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Beefy Miracle vs. Twinkle the Panda

January 18, 2012

Máirín Duffy asked people to write a story about this image:

 

Last weekend, we took the kids (ages 2 and 6) to FUDCon, and the older one spent part of Saturday writing the story of Sparks and his friend the unicorn. (Spoiler alert: They break up, and he gets a new friend in a bunny named Ruth.) Tonight I showed her Beefy Miracle and the radioactive panda, and she decided to write her next tale about them. Here’s how it went, told by her, transcribed by me. (She’s not bad with the writing, but typing takes forever. She’ll learn QWERTY eventually.)

Beefy Miracle vs. Twinkle the Panda

Twinkle the Panda liked Beefy Miracle. He had a magical power that could make people so powerful. Beefy Miracle couldn’t get the magic power because Twinkle Bear had another power that could keep the magic all the way inside to his bones. And because he’s a hot dog, and the power is only for people.

Beefy Miracle has a very rare power in his ray gun. It can shoot animals and people all the way through their bones. But they’re not dead. They’re still alive, but they have a hole where they got shot. If they get shot a lot of times, they get bigger and bigger holes, and then if it gets so big that they can’t stay alive, they die.

So one day Beefy Miracle came to Twinkle. He wanted to give Twinkle a ray gun because he had an extra one. The ray gun was blue and red, just like Beefy Miracle’s. Beefy Miracle had a powerful ray gun, but when he gave the other ray gun to Twinkle, it didn’t have any power. So Twinkle was very mad at Beefy Miracle.

Twinkle got batteries he found on the ground, and he put them in the ray gun. He shot Beefy Miracle so hard that he got so big of a hole that he died. Twinkle got some foam squares and put them on Beefy Miracle, and then he came back to life.

Beefy Miracle has mustard on his stomach. He gave Twinkle a hug and he got mustard on him. And then Beefy Miracle and Twinkle were friends again. And Beefy Miracle and Twinkle went to the park. The end.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. hostilefork permalink
    April 9, 2012 4:06 am

    Until that moment, I never associated winter with death. Perhaps I would have had more respect for mother nature’s cold shoulder if I’d grown up in Siberia…like the guys back in lockup, who were in the next cell. I could relate to them because we were half black, half white, always between two worlds.

    I swear–God must’ve had a line item to put me behind bars before I was big enough to crawl. Born into the system.

    Of course I’d *seen* snow, but only pictures of the stuff. It was always a fluffy romantic abstraction…glimpsed on a passing cell phone, or some flyer promoting the Christmas holidays. Meanwhile my environs hovered from 60 to 75 degrees; never seeming to go much outside of that.

    Mother of God. What I wouldn’t give to be back there now.

    On that note–this is going to sound cliché–but the thing running through my mind when he pulled the gun was “Why didn’t I just stay put and keep my big mouth SHUT?” Life in the big house had its limits, but it was three square meals a day…with a warm place to sleep. Hell, I had better health care than most in this country who pay for it!

    The only fly in that ointment was the enforced conjugal visits…and I don’t even remember getting married! Though I confess to hitting the Zhuyeqing Jiu pretty hard when it’s available. Must have been one of those Vegas in-the-moment weddings performed by Elvis impersonators, because this girl was all kinds of wrong. (And just in case you misinterpreted: let me assure you I don’t mean that in a complimentary way.)

    So when the Siberians said they had a contact who could get me to the outside, I jumped…mere seconds after asking how high. Of course I knew there was going to be an angle–there’s *always* an angle. We’re always pawns, and someone’s on the take while the mule gets the fall. Your best bet is to embrace it and ride while it lasts.

    Even so, I should’ve *known* that dog was CIA. He’d been stationed in the cart across from my cell for at least a year. I never thought to sweep my room for cameras or mics…goddamn hindsight. I’m sure he spent the lion’s share of his hours monitoring the tigers, but the smirk in his lips betrays his knowledge of my encounters with…*her*.

    I feel in my bones that he knows about the impotence. I see it in his smug judgment. Judgment of my gun, while pointing his gleefully. As if this is some kind of *joke*.

    In the end, my death tonight will amount to nothing. News travels slowly in these circles, but I’ve heard Kim Jong Il is gone; and the rumors are always true. He could take the nuclear plans and put me in custody. But seeing the gleam in his eyes I know that begging will just debase me.

    When I look into my crystal ball, I see only one outcome.

    Silence.

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