The Michael Jackson Experience

My newly bought cow was driving like a dream. Her windshield wipers washing the rain away like it was nothing. Then I realized that it wasn’t raining and turned the wipers off. The sound of her mooing as we drove along the beautiful countryside was just shy of being heaven. This was the last day that anyone would ever know I existed, because about 34.5 seconds later I was suddenly being lifted above the clouds and into a flying ship of some kind. As the hatch opened and me and old Bessie were entered into the mysterious ship, only one thought ran through my head, and that was, “Oh my God! What are they serving for dinner?” There’s also the common, “Are they going to kill me?” question running through also, but I hadn’t eaten in days that I really wasn’t worrying about that. As the doors closed behind me and my cow landed on a hard metallic looking floor, a strange human-like figure began walking towards me. I wasn’t as scared as I should have been, because I was expecting some creature with 20 or more tentacles. Was I wrong or what. As the mysterious abductor walked into the light I immediately freaked out. I would have easily loved to be abducted by anyone but this man. He said, “Hi,” and then started singing “Beat it!” in his horrible voice. That’s right. I had been abducted by an alien. His name: Michael Jackson.

“Wait, your not Bill Clinton,” he said, and I was tossed out like any non-celebrity would be from a garbage can in Hollywood.

I was thrown out, cow and all. Luckily I landed in a military base, and even luckier, they were all vegetarians. They immediately asked me for my reason as to why I was there. I told them, and they quickly got me the therapy I needed. Four years later, here I am, finally done with the therapy. I think I’m scared for life, though.

My therapist had recommended that I join the circus, because that’s what he said he had done when he was my age. Then again, I think that’s what he said; it’s kind of hard to understand monkeys. Well, it didn’t matter. I was never really fond of elephants, so I decided to join the amazing crew at Burger King. Seeing that I could read, write, and most of all, speak English, I was immediately promoted to manager.

I worked at the Burger King for the next couple of years until I painfully discovered that the milk used really came from rats. That’s just wrong and disgusting. The moment I revealed this secret, I immediately finished my chocolate milk and quit.

The next few years of my life were tough. I was stalked by an eleven-foot tall walrus, and had to enter the witness protection agency (WITPROAG, as we like to call it); I was then forced to change my name to Seymour Buts. This didn’t last very long, mainly because people found it funny to make fun of my name. So I changed it back to what it is now (I’m not allowed to tell you). After I escaped the walrus, I got a job as a lawyer. That, too, didn’t last very long. I guess it’s because of my ambition to tell the truth.

After I lost my job as a school janitor for eating the school’s food, I became a professional poet. However, when people started seeing the remarkable resemblance between my poems and some Beatles songs, I decided to call it quits. During my years as a bum, I earned almost enough money to buy the state of New Hampshire, but blew it all on a shopping spree in McDonalds. My new obesity led me to a whole new look at a career. I drove to Japan and became a Sumo Wrestler, and then lost all my weight because I’m allergic to seafood.

On my drive home, I discovered the meaning of life, as well as other useful information. But the one thing that pushed all of these ideas out of my head was one man and his nose. Michael Jackson still haunted my dreams. In order to get him out of my head, I decided to go to the first Chinese restaurant and get a job writing fortunes for the cookies. “You will eat another cookie soon.” “ Beware of the poison.” “Death kills.” As you can see, I’m a natural…however, they didn’t think the same and fired me after I wrote, “The Cubs will win the World Series.”

Well, now here I am, writing a story about my dull life. Just think, I could have been a telemarketer, or even a pharmacist. But I can’t, and all because of the day Michael Jackson abducted me. If you have learned nothing from my story, I will say that neither have I, and have a nice day.