The Two and a Half Men Lost Episode
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This is a fictional joke story written by Schizima. Don't take it seriously, fellas.
I never had a son. I always wanted one, but the truth is, I spent too many years at the VHS factory rattlin' away at the whose-whatits and the box converters. That's tech talk for stuff you don't understand. The VHS is a complicated device. In the wrong hands, it can ruin a life. In the right hands, it can create an infomercial, family dog video, or even a crab snuff film. Snuff film is industry code for videos about people who have the sniffles. A great way to cure your weekend blues is with a case of the sniffles.
Anyway, I had been working in the backroom when my boss fired me. "It's been 30 years, Diego." He said. My name was Diego. "I can't keep this charade up anymore. VHS is out of style, and so are you- your life is over, we're shipping your job overseas, and to be honest, if I could I'd send you there as well because I've never particularly liked you. No offense, but how fucking hard is it to turn a screw."
That was my job. My lifeblood. The reason I "be" at all. So little jimmy and susan nextdoorsman could fill their sparkling apple eyes with the next noid pizza funmercial or family iggy the Olympic torch whatsit. But now that was all over. And I, never having had had a child, a wife, or even a cactus, felt a void that all the VHS tapes in the world couldn't click shut. I demanded that my boss give me a contract termination package for my time and trouble. "Oh. Yeah here take this." He said.
I stared down at the VHS tape in my hands. "The Lost Episode of 2.5 Men." Dear. God. It sucked that I had lost my job, but to be honest getting a VHS of my all-time favorite program was more than a welcome reward. I knew Mr. Ballfonda wouldn't forget my birthday.
I rushed home, ran home as fast as my legs could carry me, avoiding several tiny crabs and squirrels that dotted the coastline. It was time to watch "The Lost Episode of Two and a Half Men." My favorite show in the future, I bet. I fried up a fiesta bowl, boiled a lobster and bit down on some baby corn as I prepared for the incredible VHS show. I pressed "play" and started out, enjoying the intro theme song. This was a great show.
Charlie Harper walked out.
"Well, why don't you scramble eggs on my dick and accuse me of 9/11." Charlie winced. His eyes were blood red. "Hamburger helper cures cancer. I've been eating it for years and I haven't- wait, I feel a lump. Oh wait, that's not cancer, it's a clancer, the villain from classic N64 Treasure title mischief makers." I was shocked and horrified at the thought of Charlie playing N64, let alone the treasure classic Mischief makers. I had to check the mischief makers message board to verify, and the account "notcharlie" was VERY vocal. I went back to the tape.
"Well shave my balls and call me molasses. First name mo. Second name lasses. Because I'm smoother than pancakes on a coke snorting hooker. And by pancakes, I mean breasts. And by hooker, I mean your mother. And by your mother, I mean a walrus. Your mother is a goddamn walrus." Charlie starting hooking up the N64. He was...setting up a copy of Goldeneye. Charlie smiled and the camera zoomed into his face.
"I like my women like I like my coffee." He winked. "Hot, black, and poured all over my cock." He poured a piping hot mug of Folger's all over his privates, screaming as he got third degree burns all over his cock, presumably. He was trying to hand the controller to the coffee that was spilled on his cock, knowing that goldeneye was a two player game. But that wasn't it at all. That wasn't a woman, that was a beverage. "A woman's like a beverage." Charlie said, sitting down, starting to cry. He was reading my mind? "I'm in your head, Charlie." He said to me, telepathically. My name wasn't Charlie. Oh wait, I had surround sound, and someone had set it up so that if you forgot, you might think Charlie was in your head. "A woman is like a beverage." He repeated. "You undress that sexy illuminum, suck the foam off the head, and by 12 PM noon she's laying on her side, crumpled up like a tin can because you've been having sex with a coca cola can." Charlie started having sex with a cola can and I shut the tape off.
"MY NAME'S DON SHOVEL!" He screamed angrily. His eyes got a hypnotic glow, and the set started to collapse around him. This wasn't a real house, it was just a fake set full of fake furniture, ferns and potted plants. But the most fake and wooden thing...was the acting. 3/10.
This was just a waste of time, I mean I was scared. Spooked. Even a little chilled, but I'm not an easily scared man. I didn't spend the better half of the last century working for a VHS company to put food on the table but to be left a broken down mess. Kids had moved onto DVDs- cheap plastic circles of heartlessness, they spin and spin but they never end. But the VHS? You have to rewind it. You rewind and smell the plastic. You lick and taste the tape. You rewind it so that blockbuster doesn't charge you a fee. You don't rewind a DVD. They're so fucking heartless. You never know if anyone ever watched it- and what if it's scratched? Worthless. But I have more scratches on my coding. I have scratches on my heart. And there's not a goddamn speed buffer in the world to clean that pain offa my busted groove lines- and it's a Justin Bieber DVD you bought because this life is meaningless and he looks like the son you never had, the son you'd take to the ballpark and buy hot dogs and cold, cold glasses of women
Oh- oh yeah the tape. Sorry. Charlie was attempting to perform autofellatio on himself. A failed attempt at oral is better than none, I suppose. Or so I thought. He had superglued his lips during the commercial break, and now his own cock was permanently glued to his mouth. He rolled around the set painfully and did the crab walk, attempting to call his agent, but incapable of forming words with his own dick in his mouth.
I felt my spine begin to tingle. The twist was coming. The doorbell rang, but Charlie didn't open it. A native inuit Malaysian crab fisherman was at the door, hook ready, smiling and leering. "Sorry officer, I suppose I committed the crime of keeping it real." Charlie couldn't talk, so his disembodied voice didn't make any sense.
Or so I thought. Charlie began to scream. "PEEL MY SHELL AT TACO BELL! 2.99 FOR AN ALASKAN CRAB SPINE! ALL THE CHEDDAR QUESO YOU CAN SPEND WITH YOUR PESOS!
Then something really shocking happened.
"TO HELL WITH THE BELL THE CRAB MENACE WILL RISE AGAIN!" Several baby crabs began to crawl up to the porch of the..."set" and the Malaysian crab fisherman was steaming mad. "Looks like his clams were steamed." Charlie said, and the audience started laughing very loudly, even though crabs and clams are different animals, though I don't think that this was something unsettling, I just think that this show was never really funny. .
A tiny baby pincer crab crawled up to Charlie, but it was too late. Charlie was dead. The crab began to cry. I didn't know that crabs could shed tears, but I felt my heart melt like a werther's original as the baby crab shed baby tears and sparkled with puppy dog eyes. "da da-" Cried the baby crab in a baby crab voice, with baby crab dipping sauce made from baby crab tears. The tiny pincer claw touched Charlie's cheek. Cold. Dead. Behind him, that other guy was dead also. You know, that guy from the show. He had been there the whole time, but it wasn't apparent until the crabs moved the sofa, evidently building a makeshift raft to cross the seas, which made no sense because they were crabs, but hell, this show was never meant to be well written. It was meant to move your heart and sing in the depths of your soul. And it did. I began to cry, the first time I had in years. My heart's foundations cracked apart like dead ants and dorito crumbs glued to the back of my couch cushions. 20 years of pain and sadness washed away by a couple dead guys and a small battalion of crabs with tiny claws and golden hearts. If I was part of the Academy Awards, I would nominate every crab, fern and human on this set, dead or alive, they all deserved posthumous awards and a pat on the back for good measure.
That was when the real twist came. Remember that kid from the show? He was cut in half. A torso. I get it. Two and a "half men" because he was cut in half. That was the twist. Big fucking deal. I was more scared of the crabs. These were some evil and industrious crabs. They began to chant. "Two and a half men! Two and a half men!" The VHS started to expel smoke and my surround sound system started to sound a little different. Oh my god- the crabs weren't chanting. THEY WERE INSIDE THE SOUND SYSTEM! I saw a tiny pincer claw peel away the thin veneer of fabric over the boom bass circle as tiny crab eyes poked out, menacing.
"TWO AND A HALF MEN! TWO AND A HALF MEN! THE CRAB MENACE WILL RISE AGAIN!" Oh my god oh my fucking god. I quickly called the police. "Officer!" I screamed. "There are crabs coming to kill me!" The cop just laughed. "Well son, I guess I better get my bibs and butter sauce!" He winked over the phone and hung up, laughing away like a typical police officer of the modern era. Lazin' on the job. "Well." The Malaysian crab fisherman said. "They don't call 'em bigs for nothin'. OINK OINK OINK!"
The crab fisherman had broken into my door as I fell on the floor. He hissed, chortled and began stealing my electronics as the crabs assisted him. The crabs had magical powers, and assembled a human form. Next to him, the Malaysian crab fisherman smiled. "I cancelled your life, bitch." He pulled down the Malaysian santa beard, revealing that he was actually Charlie. Oh oh what a meme, real fuckin' clever. Why don't you take that, your no-doz pogs, dunkaroos and the numa numa guy and fuck off to 2009. Rumors say, if you listen carefully, you can hear Charlie's disembodied voice whispering inside your own head to this very day.
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