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Sam and his Magical Ale-Drinking Leprechauns (youngsters:humor, 1005 words)
Author: Famous AnnieAdded: Dec 08 2001Views/Reads: 2821/1051Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
I was to write it for the school newspaper, so it's pretty appropriate. Although appropriate doesn't always mean boring, the story is about a hermit who realizes that doing a simple thing, like recycling, can help save a friend.
 



Once upon a time, somewhere far, far away, farther than the nearest
Wendy’s Restaurant, there lived a hermit named Frederica Baidarka, but 
the voices within his head called him: Sam. 

Sam was a shabby old man; he had cheek wrinkles that sagged above his
shoulders, and a complexion that was more suitable for a torched pig 
than a rotten old geezer. His skin was peculiarly scaly, his teeth were 
so rotted down that it attracted more flies than his unwashed, 
dinosaur-like feet. His crunchy gray mullet lay unsuitably atop his 
oily head and served as more of a garbage disposal consisting of flies 
than anything else. Sam was shabby, and just by looking at his sickly 
appearance, you could actually absorb some of his radiating globs of 
filth, and fall dreadfully ill. 

Judging from what you have heard of Sam, one would not have to assume,
but know, why he had become a hermit. His only friends were the 
imaginary creatures he created in his mind, which by the end of the 462 
years they lived with him, morphed into ale-drinking leprechauns with 
their very own, custom-made personality disorders. 

We now enter our story during a dispute over the existence of a heavenly
being compared to a spork. 

“Ah! Those bloody, ingrates don’t know what they’re talkin’ about! A
heavenly being is exactly like a spork, and if you dare disagree with 
me one more time, Nigel, I’ll slap you so hard your heavenly being’ll 
feel it!” Susan was in one of those moods again. Usually she was an 
earth-loving-nature-freak, but on the occasion that she lost her 
blanket, or she had broken her perfectly polished, pinky nail, she 
turned into an eye-gouging psycho. 

“Not a fate worse than death, but thus my dear sister I might add, that
you can certainly eat your noodles with one end of a spork, then sip 
the broth with the other? Can you, I ask, do that with a heavenly 
being?” Nigel was a snooty snoot-faced-loser-thing. Nobody liked him 
except Sam, but Sam cherished every one of his deranged hallucinations. 


The following minutes were filled with organ diseasing-screams, shrieks
of profanity, total chaos, and colossal masses of floor-staining blood. 
The contagious madness seemed to have spread from one side of the 
infested mud hut to the other. Soon enough, all of the drunken 
leprechauns were arguing and bashing each other with insults and club 
sodas. The fury seemed endless. 

“What in Spork’s name is going on here?” Sam had just realized that his
thoughts were acting up again. It was often an unsettling task to 
straighten them back up. 

“Yeah, what in Spork’s name is going on here?” in every group there’s a
stuck up suck up, and Luanda is one of them. 

“Shut up, Lu Lu, you don’t belong here!” Susan was in a headlock, and
Luanda felt that this was the time to take advantage of the situation. 

“Well I suppose you’re not exactly in the position to be arguing with
me, hmm?” 

The two quarreled for about the next 20 minutes, and through the
arguing, Sam realized that the leprechauns were fighting about the 
existence of a holy divinity being compared to a spork. After a few 
drinks, they were all settled down. 

After pondering for the next 2 days, Sam decided that he had better
settle the disagreement between the leprechauns before one of them 
would actually get hurt. Although the leprechauns were imaginary, 
Frederica loved them with all his heart, and would rather be thrown 
into a bath than risk having any of them die. Sam figured, in his 
incapable mind, that if someone had found a spork that everything would 
be all right. 

“Me? I beg your pardon?” 

“Yes, Nigel, I mean you. You have to find the spork and end this
nonsense!” 


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