"What's this 'bout this bout?" Marshfellow pondered.
His opponent bout, I mean, bowed upon meeting him.
He whispered, "I am Halloon the balloon. It will be my honor to send you to the heavens, good sir."
" More like Halloon the baboon!" chuckled Marshfellow.
Halloon made no noticible gestures in response. I'm getting bored narrating him.
"That's it? We're not gonna talk trash at all?" Marshfellow asked dejectedly.
Halloon quietly responded, "Neither of us is trash; thus, trash talk is pointless here."
"You didn't see my last match clearly," rebutted Marshfellow.
Well, let us cut to a flashback since Halloon refuses to be interesting. Earlier this same day, Marshfellow met with a young fan intending to watch the impending match.
"I'm Grunge the sponge!" said Grunge the sponge grungily and spongily. "When I grow up, I wanna be jus' like you."
Marshfellow remarked, " You'd have to grow down to be like me; unless you wanna be the world's second biggest marshmallow."
"You mean second to the nuking?" Grunge excitedly queried.
"Nope. There's an attraction about 7 distances away," Marshfellow explained.
Ridiculously, Grunge actually asked, "How long is a distance?"
"What do they teach in these schools?" I asked.
"Nothing, apparently," Marshfellow promptly said.
Nevertheless, stay in school, kids.
Marshfellow educated, "A distance is the unit of measurement that we use in this story. It is as long as it needs to be at any given moment. Okay?"
"I'm still confused," whined Grunge.
Marshfellow tried to comfort him by saying, "I bet the readers are, too. Don't worry about it. Even they were smart enough to read this book, after all."
"You're right! I feel better now," beamed Grunge. "Are you ready fer your match? I heard it's a weird balloon guy."
"Really?" Marshfellow inquired. "Guess I'll have to go see 'bout this. Oops, I was supposed to save that for later."
But it was too late. Marshfellow used the term "'bout" four times in the story, but only with three matches having been referenced at the time. It's the end of an (admittedly short) era. Goodbye, folks. Safe travels.
"Wait, wait! I'm sorry!" Marshfellow cried.
I snickered, "I was just messing with you. We can finish the story. But now the author has to actually think of chapter names and new ways to start them."
"Phew! Thank goodness. Now that that's resolved," Marshfellow said, superstitiously looking upward to see if he would be smited by the author for the extra work, "I wanna know what's going on with this next opponent."
I plainly stated, "He's over there, just a few distances from that arbitrary thing you can see or remember easily."
"Thanks," Marshfellow thankfully thanked.
I gushed, "Well, this handsomeness is natural, really, but it is completely understandable to thank me for it anyway. You are all so very welcome an-"
"Not for that, dummy," corrected Marshfellow. "For telling me where he is."
"Oh. Okay," I mumbled disappointedly. "Why are you dumb?"
"What are you talking about?" Marshfellow founded dumbly. "That's not funny! And use the proper term."
Although I am dumbfounded at Marshfellow's ability to comprehend narration, he forgot his comments last chapter, so that evens things again.
Marshfellow went by where his opponent was. "What's this 'bout this bout?" Marshfellow pondered.
His opponent bowed upon mee- okay, this is repetitive and this guy is boring. Can we skip ahead, please?
"Bouncy balloon is gonna be your nickname when I'm done with ya!" Marshfellow taunted.
"The only one to be bounced is whomever is meant to be," peacefully mentioned Halloon.
Marshfellow sighed, "We really need to work on your mic skills. I mean, look at the crowd."
Half the crowd was asleep; a third on their phones; a fifth chanting for Halloon in their heads mid-meditation; and a narrator was questioning the implied math in this sentence.
"Come on. Let's do this," said Marshfellow in monotone.
"Whatever. Let's get teddy to tumble. Collide," I flatly said.
Halloon pounced with the vigor of a hungry tiger; you know, not so desperate for food that it can barely move, but still very eager to eat its prey.
"Shoot! I better pray!" Marshfellow exclaimed, clearly mistaking the two homophones for one another because he refuses to read; as USUAL, I would like to add. And how he can even know the narration when it is supposed to be non-diegetic makes no sen-
"Hey, I'm colliding over here! Keep it down!" shouted... Halloon?
Marshfellow, visibly puzzled, questioned, "What just happened?"
I, viewably befuddled, queried, "What momentarily occurred?"
The crowd, veritably confused, quizzed, "What recently transpired?" Okay, they did not all say that, but we ran out of unique words and did not want to cheat. See? Repetition is useful.
Stay in school, kids.
"Enough with those stupid PSAs!" Halloon the balloon strongly boomed through the room.
Marshfellow the marshmallow, very mellow, acapello (we are counting it), asked, "Dude, what's wrong with you? You're acting like somebody spilled chocolate syrup on you and threw you under a graham cracker."
"What?" I openly wondered.
"It's a pretty offensive thing to do to a marshmallow," muttered Marshfellow.
"Right. That should have been obvious," I said. "With that said..."
Stay in schoo-
"Silence!" Halloon thundered. "And that is not even correct! It is supposed to be melted chocolate bar, not syrup!"
Marshfellow humbly admitted, "Oh, right."
Halloon frantically yelled, "You're a marshmallow! Should you not know this?!"
"Yeah, probably," mumbled Marshfellow. "Still doesn't explain your aggravation, though."
"I used my ultimate technique on you," Halloon whined, "and it did not have any success at all. You just side-stepped it. The narrator did not even mention it; too busy referencing homonyms to-"
"Homophones," interrupted Marshfellow.
"Quiet!" Halloon exploded; first figuratively... oh, that was it this time. "I shall make you pay for the shame you have wrought upon me, good sir! You know what? Correction: bad sir! Furthermore-"
Marshfellow dove beneath Halloon and shoved him upward.
"Your insolence is despicable!" Halloon spat.
Marshfellow reminded him, "You came at me immediately with the vigor of a tiger, remember?"
"Of course, I do, but that was-" grimaced Halloon, bumped by Marshfellow roughly enough that he couldn't finish his sentence. "And another thi-"
Marshfellow arrogantly bragged, " This must be frustrating, huh?"
"Obviously, you little turd!" Halloon shrieked. "I will have you- aw, I lost, did I not?"
"Nope. Not yet," I said.
"Yep," spoke Marshfellow amidst another shove. "Aaaand, now you've lost!"
"Drat," Halloon interjected on the cloud.
"Do you even try to win normally?" I asked incredulously.
"Victory is mine, whoo!" Marshfellow cheered.
Eighty percent of the crowd rejoiced that the monotony was over with Halloon being gone. The rest were dismayed that the super obnoxious (my words) winner defeated their champion of choice.
"Hey," shouted Marshfellow, "if it makes you all feel better, let's all go out and meditate!"
Now the whole crowd was jubilant, save one; Halloon's wife. No, wait. That's just a random balloon. Why was she upset, tho- oh, she was just about to sneeze. Well, that ended boring, too. Just read the next chapter, already! If it is released yet, anyway. Give it at least a few hours. The author has things to do; plus, now he has to think of a chapter title...