Water Lord Strivna: Short Stories & Beyond

The original version of this story used footnotes instead of endnotes. Alas, while they are exactly the same other than their location, I prefer footnotes. You don't have to go to the end of the story to see exactly what is being referenced. Anyway, you cannot use footnotes here, so just get used to reading with the endnotes...I know I won't.

   My name is Truman von Hooverstreudeldingermeyersonburgenplotzenheimer, and I am a man who is about to suffer a horrific fatality. I am only one of many who have been victimized by the elimination of advertising in the television media. It is not just we, the people, who are suffering, but it is the existence of nations themselves that is being jeopardized. Perhaps I should explain the chain of events that have led to this lifeless world before going any farther.

   It all started seven days ago. I had come home on a Friday night after a rigorous day of planting explosives in random luggage in the local airport. We were required by the government to proceed with it so we could have a ‘justified’ reason to search the luggage of citizens. I took off my shoes near the front door after entering my domain, placed them on the shoe rack, and made my way into the kitchen to fetch myself nourishment. I live by myself in a small, one story house with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a combination of a kitchen and a dining room. This may have attributed to my current situation. I had grabbed a one liter bottle of seltzer water from the refrigerator and a box of granola as I headed out of the kitchen and into the living room, where I situated myself in the most comfortable beige recliner. I placed my drink and food onto a miniature square table that sat directly next to the left arm of my recliner as I grabbed the television remote.

   I positioned my thumb onto the Power button on the remote control and pressed it down. The television that rested thirty feet in front of me, situated atop a stereo speaker, turned on. An old Tom & Jerry cartoon appeared on the screen. As I was not a fan of this particular cartoon, I changed the channel upwards in a search to find something that was actually worth watching. About two minutes and fifteen channels, I found Daffy Duck. I turned the volume up and prepared to laugh as I began to watch my favorite animated duck get into a rambunctious flurry at the sight of a giant diamond in a sealed cave. I began to eat my granola seconds after the climax of the episode had subsided. But then I noticed something that was extremely out of the ordinary; there was no commercial break in between the Daffy Duck cartoons, only another episode. Not wanting to miss any of my show nor wanting to even think about anything, I continued to watch episode upon episode of the down-on-his-luck duck continually getting shot in the face by Elmer Fudd and getting duped by the precocious Bugs Bunny.

   After four hours of non-interrupted Daffy Duck, I felt ready to go to the bathroom. This was due to the fact that I had finished my entire liter of seltzer and my entire box of granola. The double-hitter was starting to get to me, but I told myself I would go once a commercial break came on. So, being the adamant fool I have always been, I remained sitting in my recliner. Another eight hours had passed, which I had spent watching multiple comedies such as Scrubs, Family Guy and Robot Chicken, and I felt like I was going to burst. I was watching Scrubs once again by the time it all started to go downhill. I had viewed a scene where the janitor had called J.D.[1] ‘Scooter.’ This made me laugh so hard that both my bladder and my anal sphincter[2] had given way. I had just: soiled myself whilst watching Scrubs, shot down Number Two and Dr. Evil, planted an herb garden and watered it thoroughly, found water on Uranus.[3] Yet, I still could not gain the mental capacity to get up from in front of the television and clean myself up.

   By late the next day, I had gone in my pants several more times, but I had still not cleaned myself up in any possible way. Nor had I neither eaten nor drank anything to replenish my body of its essentials. By this time, I was flipping through the channels yet again as a means to avoid watching the faux Dr. Phil[4] or any of the pathetic excuses for entertainment that are talk shows. I kept surfing the airwaves until I found The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, which I have always enjoyed viewing. I put the remote down once more and continued on to watch the satirical news show.[5] After it ended, I continued on to watch The Colbert Report. This was rather hard for me however, as he kept talking about how much he enjoyed eating delicious food. He also kept on drinking bottled water in front of me. I cursed in the direction of the broadcasted image of Stephen Colbert[6] and his evil water consumption.

   Later in the week, I had not eaten nor drank anything still since I had first sat down in my beige recliner. I had also not cleaned myself up. I was getting desperate for food and drink…very desperate. I inserted my index finger into the right nostril of my nose, excavated dried nasal fluids, and ingested them. I coughed and gagged as I ate my own boogers, but I was starving for food. I took my bottle, filled it, and began to drink my own urine.[7] I almost vomited upon the urine touching my tongue, and even more so as it traveled down my esophagus. I had been watching a Code Monkeys marathon all day on the G4 channel.[8]

   As for yesterday, my condition only worsened. My starvation was at its worst level I had ever felt. My urine had contained so much protein that it took the place of the water as the compound’s main content. As a result, my body was not getting properly hydrated to sustain life for any length of time. My pants were filled so much with my own feces that I had to take them off just to continue to sit without making a larger mess than I already was. This posed the problem of dirtying my beige recliner, which was something I did not wish to do. However, I had no choice. It wasn’t until later in the day that I had come to the only conclusion that might have solved two of my problems: my hunger, and my pants. I placed my right hand into my pants, which were hanging on the miniature square table next to the left arm of my chair, removed some of the contents, and inserted the contents into my mouth. It was the foulest taste my taste buds had ever experienced, but it was the only thing close to food there was around me.

   This all leads us to the present. As I lay here in my recliner, I think to myself that there may have been some way to prevent all of this. The solution to all this carnage is not to get away from the television set; the solution was for me to work in television instead of the airport here. As I speak right now, I am dying from all the poisonous contents in my stomach and in my bloodstream. In retrospect, it was probably was not the greatest of ideas to feast upon my own excrement to stave off my starvation, nor was my idea of keeping myself hydrated. Looking back on what I have experienced within this past week, I am wishing to myself that I had just let myself die off earlier. I have only been prolonging my inevitable death. Though, I am not alone in this. The news earlier today has reported that over 95 percent of the world’s population is suffering the same horrific demise.

   But what shall unfold upon the rest of the world once I have left the realm of the living? I have a probable theory of what will happen, actually. The only humans left alive after this crisis will be the television personalities. They will not know of any other life outside of the studios; they will not be able to feed or clothe themselves.[9] They will all continue to broadcast their shows to a populace of corpses, blissfully denying that all their audiences have perished.[10] Soon, in a flash of insanity, they will all become cannibals and feast upon the only other meat they know of. Soon, only Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert will be left as the two remaining survivors of the human race on the entire planet. The two of them will partake in the stupidest game of chicken the world has ever known, which will obviously be caught on video footage. The future dominant species of the Earth, Martians, will gaze upon the recorded game of chicken between Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, and it will be in that moment that the human race will be eternally remembered as the race that killed itself off by running through a fiery spike pit, naked and soaked with kerosene.[11]