I WAS A TEENAGE PRESIDENT- OF THE UNITED STATES!!! PART THE FIRST

This week at False Moustache we have a special surprise prize treat for you, dear readership! Recently, one of our fun, friendly, fictional interns unearthed in his (or her! Doesn’t matter…) garage the manuscript of the novelization of an unproduced film entitled, “I Was A Teenage President- Of the United States!!!” It appears to have been a vehicle for the likes of Michael J. Fox, Pauly Shore or one of the Ninja Turtles. Though portions of the manuscript were irreparably damaged, our lab technicians were able to salvage major chunks of plottage, which our Geek Squadron formatted into three blog-post-sized units, once they had finished biting the heads off of chickens. Seriously, gobs of work went into bringing this to you people, so read it! Weep! Read it again! Weep again! Thanks!

PART ONE: HAIL TO THE ME?

Rod Ossum was feeling totally supercharged to the max. Not only was it the first day of summer, not only was the sun shining down on his street and the thermometer boasted a bodacious eighty-six degrees, not only was he fifteen (the best age to possibly be: too young for responsibility and too old for a babysitter) but he was about to become the coolest kid on his block once again, heck, the coolest kid in his neighborhood, shoot, the coolest kid in the city, furk, the coolest kid on the planet. Strutting down the street (Main Street, in Sufficient Springs, Indiahoma) in his signature bad-to-the-bone-ass salmon colored (and flavored!) t-shirt of a windsurfer windsurfing, stone-washed jeans with the cuffs rolled up to better show off his yellow-striped tube socks and white British Knights, and of course the orange cool-specks, Rod was feeling just a little bit dangerous today. Oh, and did I mention he was carrying his brand-new rocket-powered skateboard? Because he totally was.

Rod was so deeply lost in his own coolness that he just about passed by his two best friends waiting for him on the corner of Main and Also Main. Skratch (the one with the jet-black hair and bright-green hoodie) was Rod’s main man, and partner in partying down. If there was a pizza to be scarfed up or a root beer to be chugged down, Skratch knew about it and let Rod in on the skinny, too. They were friends to end, through thick and thin, best buds forever. Their plan was to become the first people to skateboard on Mars, doing sweet anti-gravity tricks and selling the subsequent tape for billions of dollars to rich slackers. It was a foolproof plan, and both had pinky-sworn to never give up the dream. Never!

Rod’s other best friend was Tori (the girl in pigtails, black eyeliner, frilly black tank top and ghost-tinted skin.) She had been his next-door neighbor since they had been six, and at first they hated each other. But once they bonded over their mutual love of comics, her intense and amazing judo maneuvers, his bravery in the watching of slasher movies and the time by the pond they showed each other their thingies, they were inseparable. The friendship had not quite developed into anything more, but both knew deep down it potentially could, were the prospect not so deeply terrifying. Skratch and Tori got along as well, though ever since they entered adolescence Tori resented the attention Rod gave to Skratch over her, and Skratch resented not being invited to the pond to see their thingies.

“Yo, Rod, we found an empty pool to shred in, badass style, yo,” Skratch informed Rod.

“Yeah, it’s totally killer,” Tori added shyly, a bit overwhelmed by his kickin’ ensemble.

“Sweet! I can’t wait to try out my new turbo-charged skateboard,” Rod said, gesturing to his new turbo-charged skateboard. To the untrained eyeballs, it appeared to be your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill skateboard, except for the twin turbine engines flanking the back, four extra multi-colored wheels, skull ornament befronting it, aquarium full of piranhas, naked lady silhouette mud flaps, shrink ray, love letters from Mark Twain to himself, joy stick, suggestion box, and a glowing flame sticker all across the base.

“Dude, that flame sticker totally glows, which is hardcore!” Skratch whispered. Tori surreptitiously smacked him upside the head in her mind.

“Wait till you see what this baby can really, really, really, really, really do!” Rod exclaimed, and with that, he flipped the switch, turned the key, threw the lever, primed the pump, clockwised the knob, cranked the winch, counterclockwised the other knob, added a tank of gas, kicked the engine six or seven times and hopped on! After warming up for about fifteen minutes, the skateboard took off, doing 35 MPH easily- in a school zone! Skratch was impressed! Tori was head-over-heels in attraction! Rod didn’t notice any of all that sexual tension because he was zooming down the boulevard. He didn’t notice the cop cars speeding past him, either. Nor did he notice the helicopters in the sky, looming above like a gaggle of levitating weavers. Nor did he notice the fleet of tanks and Hummers which tore up the block behind him. Nor did he notice the searchlights and fireworks and falderal. He did notice the stretch limo, which had just pulled in front of him and was now blocking the intersection of Also Main and I Can’t Believe It’s Not Main Streets. He may have even crashed into it, too, cutting our story short. But Rod was way, way, way, way, way cooler than that and executed a perfect triple flip-flopple ollie oopie nozebone baby-swipe right over the roof, pausing just briefly to flash an A-OK sign to his friends, who had run down the street after him, and landed safely on the other side. Removing his shades, he turned to Skratch and Tori and stated, “That… was… classic!”

Skratch was jumping up and down in utter-excitement mode and Tori was sneakily applying extra make-up and puffing out her chest, when a tall dark man in a tall dark suit exited the tall dark limo. “Step back!” he commanded, issuing forth his hand as if any and all questions should be addressed to it rather than his face, which appeared preoccupied with Rod. Skratch noticed that the man had a holster below his shoulder with a gun that looked like it could super-soak any opponent to death. With bullets.

Tori did not see the gun, and instantly grasped Rod to her person, exclaiming, “You can’t hurt my best friend, tall dark stranger! I won’t let you!”

The tall dark man laughed a tall dark laugh. “My dear Goth girl, your best friend and secret crush is no average teenager anymore. Roderick Ossum, by order of the Congressional Constitutional Committee Chairpeople of the Country, I hereby swear you in as the latest, greatest President of the United States of America.”

The teenagers fainted.