The Blog of Dabido (the Baka one). Everything in this blog is copyrighted. Copyright 2004, 2005, 2006 by D. Stevenson.

14 July, 2006

Superman - Handbag Snatcher [PARTE THREE]

Now, having no earthly step parents, Clarke was left on his own. Well, not entirely alone. He had the cows, the gremlins and Jor-L to keep him company. Child Welfare Services [CWS] dropped by to take him to soem foster parents. The conversation went something like this: CWS Person: Hello Clarke. I'm here to take you to your new foster home. *PTTOOOOOOH* Bernadette: MOOOoooooOOOOOoooooOOOOoooooOOOOoooooo! *SPLAT* *CRUNCH* CWS Person: ARRRGH! A Cow has just broken every bone in my body. Bernadette: I'm Okay everyone. Nothing broken. I'm fine. CWS Person: Oh My Gooodnesss, I've gone delusional. I think the cow istalking to me. Gremlin 1: hee hee hee, let's set fire to the person! Gremlin 2: hee hee hee, I've got the matches. CWS Person: Oh great, now I'm halucinating little green monsters. Clarke: Bernadette, back to the barn. Guys, don't set fire to the person. Help me mount them on the front of my pick-up truck. We're going into town! And so it was, that the Child Welfare person was mounted on the front of the truck and driven around town like some poor deer which had been shot by red necks. 'Kiss my scaly green butts humans,' screamed Gremlin number one who's name happened to be Harold. Not that he's that important to the story. Clarke drove the truck around the streets of Smallethorpe, hoping it would impress some of the girls. He pulled into the drive through of the local MacGreasy's for a burger or two. 'Hey, Lana!' Clarke said into the intercom. 'I'll have two Double Greasy Burgers, a large shake and fried potato chips, because it's about time us American's learned that not all fried potatoes are friggin' FRENCH FRIES!' 'Clarke? Is that you?' asked Lana. 'I heard about the terrible accident with your parents. Are you doing Okay?' 'He's friggin' distrort girlie,' called Harold. 'Get yer nickers off and get in the back of the truck.' 'Who was that?' asked Lana shocked. 'Um! He's just some drunk biker I picked up at the local roadhouse,' said Clarke, who was trying hard to impress Lana. 'Don't listen to him. He's been drinking.' 'Clarke, I'm worried about you,' said Lana. 'Worried enough to get in the back of the truck?' asked Harold. 'Don't listen to him, Lana,' pleaded Clarke. 'Clarke, I think you're keeping your emotions bottled up,' said Lana. 'I'm worried you're going to do something stupid.' 'Don't worry, Lana,' replied Clarke. 'I'd never do anything stupid.' 'Hey, Clarke?' asked Harold. 'Want to really impress the chick? Try this white powder stuff your father used to sell.' 'White powder?' adked Clarke. 'I don't remember Jonathan selling any white powder!' 'Sure, he used to make it out that back out of those poppies he used to grow. You don't think he made money selling milk did you?' 'Hmmm, I do seem to remember a lot of poppies being grown.' And with that Clarke took a big whif of Jonathan's funny white powder.