It was Monday, or was it Wednesday? Maybe it was Tuesday, no it was Friday. Yeah, it was defiantly Saturday. I was watching my neighbor through the window just minding my own business, then BAM it hit me, a spoon just flew out of nowhere and hit me in the back of the head. It could have killed me and I didn’t want to be just another spoon related casualty. So I took action, I grabbed the spoon and threw it out the window. CRASH “oops,” I thought, “I guess I should have opened the window first.”
         The bag, just the right size and shape, was perfect. “I’ll take it,” I screamed with jubilation at the melancholy store clerk. It was almost time to begin, but first I had to hire some people to help me because it was too titanic of a task to accomplish by myself.
“Do you hate spoons,” the sign I hung up read, “call (1) 22-333-4444-55555-666-7777777-88888888-999999999 to join the anti-spoon squad and destroy all the spoons in the world.”
         RINGGGGG. RINGGGGG. The phone blurted out in the silent apartment that night. “Hello, who is this?” I inquired after I picked up the phone. The callers are are  said in a nasally voice, ”Hi my name is Sandra Tomm Frafal Ulanda, my parents call me Jeffery and I’m calling about the anti-spoon squad.”  I said, “I’m Frank Cufunkle Kakle, the president.  I just need your email address so I can email you the forms you need to fill out.”
“Sure, it’s [email protected].”
         The next day, at Jeff’s apartment (I checked. Jeffery is ok with me calling him Jeff, or he was. He’s dead now. Oh, spoiler alert). “You’ve got mail,” beeped the computer in Jeff’s tiny apartment. A small cramped box, Jeff’s apartment was the best he could get for $1,000 a month in New York. The view wasn’t that bad though, if you liked watching people rob, stab, and otherwise be nasty to each other. Jeffery ran to the computer and opened the email. “Yay my forms are here, I guess I should print them out.” “It’s been an hour.  They should have printed by now, ugh it’s only on page 1,920 out of 5,000.”
         A few months later at the anti-spoon squad conference, the room was buzzing with excitement. At the front of the room I raised my hand for quite. “I Frank Cufunckle Kakle have summoned you here today to say we have come together today to fight the menace that is the spoons.” The audience erupted in cheers. As the storm of noise subsided Jeffery got on stage and shouted, because we couldn’t afford microphones, “I am excited to see so many people here today. I can’t believe there are over a hundred people that hate spoons as much as Frank and I.  For those of you that don’t know, Frank Cufunkle Kakle and I, Sandra Tomm Frafal Ulanda are the leaders of the anti-spoon squad.”
         “Frank started this group almost a year ago and I was the first to join a few months ago.”
BANG!
“What was that,” asked a few people in the audience.
BANG BANG!
“We’re under attack,” exclaimed someone in the back row.
“I assure you everything is going to be fine,” Jeff continued.
“We’re all going to die,” I balled.
“No we’re not.  We’ll be--”, Jeff was cut off by, BANG BANG BANG BOOM!
The room burst into mass panic. A cornucopia of shrieks, eeks, and other screams varying in volume and duration filled the room. Spoons, like silver bullets, flew towards the crowd at hundreds of miles per hour. "We need to get out of here!" Jeff shouted.
"Quick, through the back," I said thinking rapidly.
“Hold the door,” squeaked a high pitched voice.
“Who are you?” I inquired.
“My name is Peter. I’m part of the anti-spoon squad.”
“Did you like the Jumbo ShrimpHow are you liking being part of my little group?”
“Infact, I didThere’s over a hundred people in it how do you call that a little group?”
“You guys can chat later once we’re safe.  We need to get out of here,” interjected Jeff.
We ran and ran and ran until we couldn’t run any more, and then we kept running. “Guys stop,” squeaked Peter.
“What now?” We questioned in unison.
“I’ve been stabbed by a spoon.”
“When?” We asked.
“About a mile back.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” We inquired, still in unison.
“I tried but you wouldn’t listen, also there’s an army of spoons following us.”  I looked back and saw an ocean of silver spoons pursuing us.  Looking at us, menacingly.
Peter lay on the ground bleeding out and with his last breath said. “I buried treasure in a box in a chest in the ground, it’s located at-
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” I screamed for dramatic effect.  Then, the spoons were upon us.  With Jeff and my mastery of forks, our weapon of choice, we made quick work of the spoons. Sparks were flying this way and that. But the spoons regrouped and we were surrounded.  “We need to get to the safe house!” I exclaimed.  We fought through a wall of spoons and made our escape.  As we made our way to the safe house, occasionally fending off attacks, Jeff tripped and was impaled by his fork. I didn’t notice until I was inside the safe house.  Then I heard, “Hello Frank Cufunckle Kakle, or should I say Banana Split.”  I was shocked, could it be him?   “Yes I knew it was you all along. You should be punished for helping humans, but I can’t decide that.  Only the leader of us spoons can decide, oh wait that spoon is you!”  My secret was out! He continued, “So that means if you don’t step down I’ll expose you to the rest of the spoons and let them decide what to do with you.”
“Colonel Jimbob!" I said calmly.
"Yes that's correct." he said smugly.
"Why?"
"I want to be General Jimbob, leader of the spoons."
“Fine be that way, but no one will like you because you’re just a big meany pants.” I snivelled.
“You hurt my feelings.” he said without emotion.
Then he had me taken back to the spoons.  He had me executed (shot to the head) and killed (didn’t I say executed?)  I don’t know how I’m writing this story but any ways.
The End.
That's it.  Go home!  I want to be alone for the rest of my sad strange life.  (Did I mention that I’m dead?)