Fergie and the Radioactive Flesh-eating Robots: A Love Story
The morning of October 3rd dawned bright and sunny. Birds were chirping and a soft breeze floated lightly between the trees as leaves drifted lazily to the ground. A flock of geese squawked noisily in the sky as they headed South, and the subtle hum of the radioactive army of flesh eating robots could be heard faintly in the distance.
Fergus Randolf Plobblepotter Jose Eugini Beeblebottom the third (Fergie for short) was not like other girls. Awakened by the sound of his alarm blasting Toxic by Britney Spears in his ears, he violently jerked one leg into the air, wearing nothing but his favorite neon thigh high boots and a thong with a matching set of cat ears and a tail. The other leg shortly followed suit and he triple back tuck handstand 180 pirouette front walkover kickboxed out of bed.
Fergie was used to the complaints from his neighbors about the ruckus caused by his morning jazzercise routines, but he insisted that it was essential to the cleanliness of his morning aura. He reached for his girlboss sweatbands and turned up “Squirrels in my Pants” by Phineas and Ferb.
He began to do a series of stretches that he had learned from a fitness ad that had popped up while he was watching a video titled “Cat strangles Santa ASMR *not clickbait*.” Fergie was really getting into it. He was so into it, that he failed to realize that his cat, who was proudly christened Squishlemick McGee, had entered the jazzercise section of his bedroom. While performing his favorite stretch, the toe of Fergus’s left boot came firmly into contact with Squishlemick McGee and lifted him into the air. The unsuspecting cat let out a loud squelch of surprise and sailed out the window, flying two stories down and smacking into the next door neighbor’s house. Fergus flew to the window.
“GREAT HEAVENS! SQUISHLEMICK!” he cried.
The cat sat on the ground by the neighbor's house, completely unfazed. His soulless eyes stared blankly at a wall, contemplating the meaning of life. Squishlemick McGee wanted more than anything to escape the clutches of Fergus Randolf Plobblepotter Jose Eugini Beeblebottom the third, but in order to do that he would need to work up the energy and motivation to move his stubby little legs. Not worth it, he decided, and promptly went rigid before face planting into the dry dirt to await Fergie.
“I’M COMING SQUSIHLEMICK!!!!!” Fergus called, diving headfirst out the window. As he was careening through the air, the snooze on his alarm clock ran out and Toxic by Britney Spears started blaring throughout the neighborhood.
“With the taste of your lips I’m on a riiiide!”
Fergus scooped up his will-less cat and began an interpretive dance to the music. It included many advanced dance moves that even professionals couldn’t dream of attempting. During his willow tree back tuck cartwheel 360, Fergie caught a glance of a strange object hurtling through the sky towards a house in the distance.
“Another missile?” he thought out loud. “That’s the third time this week!”
The missile crashed through the fragile frame of the house, creating a sickening noise that Fergie had only previously heard coming from the bathroom on Taco Tuesday when his cousin Gertrude came to visit.
“That’s gonna cost a lot of money,” he said to the cat, who hung limply from his arms like a wet spaghetti noodle. Squishlemick hacked up a juicy hairball in agreement. The house that had once stood not too far from Fergie’s lay in a heap of rubble, a pillar of poisonous smoke rising into the air and killing off a flock of dickcissels, who plummeted to the ground and blew up upon contact. A startled car screamed and promptly drove itself off a bridge, nose diving into the acid green waters of the Tuberculosissama River. A land mine that the car had hit went off and blew up a nearby tree. Those darn flesh eating robots and their land mines.
Fergus’s mouth had fallen ever so slightly open while he was watching these events take place less than a mile from his home. Suddenly he twitched violently, flinging Squishlemick across the yard.
“Oopsie Daisy!” he bellowed, skipping across the dying lawn in his thong to retrieve the cat. He flopped down onto his belly, put McGee on his back, and army crawled vigorously into his house. After unceremoniously dumping the miserable cat into the kitchen sink, Fergus took off one boot, plucked the squirming mouse from between his toes, and put the boot back on. He grabbed his toothbrush from the freezer and his phone from the microwave and crab-walked merrily to the laundry room. As his toothbrush went through the 90 minute wash-dry cycle, he opened the calendar app on his phone to remind himself of the agenda for the day. At 11am he and his dad were to go to their scheduled appointment at the local rage room. Fergus had a lot of pent up anger over his Minecraft girlfriend breaking up with him that he needed to release. At 1pm he had a flesh eating robot self defense class. After that though, he had the rest of the day to himself.
Another explosion could be heard in the distance, and Fergus opened up Google to search the current population of flesh eating robots in Pickurnose, New Hampshire (his hometown). His search history dropped down to reveal his most recent wonderings. These included (but were not limited to): Why is my belly button filled with white fluff? How many beetles should a grown man employ for housework purposes? How much explosive diarrhea is too much? and Where can I purchase radioactive flesh eating robot repellent?
Fergie had learned that Google does not always have the answer to everything.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed and Fergus lept six feet in the air, clung to the ceiling and screamed his head off for approximately thirty seconds (this startled Squishlemick so much that he passed out on the spot). After ungracefully falling from the ceiling, he stood as if nothing had happened.
“That darn vibration setting scares the living pumpernickel out of me every time!”
He reopened his phone and checked his messages. A notification from his cousin Gertrude lit up the screen. It read “I regret to inform u of the passing of ur father due to a viciuos flesh eating robot attack.”
Fergie put his phone down. Absolutely stunned. Stunned. Gertrude had spelled the word vicious incorrectly. How could she do a thing like that? Vicious is such an easy word to spell.How could she mess up such a simple thing? What did this say about his bloodline? A dead scorpion fell from the floor and landed on Fergie’s home screen. He brushed it off in slight annoyance and sighed. He thought for a moment and picked it back up by its tail, deciding that it would taste great in a quiche.
Just then, Fergus had a realization. If his father was dead, he would not be able to come to the rage room with him. He had prepaid on the world wide web already! Now he was out 49.99! Fergus blew a snot bubble in irritation and lay down on the floor before promptly passing out from carbon monoxide poisoning.
Fergus awoke three hours later, the hum of the radioactive robots seeming much louder than before. His eyes slowly fluttered open, rodent feces falling off his eyelashes. He suddenly became aware that he was being tugged violently back and forth. Fergie realized that two radioactive robots were playing tug of war with him in their base. Green slime slid down his forehead, and he recognized it as radioactivity lotion. Why would the robots bother to protect him from the radioactivity if they planned to kill him?
One of the robots squalled, “He’s MINE!”
The other retorted, “No! HE’S MINE!!”
“Ahhhh I see what’s happening here,” Fergie grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “You both want a piece of the Fergalicious, don’t ya?” They stopped tugging at him for a moment, surprised that he was conscious. One of the robots bit off her own thumb and pulled a spider from her charging hole before self-destructing and evaporating into the sky. Fergus’s feet, which that robot had been holding, hit the ground hard and he found himself being dragged backwards into the arms of the other robot.
“Gotcha!” she yelped in triumph.
“You sure do,” Fergus said, biting his lip.
It would take far too long to completely finish this story, so it must be briefly summarized. After the Murderous Whale incident of 3094, Fergus and radioactive flesh eating robot number 206g498 tied the knot on a crab infested beach. Unfortunately the Murderous Whale incident was not completely over and several wedding guests did not survive the skinny dipping that took place after the ceremony. Fergus and his bride moved to a lovely bomb shelter in the suburbs right after their honey moon at a sheep farm. Two years into their marriage, they adopted one human baby and one flesh eating robot baby. Squishlemick McGee never enjoyed his time in the bomb shelter, but he came to terms with it before his passing in 3102. Unfortunately for Fergus, 206g498 became mad at him one day for not buying enough orange juice at the store and devoured him whole right in their kitchen. She was blown up by her own land mine a year later.
THE END
The morning of October 3rd dawned bright and sunny. Birds were chirping and a soft breeze floated lightly between the trees as leaves drifted lazily to the ground. A flock of geese squawked noisily in the sky as they headed South, and the subtle hum of the radioactive army of flesh eating robots could be heard faintly in the distance.
Fergus Randolf Plobblepotter Jose Eugini Beeblebottom the third (Fergie for short) was not like other girls. Awakened by the sound of his alarm blasting Toxic by Britney Spears in his ears, he violently jerked one leg into the air, wearing nothing but his favorite neon thigh high boots and a thong with a matching set of cat ears and a tail. The other leg shortly followed suit and he triple back tuck handstand 180 pirouette front walkover kickboxed out of bed.
Fergie was used to the complaints from his neighbors about the ruckus caused by his morning jazzercise routines, but he insisted that it was essential to the cleanliness of his morning aura. He reached for his girlboss sweatbands and turned up “Squirrels in my Pants” by Phineas and Ferb.
He began to do a series of stretches that he had learned from a fitness ad that had popped up while he was watching a video titled “Cat strangles Santa ASMR *not clickbait*.” Fergie was really getting into it. He was so into it, that he failed to realize that his cat, who was proudly christened Squishlemick McGee, had entered the jazzercise section of his bedroom. While performing his favorite stretch, the toe of Fergus’s left boot came firmly into contact with Squishlemick McGee and lifted him into the air. The unsuspecting cat let out a loud squelch of surprise and sailed out the window, flying two stories down and smacking into the next door neighbor’s house. Fergus flew to the window.
“GREAT HEAVENS! SQUISHLEMICK!” he cried.
The cat sat on the ground by the neighbor's house, completely unfazed. His soulless eyes stared blankly at a wall, contemplating the meaning of life. Squishlemick McGee wanted more than anything to escape the clutches of Fergus Randolf Plobblepotter Jose Eugini Beeblebottom the third, but in order to do that he would need to work up the energy and motivation to move his stubby little legs. Not worth it, he decided, and promptly went rigid before face planting into the dry dirt to await Fergie.
“I’M COMING SQUSIHLEMICK!!!!!” Fergus called, diving headfirst out the window. As he was careening through the air, the snooze on his alarm clock ran out and Toxic by Britney Spears started blaring throughout the neighborhood.
“With the taste of your lips I’m on a riiiide!”
Fergus scooped up his will-less cat and began an interpretive dance to the music. It included many advanced dance moves that even professionals couldn’t dream of attempting. During his willow tree back tuck cartwheel 360, Fergie caught a glance of a strange object hurtling through the sky towards a house in the distance.
“Another missile?” he thought out loud. “That’s the third time this week!”
The missile crashed through the fragile frame of the house, creating a sickening noise that Fergie had only previously heard coming from the bathroom on Taco Tuesday when his cousin Gertrude came to visit.
“That’s gonna cost a lot of money,” he said to the cat, who hung limply from his arms like a wet spaghetti noodle. Squishlemick hacked up a juicy hairball in agreement. The house that had once stood not too far from Fergie’s lay in a heap of rubble, a pillar of poisonous smoke rising into the air and killing off a flock of dickcissels, who plummeted to the ground and blew up upon contact. A startled car screamed and promptly drove itself off a bridge, nose diving into the acid green waters of the Tuberculosissama River. A land mine that the car had hit went off and blew up a nearby tree. Those darn flesh eating robots and their land mines.
Fergus’s mouth had fallen ever so slightly open while he was watching these events take place less than a mile from his home. Suddenly he twitched violently, flinging Squishlemick across the yard.
“Oopsie Daisy!” he bellowed, skipping across the dying lawn in his thong to retrieve the cat. He flopped down onto his belly, put McGee on his back, and army crawled vigorously into his house. After unceremoniously dumping the miserable cat into the kitchen sink, Fergus took off one boot, plucked the squirming mouse from between his toes, and put the boot back on. He grabbed his toothbrush from the freezer and his phone from the microwave and crab-walked merrily to the laundry room. As his toothbrush went through the 90 minute wash-dry cycle, he opened the calendar app on his phone to remind himself of the agenda for the day. At 11am he and his dad were to go to their scheduled appointment at the local rage room. Fergus had a lot of pent up anger over his Minecraft girlfriend breaking up with him that he needed to release. At 1pm he had a flesh eating robot self defense class. After that though, he had the rest of the day to himself.
Another explosion could be heard in the distance, and Fergus opened up Google to search the current population of flesh eating robots in Pickurnose, New Hampshire (his hometown). His search history dropped down to reveal his most recent wonderings. These included (but were not limited to): Why is my belly button filled with white fluff? How many beetles should a grown man employ for housework purposes? How much explosive diarrhea is too much? and Where can I purchase radioactive flesh eating robot repellent?
Fergie had learned that Google does not always have the answer to everything.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed and Fergus lept six feet in the air, clung to the ceiling and screamed his head off for approximately thirty seconds (this startled Squishlemick so much that he passed out on the spot). After ungracefully falling from the ceiling, he stood as if nothing had happened.
“That darn vibration setting scares the living pumpernickel out of me every time!”
He reopened his phone and checked his messages. A notification from his cousin Gertrude lit up the screen. It read “I regret to inform u of the passing of ur father due to a viciuos flesh eating robot attack.”
Fergie put his phone down. Absolutely stunned. Stunned. Gertrude had spelled the word vicious incorrectly. How could she do a thing like that? Vicious is such an easy word to spell.How could she mess up such a simple thing? What did this say about his bloodline? A dead scorpion fell from the floor and landed on Fergie’s home screen. He brushed it off in slight annoyance and sighed. He thought for a moment and picked it back up by its tail, deciding that it would taste great in a quiche.
Just then, Fergus had a realization. If his father was dead, he would not be able to come to the rage room with him. He had prepaid on the world wide web already! Now he was out 49.99! Fergus blew a snot bubble in irritation and lay down on the floor before promptly passing out from carbon monoxide poisoning.
Fergus awoke three hours later, the hum of the radioactive robots seeming much louder than before. His eyes slowly fluttered open, rodent feces falling off his eyelashes. He suddenly became aware that he was being tugged violently back and forth. Fergie realized that two radioactive robots were playing tug of war with him in their base. Green slime slid down his forehead, and he recognized it as radioactivity lotion. Why would the robots bother to protect him from the radioactivity if they planned to kill him?
One of the robots squalled, “He’s MINE!”
The other retorted, “No! HE’S MINE!!”
“Ahhhh I see what’s happening here,” Fergie grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “You both want a piece of the Fergalicious, don’t ya?” They stopped tugging at him for a moment, surprised that he was conscious. One of the robots bit off her own thumb and pulled a spider from her charging hole before self-destructing and evaporating into the sky. Fergus’s feet, which that robot had been holding, hit the ground hard and he found himself being dragged backwards into the arms of the other robot.
“Gotcha!” she yelped in triumph.
“You sure do,” Fergus said, biting his lip.
It would take far too long to completely finish this story, so it must be briefly summarized. After the Murderous Whale incident of 3094, Fergus and radioactive flesh eating robot number 206g498 tied the knot on a crab infested beach. Unfortunately the Murderous Whale incident was not completely over and several wedding guests did not survive the skinny dipping that took place after the ceremony. Fergus and his bride moved to a lovely bomb shelter in the suburbs right after their honey moon at a sheep farm. Two years into their marriage, they adopted one human baby and one flesh eating robot baby. Squishlemick McGee never enjoyed his time in the bomb shelter, but he came to terms with it before his passing in 3102. Unfortunately for Fergus, 206g498 became mad at him one day for not buying enough orange juice at the store and devoured him whole right in their kitchen. She was blown up by her own land mine a year later.
THE END