| Home / College Guide / SBST Voting Thread-Margaritaville - Fan-Fic - Comic Vine |
| Posted on Saturday, September 13 @ 00:00:42 PDT |
Most of you know the drill. For those who may not, the only rules here were to write a story that the song title brings to mind for you, and to include the song title as at least part of your storys title.
The voting rules:
READ the stories, PICK your favorite one, and CAST your VOTE! If you wrote, you should vote! (Its just sporting) No voting for yourself. (Also sporting) The voting deadline is Friday, September 26, at 11:59 PM NYC time Remember: All are welcome to vote - writer or reader - and the winner gets to pick the next song title. The Curse of the Margaritaville by mrmonster
The Coast of South Carolina…
My grandmother told Mr. Walker that the land he was stealing to build his new resort was sacred to the Gullah Geechee people. It had been in her family for over two-hundred years, but due to a weird loophole in their original deed, any single member of the family could agree to sell the entire land, and some greedy beachfront property developer from New York City was eager to get a prime spot of beachfront land for an almost insulting price. He just had to find our deadbeat cousin Mike and get him to sign a couple places.
My grandmother warned him that ancient, powerful water spirits known as simbi protected the land, and that one day he would pay the price for what he’d done.
But he never listened.
“Welcome to The Margaritaville Hotel Restaurant.” I told a family of obese, sunburned tourists sitting at a booth. “I’ll be taking care of you, my name’s…”
“We don’t need to know your name.” The dad said. “Beer for me, whatever you got on tap. Water for the rest.”
“I’ll be right on that, sir.” I said. If you can appreciate a little irony, four years after our family’s farm land was demolished to build a beach hotel, I was working at its restaurant, spending my summer serving cheeseburgers and fried chicken to tourists. It was humiliating, but I had to save up for college somehow and they seemed to be the only place on the island still hiring.
“Hi there.” A man said as he approached the bar. This man stood out so much I thought he was here by mistake; in a restaurant where all the other guests were wearing shorts, tank tops, or swimsuits, he was wearing a full suit and tie. I knew I recognized him, but not sure where. But I figured it out when my shift manager said “Oh, Mr. Walker, how can I help you?”
Then it occurred to me; this was Mr. Walker, the man who took everything from my family, gave us pennies for our land only to charge $200 a night for rooms at his hotel.
“Here, let me get a server. This is…”
“Crawfish. Side of mashed potatoes and vegetables” Mr. Walker said.
After some time passed, and Mr. Walker began eating almost his bodyweight (which was a lot, this was a rather obese fellow) in crawfish, older woman entered the restaurant and began staring at Mr. Walker.
“Can I help you?” He asked.
“Oh, I believe you’ve helped enough already.” She said. Suddenly, the sky went from clear & sunny to gray & cloudy.
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Walker asked.
“I know the truth. The truth that you used a loophole in a generations old deed, and the signature of a destitute alcoholic that’s never been here before, to rip the rightful owners off their land for pocket change.”
“Listen, lady.” Mr. Walker said as he got up. “I did everything legally. I negotiated a fair price for the land, paid it in full, and now built something beautiful here. So if you don’t like it…”
Then, the woman opened her mouth, to reveal razor sharp, animal-like teeth. She rushed towards his booth and bit him, right in the center of his neck.
“GET OFF! GET THE **** OFF OF ME!” Mr. Walker shouted and he tried to push her away, to no avail.
Even when my manager and I tried to pull her off, somehow neither of us could compete with the strength of an old woman half our size.
Once she was done, she left the restaurant, and walked to the beach. I could be wrong, but as she reached the water, she grew a fish-like tail, almost like a mermaid.
Of course, we called the police and the paramedics, but there was nothing they could do except declare him dead and clear away the body.
Unfortunately, we still never got our land back. The land changed hands a couple times after Mr. Walker’s death to the point where it just ended up being a condo complex. But still, at least then it was owned by people actually living on the island.
As scared as I was that day, I’ll always cherish the memory of greedy old Mr. Walker getting his neck sliced wide open.
Magaville by @referee
Trump laid in his silk pajamas, on a soft king size bed with silk sheets and a goose feathered pillow.
Already he was grunting and groaning as he rolled from side to side.
“Goodnight, Donald.” says Melaniaas she kisses him on the forehead, “Remember you are the President of everything.”
She then fluffs his pillow again as she prepares to leave to her own bedroom, but not before giving Alexa one last order to make Donald happy.
“Alexa” she says hoping to leave as soon as possible, “Play Donald’s sleep track.
With that said, she closes the door behind her and the soft sounds of Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville begins playing.
Once again Donald grunts and groans as he tries to get comfortable, then slowly slowly goes to sleep.
Soon enough he begins to dream, but not any normal rational dream, he dreams of Magaville where he alone is the President of Everything.
He now stands a strapping six foot three, with a body jacked and ripped like a professional bodybuilder. His skin is a perfect brown tan and his hair is still the same cut and style but three times larger. There on the top of his overgrown hair rests an over sized MAGA hat that manages to stay on as he flies around over a golden stage with a golden mike and a giant banister reading President of Everything Donald Trump.
He then flies down to the mic as he looks out across his fans, that is nothing more than waves and waves of big breasted perfect women, all in tight bikinis and all wearing MAGA hats.
Even before he says a word the women jump up and down, as their breasts bounce, then immediately stop as he prepares to speak.
“Make America Great again!” Trump says in his trademark fashion, as the crowd begins to jump up and down again.
Soon enough an old crippled man slowly makes his way forward with a camera over his shoulder with the words ‘Fake News’ on the side. “Mr. President of Everything Donald Trump,” he says while looking weak and intimidated. “a few questions.”
“Who stole the lost shaker of salt?” the news reporter asked as all eyes were on Trump.
And without skipping a beat, he answers, “It was the Democrats, they stole your salt, they are evil and don’t want you to have salt.” Already his hands were moving side to side as he goes on. “I of course want to give you salt, but the Democrats want to take it.”
Then as only he can he goes on. “I of course have never lost salt, I know exactly where the salt is in the White House as I have an impeccable sense of memory. In fact I know where everything is at every second.”
By now the crowd was cheering even louder as several women yelled, “Grab us President of Everything Donald Trump. Grab us right now!”
But as loud as they shouted, the crowd still went silent as the news reporter asked his second question.
“Mr President of Everything Donald Trump,” he says while being humble “I hate to bother you, but who is the woman to blame?”
Once again without missing a beat he shouts, “It’s crooked Hillary! It’s always crooked Hillary.
She’s to blame, she’s the evil one, she’s the one that wants to take everything away from you.” Then with that same glazed expression on his face he continues, “Kamala too, she is evil and should be put in jail that is why I took away her secret service protection, not because I am petty but because she is evil and wants to destroy your way of life.”
By now the women in the crowd were taking their tops off and twirling them in the air, just as their breasts grew larger. “Marry us” they chant among other sexual references as they heave their breasts up and down.
But once again the crowd goes silent as the news reporter asks his final question. In a weak pathetic tone, he is too shy to look Trump in the eyes, and instead turns away as he asks, “who is this Nobody and is it his fault?”
Immediately Trump leans into the mic and with a smile on his face he shouts, “It’s Obama’s fault, it has always been Obama’s fault. Unlike me he was the worst President ever whereas I am the greatest. I alone save America whereas Obama tried to destroy it. He and Biden did the bad things that I alone fixed and made better. It was me and only me, I am the greatest!”
Suddenly back in the real world, Donald is awakened by a touch on his shoulder, as he spins around to see who it is, he sees an old Mexican woman in a maid’s uniform with rubber gloves on her hands and holding cleaning supplies.
“Sorry to wake you,” she says while trying to hold back her contempt, “but you have pooped again in your sleep and I need to change your diapers.”
And with that a rather undignified act begins with a rather undignified man!
Ill add votes as I see them.
Story/Writer Votes The Curse of the Margaritaville by mrmonster Magaville by referee mrmonster
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