Stories For Thing

Billy the Meaniebutt Shark gets a surprise

    meaniebutt

This is the third and final part of the story about the Little Princess vs. Billy the Meaniebutt Shark. Now then, how much of parts 1 and 2 do you remember? To be honest, Frisbee the cat had to remind me of everything that happened before because I didn’t pay proper attention.

If you remember, Lola the Bulldog told Frisbee a story about a little girl who liked to hunt sharks. One day, the little princess heard about a really mean and nasty shark named Billy, and so she set out on the high seas with her loyal crew of Jolly Pirates to find him.

Billy lived in a house inside of a volcano, which sat in the center of a scary, dangerous place called Shark Island. Lucky for Billy, the house was lava-proof, just in case the volcano ever got sick and threw up.

Billy loved the water, but because he was hired to keep Shark Island clean, he had to spend most of his time on land. Some sharks agreed that this was what probably made Billy extra especially grumpy.

One day, Billy was at home watching television and eating a human and cheese sandwich. “Nom Nom Nom,” he said. Humans with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, mayo and mustard, on whole wheat bread, was his favorite.

“So what if I’m getting a pot belly,” he grumbled, thinking about some of the jokes other sharks had made about him when they thought he couldn’t hear them. “Some things just taste better than skinny feels.”

He burped. It was a very loud burp.

Billy was watching a musical. People were dancing and singing, and he liked to think about which of them he would put into his favorite sandwich first.

Suddenly, the security alarm went off. There was an intruder on Shark Island! Billy checked the security camera and saw a little girl with long dark hair and a pretty blue dress crying and stumbling along. She looked lost.

“Well, well,” Billy said. “Looks like I’ll be having an after dinner mint.”

Eagerly, Billy rushed out to meet the snack sized human, giggling to himself because he had decided to play a little game.

The little girl walked through the jungle of Shark Island, sobbing. “Oh woe is me!” she cried. “Mama was so right about me! I am my own kryptonite!” And if you listened closely, you would have heard her add, just under her breath: “I can’t believe I just said Mum was right! I’d better get an award for this performance.”

The little girl tripped over nothing in particular, collapsed into her arms, and shuddered with sobs.

By the time Billy the Shark arrived, he was almost starting to feel sorry for the poor lost girl. Almost.

“There there, little lady, why are you crying so?” he turned on his most concerned uncle voice.

The little girl looked up at him. Her eyes got big and round like saucers. Billy took this to mean that the girl was quite frightened indeed.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t eat you,” he grinned. All of his teeth were showing, which wasn’t very reassuring.

Nevertheless, the little girl said: “Oh Mr. Shark, Mr. Shark! I’m lost and hungry and sad! Can you help me, please?”

“By all means,” Billy agreed. “I’ll take you to get something nice to eat, ok?”

“Ok,” said the little girl. Um, but I can’t eat food and swim underwater at the same time.”

Actually, a little mermaid had taught the little girl how, but the shark didn’t need to know about that.

“I have a house here on the island, inside of a volcano. Don’t worry, it’s lava-proof.”

So, Billy lead the girl back to his volcano home, asking her all sorts of questions about her parents, where she had come from, and how she had gotten lost.

“My parents and I were on vacation,” the girl lamented. “We were so happy, until the storm came and smashed up our boat.”

“Terrible,” Billy said.

“My dad was only 37—it’s such a shame. At least my mum was 89, and lived a full life, you know?”

“Wow. 37 and 89,” Billy remarked. “That’s not just May-December, that’s Mayan Calender-December.”

“And yet somehow they made it work,” the little girl nodded.

“And what is your name little girl?”

“Um…I have amnesia.” The little girl said.

“Pretty name,” Billy remarked.

Soon, back at Billy’s house, the little lost girl seemed much less worried about her plight. In fact, she walked around the shark’s place with intense curiosity.

“Now, let’s find you something to eat!” Billy said, almost licking his chomps. “Fatten you up a bit,” he muttered. He went to his refrigerator and looked in. “Tell me little girl, what would you like to eat, hm?”

“Can I have a shark burger, please?” the little dark haired girl asked sweetly.

Billy the Meaniebutt Shark turned to her. “That’s not funny, little girl,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“I wasn’t making a funny,” the little girl assured him, still smiling.

“Who are you?” Billy the Shark asked. There was something odd about this little lost girl, and he was suddenly getting a very bad feeling about all of this.

“Well, it’s not amnesia,” said the little girl. “Not even close. It doesn’t even rhyme with amnesia. Do you want to know what it rhymes with? I’ll tell you: it rhymes with sting. Not sting like a bee sting. Sting like: surprise! It’s a trap!”

Billy finally realized who this strange little girl was who had suddenly turned up frightened and alone on Shark Island, of all islands. He’d never seen her before, but he’d definitely heard of her.

The little girl whose name rhymed with shark hunting.

The little princess named Thing.

“No!” Billy the Meaniebutt Shark screamed. “Somebody! Haalp!”

“Say hello to my Big Bad Mum!” the little princess shouted.

“Oh no!” Billy cried. “Your mom’s here too! That’s not fair! How bad is she?”

“She’s awful!” the little princess admitted, “but I’m talking about my magical sword, see?”

She held it out for him to see. It was bright and shiny, and it looked very sharp.

Billy shuddered. “Please don’t turn me into Meanibutt shark cutlets!”

“Quiet down!” the little princess commanded. “If you surrender peacefully, I won’t have to.”

Billy stifled his sobs and tried to look as helpless and pathetic as possible.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, stinky shark!” the little princess said. “You’re such a bully, and just like all bullies, you’re really just a big ole coward at heart.”

“I’m sorry!” Billy whimpered. “What do you want me to do to make up for all of my bad ways? I’ll do anything.”

“Billy, Billy, Billy! You’ve been a bad boy! I’m going to take you to Shark Zoo.”

“Not Shark Zoo!” Shark Zoo was famous for being a place where sharks had to go in order to learn how to behave, and even do school work.

If they learned good manners, and promised to be good every day, the sharks would finally be set free again. Billy had met a few sharks who had graduated from Shark Zoo, and they were so boring.

“It’s not a zoo!” Billy complained. “It’s a prison! You turn perfectly natural sharks into wimpy little guppies. I betchu if I was a dolphin, you wouldn’t send me to such a nasty place–and dolphins are much worse than sharks!”

“What are you, an activist?” the little princess snapped. “Don’t talk to me about dolphins! I’m a shark hunter, okay? Now, hold still while I tie you up!”

And so, the little princess and her Jolly Pirates took Billy the Meaniebutt Shark to Shark Zoo. At first, Billy was very sad and bored there, but the little princess wrote him letters—and even sent some tasty snacks (not humans)—which brightened Billy’s spirits immensely. Before long, Billy was the best behaved, most studios shark in all of Shark Zoo; even standing up to bullies who liked to cause trouble there.

Billy had become so good and nice that by the time he we was free to live in regular waters again, he had gotten a new nickname: Billy the Goody-Goody Shark Who Always Likes to Brag That He’s Princess Thing’s Pal.

By Saladinho

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The little princess whose name rhymes with something

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A dog told this story to a cat.

Once there was a little princess in India who braved a terrible storm to hunt a particularly nasty shark named Billy. Billy the Meaniebutt Shark was his full name, and he certainly deserved it.

Billy rhymes with bully, and that’s what Billy was. He was so bad that he even bullied other sharks. Even whales. I’m talking about the really big kind, too.

For the most part, whales are very nice and friendly, even though some of them are bigger than dinosaurs ever were. Billy took advantage of their gentle nature, and often took the lunches their mums and dads packed for them to take to school.

If a whale ever complained about it, Billy the Shark would pull a dirty trick. “Oh, you want to fight about it, huh,” he’d sneer. “What would your mom think, ha? She’d be so ashamed of her feisty kid fighting sharks. Whales are supposed to be so peaceful.”

“No, Billy,” the whale would say. “I don’t want to disappoint my mum.”

“Good whale,” Billy would chuckle. “Tell your mom you’d like a human and jelly sandwich next time. Gee willickers!”

Well, news of Billy the Meaniebutt Shark’s awfulness spread throughout the land and the sea; and finally word got back to a certain little princess, who had always been keeping an eye out for nasty sharks.

It was a little bird that told her. She flew into the little princess’ palace one morning, while the little princess was having a bath. The bird was very excited. “Holy earthworms! Your Highness! Wait until I tell you about this hideous shark!”

“Fetch me my Big Bad Mum!” The little princess shouted, splashing her fists into her bubble bath. Some of it got into her eyes, and stung like freshly sliced onions. “AAAAH!! I CAN’T SEE!”

So, rather than fetching Her Highness’ magical sword Big Bad Mum, the little birdy had to go and fetch the princess’ real mum instead.

“What’s this then,” Mum asked, when she arrived.

“Mahm! I’m blind!”

“Chill out, yo,” Mum sighed. “Hold still and I’ll rinse your eyes…and to think your dad and I let you run off to fight sharks. If they only knew that your personal kryptonite was you yourself.”

“I thought you were my personal kryptonite,” the little princess retorted.

“And don’t you forget it.”

Mum rinsed the princess’ eyes out, packed a few lunches, tried to do something with the girl’s hair – gave up – gave her a big hi-five, and waved goodbye as the good ship H.M.S. Bookshelf sailed away for adventure.

“I’ll be back in two flaps of a dragon’s wings, Mahm!!” The little princess called.

“Don’t hurry ba- I mean – take your time and be sure to check everywhere in the world that mean ole shark could be hiding!” Mum said.

The little princess frowned suspiciously. Mum smiled innocently.

Now then, next was the terrible storm that Lola told Frisbee about in Part One. After that, it didn’t take the little princess and her Jolly Pirates long to arrive at Shark Island.

Shark Island was ginormous. Some said it was the worst, most dangerous place on Earth. Even though sharks lived in the ocean, they liked to vacation on Shark Island.

They had all sorts of games and fun activities for sharks on Shark Island. Like “Chase Humans On Land”, “Release Captured Humans From Their Cages And Let Them Run Into The Sea So We Can Eat Them In Water”, and volleyball.

Volleyball was especially popular.

When the little princess and her band of Jolly Pirates approached Shark Island, the place was as quiet as a ghost town. This time of year, Shark Island was closed to tourists.

“According to this map the little birdy gave me, Billy’s house is right in the center of the island.”

“Do you think Billy is still here, your Captain Princessness?” a Jolly Pirate asked nervously.

“Oh, he’s here alright,” the princess said. “Billy’s the manager of Shark Island.”

The princess and a few of her Jolly Pirates rowed ashore the infamous island on a small boat.

“You lads wait here,” said the princess. She took a bag she was carrying over to one of the little beach huts sharks use to change into their bathing suits, and went inside. When she came back out a few minutes later, she was wearing the pretty blue dress she’d bought off of that sea dragon from Part One.

The Jolly Pirates were shocked.

“Your Highness!” one of them cried, “Why are you wearing that flimsy little fancy dress! You can’t fight sharks in that thing. Especially not mean ole Billy!”

“Chill out, yo.” The little princess had a sneaky smile. It was all part of the plan, you see.

But that’s a story for Part Three.

Try to behave until then, ok?

By Saladinho

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Frisbee’s Nine Lives

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My name is Mraomeowkookow, but my human calls me Frisbee. Now everyone calls me Frisbee. Even Lola, who ought to know better. I’m a black cat with bits of white patiently and delicately painted on my paws, and about my face and throat; right around where my Vishudda resides. Everybody agrees that I’m quite handsome. Actually, they say I’m “beautiful”, or “cute”, even though I’m a boy. Oh well, I don’t complain. My human feeds me often enough (sometimes she ignores me when I demand special treats—I let her get away with it because I’m from a noble lineage, and it would not due to make unseemly outbursts).

I have a friend—I guess she’s a friend—named Lola. Did I tell you about Lola? Get this: She’s a dog. A Bulldog, in fact. And they call her beautiful too! I shouldn’t be mean. I like Lola (don’t tell her I said that). I can overlook the fact that her face looks like it’s been flattened in by one of those frying pans my human uses to cook fish for me. Okay, okay, I’ll stop…Lola is a good egg. She’s even shaped like one—if an egg had four legs.

I suppose I should tell you a story. It isn’t going to be a good story, but don’t blame me. For me, to my mind, the best stories are short. Like this: “Once there was a little princess in a faraway land called India. Her name rhymed with string, wing, and ring-a-ding-ding. She liked to wrestle sharks, bookshelves, and wits with her Mum.” The end. Now, if I were the one who had told such an exciting, heart-wrenching story, I’d take a nap right after.

Mm! Fish! I’m hungry. And sleepy. I think I’ll take a nap after all. Don’t go away! I’ll be right back! SNOOOOORRRREEEEE!!! PUUURRRRR!!! Yawn! Stretch! Eat fish!!

I’m back. I had such a great nap. And when I awoke, my human gave me a fish burger. With ice cream and cake…and wine! Okay: I lied about the wine.  My human drinks wine, though. A lot. I remember one day not long ago, my human was drinking wine and eating chocolate, and telling me I was her only friend, when some man human came to visit, with a whole armful of flowers.

My human was so angry at the man. You should have seen her. I guess she doesn’t like flowers. She started yelling and screaming. The man kept stammering “But-but-but—honey I’m sorry! Please don’t be mad!” Not having it, my human chased him away with a frying pan. My fish frying pan. Humans make me shake my head.

With all the yelling, I decided to slip outside my apartment—which is on the second floor of a large complex of neat little boxes stacked side by side— and go downstairs to walk over to Lola’s house, just across the street. I stopped at the sidewalk and looked both ways before crossing. I had to make sure that there were no cars coming, because I’m such a sensible lad.

“Hey Frisbee!” said Whaump-whaump the squirrel. He was in the middle of the street, and he waved at me to come over.

“Get out of the street, Whaump,” I told him.

“Humans don’t own the street!” Whaump said. He liked to think of himself as a rebel.

“That won’t stop them from running you over if you get in their way,” I said. Conversations with Whaump-whaump had a tendency to turn political.

“Come here a second.” The squirrel said. He was holding something in his tiny paws. I was curious, but an ancient proverb came to mind, and I decided to wave him off.

“Pff!” I said. I was busy. I had better things to do.

“C’mon, dude!” Whaump-whaump said “You can go see your girlfriend later!” He giggled at me. He liked to tease me about Lola.

“Sounds like someone’s jealous,” I sniffed. It was a new tactic I’d learned from my human. Pretend that something doesn’t bother you, even when it does. It was called Massive Suggestion, I think.

“You always act like you’re better than everybody,” the squirrel sneered.

“I do not act like I’m better than everybody,” I stiffened. “I am better than everybody.” Perhaps that was a bit uncalled for, being so brutally honest, but the squirrel was getting my back up.

“Scaredy cat! Scaredy cat!” Whaump-whaump taunted.

I started to cross the street, ignoring the idiot squirrel.

“Hey, Frisbee!” He shouted at me, “What’s the use of having nine lives if cats are so afraid to do anything with them?”

I stopped.

I think now would be a good time to tell you the moral of my story. I know you’re supposed to wait until your story’s actually finished to tell it, but it occurs to me how often in life we already know a lesson before we foolishly put ourselves through all the trouble of having to learn it.

Anyway, the moral of my story is this: don’t let silly squirrels shame you into standing in the middle of the street with them.

Okay, now back to the story: I walked over to Whaump-whaump. “What are you holding” I asked, nonchalantly. Nonchalantly. That’s another word for pretending not to care about something.

“It’s an almond,” Whaump said. “Want to play ‘Hurry Up and Catch It’?”

“What’s ‘Hurry Up and Catch It’?” I asked, forgetting to be annoyed that the only thing the squirrel was holding was his lunch.

“It’s a game. You take an almond—or an acorn if you have one—and you put it in the middle of the street, and then you run to the sidewalk and wait until you hear a human’s metal monster coming. Then you spring into the street, grab the almond-or acorn-and run back to the sidewalk before the metal monster catches you!”

I  stared at Whaump-whaump while he beamed at me like a lunatic.

“Do squirrels have something like catnip, only it’s for squirrels,” I asked. “Because it looks like you’re taking it.”

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

“You can stay in the middle of the street if you want, but my Spider-Sense is tingling, and I’m going to get out of —HOLY TUNA FISH!!!”

Suddenly, out of the parking lot of my apartment complex, my human’s man came speeding out in his huge red metal monster, headed right for us.

“AAAAHHHH! WE DIDN’T START THE GAME YET!” Whaump-whaump screamed.

I couldn’t move. Neither of us could move. We were frozen in terror.

Just before it was too late, the metal monster screeched to a stop. It was standing nearly on top of us. It smelled of burning rubber, fish pans, and sad roses. It made a large blaring roar.

This time I moved. I ran over to Lola’s side of the street, Whaump-whaump right on my tail, and sighed in relief once I made it away from the huge ugly thing safely.

It took us a few minutes to catch our breaths.

“Hi guys,” a voice chirped happily at us, making us jump.

It was only Lola.

“Hey Lola! We were playing a game!”

I looked at Whaump-whaump. I couldn’t tell if he was lying to preserve our dignity, or if he really thought our terrible ordeal had all just been some exciting lark.

“I want to play!” Lola said excitedly.

“I propose a new game,” I said calmly.

Lola and Whaump-whaump were both intrigued.

“Let’s play “What Do Squirrels Taste Like?”

“What *do* squirrels taste like?” Lola said.

“How do you play that game?” Whaump-whaump asked, suddenly showing signs of self preservation.

I gave him a pointed look. “Oh. I think you know how you play that game. You eat a squirrel.” I narrowed my eyes and slowly advanced on him. “What part would you like to try first, Lola?”

“THAT’S NOT FUNNY FRISBEE!” Whaump-whaump squealed, running away and up into a tree and out of sight.

“Were you really going to eat him?” Lola asked.

I shrugged. Cats know best when to keep their own counsel.

“What happened out here anyway?” Lola asked. “I saw you two running from the street. It didn’t look like you were having fun.”

“It was nothing,” I said.

Cats may have nine lives, but we’re not the best storytellers.

By Saladinho

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