Pointless Rampage Jackson

EPIC

This article is one of Illogicopedia's EPICs.

6:00 AM

That's what it said on his birth certificate. First name Pointless (Pointy- as his close friends would always call him), middle name Rampage, and last name Jackson. Mr. Jackson lived in a one-person flat in Boston, Massachusetts, a city filled with grumpy people and ridiculous traffic patterns that only serve to make the people grumpier. It's a city where you're more likely to get punched in the face by a stranger than smiled at. It's a city where everyone's on a pointless rampage, there is no empathy, and there is no mercy.

Pointless's alarm rang. His eyes burst open and he saw his ceiling, for he always slept on his back. He thought it was good practice for when he'd have to lie on his back in a coffin for eternity. Every morning the first thing Pointless saw was the vomit stain on the ceiling above him. Pointless had a chronic case of PVS (Projectile Vomit Syndrome). The sight of the dripping vomit stain provoked Pointless to vomit all over his ceiling, and the stain would grow. It was a vicious cycle. Wiping the spittle and vomit from his lips, Pointless crawled out of bed, grabbed his still ringing alarm, and furiously threw it out the window. It crashed on the streets below him, and he heard an altercation erupt between two individuals on the sidewalk. Obscenities were exchanged, and several gunshots were fired. The yelling abruptly ended. Pointless sighed, left his bedroom, and walked straight into his breadroom.

Pointless turned on the light to his breadroom, a pantry filled with nothing but bread and breadlike products, and started tearing loaves of bread apart while grunting and cursing. "Fucking fuck you, you fucking rye bread," he muttered while grinding his teeth. After about ten minutes of angry bread time, Pointless walked into his kitchen and began to brew some coffee. He hadn't yet put on any clothes. Upon grabbing the coffee pot, Pointless started urinating all over the contents of his refrigerator. "SHIT!" he shouted, "I CAN'T EAT THIS SHIT NOW!" He violently tore off the door to his refrigerator and tossed it across his kitchen with brute-like force. "FUCK!" he yelled. He again grabbed the coffee pot, but then bashed it on his skull while wailing like a goddamn banshee. He grabbed two fistfuls of his own hair and started tugging on his scalp. He successfully yanked out his hair along with much of his skin. He was bleeding profusely from his head and could hardly see. "AAHHHGHH," he gasped. He punched a hole in the wall, breaking six fingers, took the dish towel off its rack, tied it around his nether regions like a crude loincloth, and was out the door. "NUUUNNNGGG!" he shouted upon meeting the mailman in the hallway stuffing a bunch of junk into his mailbox. He roundhouse kicked the mailman in the jaw knocking out several teeth and rendering him unconscious. "JESUS. AHG!" Pointless said as he hurled himself down the stairs and then walked into the streets.

6:30 AM

The door was a problem for Pointless. His six broken, battered fingers were only able to wiggle in odd directions, and his other hand was occupied with his favorite cocktail, a Housing Rampage. Muttering "tabarnak" under his tongue, he consumed the foul beverage in a single swig, tossed the antique beer Stein casually at the night watchman crawling [up] the basement stairs and sauntered dauntingly onto the street, knocking over two young women and forcing beef jerky down a baby's throat, until he entered the Fenns.

The Sox were playing that evening,but he didn't care. He had potatoes on his mind. A noisy gathering of MBTA employees caught his interest. They were passing blunts and 40s around, singing elaborate Indonesian folk songs about how dad never bathes anymore, and left handed steam fitters were complaining about how dead groundhogs were piling up.

His attention on the group, he almost missed the ponderous tire salesman bearing down on him with a rickshaw loaded with amphorae full of amfo. "Not this shit again", he thought, as he loaded his Bat Fuck Moped with bat fuck graphite Bat loads. With massive strength drawn from adrenaline and absinthe he lifted the Moped weapon system singlehandedly, assumed a prone firing [position] and caressed the trigger.

Tirin quickly, the tire salesman squeamishly pronounced his murderous intent and charged wholehoggedly. Pointless let fly 178 grams of finely powdered carbon battery at 884 meters per second, impacting salesman, rickshaw and high explosive payload in a circle approximately 14 feet in diameter. The resultant explosion was disappointing, in that it was nonexistent. Bonehead circular product trader had neglected adding kerosene to the now proven dud. The rickshaw sustained little damage but the driver was dead dead dead. It turns out he was allergic to carbon, and died from instantaneous anaphylaxis.

7:00 AM

Boredom, boredom, boredom. All he ever saw. Su jale's ri s? aie ai netium. Soon, the Green Weasels were driving down the highway at 97 km/h, he shouted, 'Rye bread! Rye bread!' So the poodle saw that, I must bet.

Must was it the swarthy clean givers that showed the policies that expire to illogicality, the night man saw it. Jackson quickly drank about 500mL of Tabasco, then he left the house.

Driving at about 50 km/h, it was boredom, at least for the first ten minutes, then the I-95 disappeared and converted into a river. Fnurdletoot.

7:04 AM

"Well that was a weird hallucination," Pointy said to himself, "Green Weasels, Tabasco, and the metric system..." He took out a cigarette and lit it realizing he had just assassinated some minority riding a rickshaw. He looked around. No one seemed to notice. Great! It was time to get to his place of work, DonderThumb Inc. Pointy was a full time employee whose job it was to fix the copy machine. The copy machine was down for most of the day and usually only operated properly for the first ten to twelve minutes of the workday before it broke. Pointy would spend the rest of the day trying to fix it for the next morning. Naturally, such a job was extremely frustrating and contributed very much to his... anxiety issues. Pointless walked towards the subway and on the way grabbed the roach from the stoner MBTA employees and shoved it in one of their eyes. The employee yelled in agony, but Pointless Rampage Jackson was in a rush and couldn't stick around to enjoy the man's pain. Instead, he hurled himself down the stairs and onto the back of an old lady slowly and meticulously making her way down to the subway. He tackled her fiercely, and both of them went tumbling down the rest of the flight of concrete stairs. Once they reached the bottom, Pointless stood up and brushed the dirt off his shirt. The old lady, however, did not stand up. She didn't even move.

Pointless was on time for his train. Shoving a half dozen individuals out of his way, (one of whom fell into the railway and was promptly flattened in a red spray) Pointless was the first one into the car, and before anyone else could board, he grabbed a railing, yanked it from its fasteners and used it to impale a passenger in the doorway. Everyone else stepped over the corpse and silently boarded.

Several stops and six casualties later, Pointless had reached his stop. As soon as the doors opened, he sprinted for the exit like a monstrous linebacker from hell that hated the world and all who inhabit it. Upon reaching street level, he made a beeline for his office of employment.

8:00 AM

"Late again, Jackson"? Pointy's Marine drill sergeant looking boss, pouting like a princess having her nipples buffed at a car wash. "You magnificent bastard, I do love you, you know"? Having been recently joined in holy macaroni to a gaggle of livid thespians over the course of the last four months, Pointy was sore from intensive exposure to jello ray equipment. He had all the excuses in the world today.

Behemoth frogs sang Broadway show tunes as thoughts of pummeling something went through his head. Watery coffee stood stale from yesterday, teflon bear claws singed meticulously.

8:13 AM

DonderThumb Inc. had been craftsmen to European royalty since being contracted by Charlemagne to protect him from terminators. Pointy took the job out of desperation when his funding collapsed while developing birth control for baboons. His partner, the notorious Mr. Frond, was juggling middle school guidance counseling alongside his lab duties, and took to keeping the wrong hours for school in order to alleviate anxiety brought on by the presence of children. Jackson, in typical rampage fashion, quickly grew tired of this arrangement, and so killed him slowly with a wet saw.

Local police hated Frond, so no meaningful investigation was made into his death. His financial backers, however, knew of his penchant for murder, and were pretty sure he'd done it. Without supporting documentation, he could not prove he'd ever been to Central America. He was un-Belize-able. As he drove slowly down I-95, he noticed the sign ahead... "Slow... Chicken Parts Ahead". Glancing at his watch, he pretended to arm his assault rifle while steering with his knees, and got smarter than a bag of hammers. A bag of ashes was all he could save from the Celibate Swingers Club.

Triangulating from his last known position, the location of the Cygnus constellation and a jar of mayonnaise, he guided his Mercury Comet toward the target; a swarm of parasailing gigolos.

He roused from his reverie to find that he was at work, deep into the guts of a Canon copier. He considered for a moment designing a copier cannon, but decided a trebuchet would be less unwieldy. He surreptitiously levitated until his forehead bulged.

8:43 AM

The receptionist walked into the room to see Pointy levitating with his forehead bulge. He had been there for a solid 25 minutes, unaware of his surroundings.

"Pointy," she said, "you're going to have to put away that unsightly growth."

"Yes, oh but of course," he said snapping out of his stupor.

"You have a call." Pointy pressed his bulge back into his skull and rushed to his phone. It was the folks from Copy Machines Inc.

"We noticed that -" the voice on the other end began, but Pointy snapped the phone in half and started yelling in tongues.

"ROSH'KIP BUNTWAGON-JINKY SQUABBL' NUGG NUGG." Pointy was very upset. Just then a firetruck burst through the wall of the office. The receptionist calmly left the room leaving Pointy, this mysterious intrusive firetruck, and a flaming copy machine. A small bearded man got out of the firetruck and licked his lips.

"You called?" he inquired.

"No I was just yelling because I was angry," Pointy explained.

"Ah. Well nonetheless, you summoned me. My name is Vulva Stew. I come from Elsewhere. Millboard's the lap. And I am his gap."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," stated Pointy, "and if I don't understand something, I usually react with violence.

"That's alright," Vulva ensured, "I know not pain. But I scrapped the last train to wagonville. It's pretty good tacos. Will fishing boats end the war? JESUS MICHAEL PHELPS, baby brother and Adam consumed the beach. August starts tonight, my lord. Oh yeah the devil's experiences in playing with my grandmother. When all of a sudden, my dad starts talking about lettuce."

Pointy stared blankly at Vulva for several seconds before punching a hole right through his face. However, as soon as Pointy removed his fist, Vulva's face reformed. Vulva cackled like a hyena and muttered, "And's that's because I'm not a Jesuit."

9:00 AM

While Pointless Rampage Jackson was staring at Vulva Stew in utter disbelief, the former's boss walked into the room. Pointless turned around to address his boss who was facing away from him.

"The highlighted rebates yielded no results," he said while pulling a blank piece of paper out of a manila folder and holding it up for no one in particular, "the agreement numbers may be spotty, but the distribution channels and the sales organizations are surely up to par." He extended his arm straight out in front of him and dropped the piece of paper on the ground before marching out of the room.

Pointless glanced back at where Vulva had been standing but found that Vulva had vanished.

"Wait where did you go?" Pointless asked.

There was no response-- only a warm fuzzy sensation in Pointless's chest. Whatever alternate dimension Vulva had retreated to, there would always be a piece of him in Pointless's heart. It was as if the little transient inter-dimensional bearded stranger had materialized into pure positive energy.

And it was lovely.

Pointless stood there for several minutes trying to understand this phenomenon that had struck him. For some reason he had no urge to hurt anything or anyone at all. Pointless was of course unfamiliar with the words compassion and empathy, so he had a hard time grasping and interpreting his feelings. He walked into his boss's office and asked politely for the rest of the day off.

His boss looked up from his computer screen and stared intently at his employee's face. "Invoices," he said conclusively. What the conclusion was didn't really matter to Pointless who was already out the door skipping down to the parking lot where he totally carjacked some guy's ride. This was an inconsiderate impulse, and it didn't take long for Pointless to realize that stealing was wrong. He stepped out of the car and looked at the bleeding man who he had just violently robbed.

"I'm sorry sir. I wanted your car, so I took it by force. Now I realize that this was the incorrect choice and I should have asked you politely before taking something that wasn't mine," Pointlesss explained.

"That's okay," the man looked up and smiled, "you can keep it. I'm just so surprised that you'd actually apologize for such a thing. You must be a really nice guy!"

Pointless got back in the car. He had a whole day to be kind and wonderful and smile all the time.

But then as soon as Pointless pulled into traffic he immediately got into six accidents because the layout of Boston's roads was designed by an infant with a pen and paper and none of the God forsaken intersections make any fucking sense. Pointless Rampage Jackson went berserk. But then again, most people around him were insane, especially to give him a name like Pointless.

10:00 AM

Pointless was in bumper to bumper traffic. He had his head out of his window yelling nothing in particular while laying down on the horn. His throat was literally bleeding because he had been yelling incessantly for almost an hour. There was an accident three miles up the road in the oncoming lane. But because people are so daft, Pointless's lane was backed up too. What is it with people? They need to put on the brakes because a cop car is in the opposite lane with its lights on? Why slow down to a crawl? All you're doing is creating a traffic jam. Jesus man, I don't usually break the fourth wall, but some people don't know how to drive dude. It's atrocious. So Mr. Rampage was at a standstill. He did not, however, want to stand still. So he floored it. And immediately hit the bumper of the car in front of him. The driver of the other car got out of the driver's seat wielding a shot gun.

"WHO WAS THAT? WHAT IGNORAMUS HIT MY CAR?" Pointless got out of his car and confronted the man with the gun. Pointless's front bumper was in worse shape than that of the stranger he had hit. There was no denying that Pointless was the perpetrator.

"It was the guy behind me," denied Pointless.

"Oh," said the angry man before walking over to the driver behind Pointless and shooting him in the face, "Thanks," he said to Pointless, "some people just cannot drive properly." He got back into his own car and immediately put his pedal to the floor ramming into the back of the car in front of him. The driver of said car exited his vehicle wielding a grenade which he threw through the windshield of the shotgun man. The car blew up and before long the entire line of cars was on fire. Explosions were taking place left and right, and anyone not on fire was wielding a weapon. Anyone not bludgeoning someone was being bludgeoned by someone. It was chaos. Luckily, Pointless walked away from his flaming car in one piece, picked up a tire iron, and began to march menacingly towards a toddler.

10:30 AM

Following the arrival of several police cars and the fire brigade (because that fire was too hot, hot damn), Pointless received a phone call.
"Who could it be at this time of the morning? Goodness knows university students on break should still be asleep by now."

He heard the voice of his mostly shut-in brother, Nervous Breakdown Jackson.
"Hello? Who... who is this?"
"It's me, Pointless. Why are you even asking? You're the one who called me, damn it."
"Well, you can never really be sure."
"What do you want, Nervous? I've already been held up enough, plus I have places to be and a half-conscious toddler slowly sliding off my bonnet, so make it quick."
"Erm... I just needed some reassurance."

"Reassurance?" The word sounded foreign to him, almost alien, much like the word ootrent or pernickety with an 's' jammed into it. "Well drag me by the foot and call me depressed. I'm not the one you should be asking for re-insurance."

"But only if you wouldn't mind of course", Nervous specified, "I'm just having a tiny bit of an existential crisis."
"Like you do every other Tuesday. Will you stop bothering me?"

"I only recently begun to speculate the origins of our being and realms of our own universe. Eventually I came to the conclusion that I was once a drawing from a picture book that had later transformed and adapted to a motion picture serial, and you... you're just a collection of creative works, drawn from different people, over the course of several days."

Having had just about enough of Nervous' philosophical bullcrap, Pointless threw his phone down the street (but not before throwing Nervous' glasses out his window via telekinetic force)

There was a woman still in her flaming car who was getting rather tetchy. "Who decided it was a good idea to park their monster truck in my driveway? I can't even get to my driveway, let alone see it, and somebody's already gone and took it. Bloody neighbors never learn, do they? I'm a CEO. I can do what I want, even if it's an emergency situation."

"We are not in an emergency situation", Pointless protested.

"Please remain calm", he heard from the curb nearby, "we are in an emergency situation. All commuters should remain in their cars- regardless of whether or not they are on fire- until further notice"

10:44 AM

Out of the corner of his eye, Pointy sensed movement. A cockney geezer was limping and cavorting in a zig zag path, clutching an origami toilet to his chest and muttering, "holy, holy, holy... gamut of weather prediction". Onlookers looked on as other looky loos looked at nothing in particular, having nothing to look at, since they were asleep on the parts of the planet where it was night time.

Once the UKer had shuffled his way within 8 meters of Pointy, car salesmen began to pour out of doorways and first floor windows, onto the streets, blocking the already blocked traffic. Rapscallions composed impromptu raps about scallions.

"The scallions are red, the scallions are said

to be spicy magnificent rusty like a pear

Let me address you on the scallions of despair.

This is where. Trusted hares will turn on you

And send your ass to the scallion zoo.

Scallions. Scallions. Cool as a horse.

I called up my family and demanded a divorce.

Scallions. Scallions. Tell them like it is.

I can assure you, I am the scallion whiz."

Rapped the rapscallion about scallions.

At this, Pointless busted into the nearest flat trying to escape the lyrical geniuses dropping their rhymes in the chaotic streets. He instantly walked in to a grand living space occupied by nothing but a rocking chair and a remarkably framed picture on the wall.

"Hey that's great," remarked Pointless to no one, "Too bad I don't know who Brad is." He took the picture off of the wall and broke it in half on his knee and let the fragments fall to the ground while grinding his teeth and muttering "Fuck you Brad." The rocking chair got up and walked into the next room.

10:50 AM

Pointless stood there in that empty room in contemplation. The rocking chair had skittered across the room like a centipede and vanished through the only other exit which was into a pitch black room. Pointless decided to follow the rocking chair. He stepped across the threshold and instantly all light was gone. It was unnaturally dark and completely silent. All Pointless could hear was the breathe in his lungs and the blood flowing through his veins. He walked three steps forward, four, five- very small steps, he couldn't see anything and he didn't want to trip- six, and gradually it no longer felt like Pointless was walking on solid ground. It was as if he were now up to his ankles in thick wet quicksand. Suddenly Pointless couldn't lift his feet anymore. He felt a presence in front of him. He heard no breathing nor could he see anything before him, but somehow he knew someone was there.

"Real soggy dog," whispered a raspy hushed breathe not three feet from Pointless's face.

"SHIT CRUST!" Pointless exploded in anger. Where most people would feel fear, Pointless just got mad, and in most cases would go on a pointless rampage. However, he was practically glued the ground. He flailed his arms, burped, and collapsed to the ground unconscious, breaking both of his ankles in half.

??:?? ?M

As Pointless first cracked open his eyelids and saw light, he had no idea where he was or how much time had passed since he tried to follow the rocking chair. He realized he was experiencing penetrating pain in his ankles. He looked down and realized that they were missing. and there was a massive pool of blood where they had been.

Wait a moment, Pointless thought to himself. At closer inspection, Pointless noticed that his ankles had broken off, and his feet were firmly planted in the cement he was lying on.

Ow.

Jesus ow.

Oh my god seriously can you imagine how painful that would be.

Right.

Pointless inspected his surroundings which he hadn't yet paid attention to, given his severed feet and whatnot- which can be pretty distracting. He was lying where he had fallen- inside the house, but the house had vanished. Only the foundation remained with a few charred beams and tons of charcoal and ash. The sun was just beginning to set. The street remained somewhat intact, where burnt out cabs of cars were strewn about. The buildings around him were equally decimated. Charred corpses laid strewn about in various states of disintegration. Pointless's PVS acted up and he began to projectile vomit all over himself and the ground around him. He began violently flailing his battered limbs around and shouting obscenities. He wanted to rampage but was immobile. "TIT-SNIFF- ASS-WENCH CUSTARD-FART!" He managed to shout between spouts of vomit. Now on his stomach, Pointless was flopping around like a flounder repeatedly bashing his face into the cement.

Pointless closed his eyes, looked up and started wailing. From his perspective behind his eyelids, it seemed that the light of the sun had been obstructed by some figure. He opened his eyes. And before him was Brad levitating in the rocking chair.

"He disgraced me," Brad said with the inflection of a father whose son hung himself in the bathroom of a gas station- despondent and aggravated at the same time. Pointy threw a fist at him, but couldn't reach. He struggled to sit up straight and tried again. This time Brad grabbed Pointless's arm mid swing and tore it clean off. Brad stared at the severed limb intently and suddenly it turned into a giant squirming moray eel.

"MOTHERCRANCH!" Pointless exclaimed now with three fewer appendages than he woke up with that morning.

"I, the dominant Wisodanger, Brad, have come forth from the abyss to diagnose all you fluid bags as either Crumpy or Wet. The Crumpies will all perish. The Wet Ones will achieve salivation. Salvation is for those who salivate. It is beknownst to us elder ones. The city of Bobston is filled with many Crumpy denizens. And they are being smited accordingly. It is time for your judgment, are you righteous or are you a schlub?"

"Bite my squid pepper," announced Pointless before spitting on Brad's face.

"My name is Brad, I am a liberal arts grad. And a #2 Dad. And I do hereby sentence you to die, you dirty dirty schlub"

The entire city of Bobston had been leveled. It had been disintegrating since the beginning of its existance, but it took the wrath of Brad to send the city back to the Stone Age. There was not a soul that hadn't been harvested by Brad, destroyer of worlds- not a soul, except for that of our favorite frenzied protagonist, Pointless Rampage Jackson.

Pointless got to his knees and with his remaining hand, clenched a fist and started to yell.

"ROSH'KIP BUNTWAGON-JINKY SQUABBL' NUGG NUGG"

The heavens opened up, and from them fell a firetruck. And the interdimensional shambling nutjob with a beard exited the vehicle and confronted Brad.

"Brad," said Vulva Stew, "farting out more genocide?"

"Vulva," Brad started, "What did I tell you about meddling with my affairs?"

"Mortals sometimes cannot help their unbridled need for destruction," Vulva said, "which is why big bags of grapes will fall from the sky and he who is legion will try and guide us astray."

"Vulva, you will pay for this intrusion upon my master plan. I swear the universe will be better with these schlubs wiped from this dimension. Go back to where you came from, or I will be forced to kill you."

"Will it be me who is killed, or will it be smelly eggs?" Vulva retorted before unhinging his jaw like some kind of demon donkey. Brad's eyes started extending from their sockets like two giant sabers. And before Pointless's eyes, a battle began to unfold between these two all powerful deities.

Brad charged full speed with his saber eyes lunging straight for Vulva's torso, but the bearded man was quick and parried the attack with his two massive front teeth. The deities exchanged attack after attack for nearly an hour until the sun made its way towards the horizon.

And as the sun was about to shine its last ray over the demolished city of Bobston, Vulva Stew removed one of his teeth and in one fluid motion threw it like a boomerang straight at Brad's neck, instantly decapitating him. And Brad turned to a pile of ash.

Bleeding out and barely conscious, the one armed, no footed, Pointless Rampage Jackson was in a heap on the ground. Vulva Stew walked slowly over to the angry broken man.

"Blessed be those who rampage with no meaning." Vulva kissed him on the forehead and Pointless morphed into a large tortoise.

"AGH FART EATERS!" Shouted the tortoise.

Vulva smiled at him like a proud dad, and whispered, "I have other matters to attend to. I must be off. Stay strong Pointless, and never let the toads free." And with that Vulva Stew vanished to another world and another time.

And that, my friends, is the story of how the city of Bobston was turned into a wasteland. To this day, those who venture into the ruined city often report seeing an over-sized tortoise marching through the streets shouting pointless obscenities like, "SHIT GOBBLERS!" or "MAYONNAISE UP YOUR CORNHOLE!" Nonbelievers will tell you that Pointless Rampage Turtle is just a myth, a wive's tale, but I know the truth. You don't hear such detailed backstories for the Loch Ness Monster or Bigfoot do you?

27:65MM

Glimmering across the landscape came Pointless, carrying a rucksack full of toad froth. "This will fetch a fancy crumpet in the city", thought Pointless, eyeing the larger rocks close to the road for lurking bandits. Froth was valuable, to be sure, but toad froth was a prize worth a paycheck for 30 men in these times. As he hit the rise in the road, the glowing crater that had been Reno caught his eye. His I followed, snatching up all his attentions.

Gigantic wriggling things, at once like tentacles and claws, thrust up and out across the blue-glow, searching for something. Their speed was alarming, causing Pointless to press the red button on his utility belt. This caused a marbled carbon fiber shelter to erect itself around him that protected him and rendered him invisible to Earth life.

This thing, or things, however, was not from Earth. Rather, it had descended into the crater as the mushroom cloud was still rising, and with it, 4400 cubic kilometers of radioactive dust. A boulder had been hurled from the explosion and hit a strip club in Boise, Idaho.

No, this thing, was from a parallel universe called "Crispy Knurled Knob". It was made of quasi-matter, making it smart and dangerous. Once the King of Belgium had owned it, but it killed him with kindness. It had a googol and 3 tentacle/pincer things, which ate only moose faces and bamboo.

Being a tortoise, Pointless did not have to worry about being consumed by the tentacles. Tortoises are made of neither moose faces nor bamboo, so it didn't really matter, and he kept going about his business. He was also impervious to kindness so all was quite frankly rendered moot.

And never in all of eternity did Pointless let the toads free.

THE ENDS