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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
List Provided By: Tiffany
Sibling Rivalry IX
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3
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After attempting to remain stationary at his desk while the wind whistled throughout the room, Mr. Lyle finally gave up and, as a way to vent his anger at not being able to retrieve a list, swore violently at the carpenters that were installing his new plate-glass window.
This did not go over well.
Many of the obscenities Lyle hurled at the burly men were about their mothers and alluded to inbreeding, which never goes over well with the big, burly type of man. So, obviously, they were significantly pissed and decided that, since Lyle was able to vent his rage on them, they could vent their rage on him.
Their first move was to toss the $500 plate-glass window Mr. Lyle had just bought out the window. This glass, of course, succumbed to gravity and went careening down the side of the building and smashed into, yes, another parked car.
A string of obscenities could be heard coming from the sweepers that had been standing near the car, all along the lines of: "You fucking morons! How fucking inbred are you?" Mr. Lyle, too, got in on the action, swearing at them again, this time in more than one language and in far more derogatory terms.
The carpenters, whose names were Bob and Bubba, fittingly, decided to deal with Mr. Lyle first and then find a way to hurt the sweepers. After all, this was The Centre and things like that were never questioned here.
So, against Mr. Lyle’s vehement protestations, Bob and Bubba lifted him up by the seat of his pants and hurled him through his glass doors. They had, of course, failed to take into account the law of well, something. It has to do with different pressures and, well, you know what happens when a plane cabin depressurizes? Yeah, that’s what happened here. The higher pressure area, in this case, Mr. Lyle’s office, attempted to balance out with the lower pressure area, the hallway, resulting in a vacuum-esque occurrence.
Needless to say, the glass and the wall directly across from Mr. Lyle’s doors got revenge for him. He laughed quite hard when Bob and Bubba kissed the wall, then slumped to the ground in a stupor.
This, of course, did not fully quell his anger over not having retrieved a suitable list to annoy Miss Parker with. His only option was, now that his office was certainly out of commission for a while (his papers and other objects were spread out throughout the hallway), to go and visit Mr. Broots in his hole.
Mr. Lyle got up and dusted himself off, checking all the cuts he had suffered during his journey through the window. He would have to remember to buy some antiseptic on his way home, but otherwise he was fine.
His journey to what the techies referred to as "The Hole" was uneventful, so Mr. Lyle was considering how to convince Mr. Broots to work against his mistress. That, of course, wouldn’t be hard, as he’d had Broots run errands against Miss Parker’s will before, but Broots seemed to be screwing up the courage to at least partially defy him.
That was not good.
Oh well, he’d have to find a way to threaten Debbie. That always worked.
The door slid open to reveal the cubicles the techies virtually, and for some, literally, lived in. Mr. Lyle instantly spotted Mr. Broots, as he appeared to be attempting to hunker down as to remain invisible. Lyle strode briskly over, uprooting several of the techies’ papers, leaving quivering people in his wake.
"Mr. Broots!" Lyle barked out, catching the attention of the balding man and causing him to jerk in surprise, banging his knee against his desktop.
"Owww," he complained, rubbing his knee. Mr. Lyle just looked on in disdain, and Broots instantly shut up.
"I need you to do something. Can you find me a list to post outside Miss Parker’s office." The question came out more as a statement, which clearly meant to Broots that he had better find something or awful things would start happening.
"Wh-hy?" Broots inquired meekly, not screwing up the courage to look his superior in the eyes.
"Because I said so," Lyle replied sternly, then his tone softened and he queried, "How is Debbie, by the way?"
Broots visibly paled and instantaneously began typing.
"F-fine."
"Good to hear. I hope she stays that way." With that, Lyle perched himself on Broots’ desk and waited for Broots to find something.
"I found something!" Broots shouted triumphantly after several minutes of searching. The deafening sound of applause filled the room and Lyle looked around to see all the techies applauding their coworker’s success. He glared at them, and the applause instantly died down as the techies slithered back into their seats, trying desperately to avoid Lyle’s wrath.
Lyle grinned and then turned to Broots. "What did you find?"
"The perfect list," Broots responded, grinning from ear to ear. Mr. Lyle quickly skimmed over the list, a slight smile lighting his features on occasion.
"It’s. . .adequate. Print it off and post it outside Miss Parker’s office, would ya." Lyle once again turned what a normal person would view as a question into a simple statement. "Do it or die," was the message he communicated through his glare.
Broots’ smile slid off his face and he stared dejectedly at the computer screen. He didn’t even notice that Mr. Lyle had finally left. Instead, he considered how much trouble he would get in if he did or didn’t post the list.
I post the list, Miss Parker kills me. But, then again, I got away with it last time. . . I don’t post the list, Mr. Lyle kills me and likely Debbie as well. He blinked, then thought, I’m posting the damn list!
He quickly clicked the "print" button and sprinted over to the printer to retrieve his prize. He grabbed a thumbtack off a nearby desk and headed out the door, failing to notice the heads shoot up around the cubicles, much like a ground hog pops up out of its hole. They knew another list was coming, and they began to make their way to Miss Parker’s office, anxious for a read.
Mr. Broots did not take notice of the large crowd of people that had formed behind him. He simply concentrated on his task. He stopped in front of Miss Parker’s office and twisted the thumbtack around in his hand.
"Ouch!" he shouted suddenly, glaring at the place where the thumbtack had punctured his thumb. "Lousy, friggin’. . ." he mumbled, sticking the paper up to the wall and jamming the tack through it.
The crowd had pressed closer upon seeing the actual paper on the wall. Broots was almost trapped, except at the last second he managed to press himself to the wall and squeeze out of the crowd. He quickly scampered away, remembering the last time he had posted a list. Besides, he had hurt his thumb and needed a band-aid, and the only place allowed to have band-aids was the Infirmary.
The crowd didn’t notice Broots make his quick exit, instead pressing in further until people were shoved against the wall and unable to move. Several squawks could be heard coming from those who were unlucky enough to be in the front.
The squawks were enough to get Miss Parker out of her office, for suddenly the door swung open and she stood there, looking immaculate in a tailored suit. She glared at them, and the majority ran for the hills, or, in this case, elevators. The minority was those that had been pressed against the wall and now suffered from some kind of nasal bleeding, and those that had fainted from claustrophobia, which, not surprisingly, there seemed to be an unusual number of.
Miss Parker arched an eyebrow at the sight before her, but made no sound. She picked her way around the fallen and bleeding, eventually reaching the list and ripping it down. She wondered what Lyle had come up with in retaliation and began to read.
Alcohol Warning Labels
Due to increasing product liability litigation, American liquor manufacturers have accepted the FDA's suggestion that the following warning labels be placed immediately on all alcoholic beverage containers:
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may leave you wondering what the hell happened to your bra.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you are whispering when you are not.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol is a major factor in dancing like a retard.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to tell your friends over and over again that you love them.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to think you can sing.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe that ex-lovers are really dying for you to telephone them at four in the morning.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you can logically converse with other members of the opposite sex without spitting.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you have mystical Kung Fu powers, resulting in you getting your ass kicked.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to roll over in the morning and see something really scary.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol is the leading cause of inexplicable rug burns on the forehead, knees and lower back.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may create the illusion that you are tougher, smarter, faster and better looking than most people.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may give you, and only you, the impression that every little thought that enters your mind is absolutely brilliant and worth sharing and repeating several times throughout the evening.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe you are invisible.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to think people are laughing WITH you.
Miss Parker’s lips twitched in amusement at a few, but the hilarity soon died away when she realized that she had done all of these things at one time or another.
And Lyle knew.
She began fuming, smoke almost literally coming out of her ears. He was going to pay dearly. She would make sure of that.
She stormed back into her office, slamming the door and almost breaking the glass. It was a good thing she didn’t though, because Bob and Bubba wouldn’t be back on the job for at least two days, and they were the only resident carpenters.
Sydney smiled from the other side of the rotunda, jotting down a few notes on his notepad. He grinned and disappeared into the shadows, heading to his office to compile this recent data.
-----
the end.
feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.
by: chopsticks
p g - 1 3
-----
After attempting to remain stationary at his desk while the wind whistled throughout the room, Mr. Lyle finally gave up and, as a way to vent his anger at not being able to retrieve a list, swore violently at the carpenters that were installing his new plate-glass window.
This did not go over well.
Many of the obscenities Lyle hurled at the burly men were about their mothers and alluded to inbreeding, which never goes over well with the big, burly type of man. So, obviously, they were significantly pissed and decided that, since Lyle was able to vent his rage on them, they could vent their rage on him.
Their first move was to toss the $500 plate-glass window Mr. Lyle had just bought out the window. This glass, of course, succumbed to gravity and went careening down the side of the building and smashed into, yes, another parked car.
A string of obscenities could be heard coming from the sweepers that had been standing near the car, all along the lines of: "You fucking morons! How fucking inbred are you?" Mr. Lyle, too, got in on the action, swearing at them again, this time in more than one language and in far more derogatory terms.
The carpenters, whose names were Bob and Bubba, fittingly, decided to deal with Mr. Lyle first and then find a way to hurt the sweepers. After all, this was The Centre and things like that were never questioned here.
So, against Mr. Lyle’s vehement protestations, Bob and Bubba lifted him up by the seat of his pants and hurled him through his glass doors. They had, of course, failed to take into account the law of well, something. It has to do with different pressures and, well, you know what happens when a plane cabin depressurizes? Yeah, that’s what happened here. The higher pressure area, in this case, Mr. Lyle’s office, attempted to balance out with the lower pressure area, the hallway, resulting in a vacuum-esque occurrence.
Needless to say, the glass and the wall directly across from Mr. Lyle’s doors got revenge for him. He laughed quite hard when Bob and Bubba kissed the wall, then slumped to the ground in a stupor.
This, of course, did not fully quell his anger over not having retrieved a suitable list to annoy Miss Parker with. His only option was, now that his office was certainly out of commission for a while (his papers and other objects were spread out throughout the hallway), to go and visit Mr. Broots in his hole.
Mr. Lyle got up and dusted himself off, checking all the cuts he had suffered during his journey through the window. He would have to remember to buy some antiseptic on his way home, but otherwise he was fine.
His journey to what the techies referred to as "The Hole" was uneventful, so Mr. Lyle was considering how to convince Mr. Broots to work against his mistress. That, of course, wouldn’t be hard, as he’d had Broots run errands against Miss Parker’s will before, but Broots seemed to be screwing up the courage to at least partially defy him.
That was not good.
Oh well, he’d have to find a way to threaten Debbie. That always worked.
The door slid open to reveal the cubicles the techies virtually, and for some, literally, lived in. Mr. Lyle instantly spotted Mr. Broots, as he appeared to be attempting to hunker down as to remain invisible. Lyle strode briskly over, uprooting several of the techies’ papers, leaving quivering people in his wake.
"Mr. Broots!" Lyle barked out, catching the attention of the balding man and causing him to jerk in surprise, banging his knee against his desktop.
"Owww," he complained, rubbing his knee. Mr. Lyle just looked on in disdain, and Broots instantly shut up.
"I need you to do something. Can you find me a list to post outside Miss Parker’s office." The question came out more as a statement, which clearly meant to Broots that he had better find something or awful things would start happening.
"Wh-hy?" Broots inquired meekly, not screwing up the courage to look his superior in the eyes.
"Because I said so," Lyle replied sternly, then his tone softened and he queried, "How is Debbie, by the way?"
Broots visibly paled and instantaneously began typing.
"F-fine."
"Good to hear. I hope she stays that way." With that, Lyle perched himself on Broots’ desk and waited for Broots to find something.
"I found something!" Broots shouted triumphantly after several minutes of searching. The deafening sound of applause filled the room and Lyle looked around to see all the techies applauding their coworker’s success. He glared at them, and the applause instantly died down as the techies slithered back into their seats, trying desperately to avoid Lyle’s wrath.
Lyle grinned and then turned to Broots. "What did you find?"
"The perfect list," Broots responded, grinning from ear to ear. Mr. Lyle quickly skimmed over the list, a slight smile lighting his features on occasion.
"It’s. . .adequate. Print it off and post it outside Miss Parker’s office, would ya." Lyle once again turned what a normal person would view as a question into a simple statement. "Do it or die," was the message he communicated through his glare.
Broots’ smile slid off his face and he stared dejectedly at the computer screen. He didn’t even notice that Mr. Lyle had finally left. Instead, he considered how much trouble he would get in if he did or didn’t post the list.
I post the list, Miss Parker kills me. But, then again, I got away with it last time. . . I don’t post the list, Mr. Lyle kills me and likely Debbie as well. He blinked, then thought, I’m posting the damn list!
He quickly clicked the "print" button and sprinted over to the printer to retrieve his prize. He grabbed a thumbtack off a nearby desk and headed out the door, failing to notice the heads shoot up around the cubicles, much like a ground hog pops up out of its hole. They knew another list was coming, and they began to make their way to Miss Parker’s office, anxious for a read.
Mr. Broots did not take notice of the large crowd of people that had formed behind him. He simply concentrated on his task. He stopped in front of Miss Parker’s office and twisted the thumbtack around in his hand.
"Ouch!" he shouted suddenly, glaring at the place where the thumbtack had punctured his thumb. "Lousy, friggin’. . ." he mumbled, sticking the paper up to the wall and jamming the tack through it.
The crowd had pressed closer upon seeing the actual paper on the wall. Broots was almost trapped, except at the last second he managed to press himself to the wall and squeeze out of the crowd. He quickly scampered away, remembering the last time he had posted a list. Besides, he had hurt his thumb and needed a band-aid, and the only place allowed to have band-aids was the Infirmary.
The crowd didn’t notice Broots make his quick exit, instead pressing in further until people were shoved against the wall and unable to move. Several squawks could be heard coming from those who were unlucky enough to be in the front.
The squawks were enough to get Miss Parker out of her office, for suddenly the door swung open and she stood there, looking immaculate in a tailored suit. She glared at them, and the majority ran for the hills, or, in this case, elevators. The minority was those that had been pressed against the wall and now suffered from some kind of nasal bleeding, and those that had fainted from claustrophobia, which, not surprisingly, there seemed to be an unusual number of.
Miss Parker arched an eyebrow at the sight before her, but made no sound. She picked her way around the fallen and bleeding, eventually reaching the list and ripping it down. She wondered what Lyle had come up with in retaliation and began to read.
Alcohol Warning Labels
Due to increasing product liability litigation, American liquor manufacturers have accepted the FDA's suggestion that the following warning labels be placed immediately on all alcoholic beverage containers:
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may leave you wondering what the hell happened to your bra.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you are whispering when you are not.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol is a major factor in dancing like a retard.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to tell your friends over and over again that you love them.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to think you can sing.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe that ex-lovers are really dying for you to telephone them at four in the morning.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you can logically converse with other members of the opposite sex without spitting.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you have mystical Kung Fu powers, resulting in you getting your ass kicked.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to roll over in the morning and see something really scary.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol is the leading cause of inexplicable rug burns on the forehead, knees and lower back.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may create the illusion that you are tougher, smarter, faster and better looking than most people.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may give you, and only you, the impression that every little thought that enters your mind is absolutely brilliant and worth sharing and repeating several times throughout the evening.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe you are invisible.
WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to think people are laughing WITH you.
Miss Parker’s lips twitched in amusement at a few, but the hilarity soon died away when she realized that she had done all of these things at one time or another.
And Lyle knew.
She began fuming, smoke almost literally coming out of her ears. He was going to pay dearly. She would make sure of that.
She stormed back into her office, slamming the door and almost breaking the glass. It was a good thing she didn’t though, because Bob and Bubba wouldn’t be back on the job for at least two days, and they were the only resident carpenters.
Sydney smiled from the other side of the rotunda, jotting down a few notes on his notepad. He grinned and disappeared into the shadows, heading to his office to compile this recent data.
the end.
feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.
