Adam Hockinsenberger

Congratulations! And welcome to the first ever Creepy Times © 2006 publication cycle. A community service project of the Creepy Times © 2006. You are in for a real mental letdown. From the people who brought you the story of “Timmy the Deer and his artiodactyl ways,” comes a story so touching, so heartfelt, so poorly punctuated, it was rejected by actual science and breakfast journals everywhere multiple times, after the usage and mental breakdowns of several editor “in chiefs” and the chief concern we have is that we couldn’t use the word broccoli in a sentence about chief concerns, but we did it anyway. So here it is without any further ado. Well, we can do further ado because you don’t have any choice. You could skim lower and see where the actual story begins, but we don’t think you will. You don’t want to miss out on large seven dollar words such as the verisimilitude of this article being proven by a lie detector, and the arcane origins of this authentic tale, but here it is.
The Adam Hockinsonberger Story. Adam Hockinsenberger was a kid about your age. He was really excited to be going into the second grade, and had just turned 7. He went to bed every night in his superman pj’s. These were wicked sweet pajamas, because they had the footie things which allowed the wearer to pull about 3 g’s worth of horizontal coefficiental friction on the tile floor of the kitchen and not fall completely on your face like a rottweiler running for a pound of screaming bacon around the corner of a linoleum floor coated in mild pace picante sauce. Also, the pajamas had a cape, which is a nice feature. The cape attached by means of a technology developed by NASA for use in low gravity situations, which, as it turns out Superman is facing all the time. Anyways, Adam Hockinsonbeurger wore the cape almost all the time. He did occasionally take it off to change into his secret identity, But, at night Adom Hockinsenbergher did not take the cape off (even though the manufacturer of the cape unit declared in a warning probably related to a cape caused lawsuit which could have possibly brought a surcease to the whole cape making industry, but luckily they just had to add a disclaimer to the whole jamma ensemble prior to shipping them out from the factory.) because the little Velcro pieces scraped his neck so and caused a large rectangular rash to develop on his neck. [Editor’s note: If you did not understand the last part of that section, read it again this time without the parenthesis part] His parents had learned to be insouciant to the mannerism of sleeping with the cape on because of the requisite tantrums he would throw when asked to not sleep with the cape on in order to dully avoid strangling himself and losing life force faster than Superman in the first movie where Lex Luthor puts a really ugly chain of kryptonite around S-man’s neck and throws him into the deep end of the pool and strangely enough, Ms. Teschmacher whose name sounds a lot like Hockendsenbergher has to save him. It’s a classic tale of good versus swimming pools and kryptonite and 1978. Rent it, seriously. But, back to the story. Yeah, ok, so he would probably be better safety-wise to sleep without the cape, but it was more comfortable with it due to issues with Velcro. So Adam Hawkinsenberger slept with the cape on and was very careful to not toss and turn thereby strangling himself. Now Adam was usually pretty antsy around wakeup time, because his parents worked weird hours and were very unpredictable. Also, they had killer 401 k’s, which are on their way out. But there was one thing Adam fretted every morning. If his parents were home when he awoke, he knew that he would be eating oatmeal for breakfast. This would typically hold no meaning if he lived in a household that purchased generic foodstuffs, but little Adam lived in a well-to-do household that purchased name brand junk. That’s right, he had to eat Quaker Oatmeal. This was a serious problem. Have you ever looked at the “Oat Man?” It’s the next creepiest thing to the Burger King King. Regardless, nobody wants to wake up and be face to face with either of these entities. Adam’s parents didn’t want him to be heating up hot water, so on days when they were home they made him Oatmeal, but when they were gone he couldn’t use the stove, so he had cereal. So this was the downside to Adam’s parents, Mr. And Mrs. Hokinsenpberger being home when Adam woke up. But he took a little comfort in knowing that his parents were always home when he walked down the stairs and saw the oat man. On days when his parents were already at work, Adam made himself cereal. Usually Cocoa Roos, or Marshmallow Maties, or something ridiculous like that. So anyways, enough background filibuster. On to the main filibuster; Adam awoke feeling an awful prescient butterfly juggling ego waffles in his stomach. He figured that maybe he was just hungry, but as everybody knows, when the hairs stand up on your neck that is a natural reaction to real danger. He was pretty young, though and didn’t have any hairs on his neck to stand up. Besides, his mom gave him a haircut the night before using the black and white buzzer thing. It was a pretty painful ordeal. She told him three times that he was done, and he got down, and she said “Hold it, turn around.” And he ended up getting hair repair treatment that took up at least another recess worth of his free time. Then she made him take a bath. Anyways, we would at this point in the paper like to point out that this Adam Hockghensenberger story is a stark departure from the monomania we are famous for. We hope this doesn’t detract from the article. Also, tell all your friends about it. Where were we? Oh yeah, ego waffles. So Adam got up out of his sheets, which were adorned with images of particle board shaped like barnyard animals. Most of them were in the shape of horses from Butte Montana. He folded the top layer off and rose from his drool-laden pillow, squinting in a vertiginous stupor at the red sunlight filtering through the drapery, which barely held the light back. As the blood rushed to his head, Adam Haagensenberger noticed that the door to his room was open and there was a bit of a draft coming through the room. He tried to lay back down on the pillow, but at this point the drool had cooled and felt bad, so he sat back up and decided it was breakfast time. He stepped out his door, shivering and wrapping his toilet cover sized cape around his arms as best as he could, stretching the fabric to its limits. The little “s” on the back was thus distorted and the print became very thin with the cracks exposing the worn fabric with little “cloth lumps” where the cheap material bunched up in it’s criss cross woven pattern. He shut his door, and walked slowly and drowsily down the gray padded carpet stairs. His right hand grasped tightly the rickety wood railing that he had used to raucously throw younger cousins against when racing up the stairs to his room to play with dinosaurs and baking soda mixed with vinegar. Also, this is an important point to the story: Enamel can be destroyed when you eat lemons on a regular basis. It has something to do with the acidic makeup of Lemons. Ok, so Adam Hockiensenbergher is walking down the stairs and slowly waking up. Adam saw as he was walking down the steps of the house, the reflection of his dog running around inside the house. This was odd. Not that they had an odd looking dog, but Adam’s dog was an “outside” dog. It was the kind of dog that causes people to form facebook groups about dogs not being able to control bowel movements and cats puking indoors. Who wants to clean that up ? Also, his dog was a bit challenged when it came to staying out of the way. It would run into anything and everything. It once killed a koala and brought it in from the rain. Nobody wants to smell a dead marsupial, especially a wet one. His dog, named “Turdflinger” which is for reasons we shall discuss later had been given to them from a kindly Cartographer named Bert who was no longer able to care for him seeing as his calligraphy habit had become addicting and he could not stop drawing maps or writing fancy letters with fountain pens. Anyways, Turdflinger had hidden the koala in the area under the utility sink, which was the same room containing the central heating, thereby causing the entire house to smell something awful. They finally found the piebald rotting remains of the koala and promptly banned Turdflinger from the house for his second showcasing of filthy behavior. Aside from the fact that he had hidden dead rotting animals inside the house, his name is the result of another observation. When this particular animal must answer nature’s call, he decides to turn the activity into a soccer type sport. So the dog goes to the bathroom, and then flings the turds with its own feet, causing them to fly through the air and simultaneously soil his own feet in the flinging motion. This is not a good behavior for an inside animal; Let us elaborate: The flinging motion sends the matter flying through the air, and causes more surface area to be exposed to evaporation *a cooling process* This in turn, causes the outer layer, the crust of the turd, if you will, to become a hard protective layer, and the owner of the animal may then “harvest” the matter in a sporting game of golf, hit into an enemy neighbor’s yard, or a garbage receptacle of your choice using any cheap golf club you possess. If you’re not a good golfer, perhaps a 50 gallon garbage would be handy. If you are Tiger or perhaps excelled at gator golf as a child, you could probably golf them into a gallon milk jug or something for disposal. Anyways, Turdflinger was an outside dog, and he was inside this morning. … Adam wondered what was up? Notice the italics. Ok, so he kept walking down the steps, and reached the bottom of their shadowy downstairs area. The early morning fog outside was slowly drifting into his house, which had apparently acclimated to the outside temperature and reached an equilibrium dew point. As Adam Hagensonbeuorgeur walked downstairs, he noticed that the door was wide open. Mist was meandering in a menacing way through his mansion. He turned in a leftern direction and was hit in the face by the visage of the Quaker Oatmeal man himself. His knees buckled, his arms were shaking. Where were his parents? They were gone! It was supposed to be a cereal day. They never left Oatmeal out when they went to work early! Panic seized him. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. Only a small meep! He staggered to his feet and tried to run, only to trip over his dog turdflinger who was leaving some pretty nasty maggot infested footprints on the nice carpet. Adam got to his feet again, took off in his footied pajamas out the door and through his backyard towards the wood fence. He jumped up onto the fence, with his legs quivering like marshmallow peeps in a microwave on high. As he jumped down, his cape caught on the fence and ripped the Velcro pieces apart to never be joined again. He rolled in the dirt, and ran to the front door of his bestest friend in the whole world Pete Parkinsenberger’s house. Adam frantically rang the doorbell on the house, which, as a side note, is the sponge bob square pants theme song thing followed by 2.4 seconds worth of “Daaaaaa Patrick’s” Pete answered the door with sleep still in the corner of his right eye, and eating a orange marmolade flavored go-gurt in his right hand and a half a quart of rocky road ice-cream in his left hand. The carton was dripping on their sticky floor like that one scene in Free Willy when Jesse is yelling YEAH! And the whale is jumping over him and water is falling and it goes to slow motion and he probably should have played his harmonica during it in order to even be considered for an Oscar… Also, Pete Parkinsenbergher’s pet gerbil was lapping it up off the floor, pausing every once in a while to cough up pricipitious masses of cheese whiz in compacted clumps. Adam ran into the house and slammed the door shut, locking the deadbolts and curling into a big whimpering blue lump of prepubescent fear. He had lost his cape, his parents, and was terrified. Of course, this has nothing to do with the immediate story, but it’s good background in case you’re still wondering: Adam Haagensonboorgeur had received turdflinger from a Cartographer named Bert who enjoyed cartography more than anything else in the whole world. Bert was a “stay at home” cartographer. He enjoyed drawing maps. That’s why he chose the specific occupation. His specialty was bathrooms. Bert was insane wicked good at drawing the “lou.” He was noted by Cartography World as the world’s most meticulously minded master of manufacturing models of well, toilets. They chose specifically to highlight his attention to detail in including whether or not the toilet paper was rolled over the top or underneath in the spooling mechanism. People came from miles around to see his water closet cartography. This all fell apart, however when he got addicted to calligraphy and became the mock of the People’s Union for Cartography as a Scientific Advancement for Society in General. They said he had become too artsy. Editorials ridiculed him for abandoning the hard facts of bathrooms. They were enraged at his newfound ignorance to detail replaced by panache for swirly letters. He was like an addict. He couldn’t leave well enough alone they said. He had lost all sense, and was “too artsy” for serious calligraphy. He did, however, make a killing in online auctions where the calligraphy market had dried up and was lacking in good work. He sold his calligraphy on eBay and made fortunes before the market was flooded with cheap imitation cartography spawned by users on youTube who have nothing better to do than film themselves and watch other people’s horrible films. They honestly needed something better to do with their time and jumped on the calligraphy bandwagon quicker than disgruntled Wisconson dairy farmers on a can of expired easy cheese. Remember, only you can prevent metaphorical sense. So Bert made his money quickly and got out of the market on top. He bought a 1995 Dodge Viper RT/10 and tricked it out to haul him and his dog turdflinger around the nation. Anyways, turdflinger ruined the interior, and not from eating the seats, but from his paws touching stuff. Also, in Minnesota they salt the roads and the car’s exterior just about fell apart. Bert got it touched up at Roy’s Radio Repair, but he realized that turdflinger was holding his social agenda back. He promptly gave the dog up to the humane society and it was lovingly adopted by the Howkenzenberghers for $30 Canadian because it had been exported to Quebec. Anyways, that’s how Adam got his dog. So he was curled up in a quivering mess of quaker oatmeal induced panic, and through sobs and quivering breath explained to Pete Parkinsenburger what had transpired that morning. They decided that going to school was the solution. Adam could not get past the hall-monitor, however, because he was in his pajamas. It was the footies that gave them away and not the cape this time. He had to go home, and Pete couldn’t go with him. Pete somehow made it home for lunch, however, and Adam told him there was only one thing left that he could do. Since Adam’s parents were gone, he would follow his dream of being Mid-Leftern Fielder for the Chicago White Sox. He got into their garage using the garage door opener his parents had ingeniously put inside his backpack for him to get back into their house without worrying about keys. They just sewed it into his backpack, and he could feel for the button to open the garage. Don’t worry. He didn’t just hang out in the garage till they got home. It was a house that’s garage had access to the main house from inside the garage. So Adam got into the garage and got into the family car. It was a 1955 Chevy Sudan…… Don’t judge. He got about a block, but the oil had burned out [technical jargon], and the engine seized up. He looked in the backseat, and saw that his parents had last used some sort of generic oil, and that it probably was low quality. It was actually Mobil 1 the official oil of Nascar…the biggest spectator sport in the U.S, but Adam didn’t know this. He was only 7. So the engine was seized up due to cheap motor oil and Adam decided that he would have to take the train. So he saved up monetary funds by developing a shiny refulgent texture on the feet apparel of pedestrians passing by. After he had shined enough shoes he caught the next train to Chicago. He got an interview with the Manager of the Chicago white sox in order to become a Mid-Leftern fielder. The GM, however, upon seeing him laughed and said no way. He also gave Adam a free packet of PEZ candy. Edible gold to a 7 year old. Adam, however, had to turn to the only option left to an orphan. He joined us the Air Force. He was doing pretty well, better than any 7 year old they had ever seen. The day came for their skydiving tests, and they had people yelling the Gettysburg address at really loud decibel amounts into their right ears as they jumped out of the chopper. Adam ignored them however, and jumped out like a pro, but his chute didn’t open, and he went into a free fall. Luckily, about the time he hit the jet stream, his chute opened and took him for a couple of miles until he finally gained control. By the time he gained control, however, he was not in range of a desirable landing space. He was smack dab in the middle of a lake comprised of Pepto Bismol. He landed in the large above ground aquifer and immediately cut the chute from his back. He would have been pretty happy to have landed in Bismol substance had he been suffering from nausia, vomiting, indigestion, diarrhea, or generally upset stomach. But Adam was not suffering from any ailments, and was rapidly becoming exhausted swimming in the pasty pink substance. The resistance was quite great because Pepto Bismol is very viscous. This is a result of the chalky nature of the stuff. It may perhaps be composed of talk powder. This is a mineral that has a hardness on the Moh’s hardness scale of less than your fingernail. That’s right, but it also might not be what’s in Pepto Bismol, and we don’t really do any research here. So he was getting tired swimming and in the distance on a branch overhanging the lake saw a Yemen Turkey Vulture, which, incidentally should have been called a Yemen Turkey Flamingo because it more resembled a flamingo. But I digress. He called out to the bird and startled it so much from its slumber that it fell directly into the lake of Bismol. He decided that even though he was getting tired he would save the bird who appeared to be struggling even more than he, and in a completely altruistic act Adam awkwardly advanced away, from the center of the lake towards the drowning bird. Birds don’t usually get stomach aches either, unless somebody feeds them rice, or Alka Seltzer. Also, FYI, Ostriches go the white stuff too when they go to the bathroom. Adam dragged the bird to shore and took it to the nearest Humane Society to hose it down. In attempts to strike up a conversation, Adam asked the bird how it’s last tax return was and the bird said “En mi mochilla yo tengo trienta muertos perros.” This informed the Humane Society that the bird was an outsourced lake dweller from Spain. It hadn’t had a legitimate tax return because it was from foreign lands. Its response while informing them that it had 30 dead dogs in its backpack wasn’t helpful, and they had to send it back to Spain. Adam never was thanked by the stupid Vulture for his efforts, but he didn’t let it get to him. He was really missing his parents. He decided to go back home, and arove [editors note: not a word] on a beautiful gray murky morning. The sun was rising in the Easternly direction, but you wouldn’t be able to tell because of the fog. The fog evaporated, or there was an inversion or something, however, and the day became very hot and bright. Adam wished he would have taken his sunglasses with him initially on the trip to Chicago, but what can you do. He also wondered why they hadn’t issued him a pair of Aviators in the Air Force…that seemed pretty standard, but that speculation was of no use now. He got to the turn onto his block and was going to see if his parents were home yet from wherever they had gone. You can’t end a sentence with a preposition, such as the word to. He got within sight of their yard, and was distracted by their lawn. Apparently the well had run dry halfway through the summer. The grass had grown too tall, and had burned up when the well ran dry. This is a result of unbalanced photosynthesis. The grass was taking in plenty of sunlight, but not enough water. This caused the grass to lose chlorophyll. Imagine, if you will, a cerebral metaphor. Your brain is taking in these words of the Adam Hockghinsonbergher story. There are lots of words, but no meaning. Your brain cells, just like the chloroplasts are dying. They thirst for knowledge, substance, ANYTHING RATIONAL. Anyways, Adam decided that he would mow the lawn because it was brown and dead. He got out the mower and tried to start it up, but oddly enough the engine was also seized up on it just like their Chevy Sudan…don’t judge. He looked in the garage and found that the 4-stroke engine oil they used was Penzoil. He got really aggravated and threw the lawnmower out into the street. He broke into the house on the second floor through a shed by the window and thereby avoided seeing the Quaker Oatmeal Man on his way in to the house. He yelled at the top of his lungs for his parents and concluded that they were not in the house. He went to his room and was amazed at the mess. He hadn’t done laundry forever. There were clothes as far as the eye could see. He ran about 59 loads and discovered the floor. He did another 27 and found that he was nearing the end. All that was left was the laundry piled up in the closet. At this point he noticed a bunch of dust like material on top of the ceiling fan. He figured he needed a break from the laundry junk and would dust a bit. He got out their California Duster and bent the extended dusting head to a 90-degree angle. He then began to dust it the ceiling fan, but recoiled back in complete horror as he noticed that it was not dust but Oatmeal on top of the fan. He then noticed a giant blob of Oats descending towards his window. It ran into the house and began to make the entire wall bend due to the pressure. He ran to close the window and then decided to check whether or not he could escape from the south side window. He ran to the window and found that his whole household was being engulfed in Oatmeal. It wasn’t the fun flavored ones either. Apple cinnamon would have been nice, but it was plain unsalted, unsweetened oatmeal. He ran downstairs and to his surprise the Quaker Oatmeal “Box” was missing. That was his only relief so far in all the chaos. He just sat in the middle of the living room, hearing his entire house being smothered in flavorless oatmeal. It was kind of the sound of Pizza Hut Jello from the salad bar being sucked through a straw, but amplified to 11. He was covering his ears because the sound was so excruciatingly loud. The house was becoming very dark. The Oatmeal, it appears, had also grounded out the transformer box on the nearest power line, and had cut out the power inside his place of dwelling. Most people at this point of the story would be quite concerned as to what is going to happen to Adam Haughensenbergooer and the Oatmeal. Anyways, we will most likely lose some of the tension of the story if we keep writing side notes like this. Most of the tension dissolves when people forget what they’re reading. Maybe you forgot to lock your dorm room when you came in here. Wow, this is a really long story, are you going to be late for your next class? What is your next class? Did you do the homework? One time we here at the Creepy Times tried to do our homework, but we became unusually distracted by the demeanor of a yellow bird outside the window. It just kept tweeting and tweeting and poking and flying, but not always in that order. Nine times out of Ten the bird would just sit there and go to the bathroom, but one time out of ten it would mistake the bugs flying around for deceased fish matter, which is not an exhaustive summary of the perceptions of all birds. Some birds perceive bugs differently, as food, but not this bird. For complete listings of what birds do, check with your local Audubon. Anyways, all of the sudden it went dead quiet, and there was a single light coming from the main door. It looked like a biaxial low birefringence interference figure from a thin section sample of quartz mineral seen through a microscope with the Bertram lens set above the view piece. Translation: There was a person outside. Adam squinted as he walked towards the door. It seemed this was his only chance out. He slowly undid the latch and turned the knob. He knew that the silhouette being projected on the blurred glass window was not his parents, because there was only one. Adam was in A.P. counting. But this was Adam Hawkinsenbergheur’s last chance out of this house. He knew that his trial through the Bismol had shown that he had dismal chances of survival in a swimming challenge through Oatmeal which had encapsulated the house on all the other sides. It was sort of like that Double Dare show on T.V. when you were young that your mom wouldn’t let you watch where all people did was swim through Oatmeal and get green slime poured on their heads. Anyways, he opened the door and there blocking his path was the one and only Quaker Oatmeal Man himself. It was truly creepy, only outdone by the Burger King, this was the second most scary thing to open your door to on Halloween night. Adam was shocked. He couldn’t speak. The Quaker opened his mouth and spouted out “Hear ye, hear ye, from this day and henceforth thou shalt eat Quaker Oatmeal because it doth lower thy cholesterol. Thou shall useth Quaker State oil for all engines of the mechanical variety in order to reduce the seizing up of such. And thou shall finish thy laundry or else.” There was dead silence. The Quaker faded off into the newly reemerged fog and then into an obscure hypnagogic state that transcended the true reality of his potential being. A breeze from the other side of the house made Adam Hawkonsonbuergeur realize that the Oatmeal had subsided into a regression, in the manner of the transatlantic coasts during the ice ages of geologic history. He went upstairs following the instructions of the ominous Oatmeal figure, and grabbed a laundry basket for the closet. He started gathering the clothes and the pile moved. It was his parents! They had been trapped under an insurmountable pile of laundry the whole time. Adam told them about his adventures and they all had a pretty good laugh. Also, the moral of the story is “Do your laundry.”

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