Back in Antarctica, the presifrog was very pleased indeed. For you see, the presifrog had thought up an immensely cunning plan involving the South Pole during his time there. He had thought of a plan so cunning that it will make the world exactly what he wants it to be. A world where the most exciting thing to do is talk about types of marmalade. A world where brown is too extravagant and is frowned upon if worn. A world where a mixture of more than two instruments in music is pushing it. The presifrog wanted this world to be his, the world of where everyone got by quietly, extremely bored, lacking interest. For this is what the presifrog wanted after he stabilised the world’s economic situation.
Walking around the south pole with Le-Mon, the presifrog and Le-Mon would talk for hours upon hours about everything they assumed to exist. They had found common interests in the art of spelling five letter words in Scrabble and they shared the same hate for pink, purple, stripes, dots and other things which may be seen to ooze pizzazz.
“You see” The presifrog told Le-Mon “My father was so pizzazz-esque when he was bringing me up. Ben would bake me cakes each morning and call me names such as “snoochypoopoo” before putting me to bed. I grew up to hate this pizzazz that he exuded so fabulously. And then I found you. Everything seemed right.”
“You are so sweet, presifrog. Below the croaky, cold hearted surface, you have a warm heart. Oh no, I mean… you have a cold heart, just I’d imagine it’s warm. You know?”
“Quite right” Said the presifrog “My heart is cold and the blood running through me is icy like the breath of a witch on a cold winter’s day. But I am lovely.” His eyes darted like that of a bad liar, before he set them on Le-Mon’s eyes and clearly said “I am a lovely frog.” Lying through his froggy mouth was easy for the presifrog. So easy that Le-Mon accepted this before they walked further.
In their short stay in Antarctica, the two explorers had befriended eleven other men. One man was rumoured to really be a female prostitute and the others mainly fishermen.
They planned to dine at a long rectangular ice table that evening, all for some odd reason seated on the same side. They had managed to find some wine and bread for the evening, so planned on having a fantastic time.
They all gathered near the pole and sat down to eat their meal. But that night was not going to be an ordinary night, for bad things would happen. Bad things which would forever change the world if they were not stopped.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Dubai, sat Helen and Ben eating scrambled eggs and brown sauce on toast.
At exactly the same time, they got a very peculiar feeling.
“Helen. Something just…. Happened.”
“Hmm. I just got an odd feeling too. Like somebody has lit a match lighting my aura, creating an abyss of energy around my soul.”
“You mean feeling warm? Me too.” Ben told Helen, aware that she liked to describe things in vivid detail.
These feeling were what Helen got before something catastrophic happened. She knew that sometimg was wrong. “Prepare yourself, Ben. I think something big will happen tonight.”
Back in Antarctica, the presifrog and Le-Mon were eating their food. They both picked up opposite ends of the same slice of bread by accident, Both nibbling on it until their lips met at the middle. Giggling, they shared a kiss, which led to a full blown romantic meeting under the table for everybody to see. This “meeting” as I call it was a spontaneous event, one which will never, ever, under any circumstances be told of ever again.
EVER.
After the meal, Le-Mon stood up and got onto the table. “I had a funny feeling earlier.” Everyone looked on in astonishment, not at the words, but at the fact that Le-Mon was not slipping n the ice. “I had a feeling that I would be betrayed tonight.” Le-Mon informed everyone. “And I would prefer it if that didn’t happen, k?” Le-Mon dismounted the table and was met by a red face on the presifrog. It was almost as if Le-Mon had received psychic messages from Dubai, which he had. Ben and Helen were trying desperately to warn someone that bad things will happen tonight. But the message itself was not cleat because they didn’t know who was being warned about what.
This led to countless people who were about to get betrayed getting these messages around the world. An unexplained phenomenom that became known as “The night of the warning of the imminent betrayals which were going to occur in the next few hours” or “omg” for short.
Helen and Ben had taken Carver, Bobolous, Biscuit and the man baby to an underground shelter in the fear of a world betrayal in the form of a nuclear attack. Luckily, this would not happen. But they stayed in the shelter playing games all night long. The most popular of which turned out to bet he game of “Tag” Ben ran over the meter or so long shelter to Helen, touching her and making her “it”. This process carried on for a few hours, whilst Bobolous, Biscuit, Carver and the man baby looked on in horror.
“I have crazy parents…” Bobolous trailed off
“I know! It’s so cool!” Carver screamed
“Haha. They’re mad.” The man baby giggled.
“Their ability to express their happiness in games played usually by pre-adolescents astounds me. They take such pride in claiming the other one as “it“, possibly getting some form of egotistical boost from “one-upping” the other participant, so to say. This thus plays on their narcissistic tendencies to make them feel superiority over their counterpart in the game, continuing until they are physically exhausted in some kind of confusing circle that proves to enchant them for hours.” Biscuit purred.
“You’re so silleh, Bizzy!” The man baby said, stroking the purring cat.
This game of tag took their minds off the odd warm feelings which they would have gotten aroundabout the time where Le-Mon was being betrayed.
Back to the Southernmost point of the world, the presifrog was ready to put his plan into action. He gathered together a group of twenty men and women who he would pay to each one piece of silver for performing the task in question.
Le-Mon was walking tentatively along that evening when all of a sudden his face was covered by a large bag. “Let go of me! What do you think you’re doing!?” The man shouted. “I’ll call my lawyer on you.” He screamed at the top of his lungs. “PRESIFROG. Save me. SAVE ME!” The presifrog stood by the twenty kidnappers and looked on at what was happening in delight. A small smirk, much to the disgust of those around him, appeared to plaster over his face.
Le-Mon was carried to the South Pole, surrounded by hundreds of onlookers. Fifteen people then created a giant human pyramid, five people high, about the size of the pole itself.
With haste, the squirming body of Le-Mon was passed up person to person. “what are you doing to me?” Le-Mon asked, to receive no response. He was then placed on the top of the pole, in an uncomfortable position where he would stay. Taking off the head covering, Le-Mon saw a beautiful view. He got comfortable and he started doing what he did best. He started to take away the evil from the world, but whilst doing so, took away the good in the world. He was draining and sending upwards all of what gives the world it’s pizzazz to throw to the stars, the universe, planets millions of miles away.
An ominous deep red light loomed around Le-Mon and he started to take from the world whatever he could. Holding up his arms, the colour drained from those closest to him. Their hair all grew and shrunk to exactly the same boring and uninventive style. Their clothes changed to grey, and their smiles changed into boring and uninterested smirks. Soon enough, the circle of pizzazz draining forces had engulfed those around him, and it kept growing. The rich colours of the surrounding greenery they had somehow gotten turned into grey-ery, whilst all food lost it’s taste. The flowers soon died and shrivelled and the people all lost any interest in anything exciting they had ever had.
At that moment, Le-Mon was happier than he had ever been. A yellow tear of happiness rolled down his cheek as he saw the pizzazz shine upwards and head off where they could bever be found again. He looked at the distance to the greying landscape, becoming even more boring than it had ever been. The presifrog looked up. Prous, he shouted to Le-Mon that when twenty days comes, the whole world will be drained. It would become clinical and boring, and it would work like clockwork. Very boring clockwork.
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