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One day, in the land of *////-----(the location has been changed so as to protect the innocent)----........*, a young boy was playing with little cars in the dirt in a makeshift playground.  He was driving his little El Camino around, when suddenly, a 196whatever Corvette pulled out in front of him!  The driver of the El Camino saw it too late!  He slammed on his breaks, hoping to stop, but sadly the driver didn't buy the package that included brakes for his car, and so his fate was sealed.  A gigantic "CRASH!" ensued, with much dirt flying in the air, and repeated ramming of the two cars.  Such carnage as no man has ever seen happened right then and there.  If the drivers weren't killed from the impact, the repeated whiplash had surely sent them to meet their creator.  The miniature man just laughed and laughed while making grotesque screaming noises and clamoring clash sounds in his barraging of the two little cars.

        But enough of this little runt, on to what you guys are here for.

        The little boy, his location, the car brands, and the bad brakes deal aforementioned have nothing to do with Commander Carpool.

        In fact, I have no idea why I even put that nonsense in here.

        Anyways, one day, a boy named Fwiggin was running through the small village he and his family lived in.  He was heading to the manor of the richest man in town: Lord Pantsparty.  He had heard that the man was going to give a super-specially-awesome reward to the first person to complete a secret task he had for them.  As he was running, small bugs kept getting stuck in his fro, and he was angered at the thought of having a bug-fro.

        When he arrived to the front gate, he saw that there was already a massive line to get into the Lord's manor.  People were crowding the whole street just to get a chance at the super-specially-awesome reward task.  Poor Fwiggin was worried that someone else would claim the prize before he even had a chance to try for it.  He jumped in the long line behind some old guy who kept muttering something about how pop rocks and coke were going to "be the death of the world," and it was all Fwiggin could do to keep from getting knocked out from the old-person stench emanating from this guy.

        Luckily for Fwiggin and his nose, the line was moving ultra-super fast.  It took a whole 10 seconds for the thousands of people in front of him to be rejected and sent home crying to kick their dogs.  Soon all that was left was the old man and Fwiggin.  Fwiggin paced his way to the gate, where he saw a man sitting behind a desk holding a quill pen, and two guards.  One was peeking from around a rock, and the other had his head ducked under a small shrubbery, both of which were obviously trying to hide, but doing a crappy job.  When he reached the desk, Fwiggin politely tried to start a conversation by saying "hello."  Silence followed his greeting, and Fwiggin tried again, but with a bit more impatience this time.  After waiting and waiting with the silence, Fwiggin heard the old man come trundling up, still mumbling how pop rocks and coke will "destroy nations upon nations."

        When the old man reached the desk, Fwiggin carefully took a sidelong gaze at the man, and saw that both of his eyes were lazy eyes, and neither of them was focusing on the man behind the desk.  Instead, one was focusing on a curiously shaped rock with a small frog crunching on a little bug, while the other was staring directly at a mole the size of golf-ball that was resting between his eyebrows.

        After reverting his gaze back to the man behind the desk, Fwiggin attempted to get the man to notice him again, but to no avail.  The old man finally stopped mumbling about the end of the world, and an awkward silence followed.  Instantly, the old man let out a loud "SHAKLAKAAAA!!!" and waved his cane over his head like a maniac.  He then brought it down with magnificent force, and lightly tapped the little bell sitting on the desk, letting out a faint "ding!"

        Instantly, the man behind the desk looked up, and smiled, saying "can I help you?"  Before Fwiggin could let out a word, the old man started screaming "I have two couches full of springs!!!!"

        "Great, we got another genius on our hands," said the man behind the desk.  "Security!"

        From behind the rock and the small shrubbery jumped the two security guards.  The old man, seeing a butterfly floating around twenty feet away, instantly yelled "I got an apprehension!" and dashed away back to the village, being chased by the two guards all the while.

        Fwiggin took this opportunity to finally and try to talk to the man, so he dinged the bell, and the man replied "Can I help you?"

        "Yes," replied Fwiggin, "I'm here to try for the super-specially-awesome reward task."

        "What be thoust name, young lad?" asked the man.

        "Fwiggin, sir.  Fwiggin Idiot, at your service."

        "Ahh..." said the man.  He eyed Fwiggin to see if he was worth his stuff, when his eyes zipped to his fro.

        "OHH!!!" gasped the man.  "A bug-fro!  You surely have the stuff to do this task!"

        "Sweet action!" yelled Fwiggin. "So, what do I have to do?"

        "You see that crazy cool rock right there?" asked the man.  Fwiggin nodded, and the man said, "Get it for me."

        Fwiggin walked over, picked up the rock, and gave it to the man.

        Instantly, a fanfare from nowhere started blaring, and confetti started floating down from the top of the portcullis.

        "Congratulations!" declared the man, "Here's your super-specially-awesome prize!"

        He handed Fwiggin a helmet.  It was white, round, and had a raisable clear visor.  "This helmet," said the man, "be the helmet of happy power.  It'll fill you with the power of happiness, all the while keeping you safe from bugs and small rocks."

        At first, Fwiggin was uber stoked.  He couldn't imagine all the happy fun he'd have while being safe from bugs and small rocks, but then a predicament came upon him.  His fro wouldn't fit into the helmet, and he was stuck with the dilemma of either trimming the fro, or ditching the helmet.  In sadness devoid of safety from bugs and small rocks, Fwiggin slouched back home.  When he arrived at the village, he decided to stop by the tavern and have a cream soda to maybe drown the sadness.

        As he stepped into the tavern, he heard people chanting "GO GO GO GO GO!" and he glanced around and saw a crowd of people cheering on a man who was drinking root beers.  By straining his neck to see around the man's shoulder, Fwiggin could see that the man had already downed 9 pints of root beer, and was working on his 10th, which was the town's root beer drinking record.

        After a loud burp and a deafening cheer, the man slammed down the empty glass, slouched back in his chair, and held out his hat for the unhappier bystanders (who had obviously lost a bet) who reached in their pockets and pulled out a coin or two and placed them into the hat.

        Fwiggin walked closer to get a glimpse of the man, but he never had a chance.  As soon as he was within five feet of the man, the guy instantly perked up in his chair, and without turning around, said, "What's that!  I feel the power of happiness (mixed with the safety from bugs and small rocks, of course) emanating from an object held behind me!  You! Boy! I'll buy that helmet from you!  I'll even through in this cool 'fro comb to boot."

        At the sound of an afro-perking product, Fwiggin instantly handed over the helmet and received the small change and the comb.  After receiving the helmet, the man put it on, stood up, and headed for the door.

        "Wait, sir!" cried Fwiggin.  "Who are you?"

        "Me?" said the man, "I go by:

                       Commander Carpool!"

To be continued