Story time, children! Tonight we will be reading the tale of the happy little tree. During a session with Google's new Wave product, a couple of colleagues of mine and I ended up writing this three-part epic trilogy (redundancy!). What follows is a voyage into madness, and is not for the faint of heart.
Image copywritten by whoever owns the Charlie Brown Christmas special now. ABC?~The Little Tree: Part 1~
Written by Brickmaster3000
Once upon a time there was a tree who always dreamed that someday he would become a piece of paper. His friends all made fun of him, "Who wants to be a filthy piece of paper," they would say.
The little tree just ignored them. He knew that paper was a glorious thing. Paper was what held knowledge. Paper is what allowed written language to come to be. Surely there could be no better thing to be.
One day a lumberjack stopped to eat his lunch by the little tree and heard him daydreaming about being paper. "I could help you with that," said the lumberjack. The little tree was thrilled when he heard that and gladly agreed with the lumberjack.
As the lumberjack took his axe to the little tree it screamed in pain, "Oh my god! The pain! It hurts so much!" The lumberjack ignored the little trees screams and kept going. He then ground the little trees lifeless corpse into a pulp and finally turned it into paper.
~The Little Tree: Part Deux~
Written by Expendable Sith
Finally, the pain began to subside. Bit by bit, the little tree began to retain feeling, first at his core, and slowly in his extremeties. But, something was wrong, something felt different...he felt somehow bigger. No, he thought, not bigger, I don't feel like there's more of me. I feel as though I'm more...spread out. As he was pondering this quandary, suddenly his senses were flooded with light, and he heard footsteps.
"Mr. Capone, it is my honor to present to you your new store of counterfeit currency. Inspect it, please, and you will find that it is nothing less than a work of art."
Mr. Capone? Counterfeit currency? What illegal things could possibly be going on here? Suddenly the little tree felt part of him move, become displaced. As someone was ruffling through a part of him, the little tree began to laugh.
"You're tickling me, stop!" The ruffling stopped, and he felt the displaced portion of himself drop to the cold floor.
"What the hell's goin' on here, Frankie? You'se guys tryin' to pull a trick on me or somethin'?" a man said as he started to chuckle. "Well, you got me. Now, let's go purchase ourselves some booze, eh?"
"Um, Mr. Capone, sir, I assure you this is no trick. I'm the happy little tree, and I'm so glad to meet you!" the happy little tree said joyfully, "I think I must be paper now, and I want to know...what manner of knowledge is written on me? Am I a science book? Will you read me and be my friend?"
"The joke's up, Frankie. You get your boys out of here and let's spend dis money. It was funny for a moment, but I'm gettin' tired o' dis."
There was a shuffling sound, and the other man said, nervously, "I'm afraid that voice is right. This is no joke, Mr. Capone. Frankly I don't know what's going on, but I know I don't like this one bit. Maybe this is a sign, sir, a sign of what we are doing is wrong. This money may be tainted with our wrongdoings...sir, what are you doing?!"
The happy little tree began to feel wet all over, and a cool liquid splashed all around his extended body. "Ha ha, stop! If you get yourbooks wet, Mr. Capone, the print will get all smudgy! Hee hee!" the happy little tree said in between laughs.
"No, my little friend, we ain't gonna read ya. Frankie, a match, if you would?"
"But, sir, with that much gasoline you'll burn the whole building down!"
"Dis building ain't worth my piece o' mind, Frankie. Give me a damn match!...Thank you, Frankie."
There was a small scritch, and then only pain. Pain worse than the pain of being cut down from his forest, pain worse than anything the little tree could have ever imagined. Along with the pain was an intense, blinding light. The little tree shouted in agony, begging his new friend Mr. Capone to make the pain stop, but there came no answer. Again, the little tree was ignored, and again the sweet, blissful darkness came.
~The Little Tree: Part Three~
Written by DukeofDummies
The building began to burn with the money and the abandoned warehouse burned to the ground, "but fire is never an end, but really a beginning to things" -quote from a really crappy forest video. From the ashes arose grass, that insects could scramble between, flowers to make the land beautiful, and in the middle of all this wonder and beauty of creation arose a sapling.
"Son of a $#@%!" said the sapling
... Now in nature, you get a variety of kindred souls, each is unique in their own way. The flowers with their petals blowing in the breeze, spreading their scents throughout the area. The grass, being harvested by gang members, who roll it up into cylindrical cigarettes and smoke it until they see pretty colors, and the sapling.
"if I ever see that son of a @#$& I'm going to fall over on him"
... swearing at the idyllic scenery.
"you call this idyllic? I'm in the middle of a marijuana patch!"
"dude... I think the trees are talking to us man! I'm freakin out!" said one of the gang members... so when life brings you lemons you make lemonade-
"so does that mean when life gives you pot you smoke a joint and sell a little on the side? I wanted to be paper! I wanted to be a book!"
... *ahem* It was a sapling with high hopes, high dreams, yet a very low height at such a young age. It was a sapling that wanted book smarts, not street smarts.
"yeah"
It couldn't take such a meager existence of being a marijuana marker
"YEAH!"
He decided to end it right there and take his own life
"GRRR- GRAAAA"
too bad he was a sapling, and saplings can't move. As we can see he wasn't a very smart sapling either
"you son of a @#$&!"
So as the years grew on he grew bigger and bigger and his cursing grew louder and louder, making the pot stash easier and easier to find, and less and less of a secret until finally the police got wind of it. It was the largest stash that was ever found in drug history, the mayor awarded him the key to the city and placed him in the central park. As the years went by the key eventually fell off and no one was ever quite sure of where he was after that. But rumor has it that if you head into the park at night wearing plaid and hold an axe you can hear, just barely, a sound that sounds a lot like...
"Bastard"
The End