Archive for the Puppet Stories Category

Be Sure to Read All Warning Labels Before Use – Part One

Posted in Puppet Stories with tags , , , , , , , , on March 18, 2008 by Dan Cheek


Warning Label

Be Sure to Read All Warning Labels Before Use – Part One
By: Rob Sandman
18 March 2008
© Robert Sandman 2008

As Sam walks in the front door; Lost Cause, Bob, Dr. Sanity and Goblin all turn to look at him from the couch.  Lost Cause quickly hangs up the phone after seeing Sam enter.  Goblin jumps off the couch and heads into the other room and the group starts to giggle uncontrollably.  “What’s so funny guys,” Sam asked looking quite suspicious of the puppets?

“Nothing” Bob quickly snapped back with.

Now knowing that something wasn’t right, Sam decided to press the issue.  “What are you guys up to?”

Lost Cause decided to finally chime in, “Oh, just checking on a recent order that I made.  It should have been here by now but for some reason it’s not.”

“What did you charge on my credit card now,” Sam asked with a slight bit of hesitation in his voice.

Knowing that things were going to take a turn for the worse, Dr. Sanity decided that he would be the best person to explain the situation.  “Just something for a little experiment that I am conducting.  We’ve ordered an air-powered tube that is used for the enhancement of blood flow for the full stimulation the male member.”

A dumbfounded look suddenly appeared over Sam’s face.  It took a few seconds before he could manage to get a word out.  “A whaaaaaaaaaa?”

Not taking his eyes off the TV Bob just blurted out “Penis pump.”

The dumbfounded look on Sam’s face slowly faded into frustration.  “You ordered a penis pump?  What the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“Now Sam, nothing’s wrong with us, we just heard that this device is used for male enhancement and we wanted to see what other things it could be used for.”

“So…. what exactly are you going to do with it,” asked Sam slightly intrigued but also afraid of the response he would get?

Bob quickly cut off whatever response Lost Cause was going to give.  “Oh, we could tell you, but then we’d have to kill you.”

Sam decided not turn this into a battle of wits because he knew that he wasn’t going to get his point across.  “Listen, I would appreciate it if you guys would stop ordering shit with my credit card.  You’re probably going to tell me next that you’re using it to make popcorn.”

“DAMN IT!  You’ve been reading my notes again,” screamed Doc.  “LC, fire that stupid monkey, and run an ad in the paper for a new assistant because he can’t guard anything worth damn.  All he does all day is whack off and fling shit at everything anyway.”

“I wasn’t serious, I was just making a statement.”  Starting to get frustrated with the conversation going nowhere, Sam decided to just give it up.  “You know I have to pay for all the stuff you guys buy…” Suddenly in the background muffled screams could be heard followed by growling from Goblin.  After a few seconds the screams stop and silence once again falls on the apartment. 

“…What the hell is he doing now?”

“It’s delivery,” chucked Lost Cause.

“It’s not delivery,” Bob interjected, “it DiGiornio!”

Giggling uncontrollably, Lost Cause popped back, “No, it’s definitely delivery.”

“Okay, you got me there, but I wanted to actually have chance to say that line to someone and it was just too perfect of an opportunity to pass up.”

Sam, being the killjoy that he is had to ruin the moment.  “That’s just great, I guess I can expect another visit from the police searching for another missing pizza delivery guy.” 

“Look Sam, it’s pure coincidence that the delivery guys just so happen to disappear after coming to our place” said Doc.

Trying to help the cause Bob decided to add something to the conversation.  “Yup, it’s all circumstantial.  Besides they can never find a body to link to you anyway.”

“Excuse me; do you recall the fried delivery guy at the door?  Remember I had to get rid of him” Sam barked back.

“Oh, that’s right I forgot about that guy,” said LC looking over at the group.

“You know, this is just like the time your order those chain saws,” Sam said, starting to become agitated.

“But, it was for Arbor Day,” Doc said, almost sounding eerily heartbroken,

“Doc, you’re supposed to plant trees, not cut down a whole forest,” responded Sam.  “I thought you understood the whole concept of it.”

“Minor detail,” Doc shouted back.  “Hey, what about the time you told me I should do something constructive like saving the whales.  I took your advice on that one.”

Almost expecting this Sam quickly shot back, “You ordered a petrified whale penis and converted it into a lava spewing lawn sprinkler.  How does that in any way qualify as saving the whales?”

Now becoming clearly annoyed with the way things were going, all Doc could do was utter out the words, “Bahhhhh!”

Becoming equally annoyed, “I knew this whole conversation would be totally pointless.  Why do I even bother,” Sam said with frustration clearly developing in his voice?

“It gives you some sense of satisfaction to feel like your point gets across to us,” Bob chimed in as if his statement would somehow help the situation.  “Unfortunately it falls on deaf ears.”

“Whatever!  Anyway I have a date to get ready for so I’m hoping that you guys can please make yourselves scarce tonight.”  Sam decided he was fighting a losing battle and wanted to end things before it went any further.  “I would like to avoid repeating our last situation again.”
LC thought for a minute before deciding to speak.  “But I thought you liked that crazy girl with the semi-automatic weapons who tried to kill you?”

“Not that one,” yelled Sam “for the love of God, I’m talking about the girl who worked in the bookstore.”
As if a light switch were turned on, Bob quickly reminded the others.  “Ohhh her…yeah I forgot about her…terrible thing about that one…”

Sam quickly cut Bob off before he could even finish what he was saying, “…yes and I ask that you never mention her again.  I still have those horrible images burned in my mind.”  Making his way towards the stairs Sam looked back over his shoulder.  “I’m going to take a shower now and you guys had better keep out of sight when I get back tonight.”

It was about an hour after Sam left that the doorbell rang.  All four puppets were sitting on the couch watching TV and each of them was equally dumbfounded by the sound of the bell.  Bob looked around at the other three puppets while asking “did any of you call for delivery?”  Goblin was the only one to respond with a grunt. 

LC jumped off the couch and made his way over to the door.  Not sure what to do he blurted out “Who is it?”

A voice from behind the door bellowed “DHL, I have a delivery for a Mr. Sam…,” but LC quickly cut him off.  “Umm yeah, can you just leave it at the door I’m in the middle of shaving my…cat…and can’t get to the door.”

There was a slight pause before the DHL guy responded.  “Umm, sure thing buddy, not a problem.”  There was a loud thud followed by hurried footsteps.  LC waited a minute before getting the package from behind the door.

LC brought the package back over to the couch and quickly tore into it like it was his birthday.  “I can’t believe it’s finally here,” he bellowed with excitement.  “I thought it would never get here.” 

All four puppets looked into the bottom of the box as if it were some type of Holy Grail; then disappointment finally set in.  Doc was the first one to speak up.  “Well, that’s not what I was expecting.”  Almost puzzled, “I would have thought there would have been more to it.”

Bob thought to himself for a minute before he decided to add his two cents.  “It’s just a plastic tube with a pump on the end of it.  I think we’re the ones who got the shaft on this one.”

LC tossed the pump onto the table.  Goblin chuckled to himself as if somewhat amused by this whole situation before deciding to jump off the couch and head into the other room.  The three remaining puppets remained in an uncomfortable silence.  Doc decided to be the one to break it.  “So, why don’t we go check out this little project I’m working on?”  Bob & LC both nodded without saying a word and quickly followed Doc up the stairs to his lab.

A few hours later a key could be heard unlocking the front door followed by footsteps and voices.  LC ran over to Bob in a panic.  “Ohh my God, I just realized I left the uhhhh…..the uhhhhh….”  Bob, finishing LC’s sentence “penis pump.”  With a thankful nod, LC continued “yeah, I left it on the table in the living room and Sam’s home with his date.”  Bob just turned his head and a sly grin slowly escaped the sides of his mouth as he hissed “really, that’s just perfect.”


Summer Follies

Posted in Puppet Stories with tags , , , , , , , , on March 3, 2008 by reverendthor

“Summer Follies”
By: Rob Bresser
3 March 2008
© Rob Bresser 2008

It’s been a long, cold winter. Finally, warm weather begins to move in. All the snow is melted from the ground, birds have moved back in, and the infamous April showers have begun. Suddenly, a freak noreaster drops ten inches of snow, and the Sock Puppets from Hell, are pissed.

“Goddam rodent!” Bob shouts. “The fucker said this shit was over.”

“You realize, of course, that the groundhog neither controls nor predicts the weather change,” Doc said in a matter-of-fact way. “In fact, the whole Groundhog Day idea is a ridiculous idea. Shadow or not, the time frame is the same. It’s just an excuse for a bunch of morons to polka.”

“Yea, I know,” Bob said. “But it gives me something to blame. And that makes me feel better.”

“This winter is never going to end…” Lost Cause sighs as he stares out the window. Goblin can be seen leaping through the snow like a gazelle. Suddenly, he jumps into the air and does a nose dive straight down. A split second later a fountain of blood erupts into the air and stains the snow red. Goblin returns to frolicking. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“Should we tell him we’re out of milk?” Bob asks Doctor Sanity.

“Nah, he’ll figure it out.” A piercing scream and then sobbing can be heard from the kitchen. “You know, I might be able to modify the microwave to speed up time. We can make summer now.”

“That would be terrific! But I just got an idea that will take less time. Pick L.C. up off the floor. This is gonna be fun.”

Some time later, Sam arrives home from work. As he walks to the front door, he notices the large red splatter in the sow. Sam doesn’t break stride as he shakes his head and mumbles to himself, “I really hope that was an animal.”

As Sam enters the house he sees the numerous boxes marked “Summer” strewn about the living room. Bathing suits and beach supplies are scattered from one end of the house to the other.

“It looks like a bomb went off in here,” Sam exclaims. He isn’t surprised about the mess, only the fact that his swim trunks are involved. He now notices the music coming from the back of the house. “Please don’t let this be another of their ethnic parties,” Sam whines aloud. He makes his way toward the back of the house. As he approaches closer to the source of the music he realizes that it’s not coming from inside, but outside. Terror grips Sam’s soul as one word forces itself through his lips from the deepest part of his anatomy, “FUCK!” The back door flies open as Sam reaches for the knob. Lost Cause comes skipping in with a plastic cup in hand.

“Hey!” L.C. cheerfully greats Sam. “What’s up big guy?”

“What are you so happy about?” Sam asks suspiciously.

“Nothing. Just ringing in the summer.”

“But there’s like, a foot of sno… Never mind. Do you have any idea what Goblin slaughtered in the front lawn?”

“Huh? Oh, no. He’s crazy as bat-shit,” Lost Cause adds as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Sam steps outside and closes the door behind him. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. A small piece of Sam died in that instant. His backyard resembled a special he saw on the History Channel about the scorched earth tactics of the Russians during World War II. The lawn was bare and blackened. Half the shrubs were still burning, the other half just a smoldering pile of ash. The remains of several lawn ornaments and a few squirrels lay charred near what used to be Sam’s lawn furniture.

“WHO NAPALMED MY YARD?” Sam screamed.

Bob looked up from the grill to see Sam with a look of shock on his face. “SAM! What’s up? Welcome home. Grab a beer. Why not throw on some shorts and sunglasses? We’re having a picnic.

“You napalmed my yard!” Sam shouted.

“No we didn’t,” Bob stated. “We used gasoline and hairspray.”

“You’re being over dramatic, Sam,” Doc interjected. “All we did is speed up the melting process.”

A vein somewhere deep within Sam’s head burst. He temporarily looses the ability to control the volume of his voice. “SPEED up the PrO- You FUCKING TORCHED MY lawn!”

“But we saved the microwave,” offers Bob. “Doc was going to turn it into some kind of machine to speed up the Earth’s rotation.”

“No,” Doc states, simply. “I still did that. You never know when it might come in handy.”

“Oh, nevermind.”

Suddenly, Sam tastes blood. The only explanation he can come up with for this is that his brain must have spontaneously melted. Incomprehensible sounds begin to pour from his mouth.

Interrupting Sam’s babbling Bob says, “Sam, buddy. You need to relax. Grab a beer. I’ll fix you something from the grill.”

“Yeah. Beer. Yeah,” is about all Sam is capable of saying at this point.

“You might want to let the hot tub cool down a little before you hop in Sam,” suggests Sanity. “It’s still pretty hot.”

“I don’t have a hot tub.”

“A matter I saw fit to rectify. The neighbor’s pool works just as well.”


“-I know what you’re thinking Sam. And the answer is yes. Heating the pool proved to be quite difficult. We ran out of gasoline while melting the snow. First we tried using water heated on the stove, but that was taking too long. So we turned the toaster oven on high and tossed it in. You need a new extension cord by the way. The old one is melted.”


“Yes, I know. Our test subject didn’t fare well. It’s OK though. They didn’t like the dog much anyway. I don’t think,” concludes Sanity.

Before Sam can say anything, a cheerful Bob chimes in. “What’ll it be Sam? Bar-b-q chicken, broiled fish, or hamburger?”

“Where the Christ did you get all that?” Asks Sam.

“Well, your freezer was empty. So we went next door.”

“You stole the neighbor’s food?”

“Incase you were wondering,” adds Doc. “That was before we flash-boiled their-“

“STOP!” Sam interjects. Then turns his attention back to Bob. “You stole the neighbor’s food?”

“Well, not really,” Bob explains. “They must be on vacation or something because their cupboards were bare too.”

“Wait.” Sam thinks aloud. “I’m confused.”

“Sorry, Sam, I guess the question I should have asked is: ‘Do you want bar-b-q parrot, broiled goldfish, or hamster burgers?’”

At this point, on the other side of the planet, a Chinese man is wondering who is screaming. Sam’s posture and heavy breathing give him the appearance of a rabid mongoose.

“I guess that means he’s not hungry,” suggests Sanity.

Lost Cause comes happily prancing outside and shouts, “Hey, guys. Sam brought home more milk!” Then he sees Sam, lying on the ground in the fetal position sobbing. “I’ll get the Windex,” he says empathetically and sulks back into the house.

“You realize this is all Puxatony Phil’s fault,” Bob says to Sanity.

“Road trip?”

“I’ll get the nail gun. You put Goblin in his cage and warm up the car.” Bob then turns toward the house to yell to L.C. “HEY! FORGET THE WINDEX. WE’RE GOING ON A TRIP.”

Muffled by the house, Lost Cause’s response is, “Kay!”

“What about Sam?” Inquires Sanity.

“He’ll feel better when we get back,” says Bob. “We’ll get him a t-shirt or something.


Sock Puppet Interview – Bob

Posted in Puppet Stories with tags , , , , , on February 28, 2008 by Dan Cheek


Today, I will be interviewing Bob, one of the four Sock Puppets From Hell. Bob is often described as the “leader” of the Sock Puppets and also as the least insane. Hopefully, by the end of the interview, we’ll have a better idea of who Bob is and what makes him tick.

SPFH: Bob, you probably get this question a lot, but what’s it like going through life as a Sock Puppet?

Bob: First off, I really don’t get that question a lot. You’re actually the first to ask. As for what it’s like being a Sock Puppet, well, it’s not all that bad. Except when I get chased by dogs and homicidal clowns.

SPFH: Homicidal clowns?

Bob: Hasn’t the “Kill Smile” story been released yet? Oh, no I guess it hasn’t. Well, when it is released, you’ll understand.

SPFH: I see. Moving on, you are often referred to as the “leader of the Sock Puppets From Hell.” How did you obtain that role?

Bob: I’m just a lucky fucking guy, I guess. Seriously, though, it’s just something I fell into. Plus, when you consider the mental capacities, or lack thereof, of the other three maniacs I pal around with, it’s not all that hard to figure out. I see myself, however, not so much as a leader but more as a parent type figure for the other Puppets.

SPFH: So, as a parent, do you consider yourself a failure?

Bob: Explain that.

SPFH: Well, Doctor Sanity routinely blows things up, causes millions of dollars worth of collateral damage, and could be considered one of the most destructive characters in all of history. Lost Cause is a drug addled, over medicated, mentally damaged shell of a Sock Puppet who pals around with a homeless drunk. And Goblin, well Goblin has killed more people than Tony Montana did in Scarface.

Bob: I blame television. And rap music.

SPFH: Rap music made Goblin eat a pizza delivery guy?

Bob: I think we’re done here.

SPFH: And did television make Doctor Sanity unleash a remote controlled flying chainsaw on a Mime convention?

Bob: You can blame the television show, Doctor Quinn: Medicine Woman for that. And, yes, we are done here. I’m leaving.

Please join us in two weeks as we sit down with Doctor Sanity.  You can read all about Bob and the other Sock Puppets From Hell by checking out the Sock Puppet Story Page.  All for now.

Blackout – Part One

Posted in Puppet Stories with tags , , , , , , , , on January 11, 2008 by Dan Cheek

By Dan Cheek
11 January 2007
© Dan Cheek 2007


“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bob said as he sat watching television, along with the other Sock Puppets and Sam, the guy they had taken up living with some time ago. “Why are there so many damn reality shows on TV?”

Sam, who was sitting next to Bob on the couch, offered the explanation, “Well, probably because all of the TV writers are on strike. They want new contracts and until they get them, no new TV shows.”

Doctor Sanity, the mad scientist of the Sock Puppets, exploded with anger. “Bullshit,” he exclaimed, “They want more money and they are holding my television hostage until they get it?! This is an act of war! Why hasn’t the President killed all of these terrorists outright?!?”

Sam just sat there, shaking his head. Trying to reason with Doctor Sanity, especially when he was angry, was like trying to convince a Speak and Spell that it just spelled something wrong. It just wouldn’t work. “I don’t know, Doc,” Sam said at last, “Maybe he’s rooting for them or something. Who knows.”

“I kind of like all of these reality shows,” Lost Cause, the manic depressed Sock Puppet offered, “Dancing with the Stars is thrilling, if you ask me.”

“Well,” Doctor Sanity huffed, “I don’t recall anyone asking your brain-dead, chemically abused opinion. My sitcoms and crime dramas are floating in limbo because a bunch of whiney little idiots are greedily demanding more money! WHERE’S MY DEATH CANNON!?!?”

“No death cannons,” Sam interjected quickly. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe the writers actually have a valid point, and deserve to be paid more for their work. Maybe they deserve to be paid better. I kind of think the writers are doing the right thing, standing up to the studios.”

“All I want to know is, who do I have to kill to get new episodes of my shows back on the air,” Doctor Sanity asked in a voice crazy enough to make you certain that he was serious.

Goblin, the most violent and animalistic of all the Sock Puppets, sat there on the couch, making occasional grunting sounds. A fanatic television addict, he didn’t appear to give an ounce of care to the conversation. There were amusing little images flashing in front of him and that’s all that he cared about.

And then the lights and all of the electrical power went out.

“The Apocalypse is upon us,” Lost Cause screamed in a panicked voice. The entire house was pitch black, with none of the Puppets or Sam being able to see anyone else. It didn’t take long for very bad things to begin to happen.

“Alright,” Sam said calmly, “Everyone stay calm. I’m sure the power will be back on in a minute or two. Is everyone calm,” he asked, hopingly.

Goblin let out an unholy roar the shook the windows in the house. With a thud, he could be heard jumping off the couch. The sound of splintering wood, breaking glass, and large, heavy things being tossed around filled the house as he rampaged.

“I think Goblin is a bit upset about the television going dark,” Sam said, stating the obvious. “This will probably end horribly, I’m guessing.”

“How fucking hard is it to keep electrical power flowing to a house,” Doctor Sanity exploded. “Humans can, supposedly, land a man on the moon and clone animals but keeping the lights turned on to a friggin’ house is too much for them? I’m going to kill something.”

“Sit down, Doctor,” Sam ordered sternly. “Goblin, goddamn you, calm down and get back on the couch.”

A blood curdling, ear ringing roar was Goblin’s response. Clearly, he was in no mood to listed to reason. Or anything else, for that matter.

“Sam,” Lost Cause asked in a worried voice, “Do you think the Writers’ Guild did this to us?”

“No, LC,” Sam answered in a soothing voice, “I really don’t think so.”

“Oh, what the fuck do you know, meat sack,” Doctor Sanity blurted out, “If those terrorists have the power to hold our television programming hostage, do you really think they can’t do something as simple as knock our power out. Fortunately, my Death Cannon is powered by nuclear power. And sheep blood.”

“Shut up, Doc,” Bob interjected. “We need some lights. Where are the flashlights?”

“I think there’s one in the kitchen, somewhere,” Sam answered. “The trick will be finding it in the dark. And not getting mauled or eaten by Goblin in the process.”

Without warning, Goblin, who had been heard in another room breaking things, came screaming past the couch. Before any of the Puppets or Sam could say or do anything in response, Goblin had plowed straight through the front door. And just like that, he was gone.

For several seconds, there was complete silence. Then, finally, Sam spoke up. “Please, please, please tell me Goblin did not just bust through the door and is now outside. With people.”

“I could tell you that,” Bob said, “But it won’t do much for the fact that Goblin really is outside. He’s gone rouge.”

“Maybe he’s just out in the front yard,” Lost Cause offered. That hope was dashed when, through the hole in the front door, a high pitched man scream could be heard from coming from down the street.

“FUCK,” Sam screamed. “We have to go get him. There’s no telling what Goblin will do out there. Fuck. He’ll probably eat half the town. I hate my life.”

“Doc,” Bob said, “Do you have anything in your lab that can help us catch Goblin?”

“I have some napalm rat traps, a rail gun, some highly nasty German porn, and an Easy Bake Oven that I modified and re-programmed to kill Paris Hilton. But, no, nothing that can catch, or even slow down, Goblin. I don’t think such a weapon exists,” he answered.

“Fuck,” Sam said again, “We’re going to have to go get him. Weapons or no weapons. We just can’t let him run around out there. C’mon.”

Sam stood up and made his way over to the ruined front door. Bob, Lost Cause, and Doctor Sanity stood at his feet. Sam took a long, deep breath and then slowly let it out. “Are you guys ready to go after the most perfect killing machine on Earth,” he asked to all of them.

“Are we really going outside,” Lost Cause asked nervously, “We’re going to go out into the town?”

“I don’t think Sam has a choice,” Bob answered.

Sam let out another long sigh. “I don’t stand a chance at catching Goblin on my own. If he’s going to be brought back to the house, I need your help. All of you. And, no, I’m not thrilled about it. Not even a little bit.”

Sam opened what was left of the front door and he and the three Puppets made their way outside. The entire street was blacked out. No lights were on anywhere, with candles and flashlights flickering through a few windows.

“Damn those writers,” Doctor Sanity blurted out in anger. “They took down the whole street!”

“Shut up, Sanity,” Sam said in a huff. “The only thing we focus on now is finding and catching Goblin. The sooner the better. Let’s go.”

As Sam and the Puppets made their way down the street, Lost Cause looked up at Sam. “Do you think all of this will end well,” he asked in a voice that was laced with worry and fear.

Sam’s response was blunt and dry, “No, Lost Cause. I really don’t think it will.”

The Night the Squirrels Died

Posted in Puppet Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 28, 2007 by Dan Cheek

The Night the Squirrels Died
By Dan Cheek
28 November 2007
© 2007 Dan Cheek

The Night the Squirrels Died...

For once, Sam’s house was quiet. It was the middle of the night and everyone, including all of the Puppets, was asleep. This was a rare event. Normally, at least one of the Puppets would be awake, either watching television, or fixing a late night meal, or blowing something/someone up with insane amounts of explosives. At any rate, tonight everything was quiet.

Sam, as usual, slept in his room with his bedroom door locked. He knew that if the Puppets really wanted to, it would be all to easy for one or all of them to open the door and wake him up, sending him even further down the road of insanity that he had been traveling since they moved in with him. And they woke him up a lot, usually to confess to him their latest atrocity. Still, it provided him with just enough piece of mind that he was able to drift to sleep.

It was two seventeen in the morning when the sirens began going off. From all over the house, loud electronic alarms began echoing. Sam jumped awake, not quite knowing what was happening. The noise was so loud and so constant that he couldn’t form clear thoughts. The thoughts he could form involved him murdering all four of the Puppets who lived with him. Those thoughts were still ripping through his mind when he made his way out into the hallway.

Bob, the unofficial leader of the Sock Puppets from Hell was standing there to meet Sam. Sam thought briefly about kicking Bob through the wall, but decided against it. “What in the holy fuck is that noise,” he screamed at Bob.

Bob gave a little shrug and replied, “Not a clue. It’s kind of loud though, eh?” Sam decided that he did indeed want to kick Bob through the wall and was preparing to make an attempt at it when Lost Cause and Goblin came flying around the corner.

Goblin, a raging beast of a Sock Puppet, was trembling with anger and foaming at the mouth. Clearly, the combination of the loud noise and being woken up in the middle of the night had sent him into a tizzy. Sam allowed himself a smile as he imagined Goblin eating the other three Puppets. The smile disappeared when Sam realized that should things come down to that, Sam would probably be the next item on Goblin’s menu.

“Sam,” Lost Cause, the manically depressed Sock Puppet said in a pleading voice, “Could you please turn that alarm clock off? The noise is making me suicidal.”

Sam looked down at Lost Cause is disgust. “I don’t think that noise is an alarm clock, LC. It sounds more like a god damned air raid siren. In my house. Feel free to kill yourself at any time, though.”

“Actually,” a mister-know-it-all voice interrupted, “It’s not an air raid siren. It’s a squirrel alarm.” The voice belonged to Doctor Sanity, resident scientific mastermind and the fourth member of the Sock Puppets from Hell. “And it’s going off because we’re under attack.”

Sam, Bob, Lost Cause, and Goblin all stood there, with blank stares on their faces, as they tried to digest that. Finally, Sam broke the silence and asked, “Under attack by who?”

“Squirrels,” Doc Sanity shouted in response. “The god damned squirrels are launching an offensive against us at this very moment! And if we just stand around here, we’ll all be dead in minutes! We must defend ourselves! To the lab!”

With that, he turned and took off running. He quickly made his way up the stairs which led to the attic, where his lab of horrors was located. Lost Cause, in a panic, was rushing along with him. Sam and Bob watched them zip away and then they looked at each other. “We should probably either join them or stop them,” Bob finally said.

“Damnit,” Sam sighed as he and Bob took off in a sprint, trying to catch up to Doctor Sanity and Lost Cause. They made it to the top of the attic stairs just in time to have a thick, incredibly solid metal blast door slam in their faces. “When the hell did that crazy bastard install this,” Sam asked.

“I suppose that’s what all the hammering and sawing and screaming was about a few weeks ago. And here I thought he was just milking a cow,” Bob answered. Sam thought about asking why any of those sounds could be associated with milking a cow, but then decided against it. He did his best, despite the blaring sound of an air raid siren going off in his house, to focus on the task at hand. He needed to get in that lab and stop Sanity from doing whatever it is he was about to do.

“Battle stations,” Doctor Sanity’s voice rang out across a loud speaker. The sound of the air raid sirens had stopped, but now all of the lights in the second floor hallway were blinking on and off.

“Open this fucking door,” Sam yelled back, as he beat his fists against it. Each slamming of his hand was met with a dull, hopeless sounding clank. It was as if he were attacking it with a feather. “Sanity,” he screamed again, “I said open this fucking door!”

“I heard you the first time,” Sanity’s voice rang out from the loud speakers again, “But I’m afraid I can’t open the door, Sam. We’re currently in a Defcon-Four, honest to God, no bullshit, Class One squirrel alert. According to the regulations, this door can not be opened up until, and not before, the threat has been neutralized.”

Sam dropped his head and rubbed his forehead. He squinted his eyes, looking for all the world as if he were trying to keep his brain from leaking out of his eye sockets. For a moment, Bob thought it might actually happen. “Shall I fetch the welding torch, Sam,” Bob finally asked, after he had given hope of seeing Sam’s brain leak out of his eyes.

“We have a welding torch,” Sam asked surprised, “I didn’t know we had a welding torch.”

“We have lots and lots of things you don’t know about. Follow me.” With that, Sam and Bob took off down the attic stairs, down the second floor hallway past the master bedroom and the guest rooms, and then finally down the stairs to the main floor of the house.

Goblin, still standing at the bottom of the attic stairs, let out a slow, long sigh and then made his way down the stairs to the first floor. Not to help Sam and Bob with their little mission, but rather, to see what was on the Discovery Channel.

Up in the lab, Doc Sanity rushed around, constantly checking flashing monitors, pressing random buttons, and pulling and pushing levers. Lost Cause, not sure what else to do, stood in a corner of the lab, watching Sanity whisk around. “Um,” he finally asked nervously, “How’s it going, Doc?”

Sanity came to a stop and looked over at Lost Cause, who was standing there in a corner, mindlessly watching him rush around as he was doing his best to defend himself and everyone else in the house from an attacking squirrel army. “We’ll be lucky to survive the night. There are a lot of those sick little bastards out there and there first wave is about to hit our main defenses. See?” He nodded over to a monitor that was flickering, filled with static. Every now and then it would blink off for a few seconds and then jot back to life. A sick buzzing could be heard coming from it.

“Doc,” Lost Cause asked cautiously, “Do you remember that time that you ran around the house, throwing grenades out the windows because you said there were ninjas trying to sneak in? And then it turned out there were no ninjas. It was just the guy from the electric company checking the meter. Remember that?”

Doctor Sanity stood there, looking at Lost Cause look back nervously at him. “I fail to see your point, Lost Cause. First off, that ‘guy from the electric company’ was a very well known ninja assassin. Had I not blown him into little bits of dust, everyone would have realized that. And all of the other ninjas who were with him obviously took off running after they watched me vaporize their leader.”

Lost Cause stood their and pondered that for a second. Finally, he looked up at Sanity and smiled. “Well, Doctor, if you say so.”

Doc Sanity nodded back at Lost Cause. “Now hold on to your nuts, LC, I’m about to show these squirrels the full fury of this battle station.”

Lost Cause’s eyes widened. “Um, battle station?” Doctor Sanity couldn’t hear Lost Cause, however. He was too busy running around, pressing buttons and giggling to himself.

Downstairs, Bob and Sam were rooting through a closet in the hallway. “I know it’s here somewhere,” Bob said as he tossed another boot out of the closet, narrowly missing Sam’s head.

“Incoming,” Doctor Sanity’s voice boomed from one of the hidden loudspeakers. With that, the sound of heavy machine gun fire could be heard erupting from outside. The whole house shook and vibrated as a whole arsenal of heavy weaponry exploded into action just outside. Bright red, yellow, and white lights flashed through the windows, indicating the muzzle flashes of the weapons. World War Three was kicking off in Sam’s backyard.

“Fuck,” Sam yelled as he threw himself to the floor, ducking for cover behind a sofa. “What the hell is going on?”

Bob came running up alongside of Sam. “Sounds like Doctor Sanity is taking this whole ‘squirrel invasion’ thing very seriously. Hopefully, the squirrels aren’t as armed as well as he is.”

“This is insane,” Sam said as he got back to his feet. “That crazy little bastard has crossed the line. I’m going to go beat down that door and then chop him up into pillow stuffing. C’mon.” Sam grabbed a wooden baseball bat and charged up the stairs. Bob was following him, struggling to carry the welding torch, which he had just found under a pile of old Better Homes and Gardens magazines.

On the sofa in the living room, Goblin sat intently, watching some Discovery Channel special on the mating habits of blind, retarded, sex addicted sheep. It was one of those shows that was so horrible and unwatchable that the Discovery Channel people had decided to air it on American television at three in the morning, hoping no one would ever watch it, but still filling a time slot and providing something to compete with Cinemax soft porn.

Goblin giggled as the sheep ran around, fucking everything with a hole. At one point, two of the sheep began gangbanging the camera guy. The narrator, obviously sickened by what was happening, could be heard making vomiting sounds in between his description of the ordeal. Some other guy came running into help the cameraman, armed with a stick, but he ended up getting raped by the sheep, too.

A loud explosion went off just outside the house. The lights in the house flickered, with the television briefly loosing reception. Goblin let out a low growl, his eyes narrowing, as he prepared to kill someone for disrupting his show. However, after a few seconds, the lights came back on and the television spurted back to life. Goblin happily went back to watching his program while the chaos exploded all around him.

Back inside the lab, Doctor Sanity was sitting intently in front of a large bank of old computer monitors. Each were filled with all sorts of images, ranging from radar screens, thermal targeting screens, to Playboy screen savers. “We’re holding them back, LC,” he said in a proud tone, “But just barely. I knew I should have installed more flame throwers in the bushes along the side. Make a note of that, will you?”

Lost Cause, who was still sitting in a corner, intent on watching the insanity unfold around him, looked up with a worried look on his face. “Um,” he said hesitantly, “I can’t really spell all that well.”

Sanity shot a look over at him, and then turned his attention back to the monitors. “Never mind then. Come here and watch as this horrible little squirrel army impales itself on the spear that is my ingeniously conceived defensive perimeter.”

Lost Cause hopped over to stand alongside the doctor, looking up at all of the glowing, flashing images. “Impressive, isn’t it,” Sanity asked after giving Lost Cause a chance to take everything in.

“Sure,” Lost Cause answered, “Um, do you have any hotdogs or anything in here. I’m kind of hungry.”

Doctor Sanity stared at Lost Cause for a long moment. He considered thirteen different ways to kill him, ranging from vaporization to implosion. Finally, he let out a long sigh, deciding on letting the silly little moron to continue wasting space. “The battle’s almost over. You can eat when we’re done.”

Just outside the lab, Sam was feverously beating against the door with his baseball bat. Bob, wearing a pair of old, over sized sunglasses that were secured to his small face with a rubber band, was making the slightest of progress with the cutting torch.

Sam was covered in sweat, all of his veins protruding from his neck and forehead. He was sure he’d just suffered three or four aneurisms, but he didn’t really care. He continued to beat against the door for all his worth. Cracks were beginning to spider down the length of the bat, a result of it being bashed against a solid steel door. “Fucking bastard shit faced whore kill the monkey piss, ow, and all his goddamn toys Jesus Christ I fucking swear, ow, squeeze the life out of him with my bare hands,” Sam muttered to himself in between slams of the bat.

Suddenly and without warning, the massive steel door opened, sliding silently to the side. Sam, exhausted from his bat attack and small heat attacks, fell to the floor. Bob switched off his cutting torch and tossed his glasses. “Hello,” he hollered out, “Anybody home?”

Doctor Sanity came bounding out of the lab, a massive smile on his demented little face. “Cigars for everyone,” he exclaimed proudly as he passed a shrink wrapped cigar to Bob. He tossed another over to Sam, who was making gurgling noises and twitching. “We fucking won, boys!”

Bob cocked his head to one side, “Um, won what exactly?”

“The squirrel assault on us failed,” Sanity answered in a jovial voice, “What’s left of their pitiful force is in full retreat. That’ll teach’em, eh?”

Lost Cause walked out of the lab, puffing on a cigar. He stopped and looked at Sam who was now making wheezing sounds when he breathed. “What happened to him,” he asked.

Bob looked over at Sam and then back at Lost Cause. “I think he suffered a stroke of something as he was trying to beat down the door and kill you both. I imagine he’ll be better by tomorrow. I’m going back to bed.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lost Cause said in agreement as he trotted after Bob. Doctor Sanity, deciding against sticking around and waiting for Sam to regain consciousness, joined his two fellow sock puppets.

Downstairs, Goblin was sitting on the couch, howling with laughter as three sheep tried feverishly to impregnate an ice cream truck. The narrator, who had by now slipped into shock, could be heard weeping and pleading for someone to come and shoot him in the head.


Outside, the bodies of over fifty squirrels, or what was left of their bodies, covered the backyard. No one would ever be sure as to whether this was, indeed, a failed squirrel offensive, or just another one of Doctor Sanity’s warped delusions gone horribly too far. However, no one would ever forget the night that the squirrels died.

Holy Rollers

Posted in Puppet Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 17, 2007 by Dan Cheek

Holy Rollers
By Dan Cheek, Rob Bresser, and Rob Sandman
17 October 2007
© Dan Cheek 2007

The four Puppets, Bob, Lost Cause, Doctor Sanity, and Goblin were all sitting on the couch, each half-awake and transfixed by some mindless program.  Bob let out a sigh and slowly looked over at the other Puppets.

“I’m bored,” he said to no one in particular.  “We should do something.”

Lost Cause looked back over at Bob and responded, rather drolly, “Sam threatened us with the blender if we move from this couch.”

“And judging by the way his eye was twitching when he said it,” Doctor Sanity added, “I think he might have meant it.”

“This sucks,” Lost Cause announced.  “We should report Sam for cruel and unusual punishment.  Bastard.”

“We could do that,” Bob agreed, “However, he would then probably report us.  And once the authorities found out about Doctor Sanity’s remote-controlled-flying-chainsaw accident, I’m guessing they would be less than happy.”

Doctor Sanity’s expression turned to one of shock and horror.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a sharp tone, “That experiment went flawlessly.”

“Even the part where it flew into the Mime Convention across town,” Lost Cause asked.

“That was the point of the whole experiment,” Doctor Sanity said, exasperated.  “And it went brilliantly.  I should have won a medal or military contract or something.”

“Right,” Bob chided, “I can see it now.  ‘We hereby present this medal of valor to Doctor Sanity for his grand achievement whereby he, via a remote-controlled-flying-chainsaw, dismembered over thirty professional Mimes in front of an entire class of visiting sixth graders.”

“You’re making it sound worse than it actually was,” Doctor Sanity retorted.  “I’d remind you that four of the vile idiot performers survived.”

“Only because the chainsaw ran out of gas,” Lost Cause corrected.

“All I’m saying,” Bob said diplomatically, “Is that it’s things like that that anger Sam to the point of threatening to chop us up in the blender.  I mean, did you think a remote-controlled-flying-chainsaw would not get us in trouble?”

“Bha,” Doctor Sanity scoffed, “So quick to vilify my inventions!  As the saying goes, ‘Remote-controlled-flying-chainsaws don’t kill people, I kill people.”

Goblin began chuckling softly to himself.  Bob looked over at him and then back over at Doc Sanity.  “I don’t see how that statement helps your argument.  And I’m certain that’s not how the saying goes…”

Bob was interrupted by a knock at the door.  All of the Puppets froze for a second.  Finally, Lost Cause spoke up.  “Should we get that,” he asked.

Another series of knocks shot through the room.  “Fine,” Bob said as he hopped off the couch.  “But if I get sent to the blender for this, I’m going to have Goblin eat your face.”

Bob hopped over to the door and jumped up and unlocked it.  Upon landing back on the floor, he hollered out, “Come in!”

The door flew open.  Standing in the doorway was Spooky, the mentally unstable derelict who had recently befriended Lost Cause.  [editors note: For more on Spooky, please check out the Enter Spooky story.]  Standing there with him were two very odd looking individuals, each wearing a simple black suit and tie and black, thick rimmed glasses.

“Fuck,” Bob said as he walked away slowly, leaving the trio standing there in the open doorway.  “LC, it’s for you.  Unfortunately.”

Lost Cause came shuffling over.  “Hey, Spooky, what’s up, man?”

Spooky, the scruffy, hairy, hippie-looking man let out a puff of smoke, which was odd because he wasn’t smoking.  He coughed a little and looked down at the little Puppet.  “Well man,” he said in his raspy voice, which had been ravaged by years of heavy smoking and drinking, “I wanted to introduce you to some new buds of mine.”  He turned to introduce his companions.  “This is Reverend Bresser,” he said pointing to at the smaller of the two.  “And this is Reverend Sandman,” he explained, pointing to the larger guy.

“Cool,” Lost Cause said cheerfully.  “C’mon in guys, we’ll make sandwiches.”

As the trio entered the room, Reverend Bresser stumbled over his feet.  He brushed the near fall off hoping no one saw.  He then reached into his coat, pulled out a plain metal flask, and proceeded to chug the contents.  “You want some?” he asks the large man to his side.

“What is it?” Reverend Sandman asks, suspiciously.

“Fuck if I know, hurts like a bitch though.”

“Sure,” Sandman stated, rather blandly.  He took the flask from the other reverend and with one swift motion gulped a swig, tossed the flask back to his friend and screamed a very unholy scream.

As Reverend Sandman approached the couch Goblin began to growl.  Two opposing rows of razor sharp teeth were gleaming in the light.  “What the fuck ever, I’ll sit over here.”  Rev. Sandman plopped in an arm chair and flipped goblin the finger.  To which Goblin replied with an abrupt scream of rage.  The ferocious, rabid sock puppet flew off the couch and lunged directly for Mr. Sandman’s carotid artery. 

Mid leap, a thought flashed through Goblin’s head.  Some sort of memory.  He was trying to decipher its meaning as he was careening toward what would be a spectacular bloodbath.  L.C. interrupted Goblin’s train of thought as he yelled from the kitchen, “If you don’t kill my guests I’ll get you a bunny.”  Goblin dropped, mid flight, to the floor.  He really did want a bunny.  Goblin scampered back to the couch content in thinking about all the different things he could do with a bunny.  Reverend Bresser now approached the couch.  Goblin would not be insulted twice, nor would he be moved.  A deep, ominous growl emanated from deep within whatever hellish gut the demented sock had.

“Relax little buddy,” the fearless reverend gleefully offered as he sat down between Bob and Goblin.  “Here, have some of this, it’ll take the edge off.”  The clueless Mr. Bresser began to poor the flask contents into his hand and offered it to Goblin, who accepted the offer.  The sock’s body went limp, as he slipped into a deep alcohol induced sleep.  The reverend then finished what was left in his hand.

“Yep, it’s some pretty good shit. Huh, buddy?”  Goblin could not respond, he just lay there belly up as the man scratched under his chin.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sandman asked

“Don’t criticize me, Reverend Sandman!”  Bresser replied sharply.  “I have a medical condition.”

“I’m pretty sure soberphobia is not a real medical diagnosis.”

“Sure it is; the intense over-whelming fear of sobriety.”

“Yes, I’m sure your life is a living hell.”

“Nah, it’s not so bad.  Not like when I came down with that combination of Anthrax, The Black Plague, Bird Flu, and leprosy.”

“Really,” Dr. Sanity interjected.  “Can I culture you?”

“Oh, God!”  Rev. Sandman shouted.  “It was a fucking cold!”

“No, I almost died.  But sorry, I took my home remedy, I’m all good now.”

“Your home remedy was vodka!”

“Yeah, alcohol kills anything!  Fit as a fiddle.”

 Doctor Sanity leans in closer.  “Hmm.  That’s a great idea.  I’ll have to try that next time Sam gets sick.  I think I still have some rubbing alcohol left over.”

“Whoa there guy.  There’s a science here.  You need to know what you’re dealing with.  Germs react differently to different types of alcohol.”  Mr. Bresser began to explain.  Doc pushed Bob out of the way and listened intently to the lecture being delivered.  Bob looked over at the odd looking man sitting in the arm chair who flashed him a big, goofy grin.

“So, uh, what are, um, what are your names?”  Bob asked cautiously.

“Rob,” Rev. Sandman replied.

“Which one of you is Rob?”

“He is.”

“I see.  And what about your name?”


“So….  You’re BOTH named Rob?”

“Let’s not make this complicated.  Ok, Slick?”

“Riiiight.  Well, I’m Bob.  The one being lectured by your friend is Dr. Sanity.  The one your friend killed is Goblin.  And you met Lost Cause at the door.”

“Who wants a drink?”  LC shouted into the room.

Reverend Rob Bresser halted his sermon to Doc,  “I’ll take a round.  What are you making?”

“What would you like?”

“Whatever, as long as it’s strong.  I have to drive home.”

“Something strong, huh?  Hm.. Oh, I know,”  Lost Cause’s voice trailed off as he headed back to the kitchen.

“So, uh,”  Bob continued.  “How do you guys know spooky?”

“WHO!?!”  Rev Rob Sandman shouted.

“The big smelly guy you two came here with.”

“Oh, him.  Rob tea-bagged him in an ally back in town.  He offered to buy us a drink and dumb ass over there said yes.”

Mr. Bresser didn’t skip stride in the lecture about alcohol to Doc.  Only one finger was presented as a response.

“Do you guys usually accept drinks from strange, smelly people?”

“Well, Reverend Bresser does.”

“You see, he’s got this little…I guess you would call it a sort of tick.  He likes to accept drinks from strange, smelly people and then he takes them out in the back alley and tea-bags them.  I’m actually quite surprised; we usually bail out after he does it but for some reason he took a liking to this one.”

“I see” said Bob as he casually shifted further away on the couch from Rev. Bresser.  “Would you mind if excuse myself for a minute.”

“Not at all my little friend” said the good Reverend Sandman.

Bob hopped off the couch and into the other room.  The Reverend then turned his attention back to his companion who was in the middle of serenading Dr. Sanity. 

“…and so you see that’s how I battled a bout with Malaria on our good will mission to Africa.”

Dr. Sanity just sat there with his mouth wide open in amazement.  For the first time ever he felt like he had finally met someone who he could relate to and share his ideas with.

The Rev. Sandman shook his head in disbelief before finally deciding to interject into the conversation.  “Now you know damn well that we didn’t go on a good will mission to Africa, in fact why don’t you tell him where we really were.” 

Turning his attention to Dr. Sanity, “We were in East Harlem at an aids clinic and he ended up with a bad case of herpes from a crack whore.  That’s the closest to Africa we’ve ever been.” 

Rev. Bresser turned his head and a sly grin slowly escaped from the sides of his mouth.  “And if I recall someone knowingly received a blow job from a transvestite, although he claims that he didn’t know until afterwards.”

Dr. Sanity sat there in shear amazement.  All thoughts had suddenly escaped his attention and he didn’t know what to make of the situation.  At that point the two reverends began to argue with each other. 

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, as Lost Cause was attempting to put together the sandwiches and drinks with Spooky he heard the commotion coming from the living room and decided to see what was going on. 

“Spooky, stay here and finish making the sandwiches and drinks for me while I go see what’s gong on out there” said Lost Cause as he exited the room.  As Lost Cause made his way out of the room, Spooky started to look around the kitchen, checking out the contents of all the cabinets. 

Suddenly something out the window caught his eye as he spoke out loud, “Is that David Hasselhoff?”  He quickly ran over to the window, opened it and yelled out “David…over here!”  Unfortunately he leaned a little too far out and fell out of the window, landing in the yard outside.

Meanwhile, back inside the house, as the argument in the living room started to heat up even further the front door suddenly opened and Sam came walking in.  It took him a second or two to soak before realizing there were some strange people sitting in his living room.  “What the hell is going on here, who are these people and what are you guys doing” he yelled? 

The two reverends didn’t even pay attention to Sam’s interjection into the conversation.  Lost Cause quickly made his way over between the two and attempted to try and defuse the situation, unfortunately the two men did not see him and he was knocked over.  Silence suddenly fell on the room and everything took a turn for the worse. 

Goblin jolted awake as if a light switch were turned on and saw Lost Cause lying on the floor.  Slowly a sly grimace appeared across his face, which could have been mistaken for a smile except for the low, deep growl that started to emit from deep inside of his seemingly bottomless throat.  Bob came bouncing back into the room and looked around for a second before speaking “You boys are most certainly…”

“FUCK,” yelled the smaller of the two Reverends as Goblin leapt off the couch after him.  He stumbled over his larger companion in an attempt to make his way for the door.  Unfortunately he lost his balance and proceeded to slam face first into the wall. 

Goblin quickly turned his attention to the other Rob, who at the same time managed to piss and shit himself before diving out the window in an attempt to get away.  Unfortunately he didn’t get away clean and Goblin managed to take a rather large chunk out of his rear end as he fell to the ground. 

The smaller Rob managed to get himself back on his feet, shake out the cobwebs and head for the door.  As he was heading through the doorway, he turned to look at Sam and said “Well my brother, I was just…”

Sam cut him off, “Leaving,” as he slammed the door in his face.  Out side you could hear the sickening thud of somebody hitting the floor, which was followed by growling and then lots of screams and scurrying.  Goblin had followed the other reverend out the window and made his way around the house to take care of the other man.

Sam turned around and mumbled to himself “Fucking bible bangers, they never learn do they.” 

He quickly scanned the room looking at each of the puppets as he asked “Okay, first off, I told you guys about not moving from the couch and second who’s responsible for allowing Laurel and Hardy in the house?” 

Lost Cause quickly chimed in “Spooky brought them over.”

“LC, haven’t we talked about this before?  Aren’t you too old for imaginary friends” Sam scowled. 

“But…he’s not…he’s in the kitchen” Lost Cause stumbled over his words trying to explain to Sam. 

Sam turned and headed for the kitchen and yelled back to the other puppets “I’ll deal with you guys after I go see LC’s friend.”  As Sam hit the kitchen door he stopped in his track.  “Oh my fucking God.” 

Lost Cause happily made his way towards the kitchen and started to speak, “See I told you” but Sam quickly cut him off “What the fuck is all this food doing out on the counter?  And what did I tell you about the leaving the damn windows open like that, what if someone sees you guys?”  Sam made his way over to the window and slammed it shut. 

Spooky heard the window and quickly stood up.  As he stumbled to his feet and brushed himself off he squinted and hissed through his teeth “Damn it, it’s just Wynona Ryder.  Oh well, I guess I’ll head back to the bar.”

Meanwhile, back inside, as Sam was heading up the stairs he looked back at the puppets.  “Look, I’m having a really bad day and I just need to go to sleep for a while.  Would you guys just please clean up this mess for me and behave yourselves for a few hours?”  He headed up a few more steps before turning back again “And by the way…NO MORE FUCKING BIBLE BANGERS!” 

Lost Cause tired to explain that it wasn’t them, it was Spooky who brought them over but Sam didn’t want to hear any part of it.  He wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible and finally said, “Look if you guys have to, order a pizza okay…if that’ll keep you satisfied then do it, but please don’t stuff the guy in the mailbox again, the post office and federal government tend to frown on that type of thing.” 

Sam made his way up the stairs and out of site.  A few seconds later a door slammed and the three puppets just looked at each other with a blank stare.  At that moment, Goblin came flying back through the broken window, chuckling ever so slightly to himself.  He proceeded to plant himself on the couch and hit the button on the remote for the TV.  Bob was the first to finally speak up.  “Well, I guess there’s no words to sum up this day except for…anybody want a pizza?”

Vikki Valentine – Part Two

Posted in Puppet Stories with tags , , , , , , , , on October 4, 2007 by Dan Cheek

“Vikki Valentine” – Part Two
By Dan Cheek
4 October 2007
© Dan Cheek 2007

“Lover,” Vikki Valentine called in a sickeningly sweet voice, “You can come out from behind the table, there. You just look silly at this point.”

Sam hazarded a peek above the table, showing no more than his eyes and top of his head. “I realize I do probably look silly,” he said in an almost whimper of a voice, “But I feel safer back here.”

“And what about the four little demon things you have back there with you,” She asked. “Perhaps one or more of them would like to come out and play.”

Bob was quick to answer. “Lady, while I appreciate your invitation, I’m going to have to respectfully decline due to the fact that you’re a horribly insane walking piece of death.”

“Yeah,” Lost Cause added, “Just kill Sam and leave us in peace. We surrender!”

Behind the table, Sam look down at Lost Cause. “Ass,” he quipped. “Way to be a team player!”

“Enough,” Vikki interrupted. “Sam, get your ass up and out here. Now. And tell the talking socks to give us some privacy.”

Slowly, Sam stood up. “Okay,” he said at last, “What do you want?”

Vikki smiled. Before she did that, Sam thought she couldn’t possibly look anymore insane. Now, he realized, he was wrong. “We still have to finish our first date.”

Before the conversation could continue, a motorized Shop Vac came roaring into the kitchen from the other room. “Say hello to my little friend,” Doc Sanity screamed in his best Scar Face impression. “Sucky, kill her.”

The Shop Vac, which had been heavily modified, sputtered out a series of beebs and squeals, acknowledging the order. Sucky was built on the base of a standard Shop Vac, but in place of it’s vacuum hose, there was a wicked looking machine gun. In addition to that, Sucky was armed with a flame thrower and two chain saw attachments, which now roared to life.

With lightning fast reflexes, Vikki jumped over the thing and did a combat roll back out into the disaster that was the living/dining rooms. Sucky roared and beeped, as angry vacuum killing machines do, and charged in after her.

Bob looked at Sanity and shook his head. “You invented a heavily armed vacuum blessed with a homicidal artificial intelligence, and you named him Sucky?”

Sanity’s eyes narrowed, “Perhaps you would like to insult Sucky to his face. When he’s done disposing of the combat Barbie doll in there, I’ll have him discuss the issue with you.”

“Shut up, all of you,” Sam interjected in a panicked tone. “There’s not a cold shot in Hell that Vikki looses to that thing. She took on the four of you and managed pretty well. We need to do something while she’s distracted.”

“Right,” Bob answered. “Goblin and LC, go help Sucky. Doc, run up to your lab and gather every piece of firepower you can find. Me and Sam have to phone in a distraction.”

“Pizza guy,” Sam asked.

“No,” Bob said in a thoughtful voice, “They don’t open for another two hours. I’m calling in the dog catcher. Now go do your things.”

At that, Lost Cause, Goblin, and Doctor Sanity all charged out into the living room. Based on the noises coming from out there, it sounded like Vikki was holding her own and making full use of all her weapons. Things only got that much louder once Goblin and Lost Cause were in the battle.

“Sam,” Bob said quickly, “Dial the dog catcher, which should still be in speed dial, and then hand me the phone.”

While dialing, Sam looked down at Bob. “I won’t even ask why you put the dog catcher in my speed dial.”

Sam completed his task and handed the phone down to Bob. “Hello, dog catcher,” Bob spoke into the phone, “I have an emergency. A rabid shiatsu has busted into my home and is tearing everything to shit. Yes. Right. Sex? Um, not that it matters, but it’s definitely a bitch. Right, female. Yeah. Oh, and there’s like thirty pit bulls in my backyard. I was hoping you could haul them away, too. Right. 1620 Shady Drive. Yes. Please hurry.”

Bob tossed the phone back up to Sam. “You had to throw in the bitch reference, didn’t you,” Sam asked, shaking his head.

“Hey,” Bob defended himself, “The guy asked. I only answered.”

From out in the living room, there came the unmistakable sound of a large caliber automatic weapon. Then….silence. Bob and Sam both looked at each other.

“What the hell was that,” Sam asked aloud.

As if to answer, Doctor Sanity came into the kitchen. “That,” he said in a cocky voice, “Was the sound of a high powered, fully automatic, solar powered tranquilizer gun. Vikki Valentine is now in a coma, thanks be to my specially engineered sleep serum.”

“Sleep serum,” Bob asked skeptically.

“Okay, fine, it’s not really sleep serum. I filled the darts with crushed up Tylenol PM and green tea. But it’s close, I swear.”

“The dog catcher is gonna’ be here any minute,” Sam said, looking at his watch.

“Perfect,” Lost Cause exclaimed, “Let’s dress her up like a dog and have her hauled away!”

“Do you even know how many things are wrong with that plan,” Sam said in a sad voice.

“Who cares,” Doc Sanity answered, “Let’s do it anyway. If he tries to tell us she’s not a dog, we’ll have him perform an autopsy to prove us wrong. I like it! Plus I still have that adult-sized Chewbacca costume that I have absolutely no use for.”

“Fine,” Sam said as he shook his head, holding the bridge of his nose, “Dress her up like a wookie and we’ll all prey and hope that the dog catcher hauls her away.”

“Sucky,” Doctor Sanity screamed out, “Go get my Chewbacca costume. And then clean up the living room.”

“He can fix all of that damage,” Lost Cause asked Doctor Sanity.

“Almost certainly not,” Sanity answered, “But it will be fun watching him try. He doesn’t even have any thumbs.”

“C’mon, Goblin,” Bob said as he walked into the living room, “Let’s go find a video camera. Maybe we can put this on YouTube.”