Does anyone happen to recall the cartoon “Dennis the Menace?” It was a show about a boy named Dennis who was a menace. Now before you discard my terrible tale as sheer bafoonery on the behalf of a mentally unstable pathological liar, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up because what you’re about to hear is possibly the most horrible tale any singular human being in the history of human beings in history could “possibly” comprehend.
Listen, I am a grown man and I have no intention of frightening you. But you will inevitably end up afraid because this is the most shocking and terrifying thing that has ever happened to anyone that has watched Dennis the Menace.
I initially acquired the VHS from a local billionaire/gypsy named PQ Barnabus Pennywhistle. And by “acquired”, I mean stole from an unmarked van. As I ran in the other direction, PQ Barnabus, or Steve as he liked to be called, told me that if I watch that tape I will become beset with a fate so horrible that even the family dog will turn his head in the other direction and scorn me. I told him I didn’t have a family dog and threw a large brick at his head. It missed his head and ended up killing Fedora, his family dog. PQ ripped off his Fedora (The hat, not the dog, though the hat was named after the dog) And drove off into the sunset, filing a police report as he did so.
I went home, got myself a hearty plate of eggs, bacon and hashbrowns, popped a bag of old Orville Redenbacher, busted out the Lays baked potato chips, foamed up a glass of ice cold, refreshing A&W and began glazing a warm Christmas ham. It was April, but ham is always in season unless you are jewish.
As I bit down on the ham, hashbrowns, popcorn, chips and glass of soda, I noticed something…strange about this VHS tape. And by strange I mean that it didn’t work. I popped it out, blew on the tape, licked the plastic piece and poured Mr. Clean all over it. The VHS cover was frayed. I could only make out “Ennis” the Menace. Strange…
Just then, my phone rang. It was my neighbor, Mr. Wilson. He demanded to know why I, a 36 year old man, had left a comedically large pair of rollerskates on his lawn. He had tripped on it and evidently gotten a severe head wound. I abruptly hung up on this menacing phone call and prepared to watch the VHS.
Dennis looked…different. I mean I’m a huge fan of Dennis the menace. My name is also Dennis Menachos, purely a coincidence because my father was a Hispanic immigrant.
Dennis looked deeply sad. He had blood pouring from both of his eyes and he was holding a spoon. “Gouge it away.” He said. “GOUGE IT AWAY!” he screamed. Dennis began slitting his wrists with the dull spoon, attempting to remove all of his sensory organs. There is a still shot of an open wound with a hole in it and blood pouring from Dennis’ head. It was flowing in long spurts and dripping all over the cartoon stylized carpet. All of a sudden the tape flickered.
“What’s all that RACKET!?” A voice yelled. It was Mr. Wilson. Not my neighbor, the Mr. Wilson from the tv show. The scene cuts to Mr. Wilson walking out to get the morning paper, but he looks more depressed. He wanders a bit, trips on some comedic rollerskates and falls with a loud crack. His neck snaps like two wishbones wedged inside a Christmas ham in an attempt to murder someone.
But no one would murder with a Christmas ham…
All of a sudden we cut to Dennis tied up in the backyard. Evidently his father thinks that there is a demon inside him that needs to be exorcised. He starts digging a shallow, coffin-shaped grave and pushes Dennis into it as he screams and cries. “Hey, cool fort!” dennis exclaims as his father shovels dirt onto him. A catholic priest begins smiling sinister as he sprays holy water into dennis’ face. He picks up a strange racket. “I’m going to show you 40 love…” the priest murmurs.
Wait a minute- racket? 40 love?
I looked at the VHS tape. This wasn’t dennis the menace…the cover was frayed. This was…TENNIS THE MENACE! I screamed in horror, so audibly loud that my neighbor got spooked. He was fixing up his roof, but now he fell backwards.
“It’s tennis the menace!” I screamed. “Tennis the menace!” This didn’t make any sense at all. I mean this wasn’t a horrifying twist. A slight inconvenience, but there’s nothing scary about tennis.
Or so I thought.
Or. So. I. Thought.
My doorbell rang. Wait a minute, I don’t have a doorbell. It was just someone yelling “Bing Bong!” really loudly outside my window.
What I saw next made me drop the Christmas ham all over my Persian rug and sofa set and sent lays potato chips flying like confetti in all directions.
Mr. Wilson’s head… was a giant tennis ball.
The massive tennis ball smiled at me. It had no eyes, no ears, no nose, lips or mouth. It was just an unthinking, unfeeling tennis ball. And quite menacing, at that. I heard some weird, sizzling noise, like someone had hooked up a makeshift vhs tape player inside of it that was playing dennis the menace episodes.
“Oh my god!” I screamed. I ran outside and tripped on a pair of comedic rollerskates. A certain degree of haggard dishevelment overtook me as I faceplanted into the concrete. The tennis ball man was coming for me.
Just then I remembered that I was the executive producer of Space Jam. I fumbled for my iPhone and called up Michael Jordan. Within five minutes he was at my house, dressed in basketball attire. “I’m gonna slam dunk this matherfacker!” Michael Jordan said, affirmatively. He picked up the tennis ball man and slammed him into the basketball hoop in my backyard. The head popped off…revealing that it was actually Mr. Wilson. His face was a little beaten up, but it was him. “It was all a prank, Dennis.” He said. “I wanted to get back at you, you, you rambunctious ne’er do well.” Michael Jordan smiled at me. Wait a minute, I was the executive producer of a high school rendition of space jam. Michael smiled at me, licked his gums and took out a large jar of strawberry jam. He…was wearing a Halloween costume. He took the Michael Jordan mask off, revealing that he was actually Mr. Wilson.
Wait a minute.
Am I mr. Wilson.
Michael Wilson Jordan Menace smiled at me, the two of them. “Maybe I’m mr. Wilson, and you’re dennis the menace. Or maybe you’re mr. Wilson, and I’m dennis the menace. Or maybe we’re both mr. Wilson, and the world is dennis the menace.” I took off my shoe and threw it at his head. They both exploded into confetti and golf balls as the unmarked van pulled up to my house.
A strange man came up to me and smiled. “I hope you enjoyed your little VHS program, because the experiment is finished.” I looked into the van. Thousands of copies of dennis the menace vhs tapes. Bennis the menace, Penis the menace, Venice the menace, the list went on, listening thousands of things that rhyme with dennis. He threw a copy of Pennies the Menace at my head as I fumbled for my phone. I was calling the cops.
Michael Jordan smiled at me. His eyes were completely yellow. “I have jaundice.” He whispered. Jaundice the menace. Of course.
He smiled wider. His teeth were sanded and sharp. Dentist the menace. My god. And I, Dennis Menachos, was Spanish the menace. That rhymed, sort of. So the tapes were real. Mr. Jordan began to bite into a large head of lettuce as he smiled at me. “Lettuce the menace.” He smiled. “I get it.” I said. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”
I got up and walked back into my house but they followed me and stared on the lawn. What the fucking shit. Mr. Jordan began eating a Danish. “Replenish the menace!” They yelled. “Replenish the menace!” Someone threw a plastic skeleton on my lawn and began screaming loudly. It wasn’t scary but it was really hurting my ears. I went outside and beat all of them to death with a baseball bat as a man began to draw and animate everything that was doing. “Oh yes.” He said. “Very inspiring.”
I beat him to death with a tennis racket, locked my door and enjoyed the rest of my Christmas ham.