The Best Used Car Lot You’ll Ever Find

Forests gotta eat, too.

Mark Bulge lived up to his name. He was a violently large man, a perfect, undefined blob, completely unlike a muscle-man or Arnold of any kind, just huge and nearly formless. He had absolutely no ideas whatsoever and lots, and lots of money.

Well, that’s a lie — the one and only idea he did have in his head was that maybe he could buy some ideas. He called up his friend Alice, who lived with the band Skid Row, all together in a house with a bunch of doors like The Beatles did in Help!

Alice groggily gargled some ultra-potent mouthwash as she slothfully drew the receiver towards her weirdly small right ear. Both ears were weirdly small, but the right one was the one she drew the receiver towards. She then drew a picture of the receiver and attempted to shove it into those little holes the sound comes out of.

Before Mark could get a word in edgewise about where and how to buy ideas, Alice had rendered the phone useless, its earpiece completely impacted with the pink paper of the “While You Were Away” stationery she so hastily drew the receiver on. The final nail in the coffin for “poor ol’ Reccy” (what she called the receiver on a good day) was the excessive amount of excessively strong mouthwash Alice gargled right into the phone, wetting the pink paper, turning it a more blood-like hue. Surely that killed the phone.

Her drawing was dangerously hasty, and thusly her neighbor Sarah Shorts-Alcotta was forced to call the Hastily Drawn Stuff Police of Lower Formula County on her industrial-strength cordless phone. She could stand over twelve miles away from the receiver base and still get HD quality voice reception, but because of that power, she nearly glowed.

She did glow actually, that was how the police had so quickly found where Alice had so quickly drawn hastily. Two cops leaped out of the moonroof of the cruiser, decked out in full paramilitary gear. They looked nearly identical, though they weren’t at all related.

Mark would’ve gone to help Alice, after all it was his call that got her into this mess, but a Pavlovian response to a deeply comforting chime planted him right in his recliner. His micro-mac-and-cheese, which was microwavable and also microscopic, was ready for consumption. He spent the rest of his life enjoying his micromac and wondered just what ever did happen to Alice.

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