A Story about Homsar.

It was a lovely day in Free Country, USA. The sun was up, no clouds were in the sky, and the birds would have been singing happily if they weren’t all knocked unconscious by The Poopsmith’s giant pile of you-know-what. Homestar Runner was in an especially good mood, as Strong Bad had told him how much Homestar reminded him of Dan Quale. In such a good mood, in fact, that he decided to prance about for three hours, instead of the usual two. However, this was different. Mid-way through the second hour, Homestar spied a shiny thing on the ground. On closer inspection, he found it was a coin.
“Saints be pwaised!”, exclaimed Homestar. “A quawtaw!” However, as he picked it up, he was distracted by a distant wailing. “DAaaaAAaAA”, it went. Homestar was so startled he dropped the quawtaw…I mean, the QUARTER, down the drain. Homestar became angry, then sad, then angry again, then kind of hungry, but ultimately angry. He turned to see who had DAAAaaAaaAAa’d. “Howdy hi, Mr. Clickin’ stick! I got a big burly weave in a block o’ cheese today!” It was none other than Homsar. Homestar glared at Homsar, and yelled: “DO YOU HAS ANY IDEA WHAT YOU JUST DID?” Homsar looked up at the yelling figure, and replied. “I was brought up in the bottom of a baaaag.”
Homestar glared at the nonsense-speaking little weirdo, and then looked away, and walked off, without saying a word. Well, except “Whoops!” and “Ouchie”, when he wasn’t looking where he was storming off, and tripped over The Cheat.

The little weirdo was then saddened by this. Although that’s really hard to imagine. I mean, think of Homsar’s facial expression when he’s sad. You can’t, can ya? He decided to trundle off where he would be more appreciated.
Meanwhilst, Strong Bad was doing what he does best, answering his E-mail. He had high hopes for some pretty good E-mails. Maybe one from the princess of Strong Badia. However, he was once again frustrated by the appearance of 80 E-mails asking him how he types with boxing gloves. And another 25 asking about Homestar’s non-existent arms.
“You know what? I think it’s time all these E-mails met the firing squad.”, as he highlighted every E-mail that had the phrase “Boxing Gloves” in somewhere. “The Firing squad of..a-dele…dele….DELETE…..” However, at that moment, Homsar trundled along into Strong Bad, jostling him. “What? What the crap are you doing…wait..what’s the screen saying?” queried Strong Bad, as he noticed as his favourite seven-letter word was replaced by a five letter word, flashing on the monitor. “Saved”, read the screen. Strong Bad could only watch, as the hundreds, and millions to come, of E-mails from people who just can’t get over the fact that Strong Bad wears boxing gloves and types, were saved permanently, and forever would his inbox be full of those annoying E-mails.
“NO!” Screamed Strong Bad. He turned to Homsar, a murderous look in his eye. Homsar realised that something was wrong, and decided to apologise. I think. He actually said “No-one has the feeling for the paint brush that’s appealing.” What that meant is anyone’s guess. Anyway, after getting booted out of Strong Bad’s home, Homsar felt dejected. He walked off into the distance, and decided to gaze into the stars. Even though it was only 11 AM and there wasn’t a star in the sky. It made him think. It made him think about what he meant to the others, and where he went wrong in life.

At the Stick, the whole population of Free Country, USA was gathered. They were discussing what to do with Homsar. “He kept leaving messages on my answering machine that make no sense!”, said Marzipan. “Just yesterday, I got 8 messages from him asking where the toaster goes for a drink of play-dough.” Bubs spoke out: “Every day, he comes to the concession stand to ask for all my base!” Strong Bad then rose up and spoke “Everyone who wants Homsar exiled from Free Country, USA, say “Aye!”” Just before the crowd spoke, the fat figure of the King of Town came rushing past them. “My supply of butter dumplings has broken loose! Everyone run for your lives!” Sure enough, a giant bag was rolling towards the Stick at a tremendous velocity. Everyone was stood there in horror, watching as the bag rolled towards them at high speed. Just when the bag was about to hit them, a familiar figure ran towards the boulder. Or should that be…trundled. Anyway, the figure turned to face the crowd, and stuck his non-existent arms out towards the rolling bag. “HOMSAR!!!”, screamed the crowd. Homsar looked at them, and uttered what he thought to be his final words. “Give my thanks to Kelsey Grammar.” The bag then hit Homsar at a high speed. Once the bag hit him, it was stopped. Everyone crowded around the bag, and started to weep for their fallen comrade. Homestar stated “It’s my fault! I made him feel bad!” The King of Town spoke out. “No, it’s my fault. It was my supply of dumplings that crushed him.” Strong Bad then spoke out “Yeah, I’m with the King on this one. Lets all blame him for this.” Finally, another voice spoke out “It’s my fault that crackers and cheese are big in Bosnia. DaaAAaAA?!” Everyone looked around, and saw that their hero was standing there with them. They all hugged him, like Homsar would gladly hug a tree. And to show that they were sorry for everything they put him through, they played Jengajam with him that very night. Of course, by the morning, everyone thought he was just an annoying little weirdo again.

THE END.


Cute, but learn how to use paragraphs. -CoachZismyLuckyNumber

OK, this better? -Strong Lad