by John Cheese
Spending that much time on the internet does something to a person, and until my phone was shut down, I had no clue what I had become. Slowly and painfully, I ceased to be John Cheese and returned to my former self, Lance Volcanojock. I worked, I played with my children, I had sex with my wife, I ate food. My skin lost that whiteness that could only be compared to Elmer's Glue. I stopped referring to my best friend as David Wong, and started calling him by his real name, Tito Deathrider. I was becoming less of a fictional character and more of a human again. But as much as I enjoyed the reality while it lasted, something just wasn't right. I missed the escape and crassness that comes with being John Cheese. I missed the stupid.
It was on a rainy Tuesday morning that these thoughts began to taunt me. They echoed in my head as I cleaned the house. They chanted and mocked me as I passed up the opportunity to make a perfectly good anal sex joke while watching Blues Clues. They scoffed at my inability to belittle and demean my wife just for the sake of doing it. Suddenly, I knew what a recovering heroin addict felt like. And I knew that there was only one way to appease the demons. I had to get back online.
Without warning, I stepped to the center of the living room and removed my pants. Pushing the center ceiling tile to the side, I removed the six-foot novelty sombrero and placed it firmly on my head, securing the studded, leather chin-straps. I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer and my shotgun.
"What are you doing," asked Carrie from the living room.
Fully suited, I stepped back into the living room. With a look of Rambo-like determination (except I was naked from the waist down), I cocked the shotgun. "John Cheese is back, baby. I'm getting our phone turned back on."
"It's only been twelve hours, Lance Volcanojock."
"That's thirteen hours too many."
Without another word, I snatched up the keys to the car and began my mission.
This 12-paragraph section of the article has been removed as evidence in the case of The People of Illinois vs. Lance Volcanojock. Court case pending, it will be replaced following the ruling on his charges and sentencing. We apologize for the inconvenience.
It took nearly two months to remove all the fish from the courthouse roof, and by the time the fire hoses stopped spraying cottage cheese, I was long gone. Before I went home, I turned to Slash.
"Slash, man, I don't know how to thank you. What could I ever do to repay you for all your help?"
"Think nothing of it, brother. What sort of man would I be if I didn't step up and help out the man who has brought so much joy to my life with his constant stream of funny and sarcasm? No, John, it shouldn't be you thanking me. It should be me thanking you. And as far as repayment? All I ask is someday, when we come back to your area, you get up on stage with us and rock out for a song or two."
"I would be honored."
With that, Slash slung the guitar over his back and mounted his dogsled. A quick crack of the whip and a hearty "Mush!" sent him sliding off into the sunset. And with an involuntary smile and a nod, I knew that I would never have trouble with my phone again.
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