Of Mice and Kyrie

[dragonfire9788]

Alright, we all knew this was coming. From the Garnet Cave to the Hangout Tavern to the Title Advocacy Thread, one name has been quite prominent for awhile

That name is: Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX.

He is a mouse, deserving of his own backstory, plus he held a knife to my head just to get me to write this. So, now, read on, for this will show the life and death, triumph and more triumph, awesome and greatness of one mouse and his dream to open a restaurant named after himself. Read it.

Of Mice and Kyrie

By dragonfire9788

“Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX > Ravenhale.” ~ Knight of Scape

“Eek! A mouse!” ~ Housewives Around the World

“When listing things, the third thing listed must be different in a hilarious way.” ~ God Of Comedy

Prologue
“Brickhouse Meaty”

Born to be wild. Wildly born. This mouse was not Steppenwolf, but he could purchase them or mindshackle them completely if he ever felt like it. He was not very interested in rock and roll music like most rebellious teenagers and alternative people around the world. This was because he had invented rock and roll. After teaching it to Chuck Berry and Elvis, he had grown tired of the tune, so he turned to listening to other things. Things that he hadn’t invented, because they were just sad excuses for things that could hold up to the creations of this man. But he was not a man. Nor was he a woman. He was a mouse.
Yes, a mouse. Like the kind that you can find scurrying around your garage, spreading pestilence and inspiring cartoon characters. Walt Disney had tried to shape Mickey Mouse in this mouse’s image, but when he tried his best rendition, the paper exploded into flames, for no piece of parchment could contain the awesome that was this mouse. After that, he decided that, for the good of paper everywhere, no more drawings would be made of him.
While chasing the story for this biography, this writer came across several ashes, believed to be papers that once held the image of this mouse for only a few seconds. It was such an experience. Each burnt little piece of paper radiated awesome. After some experimenting, I discovered that my car, a black Chevy Impala, could run completely off of that paper. My car is still running as I write this. I haven’t filled my tank with gas in twelve years. Cars run off of awesome.
Unfortunately, awesome cannot be bottled or sold. It is like light. It travels through the air and illuminates the world. After showing this evidence to several top men, they concluded that the best renewable resource was burnt pictures of this mouse, but he did not permit it, for he did not want trees to die in vain. He was a good mouse, allowing countries to have independence and children the right to go to school instead of coal mines. For it he wanted to, he could conquer the world in 2.4 seconds. The two seconds is for a coffee break.
His name was barely able to fit on paper. The awesome of it was not nearly enough as his image, but you could feel the paper radiate awesome when you wrote it. It was almost unbearable knowing your name (something silly like Paul or Dave) could never amount to the awesome that was this mouse’s name. I will now have to devote an entire paragraph just for it.
Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX.
That was his name. No one knows where he came from or how he got his name. Nobody, not even top men.
“We don’t know where he came from or how he got his name!” A top man said, before getting back to the Ark of the Covenant.
All we do know about Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX is that he rose from the seas one day, shocking a crowd of onlookers in Bristol, England. They were there to watch a game of Ye Olde Football. He was a mouse, about the size of a small dog, and he just walked out of the waves and onto the beach. He strode forth, allowing the citizens to admire his totally awesome blue color, for he was blue, but in a literal way. The mayor came down from the Ye Olde Press Box and gave the mouse his top hat after having a short conversation with him.
Following behind him were four sharks wearing gold chest plates and holding gold tridents. Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX told the seemingly kind mayor of Bristol that these creatures were his posse. As long as he stuck around, they would be there too. The sharks were named after members from the popular rock band, The Who. Pete, Roger, Keith, and John. The mayor wanted to have a conversation with them.
“Where are you from?” The mayor asked.
“I can’t explain,” Pete responded.
“Who are you?” Roger asked.
“I’m the mayor. Who are you?”
“Baba O’ Reilly,” Keith said with a grin.
Gesturing back towards Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX (whose name can never be abbreviated to just Thurston) with his thumb, the mayor said, “But he just told me your name was Keith.”
“It’s not enough, won’t get fooled again,” John told him with a cryptic tone in his voice.
“What? That doesn’t make sense!” The mayor threw up his arms.
“I can see for miles!” Pete shouted while the mayor went back to Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX.
With a little bartering, which really means that Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX got what he wanted in return for not destroying the town, the mayor finally decided to let the mouse and his posse stay in the Motel Six in town. After they stayed one night, they immediately demanded another place to stay.
“Plus, John wants to watch Six Feet Under,” Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX had told the mayor the next day.
“Substitute!” John demanded.
The mayor actually understood that, but he didn’t understand why the chap didn’t use full sentences. So, he switched them to the Holiday Inn by the sea and they were much happier and there were no more threats of town destruction. The mayor had tipped his hat to the new constitution as the town grew fonder with Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX every single day he remained there. He had sent his sharks off to build an orphanage.
When it was completed and the orphans moved in, Pete had this to say: “The kids are alright!”
Yes, all was well. Business went on normally in the town. Merchants came in from Scotland and Wales, ships brought in spices from India, and foreign people were made fun of as long as they weren’t omnipotent. Huzzah for mistreatment! Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX and his posse began to become more involved in community matters. They went to PTA meetings, paid taxes, and participated in the local talent show. That last one didn’t go over too well, since Keith accidently was mistaken for a horse and tranquilized. Luckily Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX was an acclaimed drum player with a debut album coming out the following March.
It sold three billion copies.
Before it was on shelves.
But one day, the owner of the Holiday Inn demanded that Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX and his posse pay the bill for their prolonged stay at the hotel. As none of the sharks had acquired jobs and the mouse gave all his album money to orphans with diseases, they were flat broke. Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX had always assumed that the mayor was footing the bill. Apparently that was not so. He stamped off to the mayor’s office to see what the deal was. While that was happening, the sharks went to the beach and played with the Wright Brothers, who took the sharks under their wing and taught them how to be champion Ultimate Frisbee players.
Meanwhile at the mayor’s office, relationships were being tested.
“Meredith, stop!” The mayor shouted into the telegraph. “Why are we still housing that rotten mouse with the stupid name and his sharks that speak in riddles, stop?”
A few minutes later, she responded. “I don’t know, sir, stop. Maybe you could scramble the militia, stop. Maybe the king’ll loan you some soldiers, stop. Or maybe you make an awful biopic about them that ruins their reputation and forces them to flee to Scotland, stop.”
“That dirty Alastair MacDrik would deserve them in Scotland, stop. Mooching off of your hospitality, stop. Not in my town!”
“You’re town, what, sir, stop?”
“Oh, sorry, stop. My fault, stop. Has our partisan funding ever reached its recipient up there, stop? That ‘The Enlightened One’, stop?”
“He said he didn’t need any help, stop.”
“Uh, well I could sure use his help here.”
“You say ‘stop’ after a sentence, sir, stop.”
“Oh, yes, sorry.”
He forgot.
“Stop.”
“Stop what, stop?”
“Stop nothing, stop.”
“You only say it at the end, stop.”
“I know, stop.”
“The mouse is here, stop.”
The mayor groaned. “Send him in.”
On the other end of the door, Meredith, the mayor’s secretary, sat at her desk reading the message the mayor had just send him. Why didn’t he finish his sentence? Didn’t he know there was a mouse with a confusing name and his top hat standing out here? She looked down at the telegraph wire that went from her desk and into his office. This really didn’t make sense. Carrier pigeons were much more efficient and environmentally friendly, but did they really need this when they were only a few feet from each other? She picked up a pencil she had on her desk and the notepad next to it. Flipping through it, she hummed some popular music.
“He has a lot of appointments,” She said while putting on reading glasses. “I can get you one now, stop.”
“Stop what?” Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX asked.
She blushed. “Oh, sorry. Force of habit.”
Must’ve been a human thing. “Anyway, I need to see the mayor now. I can clear up his appointments now, if he wants me to.”
Punching his left hand with his right fist, Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX motioned at the people sitting in the chairs along the wall behind him. One was flipping through a tabloid newspaper. Apparently Richard III and his wife were raptor aliens. When you had a portrait made at the right time, you could see it in his eyes. Quite scary indeed.
“No, no, that’s okay. He’ll see you right away.” Meredith pressed a button and the doors to the mayor’s office swung open.
Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX stepped inside.
Sitting at his desk, twiddling his thumbs, the mayor stared at the mouse as he walked into the office. It had fine carpet with wooden walls. There was a window, showing the wonderful English countryside right behind the mayor’s desk. In front was a simple chair. He would rather stand. He also noticed that the mayor had tacky taste in paintings as there was just a simple painting of a sailboat on the right wall.
“Thurston!” The mayor exclaimed, on purposely ticking off the mouse. “Good to see you! How are things at the Holiday Inn? How is Seamus? I haven’t seen him since we were dentist and they ran out Novocain. Man, was that hilarious. Anyway, what can I do for you?”
Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX, ticked off about the mayor’s abbreviation of his name, ran up the desk and slammed the bill onto it, scaring the poor old mayor. He had a certain way of doing that. “I thought you were covering this!”
The mayor put on his best confused look. “I never said such.” He ran his eyes over the bill and widened his eyes when he read the number. I’d like to thank the academy, he thought. “That’s quite a lot, though. Ten months in a suite will do that to you.”
“I was under the assumption you were paying for this.”
“I’m not. That would be taxpayers money and they wouldn’t like that.”
“I’m a taxpayer and I don’t like this!”
“Well, Thurston, you have two options. You can either pay the bill or you can run. If you elect to do the latter, I’ll have to arrest you.”
Excellent, the mayor thought. He can’t pay the bill because he doesn’t have any money. That’ll get him in debtor’s prison, which we still totally have. If he runs, I can arrest him and throw him in the new “prison” I built in the bottom of the river. The townspeople will surely agree with that. They’re stupid. They like mice with long names one day and suited men with bowl cuts the next. I win, because I’m an awesome mayor. I should change my name to The Enlightened One, just like that man up north in Scotland. However, I’ll also have to hire some people to prove I came up with it first. I know, I’ll invent a patent office and patent it! I’ll make millions! Oh wait, the mouse is talking now.
“I know what to do!”
The mayor smiled. “Do you, now?”
“I’ll run for mayor!”
That was strange. “Election isn’t up for another two years.”
With that, Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX leapt up and kicked the mayor out the window, causing him to the fall to his death on the newly paved sidewalk down below. It was made from newly recalled Shards of Glass Freeze Pops.
“It is now.” Little did that mayor know that Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX could read minds. He’ll destroy Bristol and move on to another town.
Maybe there he will open a Brickhouse restaurant. He’ll serve meat there. Call it the Olive Garden. Genius.

[mysterium]

So thats what the CoN scoreboard meant...
The Enlightened One strikes again... only to be beat up by the she-elf.

[Knight of Scape]

Hooray! You finally got around to writing this! I like it! I use lots of exclamation points! I'm wasting virtual ink by making this post longer without really saying anything! That's bad! Or maybe it doesn't really matter! Or maybe it does! Or maybe I should just end this post! Or maybe Thurston (whose name is ABSOLUTELY NEVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES abbreviated to just Thurston) is awesome! Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX loves long posts on his thread! And he loves exclamation points! So he loves this post! But it's not as awesome as the post he made! It was a googleplex exclamation points! But it's too awesome for mere mortals to see! So we can't see it! But we can marvel at how awesome it must be and wish we can see it! Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX would be mad if I tried to rival the awesomeness of his own post with mine! Mine might be more popular because people can see it! But somehow it isn't! Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX has been repped five billion times for the post no one can see! If he plus rep's you your rep becomes infinity! If he neg reps you, you're banned! He's an administrator! On every website, even those that don't have administrators! He's awesome! I don't have time to write forever about his awesomeness, even though he deserves it! So I'll end this post right here! Or maybe here! Or maybe I'll just add a sig line!
~Knight of Scape, co-creator of Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX!

[dragonfire9788]

Next time on "Of Mice and Kyrie":

Thurston Wellington Olive Garden MIX meets a special someone. "Grandma!"
Will the gang be able to open an Olive Garden and have enough money to serve delicious food there with awesome breadsticks?
"Pictures of Lily!" Pete says.
And is the mayor really dead?
"I'm dead," Says the mayor.

Thrills!

Chills!

Tune in next week (soon) to answer these questions and more!