Wednesday, September 8, 2010


Most of you remember that I visited my friend the cow a few days ago, to find out who burned my corn. My poopie hole just couldn’t take being without it, and it died so violently for no reason. I’m not usually a vengeful person, but even the Popanator can be pushed too far.

The cow and I hung out for awhile, and she was silent. I asked who had burned my corn, and brought the biggest meadow muffin I could find as an offering. She took it, and seemed to go into a trance. It was like some kind of a shit trip, or something. I’d never seen a cow do that before. It looked pretty fun, really.

Then it seemed like she was talking to me telepathically, because I distinctly heard her say, “Seek Uncle Tony. His matches fell on your corn” without her snout moving at all. That was a pretty neat trick, but I wasn’t focused on that.

Uncle Tony needed a visit. He was the type of person who always figured he could talk his way out of anything. So when I left the cow, I decided to fix that problem.

Now, my first instinct was to just yell at him, but something happened that I didn’t expect in the least. My asshole started to erupt poopies, like I’d never seen before. It started to hurt, it was so intense. In time, I was surrounded in a massive pile of shit, like a cocoon. Inside it, I changed into something different – a different person.

My sadness had turned into rage, and the poop turned into jagged, rock-hard armor on my flesh. My eyes burned red with anger and feces, and my voice turned deep and ragged. I became the Popcornicon. Uncle Tony isn’t gonna like the Popcornicon, if he ever wakes up.

I shrieked a vile roar at Uncle Tony, like the voice of corn-laden poo past come back to settle things. Seeing me covered in shit armor must have fazed him a little bit, so he started to run away as fast as a pregnant man can move. But I chased him down with no problem, and kicked him to the ground, leaving a wet, burning puddle of shit on his back where my foot connected.

He begged me to stop as I shoved one fist up his ass, and began to pull on his intestines. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight if you weren’t armed,” I hissed as I pulled four or five feet of colon out of his shredded butt. “And unlike you, I don’t go picking unfair fights.” Squeezing his shit-mover into a long, thin ribbon, it almost looked like a samurai sword. He had no skill or strength to use it though.

Still he begged for mercy, and his pathetic cries enraged me still further. So I reached my other shitfist into his mouth, pulling at his tongue until his eyes dropped tears like rain. Soon his tongue came out in my hand, and I taunted him with it. “What’s the matter, corn-killer? Crap got your tongue? Popcornicon has no tolerance for sniveling!”

Slamming my fist into his back higher up this time, I began to pull at Uncle Tony’s spine. It came out easier than I would’ve imagined – like it really didn’t wanna be inside him in the first place. It came out as the perfect stabbing weapon. Kicking him onto his bleeding back (that I swear looked just like a gigantic pussy), his eyes pleaded with me like my corn probably pleaded with him. So I expressed my disapproval by stabbing once, twice, three and more times, right in his torso. I pulled up dirt with every thrust of my spine-stabber, and made a big frowny face in his body, before throwing it to the side.

But my revenge needed just one more thing. Pulling bits of corn from myself, I stuffed it into his eyes. One piece, another, another and another still covered his eyeballs, until Uncle Tony lived in a world of my corny vengeance. At some point he passed out, but I was too busy laughing like the Popcornicon I’d become.

In time, the nothing-person beneath me got boring. I debated whether to set him on fire, but decided against it. Death is too kind for some people. And I would rather his body be set upon by the first pack of dogs that shows up, than mercifully cremated.

Popcornicon scares me. But she should scare anybody who wants to hurt me corn even moreso.

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