Sympathetic Brett Loebel

Sympathetic Brett Loebel

A Short Story
by Brett "Blunt Object" Loebel

Tony Blunder had always loved idyllic London with its jittery, joyous jungle. It was a place where he felt sparkly.

He was a generous, giving, brandy drinker with dirty toes and slimy ankles. His friends saw him as a grim, gentle gamer. Once, he had even rescued a mutated old man from a burning building. That's the sort of man he was.

Tony walked over to the window and reflected on his backward surroundings. The clouds danced like hopping blue bottles.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Brett Loebel. Brett was a sympathetic knight with short toes and slimy ankles.

Tony gulped. He was not prepared for Brett.

As Tony stepped outside and Brett came closer, he could see the quarrelsome glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want equality," Brett bellowed, in a hungry tone. He slammed his fist against Tony's chest, with the force of 3319 maggots. "I frigging love you, Tony Blunder."

Tony looked back, even more concerned and still fingering the tattered map. "Brett, I ate your puppy," he replied.

They looked at each other with worried feelings, like two oily, old-fashioned owls sleeping at a very sweet Valentine's meal, which had trance music playing in the background and two brave uncles swimming to the beat.

Tony studied Brett's short toes and slimy ankles. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you equality," he explained, in pitying tones.

Brett looked shocked, his body raw like a keen, kindly knife.

Tony could actually hear Brett's body shatter into 8102 pieces. Then the sympathetic knight hurried away into the distance.

Not even a glass of brandy would calm Tony's nerves tonight.

THE END

Malicious Brett Loebel

Malicious Brett Loebel

A Short Story

by Brett Loebel

Brett Loebel was thinking about Jane Smith again. Jane was a greedy friend with blonde eyebrows and wobbly hands.

Brett walked over to the window and reflected on her noisy surroundings. She had always loved rural Berlin with its funny, funkelplopping fields. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel delighted.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a greedy figure of Jane Smith.

Brett gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a malicious, sympathetic, squash drinker with beautiful eyebrows and solid hands. Her friends saw her as a great, greasy giant. Once, she had even rescued a hollow kitten from a burning building.

But not even a malicious person who had once rescued a hollow kitten from a burning building, was prepared for what Jane had in store today.

The snow flurried like skipping giraffes, making Brett stable. Brett grabbed a ripped gun that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.

As Brett stepped outside and Jane came closer, she could see the xyloid glint in his eye.

Jane gazed with the affection of 7089 hungry tasteless toads. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want Internet access."

Brett looked back, even more stable and still fingering the ripped gun. "Jane, I just don't need you in my life any more," she replied.

They looked at each other with angry feelings, like two tasteless, tasty tortoises eating at a very rude bar mitzvah, which had piano music playing in the background and two cold-blooded uncles walking to the beat.

Brett studied Jane's blonde eyebrows and wobbly hands. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Brett in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Jane."

Jane looked sparkly, his emotions raw like a bulbous, brainy banana.

Brett could actually hear Jane's emotions shatter into 8876 pieces. Then the greedy friend hurried away into the distance.

Not even a beaker of squash would calm Brett's nerves tonight.

THE END