Tommy "Twommy" Jim could have easily been described as a normal boy. Unfortunately, the Narrator was forced to make things much more complicated. Tommy Jim was the song of Mommy and Reginald Jim. Mommy, of course, was the father. The mother, Reginald, was as beautiful as her gender was apparent. Now, you may think that the Editor simply missed the word "song" a few sentences back. You assume it was meant to be "son." That is not the case, at least for the moment, because before they had little Tommy, Reginald and Mommy were in three separate prog rock bands. Each band had only one song each, and all three songs were called "Tommy Jim: The Son We Want." Each song was exactly the same, lyrically. Eventually the couple had their boy; broke up two of the three bands; and named their new son "Tommy," in that order. The Narrator, having successfully complicated things and probably used semicolons correctly, moves on. Tommy's nickname was "Twommy." "Don't call me Twommy," Tommy would say, but his parents would just laugh hilariously to themselves. "But that's your nickname, Twommy," his parents would reply in unison. They somehow managed to not be creepy about it, which made things that much more creepy. School was a thing that Tommy enjoyed. His love for knowledge was that of a basketball, meaning that Tommy very much enjoyed playing and thinking about basketball. He could do without the rest of school, really, although if he could take Classketball, he would be all about it. Sadly, they did not offer that at his particular school. Tommy's school was not really an elementary school, despite still being for children. "Kid College" would be the best way to describe it, although that's not what they call it. I dare not say the name, for you see the name is unspeakable in human tongues. Also it's cursed and slightly haunted, so if you say the name out loud or type the name out loud, you're bound to be doomed to trip all the time and you'll occasionally have to hang out with some ghost. The school's average attendance was- "Enough about the school," the Narrator pleads, as he is well aware of the fact that the school is never actually visited in the story. Tommy kissed his parents goodbye as he left for school. "Have fun at school today, Twommy," The boy's parents scolded, lightheartedly. Tommy ignored their barely identifiable tone, told them to please not call him "Twommy," and left hurriedly towards his bus stop. His bus arrived just like normal and came to a halt and the bus driver deployed the bus's stop sign. "Son!" came a shout from Tommy's house, and Tommy turned quickly to discover the logical source of that shout, his parents. They were waving happily at Tommy from the porch, mugs of parent water in the hand that was not busy waving. Suddenly, though, the waving stopped, and a look of horror and disgust appeared on their faces. "Have fun at school today, Tommy," they told him. Tommy was so pleased that they did not call him "Twommy," he seemed to miss his parents' unmistakably ominous mood swing. "Okay, thanks!" Tommy shouted and turned again. Looking back at the school bus, he made particular note that nothing was out of the ordinary. He walked up to the bus's doors and entered what he perceived to be his bus. As he sat down in what he knew to be his normal seat, Tommy began to wonder why he was making such a point to notice how this was definitely his regular bus. "Keep it down!" shouted the bus driver. Wondering whom was being shouted at, Tommy took a look around the rest of the definitely his bus. To his surprise, he and the bus driver were the only two people in the vehicle. For the first time, Tommy suspected this may not be his bus. "Is this Bus #12?" Tommy asked politely. The bus driver told Tommy to fuck off, which is always something the bus drivers said, so Tommy's suspicions subsided momentarily. "Just kidding," said the bus driver. "Alright," Tommy began, his suspicions returning, "What's goin' on here?" "Nothing a little button-pressing won't fix," explained the bus driver. "What?" "Press that button," explained the bus driver a little better. Tommy looked at the front of his seat to find a button that had never been there before. Little did he know, the button had always been there. He had just never been on this particular bus. Tommy pressed the button anyway. The bus began to shake more than usual, as if it were not a bus at all but was actually some kind of shake machine specially designed to shake, like, a lot. Tommy was not into it at all, but he kept his mouth shut. He did not want to be told to fuck off again, and his mouth was suddenly forced shut by some sort of mouth-shutting machine that seemed to operate in tandem with the shake machine/bus. "Sit back and enjoy the ride," quoth the bus driver as the bus finished transforming into a badass partially-organic space ship. "Whfid isnfl prffff?" asked Tommy's shut mouth. "Oh, this?" the bus driver asked, gesturing to the interior of the badass space ship. "Welcome," the bus driver continued as the music swelled, "To the Witchmonster Dragon's Head." Tommy silently sat, staring at the bus driver. "It's a space ship," the bus driver clarified, his arms flying about as he steered the great beast. Tommy would have reacted more than just passing out but before he could, he passed out.
***************************"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" came an enormous bellow from all sides, snapping Tommy out of his slumber. The spaceship began to jolt to and fro as Tommy jolted to and fro along with it. Still groggy, Tommy could not quite see clearly, but he was almost sure that he was now the only one on the ship. "Take the wheel, boy!" came another bellow from all sides. Tommy reached up and realized his mouth was no longer shut for him. He had a full range of motion for all aspects of his being. Yes, it seemed like today was shaping up quite well for our little hero. He stood up and walked to the front of the badass space ship. "Is that you?" Tommy asked the ether. "Is what who?" came a third enormous bellow. "That voice. Your voice. Are you the ship?" "Yeah, kid" said the
***************************Back at the very dead Tommy's house, his parents were sitting at the kitchen table and sipping on some evil tea. "Would you like to have band practice?" asked Mommy, the father. "I don't particularly enjoy our one song," Reginald replied, her hideous breasts heaving with delight. "Me neither," Mommy agreed. "Well, what would you like to do?" Reginald asked her husband. "I want to put my penis in your vagina, Reginald," Mommy told her. "Good, because I'm already super wet," said Reginald. "To Twommy," they toasted, and then they fucked like demons, which is what they turned out to be. To Be Ended... The End
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.
It's easy to work the system and win these awards even if you don't deserve them.