Salutations friends. It is I. JayPIE. And TunaPIE. Say hi bro.
Hello
As you may have guessed, we're doing a co-write! Ish. ( ish because we're siblings and we won't have to use separate accounts to write this. We live in the same house. yaaayyy ) We're writing a story together. What is this story about you may ask? Well, lemme tell you.
Steve. A peculiar fellow with a love for fishing and rubber chickens, finds himself in the most precarious situation.
This is a story about comedy, love, drama ACTION. (One that you probably won't be able to take seriously) Follow Steve as he searches for the one true key to happiness. Friendship. Oh, and also clam pancakes.
Among every group of people, small and large. There is a Steve. Silly people who no one understands or likes. People who have been labelled as strange and unwelcome. People with no place in society. People who are most likely to vandalize benches, who don't partake in normal people activities.
A person nobody wants.
...
Steve just so happened to be that Steve in the group. He was Steve. And Steve was Steve. Goofy, loud, rambunctious, random and...
Wrong.
Among the citizens of his tropical home, he was an outcast. An unwanted stranger. A hermit man with a super soft mole on his left hand which he named Steve Downy JR.
But Steve was oblivious to their hate. He lived his days as happy as any hermit man with stupidly named clusters of skin. Fishing away his troubles and eating clam pancakes with his life long friend, George the rubber chicken. George understood Steve. He listened to his lamenting, his terrible jokes, his silly stories about love. And that one girl who repeatedly smacked him with a fish. And between them, they shared something that would never break. A bond as strong as STEAL. Or as strong as superman's super strong abs that he obtained from working out in the super gym, all super night and super day.
Friendship.
They existed peacefully together as lifelong companions. Forever alone on the little island they inhabited. Eating clam pancakes.
But one day, they're lives change forever.
...
Well, Steve's life changes forever. George doesn't have a life.
The rusty fish hook, laden with a ridiculous amount of small lead sinkers (and an unfortunate earthworm), sank to the bottom of the crystal clear waters of the ocean. The swiftly descending hook reached the pearly white sand in a matter of seconds, causing a cloud of the sand to disperse around it. A tiny fish approached the curious display, circling it cautiously and poking it with its gaping mouth. The bait sat there for a moment or two before it was violently yanked upwards in a burst of bubbles, causing the hungry fish to swim quickly away in a blind panic. The worm reached the surface, was lifted up into the air and dropped onto the wooden boards of the rowboat.
"Huzzah! Look, George! Our first catch of the day." Steve proclaimed proudly tossing his make-shift fishing rod behind him. "A worm!" His exclamation rang out loudly across the iridescent sea water drowning out the gentle sounds of the waves crashing onto the beach, as he scrambled to untangle his new catch. George the rubber chicken didn't respond. Steve stared at his silent companion with a disgusted look on his face. "You don't sound too excited about our new delicious friend George." George didn't respond. Steve stiffened. "I worked very hard to catch it you know!" Still no answer. Steve exhaled shakily, clearly refraining himself from strangling his so-called friend. He straightened his shirt huffily. "Fine then. If you can't appreciate my efforts to provide food for us both, you won't be getting any of this beautiful worm." George continued to stare at him blankly, falling sideways due to the constant rocking of the boat. Steve's eye twitched spastically in a total rage.
A derpy looking seagull sat perched on one of the boat oars, watching Steves display of anger with a mild curiosity. Suddenly he hurriedly flew off, barely missing the rubber chicken that was thrown at him. "Aha! Take that, you fiend!" He cackled. Steve stared into the shallow water where he had chucked George, he scrambled clumsily to the edge of the boat, leaning forwards to poke at the floating rubber chicken.
"You totally deserved that George. And I enjoyed doing it." He whispered. "And seeing your floating mess brings me..." He leaned in closer. "INTERNAL JOY." He pushed away George with his finger. "Goodbye Geo-AHWAIT NOO--"
Ok, so this is my third time rewriting this after accidentally closing the tab. -_- *SIGH*
(Part 3)
Soaked and mildly embarrassed, Steve hauled the overturned rowboat to the shore with major difficulty. Upon reaching the beach, he dramatically collapsed onto the white sand.
"Alas! I have collapsed due to sheer exhaustion!" He draped his arm over his face, lamenting sorrowfully. "I fear that I shall never walk again!" He lifted George up over his face, to stare into those two black eyes of the rubber chicken that he so deeply and sincerely loved. "George, my lifelong friend! I have failed you..." George didn't respond. "Please! If our friendship means anything to you... Forgive...Meeeee.. BLEH." George fell from Steve's "lifeless" hands and onto his face.
After a minute or two of lying there like a complete and total moron, Steve sat up, flinging George away.
"I am incredibly bored now." He said, brushing off the sand that clung to his wet skin and trousers. He rose to his feet, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Hmm. Let's check the fishing nets, shall we George?"
(I would write more, but THE MAXIMUM CHARACTER LIMIT BEGS TO DIFFER. *hisses in a mighty rage*
The fishing nets were nothing more than a few butterfly nets crudely tied together with flimsy rope connecting to the rickety fishing docks.
This pathetic contraption was Steve's pride and joy. Not only was he a master of making pancakes, but he was also a master fishermen. Obviously.
He propped George up against a rusty old tackle box, patted him on the head and began heaving on the ropes. Humming a few catchy tunes in the fabulous key of off.
"Humm dee doo.. Daaa...GEORGE! LOOK! LOOK AT THIS! HAHAA! We did it!" He squealed. The reason for Steve's sudden joy was entangled in the butterfly nets. a tiny iridescent fish, dead.
"A fish! A FISH! George! Do you realize what this means?" George didn't respond and simply fell over onto his side. "George, you're a man of few words my friend." George remained silent. Steve rolled his eyes to the heavens. "It means we need to celebrate! With pancakes! AND CONFETTI!" He scooped George into his hands and scrambled and slid over to his ramshackle fishing shack near the edge of a densely packed forest, jumping and swerving to avoid washed up driftwood, slippery seaweed and barnacle covered rocks. As he rushed towards his home, something clicked in his raisin sized brain and he yelped, skidding to an abrupt halt. "Ohoho, silly me! We mustn't forget the fish. Here, hold the door for me, will you George?" He tossed George onto the poorly woven welcome mat near the entrance to the shack and retraced his steps back to the docks whooping in mad excitement.
Outside, rain began thundering down on Steves rickety old cabin. Droplets of rain rolled down the forest leaves. And along the pearly white beach, puddles began forming in a matter of minutes. A summer symphony of raindrops and ocean waves.
Inside the shambled wreck of a cabin, Steve was in the kitchen, cheerfully cooking pancakes on a chipped and rusted iron pan. He tossed the golden frisbees of cooked perfection into the air, catching them on a cheesily painted china plate with practiced ease. He waltzed over to the kitchen table and slid it across to George, resting on a huge stack of old water ruined books atop a shaky chair.
"Here you are, George. Clam pancakes! Your faaavorite." He trilled. George just sat there. Steve took a step back an eyebrow raised incredulously. "Why aren't you eating George?" he inquired, a little hurt. He glanced down at the plate of steaming food and gasped. "Aha! I forgot to give you a fork! Stay right there, I shall retrieve one for you!" He scrambled back towards the stove top and slammed open a tiny drawer near the plant littered window sill. Once finding the tiny pitchfork, he strutted back to the table. "Here you are." He said, victoriously shoving the squeaky clean utensil into Georges pancakes. He sighed in contentment and plopped down onto his own chair, resting his chin on his hands. His goofy grin slowly faded into a discontented frown as he realized that George still made no move towards the delicious stack of perfectly round edible disks. Steve drummed his fingers on the hard surface of the table, staring up at the ceiling.
"Soooo... It's raining! And the ceiling's not leaking. Pretty neat huh?" George remained silent. Steve awkwardly bit his lip. "Uh, I put a tarp on the roof this morning. Because... Wetness. It's no fun." George continued staring blankly into nothingness saying not a word. Steve suddenly slammed his fists on the table. "LOOK! I'm sorry ok?! I shouldn't have thrown you into the water. I was wrong. ." George said nothing. Steve let out a shuddering sigh, draping himself over the table in anguish. "I'M SORRY. SO SORRY! I've been a terrible friend!" His shoulders began shaking as he continued to sob. "You didn't deserve that. Sniffle AND YOU DON'T DESERVE A TERRIBLE FRIEND LIKE ME." He put his face in his hands, crying like a tiny baby chipmunk.
after a while, Steve finally lifted his head and wiped away the snot and mucus smeared on his face. "Listen, George, if you can ever forgive me... I promise from the depths of my heart that I will never chuck you at a seagull EVER AGAIN. Forgive meeee." As if by some strange magic, George's hollow body fell forwards onto the plate. Steve gasped, a shaky smile formed on his face and he brushed away the tears of joy that threatened to spill over. "Thank you, George."
Chapter 3 Over the bridge and through the woods (Part 1)
Once the thundering rain had receded to a slow drizzle, Steve hauled his old, broken down motorbike out of his shack. Secured his large cooler to the back of it with copious amounts of rope and gently placed Steve in a mesh basket attached to the handles of the bike. He patted the cooler proudly.
"Ready to sell our fish at the marketplace George?" He asked. After a moment or two of silence, he chuckled heartily. "Of course you are! Now, we should get get going my tight-lipped friend. The rain should stop once we get there." With that said, he slid his helmet over his head, walked the bike across the beach and onto a tightly packed trail through the wet, dismal jungle. After about twenty minutes of walking and avoiding hanging vines and branches, they reached the main road. This long narrow stretch of mud would take them to Steves destination, The Marketplace. That bustling community of locals, merchants and sailors, selling their various wares of fruit, livestock and of course, fish.
Steve's little motorbike hummed loudly, as he drove along the bumpy road, being jolted and jerked in his seat by the constant potholes and rocks that littered the way. He honked at the many oncoming vehicles, cheerfully waving hello. They merely ignored him and continued on their merry way. Steve grinned.
"Such-n-ni-ce f-f-folks!" He managed to stammer to George, the words lurching out of him he was tossed and bumped in his seat. After about thirty minutes of riding, Steve stopped at a long wooden bridge, hanging over a wide stream many feet below. He propped the hard working motorbike against the worn out railing and philosophically stared into the water far far below. He sat there for many minutes, pondering. Are we just brains wearing human meat-suits?
After many moment of wondering about the weirdest things that no sane human would every think about, Steve stepped away from the railing. "Well that sure was fun! Ready George?" He took a step towards his bike, a goofy grin on his face, immediately slipped on the wet mossy wooden boards of the bridge.
Steve laid awkwardly on the ground, staring up into the tree tops with a shocked expression.
"Well gee, that hurt." He said, his voice tapering into a small moan. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head irritably, gingerly tapping the newly formed bruise on his scalp. "It's ok George!" He yelled. "I'm still alive!" the reassuring words echoed through the trees, reaching no one's ears. He patted George's rubber head. "No need to be concerned." He threw his leg over the side of the bike, started the engine and rode off, beginning his uncomfortable journey once again.
After the bridge incident, Steve had refrained from stoping at the next few bridges in they're path. "To risky." He had said nervously to George. George of course, didn't respond. As he continued riding, the road became wider and less bumpy. Oncoming vehicles became more frequent and pedestrians lined the sides of the road. Steve smiled and waved at many of them, some waved back, but upon recognizing the motorbike and it's strange rider, they stiffly withdrew they're hands, walking on as if they hadn't seen him. Steve was not a popular figure among the locals.
As Steve neared his destination, the faint sound of seagulls and many voices continuously filling the air could be heard in the distance, along with the stinky smell of fish. Suddenly the trees became sparser, and down below, the marketplace could be seen.
"There it is George!" Steve exclaimed over the humming and groaning of his motorcycle. "The good old marketplace." The old bike reached the crest of the hill, picking up speed as it descended downwards. Steve whooped and laughed in exhilaration, zooming past the locals that lined the sides of the road in a mad dash. Upon reaching the large sandy clearing near the beach, which the marketplace was situated in, he slammed on the breaks filling the air with a deafening screech as the motorcycle skidded to a halt, yanked his helmet off of his head with a loud Pop! The locals surrounding him scurried away in disgust, irritably glaring at him in angry silence. Steve beamed, sliding off of his seat. "Stay right there George" He said unstrapping the ridiculously large cooler from the back of the motorcycle. He heaved it onto the ground, and rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Here we are!"
There was so much to see and here, Steve didn't know which way to turn his head first. All around him, the marketplace seethed with life. His ears buzzed with the shriek of gulls as they fought over scraps of discarded food. Underlying the gulls' voices was the constant buzz of the many people talking, they're voices an ear-splitting mass of noise and confusion. After a moment of standing amidst the clamor, he smiled confidently. "Right, time to sell this fish." He declared, picking up the cooler and setting off into the seething mass of locals. "Watch the bike for me George!" He yelled over his back. "I won't be long!"
"Soooo... It's raining! And the ceiling's not leaking. Pretty neat huh?" George remained silent. Steve awkwardly bit his lip. "Uh, I put a tarp on the roof this morning. Because... Wetness. It's no fun." George continued staring blankly into nothingness saying not a word. Steve suddenly slammed his fists on the table. "LOOK! I'm sorry ok?! I shouldn't have thrown you into the water. I was wrong. ." George said nothing. Steve let out a shuddering sigh, draping himself over the table in anguish. "I'M SORRY. SO SORRY! I've been a terrible friend!" His shoulders began shaking as he continued to sob. "You didn't deserve that. Sniffle AND YOU DON'T DESERVE A TERRIBLE FRIEND LIKE ME." He put his face in his hands, crying like a tiny baby chipmunk.
after a while, Steve finally lifted his head and wiped away the snot and mucus smeared on his face. "Listen, George, if you can ever forgive me... I promise from the depths of my heart that I will never chuck you at a seagull EVER AGAIN. Forgive meeee." As if by some strange magic, George's hollow body fell forwards onto the plate. Steve gasped, a shaky smile formed on his face and he brushed away the tears of joy that threatened to spill over. "Thank you, George."
Oh now they're bestest buddies again!
Best buddies forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and EVER.
It is I. JayPIE. And TunaPIE. Say hi bro.![[derp]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/YqNTPqyQUocVMYXZgUAI.png)
Steve would object. 
