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EPIC

This article is one of Illogicopedia's EPICs.

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It was 4 in the morning, the birds were not singing and the moon was not shining. Only one person was awake in the whole village, masturbating furiously. But that's another, surprisingly long, and oddly compelling story.

"If you don't revise now you won't pass and you'll spend the rest of your life in McDonald's selling used condoms to unassuming fatties." gushed Conrad's mother, throwing a text book at his head. It sailed wide out of the window, killing the postman. Conrad had some very important exams that afternoon. Ones that would determine exactly what he did for the rest of his life; a low score here could mean 40 years as a sneeze guard and no pension. Being such a momentous occasion his dear mother had decided to yell at him about it. This is a story!

"Sorry mum, all I heard was 'bleh bleh bleh, my name is mum, bleh bleh, i like cheese, bleh bleh bleh breaking the fourth wall bleh bleh bleh article.'" replied Conrad, picking his homework out of the postman's brain.

"That's what was scripted, but I've decided to improv."

"Great, we all know what that means. An article on toilet duck, or how to take all my friends' dads at the same time."

"I'm serious son, you need to buckle down and focus. It's important"

"Don't worry I've got it covered. I'm revising see?" said Conrad, holding up this weeks issue of Spunk&Dunk.

"That is a porno magaizine." his mother pointed out flatly.

"To the untrained eye perhaps, but for those with the knowledge it is a treasure trove of handy information, which is 100% relevant to Penglish lit."

"No, it's just a treasure trove of soapy breasts. And besides yu don't do Penglish Lit. you decided against it because someone had sneezed all over the tickbox for it on the options form. You didn't want to ruin your chances with the hot pen by rubbing it in snot, so you chose maths instead."

"Ok fine, I'll go fetch my text book, and before the day is out you can be safe in the knowledge that I'll be ...safe in the knowledge. For my exam. On safes."

"Well make sure that you do Muffin cake, I worry about you sometimes.."

"Whatever bitch."

"Have fun revising dear, I'm popping out for a bit, it's been so long since I last visited your aunt Flora."

"Say hi to her for me!"

"That would be hard, for she is dead." she replied, waving good bye. "Think fast!"

The surprise french text book missed Conrad's head by inches, instead whizzing out through another window, decapitating the milkman.

"Hey neat, I found a human head!" sounded the voice of a young child outside. Conrad smiled.

Ok! revision time! No sweat, we can do this Conrad thought to himself, opening his text book. By the time the pages had fluttered open to a rest he was already fast asleep.

In his dream Conrad was flying, wearing a gorilla outfit and smoking a cigar. Awesome.

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Conrad was awoken suddenly and violently, as if this was significant and mentionable in some way.

"This isn't my house" he thougt outloud, and by outloud I meant he shouted it out repeatedly at the top of his voice, projecting his lungs subtitles for deaf viewers out of his ear on to an adjacent wall. He was surrounded by four of them. Walls. There was little else, other than a beard in the corner and a toilet lying on top of his face. The toilet paper looked used. I have just set the scene.

A guard entered the room. He was a man :O No seriously he 'was' a man, once :| Gah. He was dressed up as a firetuck. Conrad could tell from the informative label impaled inches deep into the man's thigh.

"Hey firetruck dude! Haven't we met? Tony's place?"

"No, I have never met you before." answered the guard with resolute simplicity.

"What about the Rusty Trombone? I'm pretty sure I've seen you in there."

"No."

"Gulp and Go?"

"No."

"Illogicopedia?"

"God no." said the man, clearly disgusted. "Freak."

"Uhh,what about Alcoholics Anonymous?"

"Yes. No. Anyway shut up, I'm here to tell you hat Mr.Cowell is ready to see you.

"Mr.Cowell? As in Simon Cowell, the judge on t' telly?"

"You've got it."

"Wow, I've heard of him! This article just referenced the modern society I'm familiar with! That automatically makes this article great!"

"You want me to feature this?"

"Say what?"

"Hush up noob, you're distracting. And I'm trying to keep all the chapters a similar length, so I's appreciate it if you kept your noise on the down-low." said the guard, slapping Conrad right across the face. "If I'm honest, it's not really Simon Cowell, it's just some bloke in a similar get-up, not as a parody of him, just along the same lines. I think his name is Rick.

"Rick what?"

"Rick....

..Roll! HAH!"

"Dammit!"

"Awww, it didn't make you laugh? But Rick Astley always get lols. You should see the comments on his myspace. Anyway it's actually Rick Huggins, you may have heard of him."

the name was familiar to Conrad. Rickster Huggins was the billionaire from the TV. He had seen him on various chat shows, discussing politics and throwing bundles of money at poor people. Rick had a special interest in the entertainment industry, he'd loved television ever since he was a little boy, every night he would get up and stare at where it would be if his parents were rich enough to have one. The programming was never very good, and Huggins always spent a long time flicking through channels displaying the wallpaper behind, but his dream never died. He grew up, set with the sole aim in life of making TV better, and eradicating wallpaper specials for good. Nowadays he was past all that, with CSI:Wallpaperpaste-ami a thing of the past he had moved onto bigger and better things. He was using national talent competitions to televise men with no chins and signing disposable popstars at the weekend. Although his fame had left him addicted to corduroys and fake tan, he was happy.

"OOO, I almost forgot." The guard took a blow pipe out of his trouser pockets, lifted it gently up to his mouth and blew into it. The dart sailed all of three inches into Conrad's neck.

Conrad winced in pain. "Why'd you do that you idiot?! I was going to come with you anyway, now it just means you've got to carry me."

"Cornplasters you're right!" exclaimed the man dressed as a guard, smacking his hand to his head. "Young man, you may not have made the best first impression on me, but you really are quite intelligent aren't you?"

Conrad snored loudly.

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When he awoke for the second time (ever, not just in this story. Being the crossbreed between a low paid nightshift worker, and an everyday surface dweller Conrad didn't need to sleep. He couldn't. Sleep meant uncofortable dreams of armchairs whizzing around his room, stealing his pocessions, and his countrymen's jobs. Something he just couldn't let happen. Interestingly, this genetic crossbine had had the reverse effect on his brother, who was permanently asnooze due to his condition. Or it might be because I'd forced him to swallow a brick? Anyway,)

...(Just checking base with the brackets again.. so I was thinking, since the sentence I interupted was like half an hour ago, would it be cool with you if I restart the sentence in order to get a bit of flow going?)

...( • )( • )

..(Ok, enough bracket,s on with the article!)

..(......)

..(I just got myself a bracketine patch, it's not really helping.)

..(Ok now it is.)

When he awoke for the second time, Conrad was no longer asleep. This is basic logic. Wiping the sweat from his eyes he looked up at his surroundings. It was as if the ancient god of splendour had been sleeping with a nymph (o), pulled out and unleashed it all over the walls. The décor was simply unbeatable. Waiting for him at the end of the room was the man himself. Rick Huggins, record producer extraordinaire. Huggers was waiting expectantly behind his desk, his arms folded and his face set to 'safety'. One of his men was holding up a square plaque with the channel's logo, so that if you're viewing the scene the way I am it would be in the top left corner of the screen ..your brain?

He lowered his sun glasses, "hello Conrad, it's so nice to finally meet you. Now down to business" said Rick, changing tone. The carpet screamed. "I think we both know why you're here."

"It's about that sextape I made isn't it? Because that was all just one big misunderstanding. There was this science project we had to do at school, and my clothes were a bit itchy so I-

"Silence!" interupted Rick. His desk sunk a couple of inches into the floor. "You will only speak when spoken to, and if so, only in a media friendly way."

Conrad removed his shirt and pulled on one offering cheap car insurance deals for pedestrians. "Better?"

Two men holding a banner ran across the bottom of the screen. It read "CSI New York, up next!"

Rick looked pensieve. "Much, much better. Augh dammit, the boom is in shot again!"

The boom operator was promptly fired, leaving the building a broken man. Wondering to himself why an article would need a boom in the first place.

"Let me explain. I, Rick Huggins have been secretly collecting on every US citizen alive anywhere ever. It's been quite a job, and we used Che Guevara's details to fill in a lot of the gaps, but we think we've done it."

"You planning to take over the world or something?" said Conrad not really focussing, flicking a bogey.

"No! Nothing like that." retorted Huggy, looking hurt.

"sorry, so why then? Power? Money? Vouyerism?"

"Talent." replied Rick smiling, blinding everyone with his pearly whites.

"So I was right, it is vouyerism then?"

"Not "talent", talent! As in small dogs dressed as clowns mawling their owner to laughter from a studio audience, or a fat guy falling over and breaking his face. pure TV magic. But right now, music. Times are hard for the pop industry, sales are at and all time low and people," he shuddered, "people are developing their own unique musical tastes."

"And?"

"PEOPLE WILL LIKE WHAT I TELL THEM TO LIKE!!" Bellowed Rick, causing many easily offended readers to call in and complain (if at this point any one's still reading). Within an instance he had resumed his composure, calmly he sat back down. "And this is where you come in." Clasping his designer hands together a TV flickered to life. On it was a poorly filmed, evidently home video of an infant singing loudly. Conrad's ears hurt. The kid was surrounded by a group of 50somethings, who despite the infant's decibal shattering awfulness and vomitted covered exterior were looking at them if they'd just done something incredibly cute. The screen switched off after a few seconds.

A look of complete confuzzlement had overtaken Conrad's face. "What was all that about then tanny boy?""

"The video you've just seen was taken when you were 2 years old. As you can see the, albeit small, crowd absolutely loved it. If you help me, we can turn that infantile charm you displayed there into fame and fortune. We'll be squillionaires! Are you on board or what?"

"Well i hate to poke a hole in your bucket, but your plan wouldn't work. I don't look or sounde like that anymore, I haven't for years now. I'm seventeen." said Conrad, poking a hole in Rick's bucket.

"Hang on" reaching for the phone on his desk. Replacing it immediately. "So it is true, the lab tests have just confirmed that you indeed have changed somewhat significantly since then."

Conrad etched a 0_o into his face.

Huggins nodded towards the man at the back of the room, "Take him out for ..processing." his eyes narrowed.

Before he knew what was happening, that's a lie, during the time or possibly shortly after he knew what was happening [pr. tnse] Conrad was being dragged away by his lapels. this was his last chance.

"You'll never get away with this Huggins! My parents will wonder where I am! It's only a matter of time before they come looking for me and when they break in to get me you will be undone."

"Pfft, you what? Your parents couldn't care less about you."

"Well, it was worth a try wasn't it?"

"Oh yeah, I've seen that one work before, no it was good. It was good. Take him away men!"

Conrad screamed. The men led him through a door emblazoned with the title "REJECTS". Suddenly he felt at home.

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It was 9:17PM exactly. Not that it's of any importance, I just needed a platform to launch this next bit from.

As overly dramatic as it sounds, Conrad would probably be very dead soon. Or is it dead very soon? Regardless he was glued down to conveyor belt, slowly being carried towards his early death. However, he wasn't alone.

"Looks like it's the end of the line for you kid. In a couple of minutes you'll reach the processor. It doesn't have any real pupose, it just crushes stuff. It came free with some guy's firetruck outfit." came a voice from nearby. Conrad couldn't tell who or what they were, the boom was blocking his vision. (again)

"Well, thanks for the heads up I guess. I can't tell who you are, but if it's your job to keep people informed, albeit shortly, then you're doing a good job."

"I wish this was my job. But without a degree I didn't even make it to the interview stage. I'm actually here because I got lost delivering a pizza. Doing this is all that keeps me going."

"Want to help me down?"

"Sure."

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They had been walking for some time through what seemed like an endless stream of mazey corridors. Something was weighing heavy on Conrad's mind, like a tumour with poor dietary habits.

"I am sorry, uhh, delivery man?"

"Yeah?"

"In the heat of the moment it seems I forgot to ask you your name, I don't really want go round thinking you're name is Pizza Boy or something."

"Pizza Boy's good."

Conrad didn't understand.

"Let me explain. Pizza Boy, for what it's worth is in essence a sidekick name. Which is great, because you have something to call me by, and it's implied to the reader that I'm somehow subordinate to you; so they get to enjoy my input but the emphasis of the story isn't moved away from you at all. It's win win. Besides, you aren't in any position to talk about names. Yours sucks."

Conrad scowled. "Cocksuck it is."

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Quite a lot of time had passed since the conveyor belt incident by now, the reader(s) growing bored. B just seemed to stretch on endlessly into the distance, leaving them feeling no further way from A than when they'd started.

"Well P to the B, it appears we are lost."

"But how can we be? We were never really found to begin with."

"That's the beauty of it. The sentence sounds legitimate, even though quite the contrary is true. And look what it's done. Have we or have we not just initiated an easy to read dialogue? If we make it out alive you sir owe me a coke. Hey wanna try this door here?" asked Conrad, indicating a block wall to his right. Pizzaboy nodded, and sure enough it opened.

Best summed up by a start bracket in pursuit of a colon, the site that greeted them was not a happy one. Like the corridors the room expanded far out of site. It's narrow walls were lined to the ceiling with cages, each one containing a person. A person who didn't want to be in the cage. And had grazed their hands on the bars accidentally. And had a fear of cages. And if that doesn't do it for you, the colour scheme was really horrible too, like eye pickling. We're talking purple and yellow territory. Conrad ran to the nearest cage, the woman inside barely summing up the energy to crawl over and greet him. She too was purple and yellow. No real reason behind it, she just was.

"Miss, what's going on in here?" asked a scared Conrad spinning round to hide behind his partner, his heart in his mouth chest.

"You mean you don't know?" rasped the woman, interupting her fading voice with a hacking cough. A violin began playing somewhere in the background. "This is where they keep the 'talent'. Most don't ever see daylight again once they come in here. Huggins and his men have complete control, only letting us out to perform, and only feeding us if we get a Christmas no.1."

Conrad looked horrified. "How did they get you?"

"Some holiday snaps of me solving world hunger made their way onto the news back in '86. I went to sleep that night, feeling on top of the world, and then the next morning I wake up here. Now every saturday night I'm forced to go on stage and save yet more third world countries from starvation, dispensing food until my arms have been worn down to formless lumps."

"That's just sick."

"Sick? kid that's nothing. Ted here was brought in after a comment on one of his youtube videos indicated he may be able to refreeze the polar ice caps."

A small child in the cage next to her sniffled. This time Conrad's heart really was in his mouth chest.

"This is all just horrible. What about him, what amazing things can that guy do." Conrad pointed towards a cage across the room. His eyes lit up, maybe he could find someone with super hair unbaldening powers.

"Oh Jenkins? They just wanted a ginger around, y'know, to brighten up the place. Geddit?" said the girl, breaking into hysterical laughter.

She choked to death on her own face.

Pizzaboy tapped Conrad on the shoulder. "Dude we've got to stop this while we still can. My dad was ginger, if he had lived to see this place he'd die again. Meaning taking the effort to resurrect him would have been a big waste of time."

"I feel your pain man. Hey, any of you cage people know how to get to the Huggmeister from here?"

"Sure, if you follo-[to cut a long journey short, they followed the orange skin road and were there in no time. Tension was built up by a skilled narrative, a chapter title was cleverly written and tactfully placed, everything went according to plan and before long they had cornered Hugsy, enjoyed some immense prose on my part, and slaughtered all the guards mercilessly.] ..The pair looked up at Rick incredulously. The bullet had rebounded off of his forehead uselessly. "What the Helk!!" Yelled Conrad, looking at his gun. "Is this thing on? Testing, one two, one tw-"

He had never reall liked that ear anyway. At least now he couldn't accidentally get it pierced on the gay side. It had been for the best.

"Joo fools!" laughed the 5 times whitest smile winner. "You expected to kill me, just like that?"

"Well, if I'm honest, yeah kinda."

"Then you're even more untalented than I thought. This here is 4 inches of platinum based tan armour," proudly rapping a hand against his chromed skull. "You may have got the better of my guards in a beautifully written gunfight that can only be described as "epic", but guys, the buck stops here."

Pizzaboy for one, was confused. "I don't remember that. When did we have this gunfight? And where did we get these guns from in the first place? It seems quite a serious plot hole has taken place."

Uhh...

ERROR 404

Continuity not found. (please read on as if nothing /bad/ has happened)

Rick's arms were folded. "So now what? You can't kill me, you can't sing, and you can't edit this page because it's protected. What's your next move?"

The pair looked at each other and shrugged, he was right, neither of them had any other ideas. They slumped against the wall, defeated.

"Hey Rick, you up for Boggle?" asked Pizzaboy, extending the box.

"Yeah why not."

6543210

"Awwwwwwwwwwww yeeeeeeeah! That's 17 words losers! I win again." exclaimed Rick, like a dick, having just demolished the two protagonists in the lamest fashion possible. "You know what happens now cheese & tomato."

"The article ends so it won't interfere with people's Long Pickle hatred?"

"Way too late for that, now mush!"

Pizza Boy sighed, and began untying one of his shoes. "there" he said, handing over his beloved reebok classic. "Sicko."

Rick was too preoccupied inhaling the fumes to hear what he'd said. This gave Conrad an idea. If he reasoned with Rick now, when he had been softened up by Pizza Boy's foot odour, he might get somewhere. It wasn't the best plan, but he didn't have any ideas, It's worth a shot he thought.

"I just don't get it Rick, why can't you see what you're doing is wrong."

This thought had never occured to him before. "What do you mean? How is what I'm doing possibly wrong?"

Emphatic speech making music began blasting itself from the room's every orifice. "I mean Kidnapping people and forcing them to do your bidding is wrong. Probably. I'm supposed to be in the right anyway, so stop being evil! Conventional wisdom says that forcing people to do things they probably don't want to is banned. I think. Granted, the world has become a much much better place because of it, especially the seven o clock slot on Saturday night television, but you've made these people's lives miserable in the process. And while I salute you for it You could have technically had the same effect if you'd have pushed them to their full potential in other ways. Ways that didn't involve kidnap and torture, then everyone could have won. You've got the money to make it work. All you've got to do is try. Now what say we let these people go?"

"I'm sorry, I found a white spot and had to go retan, what did you say?"

"Forget it." said Conrad "Can I see your neck for a second? I think I saw something on it."

The resounding crack that followed took no prisoners as it reverberated it's way through the building. Rick slumped to the floor.

The guys high-fived each other. But as their hands met on the 'down low' the shrill ring of sirens shattered the bromance. "Dude was that you?" asked Conrad worriedly, sniffing the air.

He didn't have to wait long for an answer. The automated voice of Microsoft SAM's special friend rang out in robotic harmony."Self destruct sequence activated. You have seconds to live! Would you like to update to Internet Explorer 4?" the noise was coming from Rick. Light was pouring out of a gap in his neck, projecting a series of numbers onto the ceiling. The misty green digits informed the two of them that in 30 seconds they would be nothing more than smears on the carpet.

"Probably, probably should panic right now." Conrad mused idley.

"You mean you don't plan to?"

He thought about it for a second. "Nah. Not really. Doesn't really seem to be much point."

"I hear you man."

Their time was almost up. Stretching out their jumpers across the floor as makeshift pillows, the two of them lay their heads down, and fell asleep.

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Conrad awoke to the sound of bells and children's laughter. The world was girating painfully above his head. Everyone looked like Che Guevara. "Where am I?" he asked grogilly to no one in particular.

"You're at school kid," gently replied someone. The voice was coming from somewhere above him. Conrad rubbed his eyes. A police offer was standing over him, smiling warmly. He looked round to see what was going on, the bright sunlight stabbing his retinas. The cop was right, in front of him was indeed Illogicainen high. How had he got here? "It must, it must have all been a dream."

The policeman sat down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder. "No son, you really did do all that, we got a domestic distress call from a screaming carpet and found you passed out on the floor."

It was all still spinning, Conrad felt sick. "Thanks officer."

"Hey don't mention it, the best bit is we managed to get you back in time for your exams!" chuckled the policeman. "Good eh?"