the breath grew quicker, suspenseful violin music played- she lifted up the blankets, opened the lid of the baked beans- Wyndi woke up screaming, her eyes wide in terror, but it was too late. Her feet... had been covered in baked beans.
 
     Where is Wyndi now? She lived, but she was never able to recover from the horror of her feet being covered in baked beans.
           Where is Trayn now? Nobody knows. Some say she died with the last of her supply of baked beans. Some say she was put into a mental institution. But some say... She's still out there, waiting to exact revenge on anyone who eats baked beans. Who knows... She could be outside your window RIGHT NOW.



                                     The end.









                            Or is it? BWAHAHAHAHAHA













                                                          It is.