I'm writing a book. I know I didn't even finish my last one, but that wasn't working out. I think it's great, but I want to see what all of you think. My humor is a bit strange when I write. Like on my retard comics, I just use old short stories I wrote before. I want to be a writer one day...anyway, I only have almost a chapter done. Enjoy my stuff until the weight of the world crushes my spirit.

I wake up in a haze, lying in the sand. The smell of seawater and my own urine entered my nostrils, with my brain informing me that I am smelling seawater and my own urine. I don’t know where I am, but I do know that I was far away from home.
Actually, I don’t know about that. For all I know, home could be right behind me…
Nope, not behind me. But there was a man there, walking over to me. He comes up and asks if I am ok. I get nervous and decided to confuse the man by pretending I am a sand crab.
“What are you doing?”
“I then notice that I was narrating out-loud again. I shut up immediately.”
The kind man then reaches out to help the injured one up.
“Here,” he said. “Let me help you up.”
“No.” said the injured one.
“What? Why is that?”
“Your fingernails are filthy.” The injured one responded. “Go clean them and then you may help me.”
The nice man looked a bit taken aback by this statement. He had always thought he had excellent finger hygiene, but he wanted to help this poor individual, so he walked back home, clean his fingernails, and then walked back to the injured man and showed him his new, clean nails. And with that, he reached out his hand again in order to help the injured one.
“You forgot to do your thumbs.” Said the injured one.
The nice man sighed. He walked back home, cleaned his thumbnails, and also brushed his teeth and combed his hair, just in case. He returned to the scene, fully cleanse. He reached out once again, “I’m not cleaning anything else.” He grumbled.
The injured one grasped onto the nice man’s hand and allowed him to help him up.
“Took you long enough,” hissed the injured one, with no intention to thank the nice man.
“You’re welcome!” said the nice man, sarcastically.
“I didn’t thank you. Didn’t you read the narration?”
“Yes, I did. I was being sarcastic.”
“But isn’t sarcasm illegal in this state?”
“No, it certainly is not. That would be a silly law.”
“I could’ve sworn it was.”
“Perhaps you just imagined it.”
“Perhaps.”

The nice man carried the injured one to his humble abode. When they got there, the nice man laid the injured one on his futon and spoon-fed him a steaming bowl or raspberry porridge. Then they played canasta all night until the sun came up.
The two were having such fun together, but they still didn’t know anything about eachother.
“You know, we still have not exchanged eachother’s monikers.” The nice man said. “Let me be first to introduce myself. My name is Steven Stevens. What’s yours?”
“I have no name,” replied the injured one.
“Can I call you Frank?” asked Steven.
“Sure, I don’t see why not.” said Frank.
“There are other things that I would enjoy knowing, Frank.”
“Ask away,”
“The first thing that I would like to know is: What is your favorite colour?”
“Turquoise.”
“Now may I ask why you’re naked?”
“No you may not.”
“Very well. But I would still like to know everything else. You seem like such an interesting person.”
“That I am, Steven. That I am.”
There were many minutes of silence.
“Well?” asked Steven.
“Well what?”
“I was under that influence that you were going to tell me your life story.”
“Why don’t you just read my biography?”
And with that, Frank took out a large book out and handed to Steven.
“Where were you keeping that?”
“Don’t ask.”
He didn’t. He just opened the book and began to read.

Chapter One

This story is about a young man. He is totally awesome. I wish I was as awesome as he is, but I’m not. I’m just some stupid narrator. A big, fat, ugly narrator who smells and has no friends. Anyway, even after all the cool things that man has accomplished, he still does not have a name. So for the sake of this story, he will be known as Bill Cosby.
Now, Bill Cosby’s life was full of obstacles and other various things from day one. His mother was a Swedish crack whore who came to America to become a famous Yaz Billitar. Later she realized that Yaz Billitaring was made-up and it never existed and never will. She was quite poor, so she had to sell her legs for a plane ticket.
Even after giving up large quantities of her body, she only got a coach seat.

She had been living in America for several years and had been selling her sex to strange men off the streets every day since she got there. But one day she noticed that she had a baby inside of her body. She had no idea who the father could be. There were 876 different possibilities. She tried to abort the baby with many different methods, such as: hitting her stomach really hard with a blunt object, falling down a flight of stairs, and of course the classic untangled wire hanger.
But none of those worked because nine months later, out came a little boy. She gave birth to him behind a 7-11, and she had to use a rusty fork to cut the umbilical cord.
All the times she attempted to abort this child may of failed, but they did manage to physically mutilate his appearance.
Twelve seconds later, Bill’s mother was hit by a meteorite and died instantly. The force of the impact threw the baby across the alley, causing him to hit his head against a brick wall. He lost 20% of his brain. Bill survived the first few months of his life by burrowing inside of his mother’s twisted corpse, and feasting on her sweet, sweet inners. After she became no more than skeletal remains, Bill made refuge into the sewers and started living off society’s excess. And small breeds of dogs. He lived this life of his for many years until he was adopted. Adopted by an old man by the name of Mr. Oldman.
He was strutting down the street on day, on his way to the catheter store, until he noticed a small boy, feeding upon a Boston terrier. Mr. Oldman fell in love with him instantly. And with that, he took young Bill under his wing. After Mr. Oldman declawed him, he and Bill started to develop a keen friendship. Mr. Oldman and Bill were the best of friends, but whenever Bill did something naughty, Mr. Oldman had to give him a big, sweaty spanking. Those kept Bill out of a lot of trouble. But they still loved eachother. Infact, they were like two peas in a pod. They were. Really. I can prove it. At least that was true until Bill’s late teens rolled around. That’s about the time when Mr. Oldman became senile. And not funny senile either. It creeped the crap out of Bill, like how he would force -feed him Windex or chase him around the house with a knife, screaming: “I’m gonna catch me a snipe!”
But that all ended a few months later when Mr. Oldman was run over by a zamboni.
He was quickly sent over to a hospital, and Bill quickly rushed over to see his father figure’s last minutes not being dead. Mr. Oldman noticed Bill and urinated with glee.
“I’m so glad you’re here, I just wanted to tell you… before I died… you have been like that son that I never had.”
“Thank you.” Said Bill.
“Well, I actually do have a son, but I disowned him for being a queer.”
There was then some awkward silence.
“Anyway, I want you to know that when I parish, you shall be inheriting all of my riches.”
Bill’s eyes then magically transformed into dollar signs as he did an Irish jig around the room.
“STOP DOING THAT!” screamed Mr. Oldman. “YOU’LL ATTRACT LEPRECHAUNS!”
Mr. Oldman took a deep breath and collected himself. “Oh, seeing you this happy really strengthens up my heart. I feel like a 60 year old again. Looks like you will not be inheriting my riches after all—“
BANG!
Bill had shot Mr. Oldman with an elephant gun. The doctor walked in.
“What the hell happened here?” he yelled.
“His head exploded.” Lied bill.
“Oh, I hate when that happens!”
Bill gave a giggle without the doctor noticing (he was too busy stealing Mr. Oldman’s Rolex).
Bill thought that he would be receiving the money right after the funeral, but that was untrue. It seems that Mr. Oldman put together a little quest for Bill. Instead of getting a big cash flow, Bill got a note from the late Mr. Oldman. It read:

Dear son,
If you are reading this then I have died, or you have broken into my safe, you little thief!
Anyway, I must make this quick. I just took some Viagra and I got a Malaysian prostitute in the other room.
I have no other family so you shall be receiving all my money. The fun part is that it’s located in a secret location and you must find it with nothing but the clothes on your back. You must leave immediately and use only your wits. So this might be a challenge for you. LOL!!! I’m such a bitch!
You will be given an array of clues to help you on the way. The clue is:
An abandoned warehouse in Phoenix. I hope you will be able to solve that one.

Goodbye forever,

Daddy.

Bill didn’t like this. He just wanted to settle down with all the money and buy a zebra for no typical reason. But he had to do what he had to do. And he had to do this.
So Bill put down a loan for an African elephant and started on his journey to Phoenix.
He rode Jumbo for several miles, wondering why he didn’t just take his car.
He didn’t bring any money either. That didn’t seem necessary at the time, but every hour it became more and more clear that it is. Three day dragged by without foor, water, not shelter. He was hungry and dying or hunger. His elephant had already died. Bill was very desperate so he had to eat Jumbo, and after you name an animal, it’s harder to eat it. Bill knew that from experience. But night was falling so he had to gain energy before the wolverines came out to hunt. Bill took out his keys and slowly sliced off a piece of Jumbo’s trunk. He took a heaping mouthful. It wasn’t half bad, and the mucus made it really tender. After Bill’s stomach was full of fresh elephant meat, he was ready to continue on with his big adventure. But first he took a short nap.
One hour later, a kindly old man pulled up in a beat up jalopy and stopped to see if Bill was all right.
“You okay, sonny?” asked the old man. He threw a heavy thing at his head to wake him up.
“Huh? What?… Uh, yeah I’m fine. Could you please give me a ride?”
“What is the magic word?”
“But I already said please.”
“Please ain’t the magic word, dummy. It’s abra kadabra, but I’ll give you a ride anyway.”
“Thanks,” said Bill, as he entered the jalopy.

That's all I got for now. Tell me what you think.

All I read was writing a book.

But it showed promise.

After reading it again, I notice some spelling errors. I'll fix those right now.

It was a dark and stormy night. Cold sheets of wind-driven rain lashed against the barely moonlit landscape. It brought a relentless, drenching torrent of water that swept away the fallen leaves and pushed anything in it's path to the edges of the barren trees or jagged hillocks that reached up from the muddy earth.

Suddenly, a shot rang out!

Uh... that's all I got.

:-/

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I wanted my half in the middle and I wound up on the edge.

Boinky, you have one hell of an imagination...
I just have one question... what do you have against Bill Cosby?

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“It is only with the heart that one sees rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” - The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (1945)

I really don't know.

He wouldn't let Boinky join his junk yard band.

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Poop.