Epic Story

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Epic Story was a story by a guy. It had a lot of characters who did lots of stuff. Stoners the world over looked to it for "rad trips" and the like. Fake intellectuals liked to think that it was really deep and stuff. It had metaphors. It was written much more betterfully than this. Here it is:



This article is one of Illogicopedia's EPICs.


O muse, muse me. Bless me with your creativity[1]. Thus shall it start, the truth, the way, the light. May the force be with me, no longer with yourself, you hog, you attention whore[2]. All "look at me I have people asking me for inspiration all the time." Well, let me tell you something, billy-bob-bub-bitch, I won't have it anymore! I retract my request for your inspiration! See this wad of phlegm? You know, the one on the floor? THAT'S WHAT I THINK OF YOU!


AH! Oh Jesus[3]....oh man, I'm sorry! Yeesh, take your request back, it's not like I need it.





Yes I do, O muse! Smile upon me oh muse, and shield me from the accusations of homosexuality stemming from this oh-so-inspired-yet-really-stupid-sounding language. Save me, muse me, O muse!

Fine, jeez. Take some inspiration, what do I care?[edit]

YES! Oh yeah, oh yeah, you got it, you got it, you got it, you got it! HA! Homer has NOTHING on me now! I got the muse, baby! I'm ready to tell a long-ass story now, and there's nothing you're gonna be able to do about it. Just take that and shove it up your garbage disposal[4]!

Ahem, yes. And so begins the story of my epic.

Greensleeves on the flute with a lute strumming in the background[edit]

A 30-year-old man named George was walking down the street. His last name, as you have seen, was . That's four spaces. He was an eccentric character, with a habit of shouting boo to expectant mothers during one of his characteristic jaunts into the maternity ward. He liked to wear the clothes. They made him feel thin. One day, George (we'll call him "Spacey"[5]) was shouting "BOOGBOOGABOOGA" to a sedated woman of about 57 when he realized that she shouldn't be having a baby. "Booga?" he said, puzzled. Poking and prodding at the woman's stomach, he suddenly heard a large shriek. Pondering the source of it, he wandered out of the room. As he walked away, he noticed the cries of "NURSE, THERE'S A STRANGE WOMAN POKING MY BABY" grow softer as he walked away from the room.

Perplexed, Spacey walked back to the room, where he was promptly tackled by several uncharacteristically buff orderlies, summoned by an uncharacteristically attentive nurse.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked.

"George ," he replied.

"George what?" she asked impatiently as an orderly stabbed Spacey between the third and fourth rib with a machete.

"AARRRRRGGGHGHGHGHGHGH!" he shouted with agony in his eyes.

"OK, Mrs. AARRRRRGGGHGHGHGHGHGH!, care to tell use what exactly you were doing in Mrs. Abram's room?" the nurse spat, obviously mistaking Spacey's large rolls of fat for a bosom and his deep, his James Earl Jones[6]-esque voice for being really ugly, and his interjection of pain and agony for .

"Hmmmmaggahhghhhehflarpl," he groaned in reply.

"WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!" the left orderly screamed, driving the machete deeper into Spacey's torso.

"AARRRRRGGGHGHGHGHGHGH!" Spacey shouted again.

"We've already established that, sir," the nurse said impatiently. "Now, please clean[7] this blood off the floor. Men, you're needed elsewhere. Go."

It was on that floor that George "Spacey" died. In a pool of his own blood, with a woman past childbearing age still screaming for a nurse. He never did find out how she was pregnant. It is only by the grace of third person omniscient narration that we now know that she was actually only 27 and that Spacey was just terrible at guessing age.

That wasn't very epic...[edit]

IT'S BEING TAKEN CARE OF! It's your inspiration[8], you know! Why don't YOU fix it?!?

Because it's your story?[edit]


Of Knifes and Men[edit]

There was once a narrator named George , who was walking down the street. He died in a pool of his own blood. I think that's been discussed already. What wasn't discussed was his ancestor, Sir Galahad of Stratford-on-your-tombstone. Galahad was ashamed of his stupid last name, and thus changed it early in his life to Lawrenceworth, making his full name Sir Galahad Lawrenceworth, Friar of the people and People of the friar, 3rd chancellor to Hashishbergen, and drug connoisseur extraordinaire Fifth Rank. Naturally not wanting to have to type all that out every time we refer to him, and thinking Lawrenceworth is a rather inept name for anyone, we shall call him Spacey.

Spacey was a queer fellow. He took it up the rear several times a moon (?) and liked to yell at sheep when the noontime sun was high. Naturally, these habits got him into a bit of a tiff with the townsfolk, particularly after the former one got him into a bit of trouble with his wife. This is what happened:

"You're gay, aren't you," stated Mrs. Spacey.

"Yes," said Spacey.

"OK. I'll go get my pitchfork," she replied.

"Sounds good," he said, then ran away with limp wrists

And so we come upon Sir Galahad, as fate is ready to deal him his cards.

 Jack           Queen           Five             Twelve            One
  of              of             of                of               of
Spades          Hearts       Jackhammers[10]         Carrots       Lynched-gay

Better luck next time, Spacey!

After that unfortunate hand, Spacey ran into a cave that has conveniently been carved into the hillock. "Hmmm," said Spacey, "I wonder why there's a dark, labyrinth-like cave carved into a hillock near Stratford-on-your-tombstone." Clearly Spacey wasn't too bright, because the cave was actually a catacombs, and the catacombs were haunted, and there were evil spirits devouring his flesh at that very moment. "Wait a minute!" he exclaimed excitedly, "What's a 'labyrinth'?" Then he passed out from all of the evil spirits eating his flesh.

When he woke up, he was dead. Except it wasn't really a "waking up", it was more like not waking up. So he didn't wake up, but he was dead. Aren't semantics fun?

Back to some Greensleeves for a minute here[edit]

Mrs. Lawrenceshire was tired. She had spent all day looking for her gay husband, Governor James McGreevey. I mean Spacey. The second Spacey, that is. The first Spacey hasn't been born yet. We're getting to that part soon, I think. I don't know, this fucking muse is really toying with me today. Anyway, Mrs. Lawrenceshire got home and made herself a Ye Olde Sandwitch and plopped down in her Ye Olde Arms-chair and listened to her Ye Olde Rosemary Clooney Records on her Ye Old Phone-o-graf. As she settled in to Ye Olde Slepe, her Ye Olde Sell Phone doth ringed. On it was a penguin of the Ye Olde variety[11].

"Honk," the penguin said.

"Indeed, I do believe it is past the noon hour. It's quite dark outside, yes," she replied.

"Honk," the penguin queried her.

"No, I most certainly will not put out for you."



Suddenly a time vortex opened and swallowed Mrs. Lawrenceshire whole.

If I may interrupt for a minute[edit]


WHOOSH! goes the time vortex[edit]

Mrs. Lawrenceshire landed on the streets of New York City at the same clock time that she left. Her clothes had become tattered as she traveled several centuries into the future of society; the bustling metropolis that is the Crack Whore Sector of Manhattan. Above her, another, red-colored vortex opened up, sucked her in, and spat her out in prostitute clothing. She called them Ye Olde Skankswares after her bitch of a neighbor.

Suddenly she was in a hotel room with a particularly pudgy and sweaty businessman.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

Not wanting to reveal her true identity lest her husband be alive and she be stoned, she gave this name, "Gwendolyn ." Thus, she changed her name back to .

"What a weird name," he said. Then he did what he came for. When he was done he said smugly, "Honk," and left.


I'm a FEMALE muse! There's absolutely NO way that I inspired you to write that story. It must have been one of my idiot brothers

Actually, it was your husband. He doesn't like you.[edit]

A couple of weeks later, Gwendolyn took a Ye Olde Pregnansie Test and found out that a little bundle of joy was coming her way. She had found a new job working at Macy's as a cashier and therefore wasn't a whore anymore. But despite her lost job opportunity as a mistress, she very well liked this new world she was in.

"It's very convenient," she said to herself in one of her frequent schizophrenic episodes, "not to have to say Ye Olde before everything."

Such was the way of her life until the time came for her to give birth to the child. She went to the hospital (which she called "the midwives' brothel") and was admitted into the Knocked-Up Ward. It was here that she experienced the scare of her life. It came at drugging time.

"And what's your name?" the nurse asked.

"Gwendolyn," she said in reply.

"And what's your birthday, Gwendolyn?"

"Erm..." She didn't know how to answer that. So she just screamed and hoped for the best.

"OK, good. We're gonna give you some medicine, OK?" Gwendolyn just nodded.

Soon she noticed that a strange woman was wandering into and out of her room. Finally, she came up to Gwendolyn and yelled "BOOGBOOGABOOGA!" Gwendolyn didn't think anything of it, as she thought she was just having another "happy vision" like that time in Ye Olde Opium Den. But, when the strange woman began poking Gwendolyn's belly and asking "Booga?" Gwen knew something was wrong. So she screamed.

The strange woman perked up and walked out of the room.


Suddenly out of nowhere two mafiosos appeared. They changed into orderlies' uniforms quickly, punched their palms, and said "eeyyyyy, we'll take care of it." They joined the nurse and walked outside. Then Gwendolyn fell asleep.


I does! I does I does I does I does I does! Isn't that great?


Next thing she knew, Gwendolyn was holding a baby in her arms. She named him George because no reason. But then, her Ye Olde Sell Phone rang again.

"Damn thing, I thought I'd turned it offeth," she said before answering it, "Hello?"

"Honk," the penguin said.

"Oh shiteth," she replied.

"Honk," the penguin answered forcefully. Suddenly, a time vortex opened up and carried the baby out of this dimension. He was taken back 30 years and swapped for another baby, which dropped into Mrs. Lawrenceshire's arms. She couldn't have cared less, and never knew. The former baby grew up with hippies, and the latter in a pseudo-medieval household. Both turned out OK, but George ended up dying at age 30 of a stab wound. But that, friends, is a story for another day.


  1. Oh noes, a rhyme scheme!
  2. Wait, whore doesn't rhyme with light. What the hell?
  3. That's hay-soos; the author is here referring to his gardener, Jesus Gutierrez de la Mancha Quixote Mexicano the Quttroth. He's a pretty scary dude.
  4. Traditionally thought of to mean "ass", though some idiots thought it meant "garbage disposal" for a while.
  5. After his eccentricity and relatively unusual last name, NOT in any way related to the actor with the large foreskin. Er, forehead.
  6. The list of people whose voices I'd love to have: James Earl Jones, David Attenborough, Don LaFontaine, more to come
  7. Because it's a woman's job to clean, right? YOU ARE SO SEXIST!
  8. Uncertain what "inspiration" the author refers to, as this story is clearly uninspired.
  9. Hey, he's not wrong
  10. If paired with a king of Hearts, the Five of Jackhammers wins you several gronks in the game of Pokah.
  12. Oh LOl ThaT wAS sO fUnNY!