D.e.e.L's Writing and Subtle Outbursts of Insanity

"I write all day long, some kind of addiction I guess. Please don't send me to rehab." - D.e.e.L

DJ Rae Rae Don’t know what Number Story This is-The 11+1nth Story in The Hank Saga -By: D.e.e.L

            “Well that was fun…”

            “What was fun?”

            “Whoa, did you just interrupt me? I was totally going to say what I was referring to!”

            “I didn’t interrupt you. You weren’t going to say anything, I was just curious.”

            “You see the ‘…’ after my first sentence? That means I wasn’t done talking, it means you were about to interrupt…”

            “No, I wouldn’t do that.”

            “You just did it again!”

            “Sorry, I’m new at this.”

            “New at what? Talking? Go brush your teeth so the plaque monster doesn’t come back.”

            “Yes, Sir.”

 

            Dan walks about Blue Spaghetti after having just fought Hanilliamk from story number 11. As he walks his feet begin to obtain a groove of some sort, over a matter of seconds the groove begins to become cooler, and the inevitable groovy cool nature of Dan causes his feet to dance upon the walls and past the guy who answers the phone sometimes, and sometimes doesn’t. His feet carry him to the back office of Blue Spaghetti’s. Just before entering the door he notices a half full cup of coffee sitting on the shelf above the coat rack, he drinks it for some reason before entering. Visuals spill into his mind, seen by his eyes, heard by his ears, and groovy cooled by his feet. DJ Rae Rae is in the process of composing her newest beat about not taking any food from the salad bar, or eating the soups.

 

            “If wicky wicky wicky wicky wicky woo, you touch that stew, I will suspend you, wicky wicky wicky woo, or if you eat some crackers with butter I will make sure you do not get to have another, also don’t touch the cucuuuuuuuumbers, wicky woo woo woo.”

            “That was amazing. You should also write one about not throwing my stories away, or spilling things on them, or taking them home, or reading a page of it and then leaving it somewhere where people who haven’t read it yet can’t find it when you forget about it and go home.”

            “Why Hello there, Dan. Please step into my office.”

            “I already did.”

            “Oh, okay, ummm, well this is awkward.”

            “Yea…”

            “Yup.”

            “Did you just interrupt…”

            “What?”

           

            Just before Dan was about to copy and paste what he said earlier in the story the right wall of the office where the computer with all the fun games on it exploded! Eyes glaring, teeth chattering, it was as if she was lost, yearning for something gone now to her grasp.

 

            “I fell out of the envelope.”

            “Martin? That you?”

            “My name is Maria.”

            “He saw your mustache.”

            “This isn’t a mustache, I was eating jelly, it was mustache flavored.”

            “That sounds terrible. Now how are you going to pay for that wall?”

            “She’ll work a double. But, anyway, about interrupting me…”

            “Can’t you both see I neeeeed something here?”

            “Whoa…again with the interrutions.”

            “You want back in the envelope? That’s silly, listen to this new song I just wrote about not bothering the people at the hostess station. Dooooooon’t you not not not sit someone in that chair over there, it is empty and soooo sooo sooo bare, I wish someone was sitting there, could you please make that lady sit there, her watch looks faaaaancy, I wish she was ordering the speciaaaal, because that food is from last week and everyone says we should get rid of it before it goes baaaaad, wicky wicky woo.”

            “Dan, can you help me?”

           

            Just as Dan was about to reply “No” there was a knock on the door to the room with no right wall.

 

            “Hank?”

            “Yea, It’s me. I’m here to fight her this time.”

            “Oh, okay, well, go ahead then.”

 

            Hank glares at DJ Rae Rae, his eyes express his discontent for not having been able to work station 2, or 4, or whatever is considered the best.

 

            “I want Taylor’s Card back.”

            “The card only had a front.”

 

            DJ Rae Rae begins spitting out rhymes as she spins the plates that are sitting upon paper clips on her desk, the sound makes something that someone somewhere might think could possible resemble some type of music of some kind. Hank wants to dance, but becomes even more insulted from all the spit hitting him in the face. His eyes begin to glow red, they begin to burn a glorious ensemble of at least 11 shades of red, maybe 13. Without notice he does something that nobody was expecting, from the back pack upon his back he pulls out an entire DJ kit, whatever that is. He places it in front of himself and it becomes “on”(that’s what the kids are calling it these days).

           

            “Oh, this how it be? Then lets dig it!”

            “What?”

            “That means let’s go…”

            “No, I really don’t think that it does, I think that refers to gardening, or something to do with pogs.”

 

            The leights dim, the floor breaks apart around them, everyone jumps onto the ledges, Dan shoves Maria into a bottle because her complaining was getting annoying, from inside the bottle you can faintly hear her saying “Is this real life?”, nobody replies. Boom,boom,boom,beem,boom,boom,boom,beem,boooooooo,BOOOOOOOOM!!!!!

           

            “Maria! Stop running into the walls of the bottle! It’s making loud ‘booming’ noises.”

 

            DJ Rae Rae glares at Hank, Hank breaks eye contact because he has a scratch on his pelvis. Then the music begins. Dan is on the broken ledge closest to the door, Hank near the shattered wall, and DJ Rae Rae at the desk to the left of the door, each person separated by the broken floor with pits leading to the eternal abyss. From below shoots up blue lights, green lights, red apples, the room becomes devoured in the ambience needed for a DJ battle such as this, it all looks groovy cool, I wish you could see it in person, is that a caterpillar? No, it’s just a centipede, nice shoes though.

           

            “This…this be…this be to the waaaaaaiteeeeeers, this be to the waaaaaiteeeeers, stop taking envelopes, that do not belong to you, this be to the waaaaaaaaiteeeeeeeers, you can carry banquet tables toooooo, its Monday and you’re not doing anythiiiiiiiiiing, check it.”

            Hank nods.

            “Wiggle,wiggle,wiggle,WHACK! I used to have a long tail, but now it’s only half, I used to have a nice van, but now I got this piece ‘o’ crap, and I’m really not sure if I’ll ever even get it back, these stories started off with Nina, but now she’s hardly mentioned, Dan puts himself in most of them, then throws the monkey wrench in, Butterfly Sandwich on a Monday, Peace.”

 

            The floor deteriorates even more, bats shoot out from the abyss, the bats are on fire and fly up onto the ceiling where they freak out and roll about in an attempt to stop burning. DJ Rae Rae stands up, says two words, and drops the mic, Hank looks down, knows he has been defeated, and puts on his jet pack, but before leaving he points at Dan and repeats the victorious words of DJ Rae Rae.

 

            “Banana Hammock.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Credits:

 

Actors in order of what I felt like:

DJ Rae Rae-As written my D.e.e.L

Dan – As written by D.e.e.L

Character assumed to be Chris from the 2nd Hank story-As written by D.e.e.L

Martin/Maria-As written by D.e.e.L

Hank-As Hank

Guy who sometimes answers the phone-As written by D.e.e.L

 

Set design – As Written by D.e.e.L

 

Costume design – As not described by D.e.e.L

 

Refreshments provided by the Imagination of D.e.e.L

 

Bonus scene after the credits:

 

            “So what number story was this?”

            “Twelve.”

            “What?”

            “This was story twelve.”

            “I…I don’t know twelve.”

            “Wait what?”

            “I don’t know twelve.”

            “I don’t know twelve.”

            “I do not know what twelve is.”

            “Uno plus dos?”

            “Card came plus dice?”

            “Uno plus dos equals tres which rhymes with face, which might be a clue to finding out what twelve is.”

            “I don’t have time to look for clues; I have a life…sometimes.”

            “Let’s just call this the 11+1nth story then.”

            “D.e.e.L already put that in the title.”

            “Who’s D.e.e.L?”

            “I don’t know D.e.e.L…”

            “What’s twelve?”

            “Did you just interrupt me?”

            “Just in time to end this beginning.”

            “What?”

            “End the beginning…”

            “Is D.e.e.L twelve?”