Isaac vs. Mason story, Isaac wrote this. Howard Windstorm Story

This is a second version made by Isaac.

--A story written for amusement purposes only (well, all stories are, but this one is exceptionally brainless). Comments would be appreciated, you people.

Mason Bliss sat on his spiky iron chair, eating cold pizza and drinking a cup of hot chocolate without chocolate. He was not Blissful, nor was he Masonful, for all he did was destroy. He was known as Mason the Perpetually Annoyed.

So deep in his veins ran the cold, biting edge of annoyance, such a burning rage of slight annoyance he had that he went completely bonkers, and resolved to end his slight annoyance once and for all.

“MwahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahLOLOLOLOLOlolololololololo!!1” He cackled super-evilly and internet-ally, and ordered some Lasagna, without cheese or pasta, or sauce.

*****

“Weeeeee!” Howard Lindstorm was bouncing up and down on Howard Lindstorm’s Pan-dimensional trampoline. It was a marvelous invention of Howard Lindstorm’s created when Howard Lindstorm threw a superparty for five weeks, and the joy of happy jumpers refused to leave. “My oh my, what a marvelous Pan-dimensional trampoline you have here!” he yelled to himself.

They were in the main Relaxation Vault of Lindstorm Industries, relaxing furiously after their crazy ordeal of relaxing yesterday.

“Howard! HOWARD!” yelled Spencer, one of Howard’s servants.

“Ahh!” Izak shouted, spilling his ultra-relaxation coffee all over the soft carpets of the Vault, making Spencer fall over himself.

Spencer jumped up in reverse motion in the fashion that is only possible when everyone around is in a state of EXTREME RELAXATION and doesn’t care about the laws of physics. He saluted smartly, and said, “Wasdfhjlfodfffffgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg—”

Howard whacked Spencer’s head, muttering, “These low-budget servants, always sticking....” and with an almighty kick to the back, Spencer stood up.

“Okay, yeah.... There are some guys out there who know some guys who knows some guys some guys out there who know some guys who knows some guys some guys out there who know some guys who knows some guys—”

“@&%#%^*(()!#@$=+``=-30^%%^*(()!#@$=@” said Howard for about two minutes as he whacked the servant, who had fallen silent. The rather swimming state of relaxation was disappating quickly.

The servant stood again, with an unhelpful, “...know some guys who knows some guys some guys out there who know some guys who knows some guys—”

Howard sighed, and turned to the doorman, who had walked in to find out what all the fuss and bother was about. “What is it?” he asked him.

“Well, sir, it appears that there is a Inconvieny-O-Copter hovering out there that is colored beyond the legal limit of evil. It is also yelling at you,” said the doorman.

“Thanks,” said Howard, and led a bewildered Izak outside.

*****

The Inconvieny-O-Copter was the epitome of evil and inconvenience among fixed-wing VTOL aircraft, made out of the toenails of dead men, the souls of dead kittens, eyelashes from completely healthy kindergartners, spine jelly from dead squirrels, and cheap plastic that was sure to fall apart if dealt a good, strong whack with a rolled-up newspaper.

Mason the Perpetually Annoyed sat inside the cockpit on a chair that was just hard enough to be uncomfortable without actually hurting him, and colored just the shade of pink to sear the eye. He reached for the megaphone mouthpiece that was just big enough so that he couldn’t hold on to it with one hand, but just small enough to make you feel that you didn’t really need to use two hands to lift it.

He spoke into it, which was more difficult than you might of thought absolutely necessary: “Surrender the Uranium, Howard!”

The Inconvieny-O-Copter was talking to them. It said, “SrrrredUrthHworadhiaumi!”

“What?” said Howard and Izak at the same time, directing their voices to the craft.

Mason was annoyed that he had to say it again. “Surrender the Uranium, Howard!”

“SrrrredUrthHworadhiaumi!” the Inconvieny-O-Copter said again.

Howard and Izak shot each other a sidelong glance before yelling, again, “WHAT??”

Mason was becoming desperately annoyed. He leaned out the window, bumping his head on an inconveniently placed plastic beam, which shattered. “You idiots! Surrender your friggin’ Uranium! Jeez!”

On the ground, Howard said, “Ewwwww! Uranium? Is that the stuff that comes from between your toes? Gross-o mundo! Yuckerific! Bad-bad Ickrifying! Diz-gusting!”

“SURRENDER IT!” Mason yelled, and coincidentally he swallowed a fly, mutated from exhaust fumes, that held in its body the cure for half of the world’s genetic diseases. It was coincidental because Mason had none of those diseases, but had most of the other half.

“But I don’t have any of that stuff! I threw it out with the iPod forty-three last week!” yelled Howard from the ground. Coincidentally also, Howard swallowed the fly’s brother, which cured all of his allergies, his asthma, and made most everything taste better to him.

While they were both hacking on their flies, Izak hovered away on a poof of Extra-Medium Inconsequentiality, and no one took notice, because it was Inconsequential.

Howard hacked out a glob of mucus that contained a cold that he would have caught; Mason swallowed an itchy dandelion pod. “Go away!” yelled Howard, feeling excellent.

“Well then!” wheezed Mason, “I guess that I’ll just have to send you a present!” And Mason stuck his head back inside the Inconvieny-O-Copter, grabbing for a red button that both fired missiles and sliced bagels. Sticking his head out again, he shouted, "Of the EXPLOSIVE variety!" which didn't quite add as much as he expected, as Howard just stared at him as if he was slightly touched in the head. With a grunt, he ducked back inside and grabbed the button.

*****

Howard cringed, waiting for two ultra-death-o-tronic missiles to come flying out of the inconveniently evil craft, but only two halves of an ordinary wheat bagel with added nutrients and low cholesterol came, dropping in almost exactly the same manner that a raisin bagel with low amounts of sodium would, only slightly differently. Anyway, he caught and ate them.

Mason crossed his eyes in annoyance, and had trouble uncrossing them for a few moments. It would take a few more seconds for the missiles to be ready to fire, as they took the same amount of power as the toaster.

Howard munched the strangely delicious ordinary wheat bagel with added nutrients and low cholesterol in fear, wondering what would happen.

Mason started thinking to himself, a habit he did when there was no one else to think to. Soon... he thought, very soon, you will be mine. Ha! If only someone were here to hear what I’m thinking, and I had a way of telling them, they would know a very important plot element that cannot be disseminated any other conventional way! Ha! My secret plan... wait, Mason, pause for dramatic effect... is to--

*DING*!!!

And Mason’s thoughts were scattered by the button telling Mason that, on no certain terms, that it may or may not now quite be able to either make a mean wheat bagel, or bring unaccountable destruction--All at the push of a button!

Then, out of nowhere, Izak came, now riding on a dark cloud of Mega-Consequentiality and wielding an automatic tennis ball pitching machine that some automatic tennis ball pitching machine enthusiast had installed in the bathroom, and whose occupants were glad to give to Izak.

As Mason pressed the button again with an annoyed shout of, “Krjykiknaztrajitdak!” Izak shot four green tennis balls at the two Fisher-Price Brand ultra death-o-tronic missiles, whose cheap plastic, not meant to withstand any whack from a self-respecting rolled-up newspaper wielder, shattered on impact with the tennis balls, and Howard looked up just in time to step out of the way of a falling block of rubber.

Mason had had enough of this bother, and with an annoyed sigh, he turned the Inconvieny-O-Copter around and flew away, powering his engines by liquid irritation mixed with gas that was more expensive than it should have been.

“Wow Izak! That was cool!” said Howard, suit teeming with delicious ordinary wheat with added nutrients and low cholesterol bagel crumbs.

“It’s not over yet,” said Izak, “But for the moment, can I have an interview?”

“Fine,” said Howard.

“Okay, Mr. Lindstorm, one short question, right off, can you tell the readers your favorite movie?”

“That’s easy,” said Howard. “It’s--”

And at that moment a cheap plastic panel piece flew out of the sky and hit Howard on the head. It was colored beyond the legal limit of evil. “This is not mellow!” Howard yelled, and passed out.

*****

Mason flew as far as his camp in the Muir crater before the Inconvieny-O-Copter whined, “I quit,” and fell apart, leaving Mason in midair in his uncomfortable seat and clutching at air, before he fell into the heart of the army camp amidst the snow and ice.

*****

Howard regained consciousness to a gentle rocking motion. He looked about him, and discovered that he was strapped into the pilot's seat of a ROFLcopter set to autopilot, a very odd version of the helicopter that was imbued with knowladge of most all inside-jokes of the internet. Unfortunately, most of it's memory was obsolete. "Llolololollolololololololol11!!1!!" it chuckled.

Howard, ignoring the weird laughter, looked out the window and saw Izak in a similar craft, fifty yards starboard.

The two ROFLcopters flew into a blizzard.

“ROFL One, can you see anything?” Izak asked his copter.

“No way jose!” said the ROFLcopter. Then it said, “Would you like to hear a knock-knock joke?” Izak declined. He landed the copter by the side of the road, and heard Howard’s touch down behind.

Howard was giggling like a maniac who had dropped murdering and taken up giggling instead. He stopped and asked, “Hey, Izak, did you hear the one about the guy who knocks on your door and has a funny name like ‘Immagettingcold’ or ‘Pleaseletmeiniambleeding’?”

Izak rolled his eyes. He had a habit of knocking around those who spouted knock-knock jokes, but he couldn't bear to womp on the ROFLcopter. It was just too cheerful.

*****

“Gross! What is that?” The soldier poked the thing on the ground with a stick. “It looks like a hairball flushed down the toilet mixed with an old sock!”

A recruit said, “I think it’s a pancake, sirs.”

Another soldier piped up, “No, it looks more like a roadkilled raccoon or bear or jellyfish... I think one of our trucks hit a baby sasquatch coming in.”

“I think it’s a pancake.”

Another one said, “And that smell... ugh! It smells like a turd wrapped in seaweed sprayed with a skunk and dipped in--”

“I think it’s a pancake.”

“--and put in a bucket of sweat from hairy guys and thrown off a cliff!”

“I think it’s a pancake.”

“HEY! That’s enough! Stop poking me!” And Mason the Perpetually Annoyed got up from the ground and brushed himself off.

*****

“We need to get out of this blizzard!” Izak yelled.

“What?!” yelled Howard.

“I said, we need to get out of this blizzard!”

“What?!”

“We need to get out of this blizzard!”

“I can’t hear you! We’ll need to get out of this blizzard!”

Izak yelled, "This joke isn't funny anymore!"

*****

In the central command tent in his army's camp, Mason sat at an uncomfortable bench that happened to be the only one to be made of iron and covered in thumbtacks for the sake of artistic license. He was eating a cold soup of despair and potatoes that refused to be eaten, and was putting up a good fight. Outside the tent, a blizzard was coming.

Before, he had taken four showers, which had been too hot, too cold, too just right, and too spontaneously combustible, in that order. When he had asked to see the water supply for the showers, there didn’t appear to be any, which only added to his worries.

Mason took out his Portable Cell Phone of Pure Evil, made by Satansung and serviced by BS&S, and speed-dialed his accomplice in badness, Ryan Anderson. “Ryan Anderson!” Mason barked into the phone.

“Heeeeeeeeey, duuuuuuuude. What's going on, man?” said Ryan. Ryan was a member of TOILET, The Officious, Informal, Lax, Eased, and Tanned, and as such was not likely to adhere to his status of General of the Whole Entire Army when talking to Mason. “Howya doing?” he said.

“Uncomfortably,” replied Mason, and continued, “Ryan, I need you to get to Muir right away, as in now if not sooner.”

“Righty-ho, i’ll be there, man. Stay beautiful” Ryan was so into the essence of TOILET that he didn’t even bother to capitalize his I’s when talking to people. It could be said that he had fallen right into the TOILET bowl, which is a TOILET member’s equivalent of Nirvana.

Five minutes later, during which Mason’s soup, which, though a rediculous and unrestatable series of events, had escaped out the window, Ryan arrived in his official military Ferrari, parking in such a fashion as to block four cars and an ambulance in their parking spots, as well as the army’s tank yard, jeep yard, self-propelled artillery yard, and a pony with a rocket launcher on its back. It was a testament as to how relaxed he was that no one seemed to care.

“Well, hello Mason! i think you have a job for me?”

*****

Izak and Howard landed their ROFLcopters and began walking the road ahead.

The road started to go uphill, and as Izak and Howard walked it, they could barley make out the outline of an inn ahead, as well as the dark shape of a mountain in the distance.

The inn was called “Mad Mike’s Krazy Stay-in Inn and Man Massage!” so they didn’t go inside, but outside there was an electric car parked that belonged to Howard Lindstorm.

He got in and drove uphill without Izak, so Izak jumped into the back of another car that was going uphill. “Hi,” said Izak to the driver.

“Will you get out of my car?” the driver asked Izak.

“No,” said Izak.

“Well then, that’s settled now. Would you mind terribly if I put some light jazz on?” asked the driver.

“Yes,” said Izak. “Please don’t put on jazz of any kind. Oh, and follow that car,” he added, pointing to Howard’s car.

“Okie dokie,” said the driver. “Would you like anything from Burgerdonalds here?” he said as they drove past Burgerdonalds.

“No. I prefer McKing. Also, keep your eyes on the road.”

“Would you mind if I asked you why we are following that car?”

“Yes,” said Izak.

“Why are we following that car?” the driver asked anyway.

“Because it contains Howard Lindstorm, the richest and strangest guy in the world, and because I need to interview him, and because he is very difficult to interview without something inexplicably weird happening.” To prove it, Izak yelled, “HOWARD? WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE COLOR??”

“BLUE!!!” said Howard, and a large leathery bird flew down and picked Howard out of his car and flew him up into the blizzard. Five seconds later he came tumbling down out of the sky and landed in his car as if nothing at all had happened.

“Wow!” said the driver. “You two are the weirdest guys I have ever met!”

“Thank you,” said Izak. “Now, keep driving.”

“Poooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooop!” said the coffee machine, and a squelchy black cupful of Mason’s private black ultra-grim coffee poured itself into Mason’s cup. Mason took a sipful and shuddered dramatically. It was both too hot and too cold (a state of liquid that defied the bounds of plausibility, known as “implausiquid”, but it was well known that Mason was always surrounded by a field of implausibility, much like the field of uber-fun that Howard generated, only a lot less fun.) The coffee was also ludicrously bitter.

Mason checked the machine’s coffee beans and was worried to find that none had been put in, and then he was annoyed that things like that kept happening to him. He put some in and made another cup, but it turned out almost exactly the same, save that it tasted a bit worse.

Ryan pressed the coffee button and a merrily steaming flow of nut-brown coffee came out. Ryan sipped it and beamed.

“So, this is what i think the plan is,” said Ryan. “i, the Ryan, have to go get this guy, Pan-lick”

“Pat-trick,” Mason whispered exasperatedly.

“Patch-kick, whatever, and i bring him into the crater, where Howard and Izak will be, magically.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...” hissed Mason, making such a ridiculous face that you might have thought he had won the lottery or just licked an electric fence. “Not magically, magnetically. There will be a gigantic refrigerator magnet in the crater. I just need you to get them there, and get Patrick there, too.”

“Where’s Pic-nic now?”

Mason did twelve eye-rolls before he looked at Ryan. “P-AAAAA-tri-K!” he oozed.

“Whatervers,” said, Ryan. He then got up, smirking his annoying Ryan-smirk and gloated away.

Izak caught up to Howard at a stop light.

“HEY, HOWARD, why’d you ditch me?”

“Oh,” said Howard, and without offering an explanation, he opened the top of his car and invited Izak to jump in from ten feet away. Izak jumped, landing right in the passenger seat.

The light was red, but seeing as no one was coming, the nice driver who had helped Izak drove ahead and was instantly struck by a camoflauge-patterened Ferrari which had come roaring across the perpendicular road at speeds that hinted that the driver didn’t care much for his life or for the lives of others.

“Wow, that guy could’ve hit us!” said Howard, bouncing excitedly. “I hope we won’t meet him again.” The Ferrari and the car it had hit were already out of sight.

“Hmm...that’s funny,” said Izak. “That way leads to my friend Patrick’s house. He plays every single instrument known to man and several known to robots only. He’s also a super buff gymnast. I wonder why that oddly thoughtless Ferrari driver is going that way.”

“Hmm...that IS odd!” said Howard. “Let’s go meet this super buff musical Patrick guy, he sounds fun.”

“Yes, Patrick the super buff gymnast musician is very fun. And super buff.” Izak thought for a moment. “But will we be able to catch up to him before that Ferrarist gets there?”
“Probably not in this electric car,” Howard said, “but we’ll think of something.”

*****

Mason was using his portable cell phone of pure evil again. This time, he was texting Roger the Brutal, as texting was the only way Roger the Brutal could be contacted.

Hey Roger. How about u come to camp muir for sum totally brutal fun? Luv, Mason.

He waited two seconds before he got his reply:

Id luv to mason. C u there.

Mason rubbed his hands together, an action which caused them to grow colder for no explainable reason. Pieces of his plan were coming together.

*****

Howard and Izak followed the road to Patrick, the super buff gymnast, until the car ran out of electric. They couldn’t see anything ahead of them but a diner, called Yum Yum Stare-n-Eets-a-Fuds, and because neither of them had eaten anything but a bagel since the morning, they pulled in to the parking lot.

Inside, everything was plated in chrome, so much so that Izak put on his sunglasses and Howard put on his Emergency Funglasses (an even cooler version of sunglasses) so they could see better in the reflective glare.

Leading the way for a booth, Howard stopped abruptly, making Izak run into him. “What?” asked Izak,. “What is it?”

“Nnnnnayh,” said a voice from the booth they had stopped at.

“I recognize that voice and rather silly exclamation!:” said Izak. “Annie, is that you?”

“Yes,” said Howard, “it’s Annie Stavok! Didn’t you two used to date?”

“Nnnnnnayh!” said Annie at the same time that Izak said, “Noooo!”

“Jeez, that’s what EVERYONE thinks!” said Izak.

“And it’s STILL annoying,” said Annie.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Howard. “I just thought you were.”
“Well, we weren’t.”

Izak slid into the booth with Howard behind him. “So, Annie, what’s on the menu here?”

“It’s ridiculously silly,” said Annie. “There’s Creamed Eels, Crushed Apples, Lasagna of Estacy, Sweet Malnutrition breakfast cereal, Skewp’d Pewp, Andy Warhol Art Inspiration Soup, Lebron James Slam Dunk Orange-Colored Juice, Kreamy Shakes, Buckethead Shredded Wheat, and Italian Sausage.”

“That sounds very silly.” Izak ordered a bowl of Sweet Malnutrition anyway, and Howard had the Andy Warhol Soup. When they were waiting for the silly-named food, they all got caught up on the goings and doings of each other.

“So, Annie, what do you do for a living?” Izak asked.

“I am a professional bodyguard” said Annie, much to Izak’s surprise and Howard’s delight.

“Wow, a bodyguard, really?” said Howard. “Do you think you can guard our bodies?”

“That depends,” said Annie. “What do your bodies need guarding from, actually?”

“Well,” Izak said, who also thought having a bodyguard would be a good idea, “mostly, our bodies need gaurding against a long series of random events that are usually fun, probably dangerous, and always unexpected, and there’s also this annoyed little fellow named Mason who I think has a grudge against us. We need help against him and his odd minions too.”

“Hmm...” said Annie. “I’ve never actually guarded anyone as strange as you two before.”
“Aren’t you up to the challenge?” asked Izak.

“Yes, I think I am. And it would be a nice break to be with you two instead of the usual boring rich people I protect.”
“Yay!” said Howard and Izak at the same time.

“Wait,” said Izak, “how would we pay you?”
“Pay me based on how well I protect you,” said Annie.

“Oh, we can do that.”
At that moment, their food arrived, carried by a waitress in a silly suit, and Howard and Izak dug in voraciously. Annie took dainty bites.

*****

Kyle the Brutal sent off his return text to Mason, hopped in his armored Dodge Ram, and backed out of his garage without opening the door. “GRRRRRRRRRRRR,” he shouted as he dove through the straggling cars on the road in the snowstorm, driving through traffic and over traffic and under traffic, leaving mangled car bodies in his wake. His size 24 boots, each with a four-inch metal toe, both stomped on the gas pedal as he ground his teeth at the pieces of metal and bone that went flying past.

*****

Ryan managed to rid his Ferrari of the car of the nice driver that he had hit. He drove up to the Patrick house, where he lived with his brother Hej Harry the Fourth and his brother Tony, who were both buff, but not as buff as Patrick. Sauntering up to the front door, Ryan pressed the doorbell rapidly in a most irritating fashion, until Patrick, the super buff musican gymnast, came up to answer the irritating dings.

“Who is that ringing the doorbell in such an annoying manner?” he asked, wearing nothing but gym shorts and a neck towel. “I must warn you sir, I do gymnastics and am super buff. You don’t want to mess with me.”

At that moment, Ryan whacked him in the face with a piece of bagette bread that had been left out so long it was as hard as rebar. Dispite all his super buffness and musical abilities, Patrick was out for the count.

*****

Howard, Izak, and Annie the bodyguard finished their silly food and went outside.

“We need to get to Patrick’s house,” said Howard. “He’s--”

“He’s the super buff gymnast and musician?” Annie asked.

“Yes. We need to find him because there’s an inappropriately colored Ferrari speeding his way without a care for anyone’s safety, and also because he’s rumored to be very fun, as well as super buff.”

“We can’t catch up to a Ferrari in the car you came in,” Annie said. “Besides, it’s out of electric. We can take my Totally Awesome Bouncy Car.”

“Far out!” said Howard.

*****

The Totally Awesome Bouncy Car was a regular car that Annie the bodygaurd had made super bouncy by fueling with Coca-Cola brand Coca-Cola. It burped when she changed gears, and occasionally made a soft, “Nnnnnnayh,” sound.

It bounced through the snowstorm at hyper speed.

“So, Annie, when did you stop dating Izak and start guarding people and their bodies?” Howard asked, forgetting an important fact that would've ensured his survival.

“Nnnnnnnayh!” said the car, Annie, and Izak at the same time.

“We were never dating!” Annie and Izak hissed.

“Oh, sorry.”
“You should be,” said Annie. “If you say that we were dating one more time, I will get you in my iron lock.”

“You have an iron lock?” asked Howard.

“Yes, she does. She’s super strong. I think she’s a robot or something,” Izak said.

“How do you know? Did you find out when you two were dating?”

And with that, Annie turned the controls over to Izak and proceeded to crush Howard with her iron lock until his cheeks turned blue. When she was quite sure that he had had enough, she released him.

“Hey,” said Howard, “that was not mellow!”

“Serves you right,” said Annie.

Howard was quiet for several moments after that.

END SECTION--YOU WIN!