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The ideas and opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily representational of Mrs. Allan's Webclass, this web server, or even the writer. This page is a sample of my writing. The following satirical article is a very obscure short story from a series of very obscure short stories. The premise is on a private investigator who investigates really weird things. I wrote these when I was about 12, so I've become a better writer since then, but I still think this is funny.

 

Bond here, Jack Bond, no relation to that James character. My last assignment really got to me. Not like an emotionally touching movie, or a beautiful song. More like a ravenous flesh eating virus that envelops your entire body slowly, leaving you a decaying, crippled, barely alive, biological catastrophe movie gone wrong. I don’t happen to think that paramecium have any sort of complex sense, such as sight or smell, but if one had been given the assignment I just had, there is not a doubt in my mind it would have committed single-celled organism mass-homicide. Teenage girls however, would have flocked to the chance to do this kind of thing, which most psychiatric professionals would consider psychological suicide. Yes my friends, to confirm the dread that is sweeping over you right now as the blood rushes from you upper body, I will reveal the dreadful task I had been given. My mission was to guard the hormonally imbalanced walking Clearisil ads known as The Backhalf Boys. If you are unfamiliar with their work, you are obviously an extraterrestrial life form and better off for it. These talent-challenged teenage boys are part of the evil in the world, today most popularly referred to as “boy bands”. The premise of these boy bands is to get three or more young males together, based solely on looks, teach them to sing, buy someone else’s bad songs, hire a choreographer who knows four dance moves, and then sell albums by putting steamy photos of the boys in the CD pamphlets. If done successfully, teenage girls will flock to buy merchandise which has anything remotely to do with the band, and you can have a least one hundred Internet sites chock full of pictures of the boys in a week. While the majority of the universe seems to be sane enough to resist the lure of such a wonderful corporate set-up, it is the teenage girls who fall victim to it’s trap in hoards.
Please bear with me as I tell you the tale of this mission. However, I do warn you that this story should not be read to any small children, and you may want to keep a garbage bin handy.
The only reason I had to guard The Backhalf Boys in the first place was because they were on tour and they happened to be coming through our town. I first met them at the airport as they flew in. I was patiently waiting for them on the concourse with a sign in my hand which read “The Backhalf Boys”. That is until a couple of girls ran screaming at me, grabbed the sign, and ran off again. No doubt to kiss it all over, and add it to their shrine. I did not know what the band members looked like at the time, as I am clearly not a fan, so I was going to have a little trouble finding them. Luckily for me, finding them was a bit like following ants to a picnic. I just looked for the biggest mass of impressionable young ladies I could and followed until they ultimately led me to the most insane thing imaginable. There was an enormous circle of girls who were all screaming and jumping around the band. The whole thing reminded me of a pool of salmon in a fish hatchery or sharks in a feeding frenzy. In fact, it was most like a frenzy. The girls had shut off all brain functions for the time being and were being completely driven by pure raging hormones.
When I finally managed to extract the band members by helicopter and we had beaten the clingers off of the skids we headed to the hotel where the band was staying. Not before releasing a public statement that the band was staying across town. This way, we had distracted the mob and could rest in relative peace for the time being.
Now most people are under the impression that these kind of “music artists” are treated royally. I have found this to be somewhat true. The Backhalf Boys were treated to an entire floor of an underground parking lot to stay in. While this environment may seem rather mundane, it was necessary to fit all the band members, their roadies, their producers, their managers, their directors, their choreographers, their make-up artists, film crews, reporters, and a few fans who are apparently immune to pepper spray and physical pain. If it weren’t for these “behind the scenes” people, I’m sure the boys would have a deluxe penthouse suite.
At this point my assignment was making me rather sick. I took some time to use an oxygen mask and slowly count backwards from ten, while The Backhalf Boys warmed up and went over the different combinations of their four dance moves with the choreographer. I tried to keep my mind on my actual assignment, to protect the boys. However, it’s difficult to protect people from being killed when you are considering doing it. So, I thought up a plan, and called up my team.
The night of the concert my team and I stood at the entrance. We had decided we should arrest any male, and anyone over eighteen. We had come to this conclusion through some very basic reasoning; anyone other than teenage girls, trying to get into a Backhalf Boys concert, is looking to kill someone or will thank us for arresting them. As the crowd filtered through the door we grabbed anyone who fit our suspect match.
Carter spotted for us, “Dudette... Dudette... Dudette... Dude... Dudette... Dudette... Dude...Dudette... Dudette... Dudette... Dude... etc.”
When everyone had gone through the door we left anything that could possibly be used as a weapon outside and went into the concert. We had to make sure the band members were safe, but we did not have to watch when they made corny dance moves or did the 180º point and pan.
The Backhalf Boys got out fine (unfortunately), and moved on to plague another town. I went home and took several cold showers. I have hope that someday I will recover most of the mental security I once had.

CASE CLOSED