Storytime Flashbacks!

Okay, guys, so with the help of my old roommie from college (ahem – Melissa!), I decided to do a new segment entitled, Storytime Flashbacks! I will post stories from my earlier years that are either awesome, cute, or hilariously stupid!

Today’s storytime brought to you by Allison Baggott and Melissa Montgomery is…(wait for it)…

Adventure #7 of Tito and Poncho. Before the story begins, here are pictures of the three main characters…Tito, Poncho, and The Crocodile.

titoThis was Tito…


ponchoThis is Poncho…

thecrocAnd this is The Crocodile…

I believe this was written senior year of college. Most likely in the height of a very dorky moment in time! Please enjoy!

Adventure #7

The Last Night with The Crocodile

            So, they arrived at Club Discoteca around 9:30 that night and joined the line that squirreled around the outside of the building.  It seemed everyone in Capital City had showed up for the opening of the hottest new club around.  Poncho and Tito wondered if they’d ever get in.  Luckily, Fate was on their side.

“Poncho!  Tito!” Fate cried to them from the door of the club.  Fate was their blonde-locked amiga with whom they enjoyed watching LifeTime movies.  She was always going out and having fun, while Poncho and Tito enjoyed the more quiet things in life.  “I can’t believe you guys came!”

“Yeah, we decided to get a little fresh air,” Tito said.

“It looks like you’re going to be getting a lot of fresh air,” Fate quipped, looking at the twisting line of scantily-clad city folk.  “Why don’t you guys come in with me?  I know the bouncer; we’re tight.”

“Sure,” Poncho and Tito said, completely forgetting about The Crocodile, who was nuzzling the knee of the guy behind him, believing him to be Tito.

So, the three amigos made a flashy entrance into the club, stopping to pose for some of the cameras that clicked away from all the cool magazines, like Cosmo and Jane and Highlights.  Well, anyway, they made their way through the crowd, dancing with the hottest people there (of which, of course, Poncho and Tito were included), rubbing elbows (literally) with the famous celebrities, living it up.  They were all having a great time, until suddenly the crowd of people on the dance floor seemed to split in two, revealing The Crocodile, who was not looking too happy.

“Oops,” Poncho said.  “Sorry Federico.  We forgot you were there.”

“Some friends you are!” The Crocodile said.  He whipped his tail around, knocking Poncho over, who wasn’t quite as quick as Tito and Fate.

“Ow,” Tito yelled.

“That’s what you get,” The Crocodile said.  “Listen, I’ve been nothing but nice to you guys.  You don’t know how much I do for you.  You don’t know all the stress that I’m under!”  His nostrils flared.  The Crocodile was no longer the affable, quirky, ambiguously-gay reptile that they once knew.  No longer was his love for Tito overflowing from his pores.  No, that love had been turned off faster than the hot water in The Projects after the Channel 5 On Your Side news-team leaves.  Oh, yes, the cold water was back, and it was back with a vengeance.  The Crocodile, using his delicate sense of smell, headed straight for Poncho, hungrily snapping his huge jaws.

Just as he saw his short, shoe-filled life flash before his eyes, Tito came to the rescue.  Grabbing a bar stool, he broke off a leg and with a bestial cry ran full-speed toward The Crocodile.  With a grunt, he raised the stool leg in the air and brought it through the thick skin of The Crocodile’s cranium, unfortunately splattering brain matter over several people’s new clubbin’ clothes.

“Ew,” Fate said, wiping off some brain stem from her leather pants.  “Is it dead?”

“Well, it depends,” Poncho said, pushing up his glasses.  “The actual definition for brain death is the final cessation of activity in the central nervous system especially as indicated by a flat electroencephalogram for a predetermined length of time (Fast Health Interactive Healthware, 2002, which can be found at ).”

The crowd looked at Poncho in confusion.  “Well, what this obviously means is that death can only be determined with an electroencephalogram to be exactly sure—“

Poncho’s speech was interrupted by Tito, who had bent down next to The Crocodile to check his pulse: “It looks like he’s still breathing!” Tito exclaimed.  Tito’s heart went out to The Crocodile.  “Can anyone help?”

Suddenly, from the crowd came five of the Homies.  “We can help,” one said.  “A’ight, everybody step back.”  They each reached into their baggy pants, pulled out a gun, and began shooting.

“Ah!” Tito said, “that’s not what I meant.  Oh, well, I guess it’s for the better.”

“Yes,” Poncho began, “with the extent of brain damage he probably could not have survived and if…” After that everyone pretty much stopped paying attention to Poncho, so it’s not really important to write the rest down.

“Thanks for the help, guys,” Tito said to the Homies, holding out his hand to them.

“Hey,” Ice said, shaking his hand, “no problem, jese.  Listen, man, dat was pretty cool what you did today.  Maybe you ain’t as stupid as we thought.  Sorry for beating your ass down.”

“Thanks,” Tito said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Poncho said.

Ice looked at Poncho.  “Man, we wasn’t talkin’ to you.  You still stupid.”

The other Homies snickered.

“Yo, Ice, don’t you think this Croc skin would look cool in our crib?” EightBall said.

Ice sneered.  “Yeah, man, I think it would.  Big Dawg, Loco, Big Loco pick it up!”

So, the three Homies picked up their prize, barstool leg and all, and started to make their way through the crowd, yelling the lines of the great Ludicris classic: “Move bitch, get out the way…”, which sparked the music to get started again and everyone to return to their grinding.  Tito felt a twinge of guilt in the killing of The Crocodile, but deep down he had a strange feeling that someday, he would meet him again…


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