Orange Cloud Fakeout

Deon... is not in this chapter! See? That is why it is a fakeout.

"Is knocking colors off of people considered racist?" Marshfellow ignorantly asked.

"Not if it is done literally. Turn that harshmellow orange, father! Whoo!" cheered Harlie. "I am Sue!"

What are you going to do? Harlie me? Get it? Aw, whatever, haters.

"Yes?" the three Haters in attendance addressed a narrator they should not be able to hear.

Nothing. Just read your lines, already.

"Next thing you know, he'll say something lame like 'he is going to pulverize me into dust' or something like that," Marshfellow scoffed.

Pretty sure one of the Haters had the next line, but so be it. It is a live broadcast.

"No," Stu corrected sternly, "I am going to shattered you into a cloud of sugar."

"So you shall alter his form into that of an orange cloud? How comical," mused Owels. "An orange cloud is the most absurd idea regarding a character's being. I am quite certain no logical person in the history of fiction could perceive that as a protagonist; not even for a spinoff."

I am just going to step from Owels' position. The clouds do not look orange right now; they are black with lightning-colored highlights.

Marshfellow, apparently not remembering the events of his own book, demanded, "I agree with Owels and his weird name of which no decent writer could ever conceive; especially not for a recurring character. So which is it? Orange color or cloud form? Pick one!" It took quite a bit before he finally demanded something.

"I choose..." Stu paused, dramatically, as if he knew we were reading this and that we actually wanted to know the answer despite this merely being trash talk.

"I showed up early 'cause I heard what'd happened to that first guy," spoke the second contest winner.

"Quiet!" I shouted. "You are disrupting a sacred ritual between colliders in which they use disrespectful words to make things slightly more entertaining for us viewers."

The sweepstakes contestant contested, "I paid good money for these tickets! I had to travel through a magical portal just to get here; you didn't even narrate that! Show me your face! Now!"

Ugh, fine! I bless you with my stunning aesthetic. Behold!

"Ehh," said the contest winner, clearly joking (he better be), "not that handsome."

Well, back to-

"Did you just say that I better be joking?" the contest winner asked menacingly.

That was in parentheses an- how can you hear this anyway? Is this microphone on?!

"Oh, it's on, a'ight!" bellowed the contest winner as he charged at me.

You guys continue without me. Guys? What? Now nobody wants to act like they can hear me?

"Quiet!" Harlie shouted. "You are interrupting a sacred ritual between colliders in whi-"

Those. Are. My words. You will be sorry- oops, you already are! Haha!

"News flash: a proper lady and dignified newspaper such as myself would never stoop so low as to plagiarize; especially someone as dimwitted as you, liar!" Harlie somehow said with a straight face.

"You must have gotten paper surgery to keep your face that straight!" I insulted Harlie.

Harlie yelled prominently, "What dastardly deceit! You shall make your ancestors repudiate their actions that allowed for your existence!"

"You are the one who had her mother leave her!" I retaliated.

The crowd gasped.

"How dishonorable to mention my abandonment!" Harlie cried.

"Oh, please!" I sharply defended myself. "You are 26!"

Harlie annoyingly corrected me, "Twenty-six. Say it properly."

"All the times you got upset with your m-" Phew. I ceased talking just in time to-

Shoot! I forgot that they can hear the narration.

"You can hide, but you can't run!" hollered the undeserving contest winner.

Can somebody kick him back into reality, please?

"My wife!" Stu wailed. "I miss my Boo!"

Marshfellow questioned Stu, "Really? With all of those cinnamon pretzel ladies around you?"

"Cinnamon pretzel ladies? Where?" Stu began to dribble on himself. "Darn it! Why, you blasted marshmallow!"

Harlie hollered, "Father?! How could you?! I am glad mother left you for a ghen!"

"She left me for a ghen again?!" outbursted Stu. "Was his name Agen?"

"What was his name again? Was his name Agen? Yes, I believe it was, father," verified Owels.

"She left me again for Agen, who, again, is a ghen?!" Stu shrieked.

"That had nothing to do with me though. How about you and I go see some cinnamon pretzel ladies, huh?" Marshfellow nudged Stu.

"Cinnamon pre- wait a minute! Darn it!" cursed Stu, but without actually cursing.

I am back by the way.

"There you are!" the lucky and persistent contest winner yelled.

I am gone by the way.

"Father!" Sue- I mean, Harlie, screamed. "Narrator!"

"Cannot a narrator elude in peace?" I inquired with attitude.

"With me chasing after ya? I... don't... think so!" clamored the finally exhausted-looking sweepstakes contestant.

All this running away from aggressive morons is really helping me get in shape. I can keep going for at least another twelve distances!

Make people angry and run away from them if you are trying to get fit, kids.

"I'm not a kid, but I'm going to give it a shot. Excuse me," Marshfellow excused himself.

"Hold it!" commanded Stu. "You continue to humiliate me in front of my daughter! I am going to-"

Marshfellow chimed, "Ooh! Cinnamon pretzel ladies!"

"Cinnamon pretzel ladies? Where?" asked Stu before facepalming.

"Gotcha! Hahaha!" giggled Marshfellow as he ran into the distance; several distances, to be exact; well, 3.14 distances to actually be exact; well, 3.14159... that is all the pi digits the writer has memorized. If that is not accurate, well, that would be embarrassing. He could just check... no? Not going to do so? Huh...

"Come back here!" Stu demanded as he chased the marshmallow.

"Ooh, an orange cloud!" Marshfellow announced whilst still in full sprint.

Stu huffed (air), "Like anybody would believe that!" with his head turned while conveniently passing Deon who was not supposed to be in this chapter. "Ooh, orange cloud!" he said after hearing me say that he passed Deon and deciding to turn his head.

But how did he know that Deon was an orange cloud? Nobody told him that.

"I read spinoffs from time to time," explained Stu.

But why just spinoffs? And why pretend that nobody could believe that an orange cloud exists if you had heard of one? That leaves more questions than answers!

"Well, I told him that I believe that the orange cloud exists. There is an answer for you," elaborated nobody.

Okay, but still-

"Cannot a newspaper chase a marshmallow in peace?" Stu inquired with attitude.

My apologies, sir. I-

"There... you... are..." wheezed the contest winner. "I... found... yo- what th- aww, man!"

Security really took their time today.

"Ooh, cinnamon pretzel ladies!" squealed Marshfellow.

"Cinnamon pretzel la- aargh! I am not going t- Ooh, cinnamon pretzel ladies!" Stu spoke curiously, then frustratedly, and then finally excitedly.

"All those curves..." Marshfellow drooled.

"All those twists..." mouthwatered Stu.

"All that sweet..."

"All that spice..."

"All of them... mine!" Marshfellow proudly declared. "Let's go, ladies!"

The cinnamon pretzel ladies that had just been spotted first shrugged, then joined Marshfellow.

"Hold it!" Stu thundered. "I challenge you for your hoard of cinnamon pretzels!"

Marshfellow sighed, then smirked, "You know what? Let's split them. You can have the dudes!"

"Nice try, buster!" mocked Stu.

"'Tis Buster ED!" could be heard hundreds of distances away from here. Can we please stop using that as an insult?

"I'll get you one day, buster!" roared the contest winner as he was shoved through the magical portal, intentionally trying to annoy me.

Well, I guess we will wait for it... Interesting. I guess the cloud finally took him in far enough for him to no longe-

"'Tis Buster ED!" was heard even more hundreds of distances away from here.

Hopefully, that joke is almost finished, folks.

Do not overuse jokes, kids. Wait a second. Does that mean I do not get to say anymore morals? Come on! That was kind of funny, right? Right? Whatever.

"The ladies! Hand them here or else!" Marshfellow's challenger bellowed.

"Hold on," Marshfellow turned himself from the cinnamon pretzel ladies to stare down his challenger.

It was Deon! He motioned to fight Marshfellow for his honor by stealing all of his cinnamon pretz- Ha! Just kidding. Another successful orange cloud fakeout.

Stu, a bit bothered that my orange cloud fakeout removed the seriousness from his bellowing, continued, "You cannot have all of the cinnamon pretzel ladies to yourself while I am here!"

"Father!" Harlie shrieked, having finally reached the position of her father and boyfriend several distances away initially.

"Oh, whatever! Headline: I denounce my marriage with your mother!" Stu denounced.

Owels causally mentioned, "She is off to have a son named David anyways."

"Vroom, vroom," added Marshfellow.

Despite Harlie being in tears, Stu proudly boasted, "We shall collide for them. Winner takes all! I have never lost a collision!"

"Out of three of them," Owels commented.

"Three? Hahaha!" snickered Marshfellow. "I've one more matches by luck than that! Hahahaha!"

Is that even a brag? Is that even the right "won"?

"Breaking news! You are about to be put in a head line faster than this news can flash!" Stu ferociously, yet, incoherently, threatened.

"Bring it!" replied Marshfellow, apparently lazy with the quips.

"Let us get ready to tumble or whatever," I said, apparently lazy with the announcement.

"Ooh, cinnamon pretzel ladies!" Marshfellow distracted Stu, apparently lazy with the distractions.

"Hello, girls!" Stu waved at the cinnamon pretze- can we just abbreviate them at this point? No? Fine! He waved at the cinnamon pretzel ladies.

Abbreviate phrases you say often, kids. And do not stop other people from doing so! Matter of fact, keep doing funny jokes even after they have stopped being funny, like telling kids random morals, kids.

"'Tis Buster ED!" was heard thousands of distances (awesome, we reached thousands) away from here. No one even said his name though...

Harlie shrieked, "That is enough! Breaking news: no more cpls!"

Why does she get to abbreviate? Does she not need to capitalize?

"Haha/guffaw!" Marshfellow and Stu laughed in chorus. "There will always be CPLs."

At least they capitalized. Cinnamon pretzel ladies are hot enough to deserve to capitalization; like me, the Narrator.

"News flash: not anymore! Guffaw!" cackled Harlie.

Does a guffaw count as a cackle? Wh-

"Narrate this, because I have news! This is all getting wrapped up now!" Harlie screeched menacingly.

Harlie fully expanded her pages and ran towards all the cinnamon pretzel ladies in the stands.

"Cinnamon pretz-"

Not now, Stu. I was requested to narrate this narratingly as a Narrator.

Upon reaching her targets, she wrapped her pages around them; then she threw them into the center fold of her body and shifted forms into that of a thick paper airplane; too thick to fly.

"Phew! Thank goodness!" Marshfellow chimed. "For a second, I thought she actually had a way to get rid of our CPLs."

"Indeed! Guffaw!" chuckled Stu. "Could you imagine never seeing again their twists and turns?"

"Their sugar and spice..." Marshfellow added.

Stu dribbled,"Their thickness and curves..."

Marshfellow slobbered, "Their brown and beige..."

"They barely have any beige! The granules of sugar are white, for that matter!" Stu snapped.

Marshfellow rebutted, "You can't really see the sugar, though, so it doesn't count! At least at the crevices, you can see a little bit of beige!"

"Not of the burnt variety!" argued Stu. "They are all brown; some of them are even blackened!"

Marshfellow yelled, "Why are you so focused- no, obsessed, with color?!"

"You're the one who brought it up!" Stu chastised.

"You're so angry, you would use a contraction and use a preposition at the end of your sentence?!" inquisitively howled Harlie. "That does it! Haaaaaa..."

Harlie charged up her passion, a fire of emotion welled within her, and the back part of her paper airplane form combusted, acting as jet thrusters. She blasted herself forth towards the cloud with all of the cinnamon pretzel ladies in tow.

"Noooo!" Stu wailed. "Wait. It is not too late!" Stu charged up his pas- look, it is a very similar description. Can we just not?

After Harlie deposited the cinnamon pretzel ladies onto the cloud and her father joined them, Marshfellow grumbled, "I can't wait to go to the cloud..."

"Guffaw! You are all mine!" Harlie hollered."

Owels overheard and tsked his sister. I was starting to think he was retired.

"Narrator, that did at least count as a win didn't it?" Marshfellow asked inconsiderately.

"Yes, it did," I spoke softly.

"Hooray," Marshfellow said sarcastically before whimpering, "So long, CPLs."

"CPLs are not long!" countered Stu from hundreds of distances.

"They are if you untwist them!" Marshfellow retaliated.

Can we just be done with cinnamon pretzel ladies?

"Yes!" Harley exclaimed. "Next is Sue's time! Guffaw!"