"Bye, cinnamon pretzel girls. Let me know if any of you become single!" Marshfellow waved.
"Well, I've got news for you," butted in Sue. "I am and I accept your proposal to date!"
"Uh," Marshfellow spoke slowly and confusedly, "I wasn't offering, but okay, then. Guess no date would be worse."
"Guffaw! I knew I'd get you!" Sue rejoiced.
Marshfellow mused, "I'm better off alone if you're gonna be the way you have been though."
"I promise! I'm through with all of that," she promised; then went through with all of that hours later. "Marshmallows can't collide. News flash: they all have no forsight; that's why they have detachable eyes!" she shouted in front of everyone at the arena.
"This again..." muttered Marshfellow while they looked at one another from across the arena; while she was making an "L" symbol for loser.
I would not settle for that. Unless it was Gairyag, maybe.
"Let's just focus on the opponent," whispered Marshfellow. His opponent was named Drew Raider. He thought, "Maybe he's a glue raider. Uh, I better, uhh, check my locker real quick..."
Marshfellow went to the locker room to check his locker real quick. "Telecommunications device that's been hacked, check!" listed Marshfellow. "Non-stick glue, check! Air in the locker naturally, check! Okay, that's everything."
As he returned to the arena, Marshfellow heard the "harshmellow" chant again; being lead by Sue again; being shouted most loudly by a brand new creature: a ghen.
"Whatever! Let's collide!" thundered Marshfellow.
His opponent Drew Raider, the newspaper-
"Phew! My glue is safe," Marshfellow spoke, relieved, but rudely interrupting the narrator.
His opponent, Drew Raider, the newspap-
"Drew! Drew! He's our man! If he can't raid them, no one can!" cheered Sue, rudely interrupting the narrator.
His opponen-
"I can't be defeated!" Marshfellow thundered, again, interrupting the narrator, again.
His op-
Drew lightninged, whilst interrupting the narrator, again, rudely, again, "I'll be the one to send you to the cloud like you deserve, you awful cavity-crafter!" Drew speaks in sign language; hence, the lightninging.
"What? What is that?" questioned Marshfellow, witnessing lightninging for the first time. "Whatever. As if he's going to send me to the cloud, act like I deserve it, and accuse me of making cavities. I don't care what you might be saying in sign language! I'm gonna win!"
That was a really lucky guess. Maybe if he uses all his luck now, he might lose this time. Come on! Oh, right. Impartiality...
"Let us get rrrready to rrrrumblllle! Or is it teddy to tumble this time? I was trying to go back and for-"
"Hey! Start the match!" signaled Drew.
Marshfellow yelled, "I'm getting sick of this guy talking behind my back in front of my face! Let's start the match!"
Darn! He is not using up his luck anymore.
"Collide!"
After the match, Marshfel- just kidding. Could you imagine?
Before Marshfellow could anticipate, Drew rolled himself into a dog-whacker and started aiming at Marshfellow's nose.
"How is this even possible? I'm a marshmallow: I don't have a nose," queried Marshfellow.
I sighed, then screamed, "You are anthropomorphic, you little liar!"
"I know that," Marshfellow repudiated, "but maybe he didn't, so thanks a lot, big mouth!"
"How would he have already started aiming for your nose if he did not know you had one?!" I challenged.
Marshfellow bellowed, "It was part of my plan t- oww," but was distracted by getting whacked on the nose by Drew.
"Hahaha! That is what you ge- hey!" I laughed before getting whacked on the nose by Drew.
Drew signed, "Be quiet so we can collide in peace!"
"Disqualification! You lose, Drew! Security! Bring. Us. The catapult," I, the announer, announcily announced handsomely.
Marshfellow, torn between disappointment and excitement, inquired, "Under what charge?"
"He attacked the announcer, obviously," I stated obviously.
"Headline: Rillo should have been disqualified!" Sue complained.
"Well," I explained, "the announcer was no longer the announcer once they reached the cloud, so he could not make the call."
Marshfellow considered for a moment, then outwardly realized, "So if I want to hurt anybody, I just have to make sure they hit the cloud before they complain? That's pretty messed up..."
"Then why would you tell everybody?!" I boomed.
"Oh, right," mumbled Marshfellow.
However, everybody else, since the disqualification call, was on their telecommunications devices- wait. Did we not mention telecommunications devices in the third chapter? We kept claiming two chapters ago that it was the first ti-
"Hey!" Marshfellow shouted. "Stop digressing so much! Dang!"
The catapult finally arrived and security forcibly secured Drew onto the device.
"You won't be raidin' anymore," joked Marshfellow. "That lost ark will just stay lost!"
The crowd became silent.
"You'll have to be sub-zero from now on," continued to tease Marshfellow.
"Boo!" yelled a crowd member.
"At least he's not a lucky marshmallow pale as the cloud!" Sue dissed. "News flash: living near you IS like living on the cloud!"
The audience lit for that one.
Marshfellow walked away from the arena, wondering why Sue would keep picking with him after everything should have been okay. He did not feel like seeing Drew Raider get launched onto the clo- ooh, I want to see that! Let us go back to that!
"All the preparations are set! Launch the catapult!" I exclaimed with authority. Guess I was going to see it no matter what.
It was a glorious scene. Meanwhile, back at Mar- just messing. Could you imagine?
As Drew was briefly pulled back before launch, Sue shrieked, "I love you!" His parents in the crowd were touched by the gesture.
The music began: a fusion of punk and funk wailing with some intense, yet catchy, drums pounding. Fireworks had fire work its way up to them by means of wick... that is just how fireworks go, though. The audience began chanting with the music, "Mess with the announcer, then you get the bounce, sir!" over and over again. Right in time with the final cymbal of the song, Drew was launched toward the cloud, followed closely by the explosions of the fireworks.
Sue walked to Drew's parents and hugged them; then went to her own; then remarked with her tongue out, "Healline: a heals a heal!"
"Put your tongue away so we and the readers can understand you, young lady!" her mother chastised her. "News flash: no man wants a woman that cannot speak properly!" she said as Sue's dad admired two cinnamon pretzel ladies speaking slang with one another.
"Ooh! Cinnamon pretzel ladies!" Marshfellow exclaimed. "I'm back at the arena!" he shouted, wishing he had narrator powers, but forgetting that, I, the real narrator, super handsome, already said he should nearly be home!
"Well, I have news for the two of you," arrogantly remarked Sue to her parents. "A deal's a deal. I date whoever won that match. It is marshmallow time! Guffaw!"
"You mean that marshmallow that treated you horribly?" gasped her mother while her father continued to ogle all the twists and turns of their sweet and spicy bodies.
Sue grimaced, "Yeah, that is him, alright."
"But he played with the cinnamon pretzel girls all night long right in front of you!" Sue's mother shouted while Sue's father played with the cinnamon pretzel girls behind her. "At least your father keeps it behind my back!" she spun around mid-shout, glaring at him; he briefly turned towards her when the volume increased due to her change in direction and looked down in shame; then turned back around and played with the cinnamon pretzel girls again.
"Headline: he said it was because I deserved it for being a newspaper!" Sue whined.
"How dare he! News flash: we are going to have a talk with his mother!" roared Sue's mother.
"How old are Sue and Marshfellow?" I questioned.
Sue's mother, Boo Hater, snickered, "Guffaw! I do not know how old that marshmallow is, but he acts like a toddler!"
Pretty sure toddlers do not fantasize about cinnamon pretzel ladies.
Kids, do not fantasize about cinnamon pretzel ladies. Unless you are a- I mean, if you are in your own fantasy, then as a cinnamon pretzel lady, you would have to- You know what? No. Kids, even if you are a cinnamon pretzel lady, do not fantasize about cinnamon pretzel ladies.
"Well, headline:" Sue began. "I am grow-"
"Ing up to become a fine young woman far too slowly," finished Boo condescendingly.
Sue protested, "But I am 26!"
"Sue," her mother corrected, "say it properly."
"Ugh," Sue grumbled. "I am twenty-six."
"That is much better. That is how you get a man," Boo praised Sue while her husband left the arena with the cinnamon pretzel girls. "I cannot believe you want to settle for a cheating, thieving, bullying, domestically abusive, womanizing, sabotaging-"
"Do I get anymore lines?" Marshfellow asked, annoyed.
"They are talking about you," I murmured.
"Huh?" reacted Marshfellow, ever so slow. "Aww, dang! Wait for it... a-a-achoo! This had to be written amongst manga-esque stories, didn't it?"
"...anti-gravity, creating cavities-" Boo continued. She reached the part where they started rhyming.
"How m-many- achoo! Times am I-I gonna hafta... a-achoo! Sneeze?!" stammered Marshfellow through his sneezes.
She is almost done now.
"Hardly pleasing, overly sneezing harshmellow!" Sue's mother finally finished.
"Do not worry," she sneered, "because mother is going to save you from another one of your bad decisions. Headline: your brother is coming to town tomorrow."
"Wait," contested Sue. "You have not even given him a chance. News flash: that is not fair!"
Boo countered, "Well, I've got news for you. Your brother already heard the news stories about him. There is nothing you can do, but wait for the next match."
"I'm one-sixth fini- hold on, why am I speaking properly? I'm 1/6th finished!" clamored Marshfellow to himself at his own home. "I will figure this cloud out one day."
Then Marshfellow went about his unique marshmallow training regiment which included fascinating techniques and rituals. And that is the end un- just joking. Could you imagine? Yes? Well, I actually was not joking this time, so good. For those of you who cannot imagine it, we might go over it in a future chapter.
Kids, do not forget to keep reading stories with mystery arcs. Although, I like to wait until they are done; then I skip all of the filler.