Goblin Gets Drunk

Goblin Gets Drunk
By Dan CHEek
4 August 2006
© Dan Cheek 2006

Sam, Lost Cause, Bob, and Doctor Sanity sat huddled together in the dark.  They were crouched down on the floor, hiding under the dining room table.  Each of them sat there stone cold quiet, all afraid that even the sound of their breathing would betray their position.

Finally, after several minutes of this, Sam spoke up.  “I just want to say,” he whispered, “That it’s things like this that make me hate all of you.”

Bob looked up at Sam.  “Hey,” he whispered back, “You bought the beer.  So this is all your fault.”

“Bullshit,” Sam countered, “You guys are the ones that fed Goblin the entire case of booze.  So this is all entirely your fault!”

An small scale explosion shattered the forced quiet.  A blender could be heard starting up and then was cut off suddenly.  A high pitched shrill cut through the air.

“I think that was the sound of a chipmunk screaming,” Doctor Sanity offered as an explanation.

“How do you know what a screaming chipmunk sounds like,” Sam asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know.

“Remember the improvements I made to the bug zapper,” Doctor Sanity explained.

“The pilot of that small plane that flew into it remembers,” Lost Cause added.

 “I didn’t think he survived that,” Sam asked, again, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer to his question.

“I’m just saying,” Lost Cause explained, “If he wasn’t incinerated into ash, he would have remembered.  That kind of experience tends to be memorable.”

In the dark, Sam was shaking his head.  “Back to the challenge at hand,” Bob interjected.  “It won’t be long before Goblin finds us.  And being that he’s currently more drunk than Mel Gibson, it might not end well for us.”

“Maybe we should split up,” Doctor Sanity offered.  “No sense all getting eaten and/or horribly maimed all at once.”

“Fuck that,” Sam countered, “You bastards got me into this.  If I’m going to die, at least I’d like to be comforted by the knowledge that you’ll all be right behind me.”

“Amen to that one, Sam,” Lost Cause said in a cheery voice.

“Just so you know, LC,” Sam said to the Sock Puppet, “I hate you the most.”

“That’s sweet, Sam,” Bob interrupted, “But we need to get our game faces on.  Any minute now, a horribly drunken Goblin is going to come flying into this room and then we all die horrible deaths.  Doctor Sanity, do you have any suggestions?”

“Do any of you happen to have an elephant gun with extra ammunition handy,” he asked.

“No,” the others said in unison.

“Then, no,” the Doctor answered dejected, “I’m out of ideas.”

“I have an idea, then,” Bob offered.  “But Sam, your not going to like it.”

“Will it get us out of this alive,” Sam asked.

“Possibly.  But it’s not going to be pretty.”

“What’s your idea,” Sam asked in a depressed voice.  It occurred to him that he hadn’t asked a single question the entire time that he really, honestly, wanted answered.

“Do you have your cell phone on you,” Bob asked.

“Yeah, why,” Sam asked suspiciously.  “Keep in mind that the SWAT Team has already sent me a letter informing me that they are not responding to any incidents at this house ever again.  So I don’t know who you plan on calling that will be a match for Goblin.”

“They don’t have to be a match, Sam,” Bob explained, “Just a distraction.  Who do we know that will ALWAYS come out to the house if we call?”

“The pizza guy,” Lost Cause blurted out.

“BRILLIANT,” Doctor Sanity exclaimed.  “Pizza slave rings the doorbell, Goblin ravages him, and we sneak out the back door.”

“You’d think that the Pizza Place would stop delivering to our house,” Sam thought aloud.

A horrific roar sounded through the house.  Then a toilet flushed and was followed by a horrible crashing sound.  Everyone sitting under the table looked at each other and then shook their heads.  Better not to even try and guess about what that was all about.

“I’d better make that phone call,” Sam said as he pulled his cell phone out.  He dialed the number, which he kept on speed dial, sadly, for emergencies such as this and then waited for someone to pick up.  After a brief conversation, he ordered a plain pizza and an order of buffalo wings and then put the phone back into his pocket.

“We should have gotten pepperoni,” Lost Cause said in a sad voice.

“Shut up,” Sam said quickly, “Doctor Sanity, how drunk do you think Goblin is?”

“Well,” Sanity said slowly, “You figure he consumed two-hundred eighty-eight ounces of beer.  Being a Sock Puppet, he probably weighs about half a pound.  So, roughly, his blood alcohol level is probably near four hundred thousand percent.”

“That hangover is gonna’ suck,” Bob though out loud.

“We probably shouldn’t be around for that either,” Sam suggested.

All nodded in agreement.  Then they all went quiet and sat there in the dark, waiting for their opportunity to make a break for it.  After about a half hour, the doorbell rang.

Upstairs, their was a shuffling sound and then quiet.  Goblin, in his alcohol induced rage, didn’t quite believe what he just heard.  To reassure him, the doorbell then rang again.  All hell broke loose upstairs.  From the sound of it, Goblin was busting through walls and anything else that was in his way in a mad dash to get to the door.

From behind the door, the pizza guy tried to get someone to answer  the door.  “C’mon man, get the door, it’s…”

He never finished the sentence.  Goblin hit the door with the force of a hundred rabid grizzly bears, roughly.  What ensued would probably too graphic to even show on the Internet.

Sam and the Puppets wasted no time.  As soon as Goblin attacked the pizza guy, they bolted.  They made their way out the back door and made a mad dash for the neighbor’s porch.  For the rest of the night, they hid under there.  Goblin remained drunk for the next week, during which time Sam slept at work and the Puppets remained under the porch, living off of dog food.  A few homicide detectives showed up to investigate the case of the missing pizza delivery guy, but they got eaten, too.  After that, the Police Department just kind of gave up and closed the case.

The moral of the story is this: Never Get a Sock Puppet Drunk.  I guess the other moral is that it sucks to get eaten by a Sock Puppet, but I try to only ever include one or less morals in a story at a time.  This isn’t Sesame Street, folks.


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