Randomville: Fictionarium: Chapter 1

The Randomville Fictionarium was conspired as a weekly fictional piece, based around a handful of characters and their interactions in the make-believe town of Randomville. We thought it would be fun to have different writers take the pen for each "chapter" of this story... and it became more fantastical and wonderful with each turn of author. Each writer added their own personal spin on the story and took the characters where they wanted them to go, and, in turn, artfully added very well onto the scribe before them. So without further ago, a big thank you to the all the writers for all their hard work and for crafting such a fun, well-spun yarn.

Also, thank everyone for their patience during this project, because, as you see, due to an evil sorcerer's curse on the town of Randomville, time moves more slowly there. So what would seem normal time to us, in their actuality is a lot more drawn out, and, thus, we can only begin reporting on this story as it finally ends for the characters... roughly two and a half years later.

Frank had too many keys on his belt. His pants were sliding down, displaying the crack of his ass to everyone in the diner. Luckily for everyone else, the only person in the diner was Crackhead Stu.

"Dagnabbit, son, pull yer britches up," the crackhead said. His own pants were tied tightly to his waist with what looked like a plastic bag that had been torn and twisted into a belt.

"Oh hush, you," Frank said as he hiked up his drawers. "Come on now, Stu. How many times do I have to kick you out of here before you get it through your thick skull?"

"My skull ain’t so thick," Stu said, knocking on it three times with his filthy fist. "Least it ain’t so thick the gubment can’t get through. That’s why I wears this special hat."

He took off his greasy trucker’s hat and showed it to Frank. It was a green John Deere cap. Stu had taken the liberty of lining the inside with tin foil and the outside with copious amounts of grease. Frank wondered which was more effective at blocking the government’s mind reading capabilities. He hoped neither. And that the "gubment" would one-day swoop down and carry Stu off somewhere tortuous. Because in Frank’s head, the government was very much like a vulture, and he would be pleased as punch if they would take Stu off his hands. Frank was willing to bet that crackheads tasted mighty fine to vultures. And this particular crackhead appeared to be self-basting, Frank observed, as he noticed a puddle suddenly appeared down the front of his crusty trousers.

Frank shook his head and marched over to the front entrance of the diner, pushing the door open. He stood there with one hand on the door and the other on his hip, like a gypsy gal trying to ensnare a mark.

Frank grumbled incoherently as he stepped back into the diner, slamming the door shut behind him. He quickly locked the door and peered out the window at the slowly retreating figure. And this was where Frank made his crucial mistake. Forgetting completely about the mess that Stu had left on the floor, Frank took a step, lost his balance, and started to fall backwards. Frantically, he flapped his arms to try to right himself, but only succeeded in projecting himself face first into the counter. With a giant "thwack," Frank hit his forehead hard enough to propel himself backwards, so that when he hit his head on the cold, sticky diner floor, the resounding "thud" was enough to rattle the windows.

When Frank woke up, he was staring up at a calm night sky. There were more stars than he had seen in his entire life. He quickly sat upright, but the searing pain in his head was enough to send him flat on his back.

"Damn," Frank thought, "I haven't been this hung-over since the time I ate 20 of Grandma's rum cakes on Christmas of ought-two." Frank's stomach rumbled at the thought of Grandma's tasty cakes.

Slowly, he sat up again. He looked all around him but could see nothing but sand and stars. There was only one place in all of Randomville that Frank could think of where there was a plethora of both.

Macro-golf was just one amongst a trail of failed business ventures that were rotting on the streets of Randomville. The basic premise was that it was the opposite of mini-golf. The balls, clubs, and holes were oversized, and the scenery around the holes was meant to look like a giant's village. Instead of attracting the hoards of families as was intended, Macro-golf became a haven for horny teenagers and cheating spouses. They might as well have set up a meter and charged patrons by the hour, Frank mused.

Now that he knew where he was, Frank began worry about how he had come to be at the Macro-golf course. Try as he might to remember where he had been before waking up in the sand trap, Frank was still clueless as to his previous whereabouts. Frustrated, he kicked the sand and dislodged a very solid cat turd from the sand trap on the thirteenth hole. He watched as it soared through the air and landed in the oversized hole on the fourteenthgreen.

With no one there to celebrate his victory, Frank decided to make his way to the parking lot in hopes he had driven himself there. He walked slowly through the course, gawking at the oversized plywood sections that represented a giant's village. Why, there was this one time, he recalled, when he was but a lad of nineteen, when this lovely temptress of a gypsy gal had lured him back to the 9th hole and...

Frank nearly jumped out of his skin as a car came barreling around the corner and headed straight for him. He was about to jump out of the way but was blinded by the headlights. He stood there, dumbstruck, and waited for impact.

Frank knew from past experience that when Grandma took that "do you want me to get the tazer" tone, she meant business. Carefully, he climbed into the trunk and curled up as best he could around the 20-pound bag of cat kibble and bundles of recycled newspapers. Grandma slammed down the trunk, but it slapped into Frank's rotund belly.

Frank squeezed his rotund belly into the trunk and held his breath as it was closed. There was a soft thump as Grandma got into the driver’s seat, then a loud bang as she slammed the door.

Disclaimer: This story takes place in the fictional town of Randomville, any similarities between actual members of Randomville is purely coincidental.