Televisions that Explode on Impact

This story brought to you by: ERK FLOP INDUSTRIALS ©

It was a cold, dry, moist morning in December. Morton couldn't hear anything but his own pounding heart and the distant chirp of a Cardinal not molesting children somewhere far off in the long stretch of wood behind him. Chubby Morton looked around, eyeing the trees with suspicion. Everything had a grey haze about it, common for a morning like this one. The bespectacled porky pig of a man sniffed the air, detecting a sweet but familiar aroma that surrounded and embraced his corpulent figure. He had always enjoyed the smell of his own flatulence, but much to his dismay nobody else shared this sentiment. Morton was in the wooded area of his backyard, searching for the special laughing turtles with painted shells that he had read about in the Korean newspaper from September of 1941.  He was still puzzling over how he was able to read the Korean print, but using his obese brain to its fullest potential, Morton had come to the conclusion that it was really just English written in Korean.

Pudgy, portly Morton continued the stealthy trek farther into the reaches of his backyard, making sure to only step on moss or stones, so that he would not make too much noise and scare the turtles away. Then he saw it--a flash of light, as if the pale sunlight had been reflected off the skin of a person of no color.

Morton the fat person's story ends here. He was never heard from again--the only traces of his existence left behind in this world were three shoes and a pair of pants that undoubtedly belonged to someone who was of immeasurably immense waisteture. The blubbery, podgy, rotund, fat fat fat, freakishly overweight jiggly-cheeked man named Morton Finkle had become the moon. This was an origin story for the moon.

Thanks for listening to yourself read this to you in your head.