Saved by the Bell
I’ve spent a lot of time by myself this past month. During this time I have worked to achieve my masterwork. My narrative follows.
A ‘Saved by the Bell’ fan fiction
Written By ‘Professor’ Arion Londraville
“Screech,” Mr. Dewey repeated for the second time. The supple young boy turned away from his robot, Kevin, where he had been tirelessly tinkering. “Sorry, Mr. Dewey. I just had to make a few adjustments,” the boy replied. “Yes, I’m sure, but show and tell doesn’t last all day,” the teacher replied as Screech made his way to the front of the classroom.
Once in the front of the room Samuel ‘Screech’ Powers laid a nervous stare upon the class. This young Jewish boy had always been awkward in social situations, but fought through his tremors for the time being. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to show and explain to you my latest upgrades to Kevin. After many hours of work, Kevin now has the ability to send people through time, pick up girls, and make toast, and not necessarily in that order.” With a gulp, the young man brought his short speech to a stop for even he needed a moment to let the magnitude of the news sink in.
Zack, sloping back into the shape of his chair, spoke up in the moment’s silence. Talking out of turn was not uncommon for Zack, who was gifted with the skill of speechcraft, however, even he was surprised at the high-ceilinged statements. “Do you mean to tell us that your robot can send us to any time in history - ever?” Screech continued, “Yes, Zack. Allow me to demonstrate.”
To no avail, the nerd’s continuing eluded Zack. By the time Screech had even thought of forming his next sentence, Zack was already in a world draped with pink mist, daydreaming.
Ugh-
…
Okay, honestly, I’ve been trying to write this post for weeks. This task is at best, really fucking hard. My brain pulses and bleeds with every attempt I make to append a new paragraph. In all honesty, I have been confronted by the cold truth that Saved by the Bell fan fiction is my own personal 7th layer of Hell. Let you and I not tell each other lies, this pain and suffering also applies to the mere mention of the series.
In one sense, it’s a shame. No one shall ever know of how the girls were to be whisked away to Ancient Rome, how Zack and the guys get caught by the Roman guards in an attempt to save them, and how a masked gladiator would be their saving grace at the coliseum. No one will ever be allowed to learn the before mentioned gladiator is in fact Mr. Belding. Nor will I tell of how the kids travel with Kevin into the future for the Saved by the Bell / Star Trek Cross over (featuring both Kirk and Picard.)
There is no feasible way for me to continue with this charade. My undying hatred for all the reruns I have been subjected to make composing this fairy-tale impossible. I will not be finishing this story, not unless the almighty Himself commands me to do so. Until I read “Thou shall provide the LORD thy GOD with a humorous chronicle of Saved by the Bell foolishness” on a stone tablet, I am out for the count - TKO.
You see, every morning when I wake up, my little brothers are absorbed by this show’s magic vial of monkey business. Soon after, I arrive at work, where I find our own janitorial staff watching the lounge television during their break. Their eyes are ensnared by the very same wickedness. Allow me to emphasis again: this occurrence is daily. At night, [Adult Swim] on Cartoon Network - CARTOON Network mind you- has recently plastered its showcase with sickening variations of this same terrifying world.
I can no longer take the wacky adventures of Zack, Slater, Screech, Lisa, Jesse, Kelly, Max, Ox, Ms. Simpson, Mr. Belding, or, of course, Tori. May I no longer endure these glorified jokers, bloated with the humor of no less than three-thousand fallen angels? Seraphs that scream hideously as their radiance burns away into embers and ash, they descend into the ceaseless and everlasting dark. It is in this perverse underground that they will reside as banshees, tormenting me with each episode of this accursed show.
No more can I watch this machine, this vile black torment, this war waged upon us with bladed teeth. Please divulge the secret to ending this bone grinding device that gathers itself up from upon the bottom of black ocean, under a crimson-orange sky. Like a morbid hoax, our senses are to be devastated by this beastly atrocity as it drags behind it the entrails of the late 80’s. Show me where the illumination lights a path to a world once again without ‘Saved by the Bell.’
One Comment »