#2 Awkward

This was another school assignment, the subject was voice and character. I melded Frank around it, and this was the result.

I wrote this really early in the morning, and I learned that it is very hard to write comedy when you are in a ‘down’ mood. It isn’t as cringe/funny as my other Frank manuscripts, but I am pleased overall. Hope you enjoy it!

Also P.S, my Frank works are not necessarily in chronological order. I am writing short manuscripts just to get a feel of him, and figure out which direction I want to go in.

Bio

With a Micky Mouse pancake hanging out of his maw, the gargantuan man known as Frank rushes his way out of the door and to the elevator. He was relieved to see nobody was already occupying it, he often felt too claustrophobic with others (plus his large weight) inside of the small, steel container. Skimming his fingers down the panel of floor numbers, he eventually plods the sausage ring-finger of his left hand onto a button labelled ‘G’. As he waited for the door to close, he paused to look at himself in the mirrored walls of the elevator.

He could have smartened up more, but he was in a hurry. His blue convenience store uniform-shirt was only half tucked in to his silky black pants which snuggly fit around his thunderous thighs and Hercules calves. Finding Nemo crocs adorned his sock-clad feet; he wasn’t required to wear smart shoes at work, just as long as he didn’t wear converse sneakers he was free to wear whatever he wished. A drool of syrup brands his left breast, a clumsy mistake from being in such a hurry. His curly, dirty-blonde hair stretches back into a greasy bun, resting on the first fold of his neck fat and tucking in to the second. Upon the top of his head rest an old fashioned hat, one commonly worn by Italian mafia gangs in the early to mid-nineties.

Just before the door could fully close, a slender hand slices through and stops the elevator from shutting. Frank took in a deep breath of anxiety and lowers his gaze to the floor.

“Gotcha’ just in time!” Calls out a sweet voice; a girly voice. She hopped into the elevator after prying its’ maw open, and stood at the other side just after reaching out to press ‘G’ and realizing it had already been pressed. “Hello!” She exclaims, turning her attention to Frank. Her eye twitched a tad at the scruffy state he was in, though out of politeness, she tried to maintain eye-contact at least until he acknowledged her.

“Mmello.” Frank mumbles through munching his pancake. He didn’t look up to see what she looked like, he was much too nervous, especially around women. The stranger caught the drift, and thus, remained silent until they reached the ground floor and went their separate paths.

With a quickly beating heart, Frank made his way to his sticker-destroyed car. Images of Mickey and Minnie were the two most common characters. From the shape of the vehicle, it could have been a beetle, but the colours were so misleading. As he approached his car, he could hear footsteps closing in behind him. A quiet whine squealed from his sticky lips, ‘no more interaction…’ he prayed mentally.

“Hello again!” Came the same voice from before. Frank reached for the handle of his door quickly, before realizing he hadn’t even pressed the unlock button on his keys yet. With one hand, he dove into his right pocket and started frantically searching. Without touching his keys, which were nowhere to be found, his car lights flicker, and the machine makes a clicking noise to alert everyone around that it had been unlocked. What was going on!? What was happening!? Full panic spread throughout the body of the large Frank.

“Uh, yeah… You might need these if you’re gonna drive…” The female utters, carefully reaching around to place the keys on top of the car and back away, as if she was feeding a dangerous predator. He must have dropped them in the elevator. Frank’s eyes flicker up to his keys, which he grabs with hesitation. Along with the keys, came about five different tiny stuffed toys, two plastic figurines, and a big golden plaque with the Disney Castle embedded into it, all attached to a pin-laden lanyard. Without saying another word, the embarrassed Frank got into his car and started to make his way out of the car park.

The female watched as he drove away, then desists to go to her own car. What did she think of Frank so far?

“Why why why why why!?” Roars out Frank as he travels down the typical route he took to work. His gorilla fists slam against the steering wheel for emphasis of his frustration. The last slam accidentally hits the horn, giving the car in front of him a fright. In response, a single middle-finger raises out of the sunroof and directs at Frank, causing him to blush in offence.

Traffic was slow, which gave Frank more time to reflect on his poor conversational skills with the stranger in his apartment, whom apparently lived on the same floor as he. “Why’d you have to go and goof things up, Frank?” He whines to himself, “You’re never going to find a princess this way!”

Turning his head to peer out of the window beside him, he notices a girl in the passenger seat of a red jeep, watching his yelling with a slight smirk on her face. Whilst blushing further, Frank raises a shaking hand to grasp the brim of his mafia hat, and tip it in her direction. ‘Milady’ he mouths. The girl slowly raises up her phone from her lap and snaps a picture of Frank, before laughing out loud and ushering her friend to drive faster.

With a sigh, Frank turns his head forward again and stares at the vehicle in front of him which now had two middle fingers sticking out of the sunroof. The urge to scream out PG 13 insults boiled within the very gut of Frank. Cracking his window a tad, the large man leaned up and took a deep breath.

“I bet you’re ugly!” He yells, only to suddenly shut his window once he hears a quick response of:

“What did you say!?” Frank pulls down his hat a tad to try and hide his eyes as best as possible, but found the pudge on his forehead to be far too much to squeeze into the circumference of the material. The hazard lights appeared on the car in front of him, this couldn’t be good. The driver’s door swung open and outstepped a young ‘dude’.

Wearing a stretched out wife-beater shirt, and pants down to his knees, it was clear he was dressed to show off the long hours he’d spent at the gym, or money he’d put into muscle-enhancing drugs, (whichever one prefers).

The man-beast swaggers his way over to the Disney Disaster: walking in a fashion which said he wanted others to believe he was carrying a large salami, when in truth his thigh muscles were just so disproportionate and ridiculous, that they couldn’t even stand rubbing up against each other.

“I know you ain’t talkin’ to me!?” Yells the platinum-blonde meathead. Frank lowers his gaze, putting his own hazards on to let the people behind him know to drive around him. Yet, he does not reply. “’Ey! Freak!” he roars again, knocking harshly on the window. Frank reaches over and turns up the volume on his radio. He forgot he had slipped a CD into the drive the last time he used the car, however.

“Look for the… bare necessities! The simple bare necessities-“ Hollers out his speakers. Frantically, Frank reaches out to try and turn down the volume again, accidentally flicking on his window-wipers at the same time. A jet of water squirts out of the base of his window and splatters over the meathead’s face, blinding him momentarily with sanitized water.

“What the hell!? I’ll sue you for blinding me, freak!” He roars. It was now or never, Frank had to get out of here. Turning off his hazards, he put his car into reverse slightly, only to push into drive and floor his acceleration, speeding over the side-walk a tad just to get in front of the meathead’s vehicle. He was successful for the most part, bar a scrape against a safety guard by the side of the road. It was worth it just to get away from the danger of interaction. Through the rear view mirror, he could see the meathead scrambling to get into his car, but by the time he had; Frank was already too far ahead to catch up with, legally.

Turning up the volume once more, Frank listens to his favourite jams to relax himself as he continues his commute to work. He could only hope there would be no more interaction for today and his boss would let him hide in the backroom to handle the storage jobs.

 

. . .
Alquarien

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#1 Good Morning, Frank!

This was so much fun to write! Enjoy!

Bio

Bzzp. Bzzp. Bzzp. Bzzp. The sound of an alarm clock taunts the eyes of a Dreamer, though he was much too weary to peal open his lids. The dry noise of the alarm very slowly increased in decibel, though the walls of the Dreamer’s bedroom were equipped and sound-proofed by the many posters and sticky-notes that hung from them. The dawn crept into the room like a thief in the night, slowly illuminating the Dalmatian-patch carpet that clung to the floorboards for dear life; shabby and riddled with stains, one may not even be able to tell a stain from a patch.

Slowly but surely, the sun clambered up and up, bringing more of the heavily-cluttered room out of the darkness of twilight. Empty pizza boxes, McDonald’s Happy-Meal containers, and partially-full four-litre jugs of chocolate and strawberry milk littered the floor by the over-crowded computer desk and over-pillowed single bed on the other side of the room. Bookcases marked each corner of the living space, filled with VCR tapes and various figurines of Disney stars.

The daylight eventually filled the entire window, bouncing off of the dangling toys from the glow-in-the-dark star-clad ceiling. The Millennium Falcon and different fish from Finding Nemo were amongst the suspended objects.

Bzzp. Bzzp. Bzzp. Bzzp. Despite the radiance from the window, a shadow was steadily emerging over the unsuspecting clock. It was far too late for rescue, however; as the shadow solidified and became sharper, a gargantuan hand quaintly met it slap-dab on the head. With a mere slap afterward, the gadget was carelessly tossed into the near distance, creating quite the bustle on a stack of empty jugs. It seemed the Dreamer was not yet ready for his awakening, and five more minutes would suffice.

Alas, as many heavy-sleepers know, five minutes can turn into an hour in a mere heartbeat. And that is exactly what happened. It was back to lala-land for the Dreamer.

“Put your faith in what you most believe in…” Sang the distinct voice of Phil Collins from the bedside table, accompanied by a vibration strong enough to knock off the many tear-filled tissues (from an eventful past evening of watching ‘Up!’ Soon followed by ‘Big Hero 6’) onto the floor.  A groan tumbles out of the lips of the Dreamer, perhaps the power of Collins has stirred the slumbering male?

“Two worlds… One family!” Continued the voice. As the tissues were discarded to the floor, a sticker-laden flippy-phone emerged, the likes which has never been so devoted to Mickey Mouse until now. The groan of the Dreamer soon turns into faint mumblings of the lyrics and then a long, deep breath. The drums of the song play their dramatic solo known to all children far and wide. Suddenly all of the pent-up air within the Dreamer shoots out as a belted, Tarzan-holler. Fists shoot out of the many hundreds of pillows and stuffed animals on the tiny, one-person bed, then come crashing down onto the chest of the Dreamer, where he beats away like a gorilla initiating battle!

It took a few moments for the sleepy Dreamer to figure out just where the music came from, until it hit him, the phone! Pealing back the dangling-princess-curtains from above and around his bed, the sun finally hit the master of the bedroom.

Meet Frank. Frank starts the day by asserting dominance over the sun; with the aid of his oily, pale skin, he reflects the daylight straight back up at the burning orb in the sky. The mane of curly, dark-blonde hair spanning from his neck to his head, (in that order) sprang hair by hair, one by one, out of the shine of moisture that coated his hairy hide. If a hair wasn’t there, a freckle probably took its’ place.  Contrary to all of his other flattering traits, one thing that really stood out about Frank, other than his belly, was the startling green eyes that squinted with dire effort out of the fatty folds of his eyelids and high cheeks. They were almost intriguing enough to block-out the rest of his distasteful figure, alas, nobody has ever come close enough to notice.

Scrambling like a disorientated rabbit unknowing of the time (and convinced it must be late), Frank launched a hand out and wrapped his porky fingers around his comically small phone. Flipping it open with his thumb, he slaps the device to his ear.

“Hullo!?” Roars out his earthy voice, he hadn’t anticipated his throat to be so clear at this time in the morning, for he had already forgotten his Tarzan-holler just moments prior.

Before he could even hear a reply from whomever was on the other side of the phone, there came the dreaded: Bzzp. Bzzp. Bzzp. Bzzp. The alarm clock had gained second wind and was ready for round two. Frank widened his eyes as much as his pudgy face would allow, and wiggled off of the bed like a jelly-dome trying to escape its’ plate. The bed groaned and moaned; it clicked and squeaked; it sang a chorus of poorly-tuned violins until Frank was finally on his feet.

A moist, dark shadow of the man remained imprinted into the crater left in the bedsheets: as did an odorous smell akin to French cheeses. Within the very centre of said crater was a Piglet toy from Whinny the Pooh, with eyes that bulged and cried out for salvation. As if enduring reverse-rigamortis, the mattress drew in a deep breath and arranged its springs accordingly now that a great weight was no longer pressurizing them.

“Hold on a second! Hold on a second!” Cries out the man of bearded-neck, as he waddles over toward the many forsaken jugs of sugary milks. “Where are you!?” The sausage-fingers of his other hand wiggle outward to try and feel around under the stacks of plastic for the irritating noise-box. Once found, Frank’s frustration was far too high. Mercilessly, he plunges his short fingernails into the underbelly of the clock, tears out its stomach, then splays its battery-innards all over the floor. At last… Silence.

“Urh, hello!? Frank?!” Squeaks a female, New Jersey accent from within the phone. Frank was too caught up in the serenity of the slain alarm clock that he had almost forgotten someone was on the phone.

“Sorry Julie, what can I help you with?” Frank utters in a withdrawn voice. Reaching out, the heavy-set man tugs off an arm from a large Mister Potato-Head figure on his desk, and uses it to scratch his sweaty back.

“Urh, Frank. The time. I ain’t got all day.” She replies. Frank furrows his wiry eyebrows, drops his Mister Potato-Head arm, and picks up his slain alarm clock. With a growl, he slams the alarm clock back down, realizing that without batteries it couldn’t display the time (The perils of digital!) Lifting his phone from his ear for a brief moment, he waited for the light to spark up on the small, olive-coloured screen so that he could decipher the hour of day it currently was.

“Oh golly! I’m coming! I’m coming! I’m sorry Julie, I had a late night last night! There was this thing… And…” Yells Frank with an exasperated and stuttering voice, only to be cut off by Julie part-way through.

“…Two four-litres a’ chocolate and strawberry milk, extra-butter popcorn, tub a’ fudge brownie Ben n’ Jerries, a microwave bean burrito, a box a’ Kleenex, and two redbox movies, Up! And Big Hero 6. That’s what you left the store with last night, Frank. You can’t do this to me, I got five people waitin’ in line for your job, I can’t keep goin’ easy on you ‘cuz you were Sally’s kid.” Julie’s response follows with a sigh. Frank lowered his green eyes to the floor to watch his feet drag around the Dalmatian-themed carpet.

“…I’m sorry.” Came the apologetic voice of a clearly disheartened man. “…won’t happen again.”

“Mmm… mmm… alright… I… trust you… Frank.” Julie replies with a steady tone, another sigh soon follows. “You got half an hour, else I’m ringin’ up Paul to start his shift early. You and I both know he ain’t gonna be too happy about that.” Her voice was affirmative, yet still fringed with a pitiful flavour that almost felt too afraid to let the big guy down.

“Got it, chief!” Frank forces out of his lips as he makes his way over to a tripod set up near the entrance of his room. A security-grade camera seemed to be poised upon it, flashing with a red light to show it was recording. Leaning down, he squinted an eye to peep through the lens.

“Yeah yeah… Ride like the wind, bullseye…” Mutters the annoyed voice of Julie, soon followed by a long beep to signal that she had hung up. Frank pocketed his phone and fiddled with the focus on the lens of his camera.

“Ain’t gonna fool me…” He mutters to himself incoherently to the phone conversation he had just endured. The lens of the camera displayed a shelf it was pointed toward. Upon the shelf were the standard Toy Story characters. An unsettling smirk crept out onto the pasty man’s face, forcing his chin to turn into two chins, then three, then four. “Oh crap I gotta’ get ready!” What was he waiting around for? He couldn’t let Julie down a fourth time in two weeks.

[To be continued]

#0 Frankly Teaser

This was written as a quick manuscript for school. The objective was to simply introduce the character and genre- and follow a commandment. The commandment was-
‘Breaking into a car’ (I know… odd.)

The ending of this is a bit rushed due to not only my time running out- but we were also limited to only two, double-spaced pages.

I hope you enjoy this!

Bio

Disney Disaster

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” I mutter, noticing a strange white mark on the back of my car. It was the remnants of a sticker that had been incorrectly torn off, leaving behind its sticky underbelly in a most unflattering manner. It was a silly little Mickey Mouse car sticker that I got on my third trip to Disney a few months ago; it didn’t bother me too much that it had been taken, but I still wanted to know why. I suppose living in Florida has its downsides; maybe people are just sick of seeing Disney? Or… maybe they can’t get enough of it.

Peering to my right was the downright oddest thing. A tiny red Beatle car, I didn’t care to check for any form of year or make (because I simply don’t care about cars that much), but there was something particularly odd about this car. From wheel to roof, the car was destroyed with Disney stickers. For all I know it could have been a blue car, but the amount of Minnie and Mickey stickers really set a different theme.

“Well, I suppose that really narrows my options as to where my sticker went.” I state in an exhale. The more I looked at the car, the more it annoyed me. I could care less about my sticker, but it was the fact that –that- person might have taken it. Shifting my gaze left and right, I scanned the parking lot for any signs of life. Other than a mother loading her horde of children into a minivan a few rows away, I was alone… and so I approach.

Reaching out, I grasp the handle of the passenger door to the Disney-disaster of a car. Wait, what was I doing? I pondered to myself. A satisfying click is heard as the handle wasn’t frozen in a locked position. My body settles and my shoulder shrug. If she was silly enough not to lock the car, I almost didn’t feel as bad. Then again, I am sure anyone would be repelled from even getting in a ten-foot radius of the vehicle.

The car door lets out an annoying squeal as it is opened, followed by what looked like an avalanche of plastic. Stacks upon stacks of Starbucks coffee-cups, all signed with different Disney-princess names: poorly spelled of course, for I wasn’t sure who ‘Cinderooli’ or ‘Rapronzil’ were. A blast of hot pineapple stench hits my nostrils like a slap in the face as I duck into the car: The culprit? An ‘Aloha’ air freshener shaped like a surf-board hanging from the rear-view mirror, but not just one, there was certainly about ten.

My body froze, not only because of the combination of disgust and impending doom of being caught, but also because of the fact I literally could no longer move forward due to the clutter. This car truly was the outcome of putting an entire Disneyland gift shop in a singular, tight space. The worst had not come yet, alas.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Comes a very deep voice from behind me. My bets were on it being a police officer or security guard. Turning around, I would have never expected to see just whom I saw.

Standing at a height of six foot and weighing a grand-total of all 101 Dalmatians put together, was a middle-aged man. Reaching into his Buzz Lightyear utility belt, he withdraws his weapons of choice: a Mickey-Mouse fly swatter and a spray bottle of factor nine-hundred sun cream. Now was definitely the time to run. I leap out of the small vehicle and start dashing away as fast as I physically could.

All I could hear were the distant yells of PG 13 insults as I outran him in the first few seconds. He could keep the silly sticker, I don’t think I could ever look at Disney merchandise the same after all that.