And now for something completely different....

Alright, friends and foes, it's time for a very random tale told by Devin Christensen. We'll call it "Devin's Brain Is On The Brink Of Melting Out His Ears and Nostrils After Being Subjected to Approximately Two Hours of Reading Assigned German-Jewish Writers Readings."

Actually, that title is a little too mundane and generic to me, so I'm going to make it a bit more epic-sounding: "Devin's Brain Is On The Brink Of Melting Out His Ears and Nostrils After Being Subjected to Approximately Two Hours of Reading Assigned German-Jewish Writers Readings ON FIRE!!!!!!!!!" Yeah, everything's more intense when you add the phrase ON FIRE in all caps.

Onto the tale: so once upon a time there was a lad named Morgan. Morgan was mild-mannerdly goofing off on his computer one day when suddenly his anti-virus update suddenly popped up to inform him that September 19th is National Talk Like a Pirate Day. Morgan said, "Why the heck is my anti-virus informing me about the timing of a pointless holiday," and the antivirus responded, "Because I'm AVAST antivirus, you yellow-bellied, turpentine guzzling guttersnipe. It's a humorous reference to our pirate-sounding name which we are now informing you about in order show you scalawags that even antivirus programmers have some sense of humor. ARRRGGHHH!" Morgan pondered on the response for a few seconds before suddenly flipping out and chucking his lab top across the room at the realization that his labtop had just responded to an audible question from him.

In horror he queried the fallen computer "WHAT ARE YOU!?" But there was no response, for the labtop had been thoroughly damaged by its sudden launch into the wall and so the secret of how the antivirus had actually responded to Morgan's vocal question would remain one of life's great mysteries.

Morgan's horror did not leave him, though, for he realized that he had just killed his one and only labtop and now would have to pony up several hundred dollars to purchase a new one. He was about to walk out the door to go to the store when he realized that it was the Sunday and, he being a good practicing Mormon, could not in good conscience go and purchase electronic goods.

So, now with no internet access with which to waste his time Morgan found himself sitting dejectedly and bored in his living room. "Gosh, I'm bored," he said to himself. Morgan talked to himself a lot. It was quite a frequent activity for him, as he often found himself alone and given plenty of time in which to develop strange quirky habits like said talking to oneself. "If only something exciting would happen to me," he said.

Well, fortunately for Morgan, something exciting did happen not two seconds after he uttered his phrase. A dragon suddenly crashed through the roof of his apartment landing right beside him. That's right, friends, a real-life dragon, it's eyes orange and aglow like two radiating topazes, its scales shining like thousands of ebony ovals layered upon one another, its tail dancing back and forth like a cobra, and its breath smelling like a twenty year old electric fan making its last spurt of activity before finally malfunctioning forever.

"Cheerio, good sir," said the friendly and delightfully stereotypically British dragon. "Do you know where a gentleman might be able to purchase some tube socks."

"Uh, there's a Target just a little ways from here on Oracle and Roger," Morgan said.

"Ah, that's splendid, old chap, just splendid," the mythical reptile said cheerfully. "I am most obliged for your assistance."

And with that the dragon left just as swiftly as he had crashlanded in a minute earlier.

"Wait a minute!" Morgan said, after the dragon had vanished. "What about my roof!?"

But there was no response, for the creature, while very British, could be quite thoughtless at times and had left without giving any recompense to poor Morgan, who was having an altogether very odd and disappointing day (though it was certainly no longer boring).

"Well, I guess the ox is in the mire," Morgan said, surrendering to the fact that he would probably have to engage in some non-Sabbath work and money-changing in order to fix his problems. He left his apartment, careful to lock the door despite the fact that now his apartment was quite exposed to any would-be-burglar as there was a gaping hole in the roof above his living room. He started heading for the manager's office, pondering on whether their insurance covered property damage caused by dragons.

But Morgan never made it to the manager's office, for before he could a mysterious flying cube the size of a well-fed cow appeared above his head and, with a flash of mauve light, suddenly teleported him to Hipsquali Land, a magical place where Morgan was able to eat all the bratwurst that you can imagine and watch glorious marathons of "Hey, Arnold!" and "Rocky and Bulwinkle" and have indulgent popculture conversations with centaurs. And he lived happily ever after.

The End

***

Yeah, I know this story was kind of meandering and pointless, but so was the assignment I just read. Good night, everybody.