Carl had a big problem.
A huge problem.
An impossibly ginormous incredibly terrible problem.
Carl loved eating boogers.
Love isn’t even the right word for it. Carl was absolutely addicted to eating boogers.
It had become so much of a problem that his friends had started calling him Booger-Kicking Carl. No one was quite sure why he wasn’t called Booger-Eating Carl instead, but the name had stuck nonetheless.
Finally, Carl, after feeling like he could take the teasing no longer, chose to visit the Doctor.
The Doctor seemed like a nice man and when he told Carl he had a cure, Carl was ecstatic.
The only problem was, the cure required Carl to eat some of the Doctor’s specially formulated Blue Boogers!
Carl took the bottle of boogers home and stared at them, wondering how it could be possible that the only way to kick his habit of eating boogers was to eat these blue boogers.
Curiosity got the best of him, and he finally, slowly, trepidatiously, placed the first of the blue boogers on his tongue.
The taste was absolutely terrible! It was easily the worst thing that had ever happened to Carl’s mouth. And he began to realize that maybe the Doctor had a worthwhile idea. If all of the boogers he was eating were this terrible, he couldn’t possibly want to eat any more of them.
Then something began to happen. It started at his toes, but quickly ran up to his nose. Spikes began spouting out all over his body. Large dangerous spikes. Followed by great swaths of hair which tufted out at the bottom of the spikes. But the most terrible thing was yet to follow.
Carl began to grow.
Within seconds he found himself growing from a normal 4 foot boy into a gargantuan 100 foot monster.
And Carl began walking. He didn’t realize he was walking, he hadn’t wanted to walk anywhere, but he was walking. Try as he might to crumple up into a ball and hide, he continued forward, heading toward the city center, where he knew there were thousands of people who could easily get injured by his footsteps if he went near them.
But Carl had lost all control of his own body.
Finally, Carl stopped. Directly in front of his school. And he heard himself yell out in a terrible voice, “Mrs. Picklebottom!”
Mrs. Picklebottom? Carl thought to himself. That’s my math teacher. Why I come here to find her?
A frail old lady walked out the front door and stared up in fear at the giant monster before her.
“Do you see me now?” Carl’s voice ruptured the air. “Do you see what I have done? I have created the most amazing monster. And you told me I could never get anywhere without learning math!”
What am I talking about? Carl thought to himself. I’m awesome at math, and Mrs. Picklebottom has always been the nicest of teachers to me. None of this makes any sense.
“Doctor?” Mrs. Picklebottom questioned. “Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me!” Carl growled. “And now you will pay for giving me an F!”
“Hold up!” The Badger said, standing between Mrs. Picklebottom and Booger-Kicking Carl, the absolutely most ridiculous of monsters. “What the hell is all of this?”
Adam said, from atop Carl’s head, “This is your monster story, right?”
“No, not a chance,” The Badger responded. “My monster story was epic. This is more like some sort of kid’s book about, I don’t know, about not letting other people control you or something.”
“Oh crap,” Adam replied, jumping down from Carl’s head and landing gracefully at the Badger’s side, “I think this was one of the story’s my kids and I came up together.”
“You see,” The Badger frowned. “This is why I need to be in charge.”
“But I didn’t actually think of it,” Adam answered.
“Uh oh,” The Badger replied, allowing for a sense of foreboding with a side of foreshadow.