After almost a month of build-up, we here at How ‘Bout Them Lemons finally went on our adventure to the Ol’ Horsetooth Lighthouse to confront Dr. Supercomputer about the ransom note he slid under our lemonade stand all that time ago. However, in our excitement, we had completely forgotten to bring our journaling backpack and instead grabbed our grandmother’s pantyhose. No judgement – they are surprisingly similar in both texture and size.
So, not wanting to keep any tiny detail from you, our beloved readers/lemonade seekers, we paid a random boy off the street to transcribe our adventure whilst we reenacted it for him with sock puppets. The following story is the product of 93 sacrificial tube socks and one daring taste for adventure.
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The story
It was a dark and dreary day on Horsetooth Reservoir. Our heroes raced toward the lighthouse to meet the increasingly-close ransom deadline they had missed due to three weeks of trendy click-bate articles. But they could never be prepared for what awaited them.
Barry White played softly in the background as they kicked down the door to the lighthouse. Dr. Supercomputer was sitting quietly in the corner, printing off articles and beeping incoherently.
All 27 writers of the Hall Monitor-Herald/How ‘Bout Them Lemons tore the lighthouse apart, searching for their friend, Dakota James. It seemed they found everything but Dakota James, including maps of both North and South Dakota and autographed posters of Dakota Fanning, but, unfortunately for them, no Dakota James. There was James Bond and James Dean, even a spicy little James Gumbo, but no Dakota James.
After what seemed to be hours but was actually days, the gang finally found their friend, tucked away in a trunk, gnawing at what was left of what used to be his only leg. Now, hungry and legless, Dakota James rejoined his colleagues to finish Dr. Supercomputer once and for all.
Note from the boy they paid to write this
The How ‘Bout Them Lemons staffers, who approached me to write this story, have now devolved into beating each other with their sock puppets, dramatically flailing and screaming, “I AM THE SUPERCOMPUTER BEEP BOOP BOP,” at the top of their lungs.
Several sticky eyeballs have fallen off and the now-blind puppets have dissolved into a disarray of complete and utter anarchy. We’re not talking pick-it-up-and-glue-it-back-on type of chaos right now.
SOS. Save our Socks. The socks are coming off. Send help. Bare naked hands and ladies have come together in an orgy state of storytelling.
I’m being dragged under. … This will be my last correspondence. … Tell mother I…
How ‘Bout Them Lemons is run by Lauren Funai, Niles Hachmeister, Chris Vanjonack and Andrew Walker. Please send your sock puppets to thehallmonitorherald@gmail.com. We need more as all of our have been destroyed.
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