Angela was cleaning her brother's room when she thought she heard a light scratching on the outside of the door. She crept twards it with a bemused look that almost hid the complete lack of forboding she that suddenly sauntered up her spine and said "Hello." The single cricket that responded had terrets. Angela went back to vacuming and there was a deffininite knocking at the door. "Who is there?" she said with a definite, timid, brashness. A sweet voice squeaked, "It's grandmaa..." "My grandmother is not norwegen" Angela slyly called to the door that she was holding closed with her mind (knowing that she actually was*). There was a long pause here, and you should appreciate it for it's longness so if you are a fast reader you should probably take a couple or three secounds to reflect on how sometimes pauses are very important to certain narratives. There came a much deeper more etherial voice from the other side of the door. "Don't worry about me man. I'm just a Pink Floyed, Dark Side of the Moon album. Don't pay any attention to me. I am just shining on man..." In the suddenly open door came an oil based record of old held by something that Angela was not able to see clearly and was just not ready to take in at the moment. The album flitted and hoofed it's way around looking really cool and reminding Angela of it's nonpresence until it had apparently gotten tired of not existing and left the room, politely shutting the door behind it. Our heroin, thouroly confused yet full of still more confusion, turned on the vaccuum again. She tried not to think too hard about the events of the evening for a while because she had a habbet of getting migrains. Fate can be nasty, and sometimes nice. There was once again an indisputable rap at the door and Angela, displaying a great disregard for herself and her head shut off the vaccume cleaner and said "Who is it?" "It's Micheal Bolton" the voice said. She still does not know, but she said "Come in" "You foolish fool! I am Evil Cow. Defender of my fellow bouvines, the only male cow, vegetarian of the month, all around cool guy, one of the people that you meet when you're walkin' down the street in youre neiborhood each day." Said Evil Cow, who did not look at all like Micheal Bolton with his cow like features and Cow like hooves and cow like utters. Needless to say, so I guess I won't say it. He did stand on two hooves though (the back ones). He had a crimson belt and cape. Also crimson was a tatoo on his...chest.?.shaped like a stop sign and with two yellow letters in the design an E and a C. As he spoke his words in booming voice that was at once full of great conviction and flair, he drew frow his belt a what looked like a bathroom plunger and brandished it while using the other arm to complete the effect and doing a little dance. "Let evil doers everywhere cower in the face of me!" "But your name is EVIL Cow." Angela said, grasping at what sanity she could. "It's complicated."
This story is an unfinished part of a work that was finished, but is now in progress.
* She actually wasn't
** A good part of this "story" actually happened.
