“What ended my last relationship? A micropig wearing a tiny raincoat and booties.”
During the last stream, the subscribers voted that we write story using Cards Against Humanity as a prompt.
For those who don’t know, Cards Against Humanity is a card game similar to Apples to Apples where you match up funny words into sentences. It can get quite edgy and explicit, but we did our best to keep the combinations as PG-13 as possible.
Watch the creative process here,
or scroll down just to read our story.
In the end, chat voted that we write a story based on these two Cards Against Humanity prompts: (white cards bolded)
- The life of American Indians was changed forever when the White Man introduced them to BATMAN!!!
- What ended my last relationship? A micropig wearing a tiny raincoat and booties.
Here’s what we came up with:
Thanksgiving at the Williams’ residence was not going well. It was the first Thanksgiving where the grown-up kids—twin brother and sister Wesley and Wendy—were in charge of cooking, and their older parents sat eagerly at the table, chatting with relatives.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Wendy was trying to beat back the hellfires she’d accidentally summoned in the oven. Black smoke poured out of the open stove like it was Pompeii-ing the kitchen, as Wendy desperately threw open the windows and fanned the cloud toward it with her hands.
Wendy tried not to panic as she threw on the lobster mitts and yanked the charred bird out of the flames, dropping it onto the table. It was little more than a blackened brick, with patches of bubbling plastic still clinging to its asphalt-like skin.
“I guess I should have taken off the plastic first?” Wendy grumbled to herself.
Right then, Wesley walked into the kitchen, his eyes turning as big as the butter rolls he’d just dropped off at the table.
“What the hell did you do in here?” he said.
Wendy darted her eyes around the kitchen. “I may have overcooked the turkey.”
“You ‘overcooked’ the turkey the way M. Night Shyalalan ‘adapted’ The Last Airbender!”
“Shut up!” Wendy hissed back. “It’s not like you did anything! You’ve been about as helpful as AA for mom’s ‘small drinking problem.’”“Wow,” Wesley said, rolling his eyes. “You’re about as good as roasting me as you are that turkey.”
Before Wendy could say anything back, Dad called from out in the living room. “Everything okay out there, Double W?”
“Everything’s fine!” they both said back, then cringed at each other in horror.
“We need another turkey, stat,” Wendy said.
“And where are we going to get it?” Wesley asked. “It’s Thanksgiving. Everything’s closed.”
“Yeah but if Mom doesn’t get her meat…”
“Isn’t that what Dad is for?” Wesley cackled with a clack of his tongue.
“Oh my god, shut up!” Wendy said. “We need to find something to replace it. Now!”
Wesley threw open the fridge and scanned it up and down for anything they could make use of.
“Well we’ve got a half-eaten ham sandwich. Some leftover pepperoni. A tube of… something? Maybe if we combine all of them together, it’ll be enough?”
Wesley looked over to Wendy for confirmation, but she was busy staring out the open window. Outside, in the backyard, their neighbor’s pet was tied up to a pole on a leash and frolicking in the fallen autumn leaves. It was a little micropig, the size of a loaf of bread, dancing around wearing a tiny raincoat and booties.
“Wesley,” she said quietly. “I have an idea.”
“Oh no.” Wesley’s face dripped down to the floor. “You’re not seriously thinking about….”
“I’m going to cook that pig,” Wendy said, keeping her eyes glued outside. “Are you going to help me, or not?”
“No way,” Wesley said. “You’re nuts. That’s an even worse idea than crocs and socks.”
Wendy didn’t listen to him. She pulled herself up onto the counter beneath the window, then began crawling through it.
“If you don’t help, then you’re dead to me, little brother.”
“You’re only older by like two minutes!” he said, but she was already outside. Wesley looked back and forth between the window and the door to the living room, not sure which he would pick.
Outside, Wendy crept up to the pig like a flesh-spider about to pounce on a swine-fly. The little creature was sticking its adorable snout into a pile of leaves, grunting nonstop as it trotted about on it tiny hooves, but all that Wendy could see was the recipe forming in her mind. 325 degrees. Salt and pepper rub. A little bit of olive oil. This time, she would remember to remove the plastic coat.
She rustled her way into the bush separating her parent’s yard from the neighbors, staying completely hidden. The innocent pig was still dancing around the yard, sniffing, unaware of the fate that would soon befall it. Every second, it was coming closer to the bush. As soon as it was within grabbing distance, all Wendy had to do was lash out, snatch it, cover its mouth, snap the leash off, and then slam dunk that sucker right into the oven. Thanksgiving saved.
The pig sniffed the bush. It was time.
Wendy snapped out from the sticks and leaves, shocking the pig into temporary paralysis. She scooped it up, covered its sticky mouth with her hand, and spun around, ready to run back indoors, prize in hand.
That was when she saw her entire family, standing there, scowling at her.
“Wendy!” her dad yelled. “What in tarnation do you think you’re doing!”
Wendy couldn’t do anything except gawk, until she saw Wesley, standing there embarrassed with his hands in his pockets. So he was the one who’d turned her in. She’d never forgive him.
Dad stepped toward her, eyeing the pig in horror. “You’re not planning on cooking that little critter, now are you?”
“I… I…” was all that Wendy could stutter. It was useless to fight. Her body went limp and she hung her head in defeat. “I just wanted to try and save Thanksgiving. I know how much Mom looks forward to it.”
Now it was Mom who stepped forward. She did so without any sloshing, without any wobble in her step like she usually had.
“Wendy,” she said, “I think it’s important for all of us to remember what Thanksgiving is really about.”
“Eating lots of food?” Dad asked.
“Getting together with family?” Uncle Finnigan suggested.
“Giving thanks for all the things we have that we take for granted the rest of the year?” Aunt Patricia-Matilda asked.
“No,” Mom said. “None of those things. Thanksgiving is about giving thanks… to Batman.”
All of us were silent as Mom continued.
“When the English settlers came to America, there was nothing but violence and hatred between them and the natives. So the King sent over his greatest knight to keep order, the Dark Knight known as Batman. Thanks to his impressive technology for the time: a lasso, a revolver, and a horse draped in shiny black armor, he drove away all the natives to the other side of the country. And there, they all fell into the ocean and turned into turkeys, which were then brought back to the settlers and cooked for the first Thanksgiving. And that’s why we all, on this day, thank Batman for all he’s done for us.”
Everyone nodded quietly. Of course they all knew the story of the first Thanksgiving. Everyone did. But it’d been so long since any of them had heard it, they’d forgotten how beautiful it was.
“You’re right, Mom,” Wendy said. “I’m sorry. I got so caught up in everything, I forgot about the true meaning of Thanksgiving.”
Without another word, everyone came together for a giant group hug. A flash went off in the sky, and they all looked up together. It was the bat signal, being lit up by the town on this special day. The family came apart and Wendy chuckled to herself, still holding the pig.
“I can’t believe I almost cooked this pig,” she said, bobbing it up and down in her arms. “I’m sorry Wesley. You were right.”
“No big deal, big sis,” he said with a wink.
“And to think!” she said. “All because I just burned that stupid turkey. It’s not even a big deal, right?”
As soon as the word “turkey” escaped Wendy’s mouth, Mom’s smile hardened to a scowl. She stomped up to Wendy, staggering with every step, and glared at her with drunk, reddened eyes. Before Wendy could react, Mom’s hand smacked across her face hard.
“You dumb floozy!” she screeched, the reek of alcohol dripping from her breath. “You burnt the damn turkey? I didn’t know that! Get that pig in there and get cooking, dammit! I need my meat!”
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Featured image: Wikimedia Commons (1, 2), GAHAG (edited by me)
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