Story Time. Tall Tales. Kyle-tastic Legendry.

27 Jul

It was 2009. I had just finished my 67th post. Some said I was the strongest, fastest, blogger in all the world. I would sit down at my laptop, surrounded by adoring fans from all over the country (even Delaware). There were the sounds of vendors and street entertainers, women and men laughing, somebody singing “Dancing Queen,” a dog barking, a goat mewing, a guy asking who brought a goat.

Wesley Alford, dressed as Nintendo’s “Yoshi” because all of the ring leader outfits were gone, stands next to Kyle’s desk in the Blogdium yelling into a megaphone.

“Come! Watch him blog! Laugh at him! Laugh with him! Enjoy all his comedic wonder!”

I sit at my laptop, firing away. Every now and then I wink at one of the pretty girls in attendance. Girls love a man that can wink. Eyelids are hot.

In the distance, a dark smog approaches. Somebody makes a Fern Gully joke. I laugh quietly, but then stifle myself so nobody starts to think they can be funny like me.

When it pulls up to the Blogdium, the fog is found to be coming from a large truck with a flat bed trailer at its rear. It carries a tall, cylindrical, iron contraption with a full keyboard at its top and several thin metal projections surrounding said keyboard.

“Whhath thish?” Wesley struggles to yell out through his nachos. They serve nachos at the Blogdium. Delicious.

A portly, mustached man with a smile that it looks like he bought it steps out of the hulking vehicle.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen! I’m Lionel Faulks. How do you do?” He bows to the masses. Kyle stops for a moment and looks over at the man. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what I’m doing here.” He says.  “You see that man there? That man supplying you with ALL THAT LAUGHTER?!” He points up to Kyle’s blogging throne. “That man–is ANTIQUATED! He has run his course! The future of comedy writin’ is not with him. He is the dinosaur. He is the carriage. He is Screech.”

“Ah, damn.” Screech says from his place working the nacho cart. I walk over and pat Screech on the back. He asks me to call him Dustin. I say no. That’s not his name.

“What’re you saying, man? Get to it!” I say to Lionel.

“What I’m saying, King Blogger, is that now is the time for you to be overthrown, your crown usurped by technology! By progress! Observe! The knife in your back, the ender of YOUR WORLD! The BLOGMASTER!”

The machine is activated and it begins to whirr and spit out great plumes of black smoke. The metal projections bordering the keyboard begin to spin and whip about, hitting the keys with great speed. On the right side of the truck, the side facing the crowd, a screen illuminates and words began to run across the screen. The words are hilarious, the entirety of those in attendance are laughing and laughing hard. This doesn’t impress me.

“You SEE! This Blogmaster can make hilarious blogs faster than even the great Iron Kyle! He is obsolete!”

I look to Wesley and then to the crowd. I then take out my cell phone and tweet: “@brozozo, Guy just showed up to my Blogdium. Has a machine that looks like a wiener. lol.”

Kyle then puts his cell phone away and says, “That’s not true! I can blog faster than any machine!”

“Oh yes?” The man responds.

“Yes!” (Kyle tweets: “@brozozo Guy with machine is being kind of a dick. Hurting my feelings.”)

(Brozozo tweets: Eating cereal in my underwear. Is Ellen still on?)

So the competition was set. Each blogger would blog for three hours straight. Whoever could continue to write quality blogs at the end of that time would be declared the victor. Kyle would take on the Blogmaster for who was the fastest blogger in the land.

The sun rose on the day of the competition. Kyle thought this was fortunate, because the sun not rising would’ve “freaked him out.”

When Kyle arrived at the Blogdium, there were already hordes of people arriving. The Blogmaster is on the right, Kyle’s throne and laptop on the left. Hanging by cables above are three monitors. The one above Kyle labeled “Kyle,” the one above the Blogmaster labeled “Blogmaster.” Wesley has installed a third monitor that reads “Wesley’s butt.” He has installed a webcam just above his butt.

“Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the greatest contest of man vs. machine ever seen!” Lionel yells. The crowd goes wild. I walk into the Blogdium and take my seat. Then, a man raises a pistol into the air and fires. This sets off a panic in the crowd because instead of doing it in the arena he does it in the men’s restroom and instead of yelling “GO!” he yells “Freedom!” After we get that settled, things get kicked off by a simple three count.

After a bit, the Blogmaster pulls ahead so I start blogging with two computers at the same time. After three or four minutes of typing absolute nonsense on both computers, I go back to just the one.

I start to fatigue. I need some Gatorade®. Its unique blend of electrolytes and carbohydrates are just what any athlete needs to refuel and replenish. (Thanks for the $50, Gatorade.)

“GO you damn fool! GO!” Wesley screams, hitting me with a sandwich. The Blogdium serves sandwiches. Fantastic.

“Behold, ants! He falters! Your hero is losing his grasp! My machine will never fatigue! You will never again be without a blog to read! It can go on forever!” Lionel screams into a megaphone.

Reaching the finishing time, the machine began to break down.

“GO!” Lionel yelled to his machine.

I look up at the screens. It’s still neck and neck. I don’t think I can go any further. Then I remember one thing I can do that the machine cannot: hit something else with a baseball bat. I beat the mechanical daylights out of the Blogmaster.

The crowd ran out onto the field and hoisted Kyle upon their shoulders. Wesley had gone to Target to buy some jalapeños. He sat eating nachos in the Target parking lot.

I was declared [Editor’s Note: By himself] to be the greatest blogger in the land and Lionel Faulks was quickly put out of business. For now, blogging would still be done by human hands. This day forever and on would be commemorated every year on December 25th. It would be called “Christmas.” [Editor’s Note: Not really, no.]

The End.

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