Marshfellow: The Softest of Them All

"Partly cloudy! Ha! I said it," said Marshfellow two chapters late. "Say does any of you know what's goin' on with Deon?"

I replied begrudgingly, "Yes, begrudgingly."

"Hey! You moshmellas are purdy rude, aincha? I challenged yuh. Whatcha gunna do, igno' me?" spat Tug.

"My bad. Hold on, baby. I gotta handle this," Marshfellow, recently taken, spoke while approaching Tug.

"It's okay, baby. I support you!" screamed Gairyag from a distance.

One day, I will make that airbag mine.

"What was that? Yuh gon' make uh fair hag fine?" Tug asked with thankfully horrible hearing.

I promptly responded, "Sure. Let us go with that."

"Okay, sonny!" affirmed the handleless unhollowed mug with glee. "Le's go fin' us a fair hag den!"

"What about our match? You just called me (and all other marshmallows) inconsiderate for ignoring challenges!" chastised Marshfellow.

"No, I callja rude," corrected Tug. "Besides, der are mo' impo'tant thangs than uh grudge match fo' yuh killin' muh boy. Dis narrata is supuh lonely."

I never said I was lonely.

Tug asked, "Den why wouldja wanna make a fair hag fine? Yuh don't do dat fo' fun!"

"Unless it's a makeover show," added Marshfellow.

"Yuh'd still get paid fer it, yuh dummy!" Tug insulted.

"Dumb me?" repeated Marshfellow. "Why are you calli-"

"He jus' called himself dumb! Haha!" Tug mocked Marshfellow.

Marshfellow protested, "But you said it first!"

This is getting ridi- this has BEEN ridiculous. Moving onward.

At the female old folks home at which they just arrived, Tug told the handsomest character present, "Go ahead, sonny. Pick yuhself uh hag."

"Why am I here again?" questioned Marshfellow SELFISHLY.

"Why is any of us here?" questioned Gairyag, obviously longing for the handsome one of this story.

"Shuddap!" howled Tug. "Dis trip is fo' me 'n' duh son I ne'er had. Which one's caughcha eye, boy?"

Ooh! That one looks kind of like Gair- uh, yes. I will go with that one please.

"Who's he even talkin' to?" inquired Gairyag, who conveniently cannot understand my words anymore and happened to forget that I exist.

"It's me, Gairyag! You remember me, right?" I chimed.

"Nobody's talkin' to you, narrator. Go back to doing your job," Gairyag mentioned casually.

"Excuse me," talked nobody, "but I heard we were supposed to have a conversation."

"Not now," I replied, heartbroken. Forget Gairyag. I choose this one (who looks somewhat like Gairyag.

"Wait a minute," Marshfellow remarked, "that one looks kinda like Gairyag."

Really? I never would have noticed.

"Gairyag, is it you, baby?" the one that kind of looks like Gairyag queried.

"It's a clone!" Marshfellow exclaimed.

"It's a time traveler remnant!" I shouted.

"It uh watermelon wit' uh wig 'n' s'm eyeshadow!" Tug yelled.

We all stared at Tug for half a minute prior to him correcting himself, "Okay, okay. It prolly nail polish."

"It's my grandmother," Gairyag stated condescendingly.

"My, my," muttered Gairyag's grandmother. "If y'all had wits, they'd be the dimmest."

Related to Gairyag, huh? Oh, well. I already picked her. Nothing can be done about it now...

"Nonsense, sonny!" Tug protested. "Yuh don' haf tuh settle fo' un ugly erbag."

"Woah!" the rested of us yelled in unison.

"Airbags are hot!" Marshfellow proclaimed loudly.

"Oh, so all airbags are attractive to you?" asked the only attractive airbag in my opinion to Marshfellow.

"N-no, that's not what I-" stammered Marshfellow.

Gairyag's grandmother, Fairhag- wait, seriously? That is her name? Whatever. This writer has not been giving his best considering that last chapter.

Fairhag demanded sternly, "You. Me. Collision," to Tug.

"Bringit!" howled Tug.

"So when is my collision?" inquired the newly single marshmallow on the sideline of the arena.

"Not right now and that is all that matters," I chided. "Get him, Fairhag!"

Tug reprimanded, "Aincha s'posed tuh be fair 'n' unbiased? Yuh were like uh son tuh me, boy."

"Fine," I sighed. "Whoever wins will get my devotion." I winked at Fairhag- wait a second. Gairyag is fair game now! Excuse me...

Tug bragged, "I'm all slathered in watuh so I'm supuh squishy! Yuh ain' gon' beat dis mug, yuh hear?!"

You can do it, Tug! I am sitting next to Gairyag now, but since she cannot hear this...

"I k'n chew grits?" Tug questioned. "Thanks, I guess, sonny!"

Nevermind. Do not lose your hearing, kids.

"Let us get rrrready to rrrrumblllle!" I boomed fervently, awaiting my royalties. "Collide!"

"Okie-doke," said Tug non-chalantly.

Tug briefly whipped himself toward Fairhag, producing a whip out of his clay, and whipped her with it; causing Fairhag immense pain while she shouted, "Whippin' is cheatin', right?!"

"Actually," I plainly stated, "as it is a part of his body, it is legal."

"Well, I don't care!" she exploded; first figuratively, then literally. We are back to this again? "Ugh, my intake valve is actin' up again!" she cried as she blasted off toward the cloud.

Tug shrugged, "Dat's one down, one tuh go."

"Nooo!" shrieked the airbag sitting next to the epitome of handsomeness. "How dare you!"

"She dared me," Tug corrected.

"Well, now I dare you!" Gairyag challenged. She jumped into the arena and screamed, "Let's go!"

"Be careful, Gairyag!" both Marshfellow and I shouted simultaneously, then giving each other a strange look.

"Shut up!" she outbursted. "It's go time!"

Tug rejoiced, "Hoo, boy! I'm gettin' rid uh mo' erbags dan uh fact'ry recall!"

"A factory recall of what?" inquired Marshfellow.

We all stared at Marshfellow for half a minute until he corrected himself, "Okay, okay. A factory recall of whom? See? I'm not racist."

"Oh, my goodness," I groaned. "Let it start already. Collide."

"Okie-doke. Just like last time," Tug said non-chalantly.

I replied, "Actually, last time, 'said' came before your name and you left it at 'okie-doke'. It is only similar to last time; not just like it. The writer is not that uncreative; just almost that increative. Wait. Is it uncreative or increative. I am a narrator. I should know this..."

"Would you be quiet?!" everyone present shouted at me for no good reason.

Tug briefly whipped himself in the direction of Gairyag, creating a whip out of his clay, and with it, whipped her; causing Gairyag incredible hurt while she yelled, "Whippin' is against the rules, correct?"

"We already had this discussion, did we not?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, care not do I!" she exploded; first figuratively, then... she queried, "Why am I talkin' like that?"

See? It's not exactly the same.

Just then, Gairyag's body popped. "My intake valve is overactive!" she shrieked.

"Okay. This really is pretty similar," I mused.

Tug mischievously grinned, "Don' worry. I'll make it diff'rent fo' yuh." He whipped the already damaged airbag into the cloud. "Yee-haw!" he shouted triumphantly.

"Gairyag!" I sobbed.

Tug spoke softly, "Calm down, sonny. Dare 'r' mo' erbags in duh car lot."

"And you're 'bout to join them!" Marshfellow hollered. "If we're referring to the cloud as a car lot, that is."

"Whatever. I do not care," I grimaced, no longer feeling like life was worth living. "Collide, jerks."

"Okie-do- oof!" Tug tried to say before Marshfellow tackled him. "Hey, that's diff'rent!" complained Tug.

Marshfellow briefly whipped himself aimed at Tug's position, constructing a whip out of his sugars (which should not even be possible), and struck him with said whip; causing Tug severe uncomfortability while he bellowed, "Whippin' is cheatin', true?"

"Are you kidding right now?" everyone in attendance asked in disbelief.

"Uh course, I was," laughed Tug. "Whatcha think I wa- aww, jeez! Muh 'ntake valve is on duh mend! It wadn' ready!"

Marshfellow matter-of-factly replied, " Nice try, but mugs don't have air intake valves. Not even unfired handleless unhollowed ones."

"Well," anguished Tug, "I'm part airbag. Oh, muh garsh! Wha' was all dis collidin' fo' if I was gunna lose?!" Tug's clay bursted... and he landed on the floor of the arena. "Oh, yeah, I fergot I'm heavier dan dem erheads!"

Marshfellow calmly stated, "Don't worry. I'll change it for you." He whipped the already broken mug onto the floor again... and again... okay, that is enough, Marshfellow!

"But he deserves it," Marshfellow pleaded.

Tug commented, "Yuh darn right, skippy! Tha' whip o' yers rilly whipped me back intuh shape, hahaha!"

Do not whip enemies, adults. Sometimes adults need morals, too. Simmer down, kids.

"Huh?" Marshfellow struggled to comprehend.

Tug boasted, "I've ne'er felt bettuh! Dis change is efen bettuh den when muh werds wen' from endin' in 'a' tuh 'uh'!"

"This doesn't make any sense!" Marshfellow blasted.

"Dat's 'cuz I'm makin' dolluhs, skippy!" promoted Tug in his handle-formed, hollowed body. "Duh passhun is wellin'-up wit' in me! Time fo' uh nukin'!"

"That's not fair!" Marshfellow cried. "I'm supposed to be stealing your role!"

Tug heated himself to recreated the "nuking"... and cooked himself as if he were in a kiln.

"Oh," he remarked reluctantly. "Well, a' leas' I'm all sturdy 'n' shiny 'n' glistenin'. Where'd duh glaze come fr- woah!"

Tug's body went past the mass per volume threshhold and, combined with his inability to continue to clasp the ground with his now cooked clay, was slowly being dragged upward by the cloud's superior gravity.

"Help!" he shrieked. "Sonny! Get me uh rope!"

Are not I meant to be just and impartial? Wow, this all really is similar.

"Tar fought cayenne soup we busted in jar fills?" Tug asked incoherently.

Do not lose your hearing, kids.

Marshfellow, now no longer afraid of the effects of whipping, whipped Tug one last time toward the cloud. "Hi-yah!" he shouted.

Do not whip enemies unless they have already undergone the cooking processes associated with pottery, adults; and you too, kids. Happy?

Gairyag is gone. Now what do I do? ...go to another chapter, I guess.