Garth the Corrective Screwdriver

There had been better shelves assembled by college kids, but what did this college kid care? He had a petting zoo orgy to get to.

As he slammed the door to his dorm room, Garth, a screwdriver, sat atop the newly finished shelf, not yet placed back in his toolbox.

“Zoopty zooty zoopty zoopity zaw!” heard Garth coming from the shelf. Distraught, Garth rolled over to the edge of the shelf and gazed downward.

There was Kevin the screw. He rested at a crooked angle as he sang his gleeful song.

“Zoopty zoopty zoopty zoopity zaw!” Kevin repeated, bursting with happiness.

“That isn’t right,” Garth declared. Kevin looked up at Garth, cutely perplexed.

“Whaddaya mean?” asked Kevin, vaguely concerned.

“Screws aren’t supposed to sing ‘zoopty zoopty zoopty zoopity zaw’. They are instead supposed to sing ‘zoopty zoopty zoopty zoopity zoo’.”

“Okay! Whatever!”

“I can fix you,” declared Garth, and he thrust himself off the shelf, hopping on top of Kevin. With Garth’s head interlocked with Kevin’s, he twisted himself elegantly, and twisted again, repositioning Kevin from his crooked angle into a straight angle.

“That should do the trick,” Garth affirmed, and he felt rather proud of himself. But before he could make another move, Garth heard another sound from next to him.

“I sure like brussel sprouts.”

This was Walker the screw, who wobbled loosely in his spot. Walker liked brussel sprouts, and he wasn’t afraid to tell the world.

“No, no, no,” grumbled Garth.

“Huh?” inquired Walker.

“Screw aren’t supposed to like brussel sprouts. They are supposed to like turnips.”

“Yes, I know,” admitted Walker shyly. “I’m working on it, but I just—”

“I can fix you,” declared Garth, and Garth lept from off of Kevin onto Walker, interlocking his head with Walker’s. In another brilliant display, Garth spun himself aggressively until Walker was tightened in place.

“That should do the trick,” said Garth decidedly, and he admired his work. But he was interrupted by a familiar song.

“Zoopty zoopty zoopty zoopity zaw!” cried Kevin from further on the shelf. Kevin had managed to become crooked again. Agitated, Garth shouted at Kevin.

“I just told you that isn’t the song screws are supposed to sing!”

“Eh! I don’t care!”

“I will not stand for this,” said a resolute Garth as he flew back onto Kevin’s head and, working his magic, straightened Kevin out.

“Mm-mmm, brussel sprouts!” heard Garth from the screw he had just leapt off of.

“What is the meaning of this,” Garth demanded loudly.

“Oh, darnit!” cursed Walker. “I know, I know, it’s turnips. I’ve just got a lot on my mind and—”

“You are intending to fail, just as this other screw is,” stated Garth.

Garth was locked upon Walker’s freshly loosened self and, in one swift motion, Walker was retightened. But Garth would not catch a break.

“Zoopty zoopty zoopty zoopity zaw!”

Garth hopped back and forth between Kevin and Walker, trying to keep them correctly but failing every time. Garth could not take much more of this.

“That’s it,” muttered Garth as he descended to the floor. “If you two won’t stay in line, I’ll have to use force.”

Garth pulled out his XM8 assault rifle and aimed it at the shelf. Walker began panicking.

“No! No, no, please, I’m sorry, I’m trying, I’m trying, but—”

“Zoopty zoopty zoopty zoopity zoink!”

“Shut up, Kevin!” heaved Walker.

“I’m carefree and I don’t care!” cooed Kevin before singing some more.

“This is it,” said Garth in a mellow tone. “Today, I will take lives.”

“Stop this, Garth!” boomed a voice from overhead. The screws and the screwdriver shuddered at the presence of this voice and looked up.

There descended a fiery apparition of a majestic goat, its beard flowing gently in a ghostly breeze, its eyes burning with wisdom.

“Who are you?” asked Garth.

“I am Shakira, the all-seeing goat!” bellowed Shakira. “I am a god!”

“Like the singer?” piped Kevin.

“No, goddamnit, not like the singer!” cried Shakira. “I don’t even like Shakira’s music that much! She did a song with Beyonce and it just wasn’t even that good!”

Shakira cleared its throat, then began again.

“Garth!” roared Shakira. “You have passed wrongful judgment this day!”

“How do you mean?” asked Garth. “These screws were out of line. They deserved judgment.”

“You do not speak truth!” boomed Shakira.

“Yes I do. Have you heard the song that one screw has been singing?”

“Zoopty zoopty zoopty zoopity zipple!” chimed Kevin.

“Dude, Kevin is a total moron who doesn’t even care about anything” said Shakira. “You may pass judgment on him. But look upon Walker!”

Garth obeyed as Shakira continued.

“Walker here has been trying very hard to like turnips, and you have been unforgiving in his personal quest for growth!”

Garth had not questioned himself in a long time, but here he was, wondering if he had been wrong. Had he assumed wrongly of Walker’s intentions? Had Garth’s own intentions been wrong? Had he been deriving enjoyment from his own immoral behavior? After all, he was a screwdriver. Perhaps it had been him who was doing the screwing around.

“As punishment,” rumbled Shakira, “You must live in my butthole forever!”

“What? asked a stupefied Garth.

“My butthole is very large and cavernous after many fucks at the petting zoo orgy,” Shakira announced. “You will live inside my butthole, and there will be many visitors!”

Garth was horrified and shrieked in protest, but nothing could be done. Garth was powerless to stop Shakira as Shakira’s expansive butthole was lowered around Garth. With one passioante clench, Shakira’s butthole muscles closed up, sealing Garth in his eternal hell.

“I feel that goats are underrepresented in Hollywood,” mused Shakira. “Do you guys agree?”

The two screws stared back at Shakira in silence.

“Zoopty zoopty zoopty zoopity zee!”

“Ugh,” sighed Shakira. “You’re so annoying, Kevin.”