• Welcome to Autism Forums, a friendly forum to discuss Aspergers Syndrome, Autism, High Functioning Autism and related conditions.

    Your voice is missing! You will need to register to get access to the following site features:
    • Reply to discussions and create your own threads.
    • Our modern chat room. No add-ons or extensions required, just login and start chatting!
    • Private Member only forums for more serious discussions that you may wish to not have guests or search engines access to.
    • Your very own blog. Write about anything you like on your own individual blog.

    We hope to see you as a part of our community soon! Please also check us out @ https://www.twitter.com/aspiescentral

GET the COOKIE

As Martha Scissors Stewart and I ride up to the airstrip, we watch as you soar into the distance. On the tarmac, there stands a lone vigilante, with truth and justice beaming from his golden red hair. It is Walker Texas Ranger.

He looks over at us and sees her, the woman he misses, the only one for him, Martha Stewart. They had a passionate affair back in the late seventies, when he was but a humble martial artist, and she a simple girl, with dreams of becoming a housewife, not yet hardened by a life of crime.

She climbs off the bike, and runs into his awaiting arms. He offers her the world, and she tells him that she only wants the cookie, and her heart is his forever.

His ginger soul musters up all the righteousness held in the American Dream, and suddenly his steely blue eyes emanate a tractor beam that pulls your plane back to the landing strip.

He pulls out a walkie talkie and explains the situation to his friend Macguiver. Suddenly, on a lasso made of duct tape, a twinkie, and seven pennies, Macguiver swings into the cockpit of the plane, smashing the window glass, grabs the cookie, and then does a triple backflip onto the ground below. You are in shock and can do nothing but stare.

He runs over and hands Walker Texas Ranger the cookie. He gives it to Martha, as a pledge of his undying affection. "Everything up to this point," he pleads, "has been to make America a safer place for you, my love."

Martha looks over at me and says, "Hey kid, I think you'll need this.", and tosses me the cookie. I nod my head in a gesture of thankfulness.

I put the cookie in my pocket and walk away from the airport. I hail a cab, and mention that I'd like the driver to take me to the nearest Motel 6. As I drive away, I look back on to the tarmac and witness the purest and most passionate kiss.... and I think I can hear America the Beautiful playing gently on the wind.

image

A photo of Walker Texas Ranger's Lady Fair, Martha "The Scissors" Stewart on her motorcycle of doom.
 
Last edited:
@Yeshuasdaughter donated some clothing to a charity shop and guess what my
grandma found in the pocket of one of the items, when she was volunteering?

A cookie. My grandma knows how much I like cookies so she gave it to me and I
put it in the darkest corner of my grandpa's barn.
 
I've been a bit hard on my luck lately. Sleeping in carboard boxes by the train tracks and in mini mart bathroom stalls. You know the story.

When I saw your gramma's barn, I knew I was in the money! I packed all my sardine cans into my knapsack and went inside. I find an empty horse stall, and buried in the hay, I find my cookie.

Then and there, I endeavor to clean myself up, and strive for success. I go get a job as a CEO at a marketing firm in New York City, in the Chrysler Building. I go in the back office and lock up the cookie in my safe, and go out on the town for a power lunch, thankful for how far I've come .
 
Succumbing to relentless pressure from various interested parties I decide it's time to go out and get a job! I hang up my jedi robes in the closet, put my old floppy hat on a shelf and cut off alot of hair. Like alot alot. Big city here I come!

I always wanted to be a mail cart guy at a big building somewhere, so I get a job in the mailroom at @Yeshuasdaughter building, and start doing the thing.

I recognize her right away of course because of all my training that I have had, but she cant tell who I am without my steampunk gear i used to wear and all that hair I used to have.

While she is busy doing a PowerPoint presentation in high heels and a business suit I crack the safe in her office and boost the cookie. I go right back to singing "rubberband man" and pushing my cart around with none the wiser, with MY cookie in an extra large medicine bag I wear under my shirt.
 
As you're putting the cookie into your medicine bag, you hear a strange "squeaky-squeaky" like a rubber duck would make. You realize you've been had, and it's just a fake cookie.

Oh you need to be careful of those street vendors in NYC. They will sell you cheap Chinese knockoffs for pennies on the dollar, and swear it's the real thing.

In the safe, I had purposely hid a dog toy shaped like a cookie that I had gotten from a bodega on 215th Street in the Bronx.

Due to the fact that I am uber rich and that I am sick of covid masks, I am on extended vacation in Cozumel, Mexico. I take all my meetings by Zoom chat.

I use this opportunity to hide the cookie inside a Mayan pyramid filled with booby traps.

Now I just rest on the beach under a big umbrella while singing, "If you like Pina Coladas".
 
Last edited:
Yes, you are foiled. I'm just a sittin' here on the beach in Cozumel, working on my freckle-burn tan. Meanwhile the cookie is safe, deep inside a Mexican pyramid.

Bwahahahahaha!
 
Betrayed by my homeboy walker and outclassed by ms. Stewart, I go to a certain bar I know of in visalia and post a lost kitten picture up on the bulliten board there and go back to the RV to wait.

After a few days have gone by, I check in with the bartender and learn that there has been a reply. I know I have to be careful, as these are very scary people I am trying to contact, but I'm desperate for my cookie, and all out of options.

I call the number that the bartender has for me and arrange a meeting in a grocery store in Tucson. It's been years since I tried to make contact, and I am more than a little nervous.

I shave my legs and don my second favorite disguise of all time before going inside for the meet. I look alot like Dianne Fienstien. And with a little makeup and a wig, well let's just say I have been in the legislature building before and leave it at that.

Sure enough there is someone near the entrance trying to get signatures for another petition. This one is a new law to put a tax on homemade icecubes. I am totally in support of this measure of course, all 758 pages of it.

I use a code phrase with the petition dude and he hands me a note, concealed inside a box of stale, salt free ,organic, vegan, gluten free crackers, that look suspiciously like the cardboard box that they came in, but somehow manage to taste a bit like cheerios.

Following the directions on the note I proceed to a garage sale being held locally and after giving the secret recognition code I am hustled down to the meeting going on in the basement.

It's the screen actors guild! Long thought to have been routed out and gone the way if the payphone, I look around the room seeing many familiar faces, and to my utter amazement there on a clothes rack off to the side is something I haven't seen since 1985. It's my old costume.

Not many people know this about me but once I held a cherished role in an iconic american film, yes it's TRUE. I was chewbacca. I fled the limelight to pursue other interests when certain political changes happened and haven't seen any of these people for many years

Sure enough joining us at the meeting is Harrison Ford, my original partner in crime. After intense negotiations that involve me selling out entirely, Indiana Jones himself offers to help me recover MY cookie from the depths of it's new prison.

To pay for it all I have to do many unpleasant things, that involve wearing 50lbs of fake fur and going to conventions, and a few birthday parties. It's worth it I guess. I have my new SAG card in hand as we proceed to the spooky ruins to get the priceless treasure, my only love, my only desire, MY cookie.

Indiana Jones is easily able to defeat all the rather clever traps that guard the cookie, and we emerge from the pyramid a little dusty, but none the worse for wear with the real cookie.

As my old friend Indy drives off in a limo he says "we will be in touch, let's do lunch eh" and disappears in a cloud of dust.

I get back in the RV and go as quickly as I can to the only place I know of that I can go, where I can be safe. Somewhere you would never think to look. Somewhere you would never get to me, because they wouldn't let you in.

Days later I walk in the door and present my SAG card to the receptionist. Soon a security team arrives and escorts me to the sub basement, and into a secret annex where I am questioned for several hours about various isms and Trotsky, and Guevara, and others I am forbidden to mention. They finally accept me and take me in hand even deeper into the complex, still wearing my wookie costume.

Yes you guessed it, I have fled to the world headquarters of PETA, just me and my cookie, and a wookie costume. And a contract for a few appearances
 
As a former vegan, I know the world headquarters of PETA inside and out. In the mid 2000s, I helped them out during my stint in Earth First, putting glue in the locks of fur stores.

There also was that one time I released all the cows from a milk farm, and led them out into the forest. They got hungry and went back to their barns. It was pretty annoying, and my collapse to the ground, as I rent my garments and yelled "Noooooo!" was a viral video on youtube for weeks to come! Turns out my suffering makes good comedy.

Anyway, at the PETA headquarters I went through the alternate entrance: The Hollywood Freemasonic Lodge. After doing the secret handshake and bowing three times to the statue of Walt Disney, they opened up the back elevator for me.

I went down into the PETA headquarters. I see you quickly skittling like a bisquit into the access door through the SAG entrance.

Suddenly ominous wild west music plays. I stare you down.

"What are you doing here Wookieman- and why are you wearing a dress? Never mind, I don't wanna know. Anyway, you and I know this weird Hollywood cabal isn't big enough for the both of us."

You reach for your gun, but you forget, you are unarmed and instead you grab for the cookie and aim it right at me, point blank range. I snatch the cookie, and run.

You are right on my heels. I go into a service corridor and lock the door. I climb up a ladder and crawl out of a manhole on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Most people think it's Tom Hank's star. But I know better.
 
Last edited:
Dazed and confused in the bright lights of the street, you wander around for a while and the just as you are about to collapse from your ordeal you espy in the distance, like a beacon on a hill, a snow cone stand mounted onto a type of bicycle and shaded by a colorful umbrella, just like in GTA.

Grateful for the respite and quite parched you decide on, for some reason, a pina colada flavored snow cone and begin to enjoy it.

Just like a millenial that hasn't touched a phone in 3 minutes, you absently pat your pockets to reassure yourself that MY cookie is still in your possesion.

But you cannot find it. It's not in your beret. It's not in your fanny pack, it's not tucked inside your climbing harness or even in the pocket of your plate holder. It seems the cookie is missing?

As you cast about in a panic you see the snow cone vendor in the distance pedalling furiously and cackling with glee.

It was me all along. I picked your pocket! while you were making up your mind in between tropical punch and pina colada, I used one of those grabber things and gently eased MY cookie to safety.

The last you see of my cackling peddling kinda flapping backside is me turning a corner and jumping into a waiting van. My actor friends an I flee to the sanctuary of a genuine Republican owned golf course, where you have to prove that you like wearing polo shirts, eating mayonnaise, and wearing khaki pants, just to get in the gate.

I take up a job there as a bartender, after I encase the cookie in carbonite(just like in starwars) drop the encased cookie in a old storm drain, and fill the area around it with 2 tons of concrete, then weld it into a steel box, and then install a homemade burglar alarm on it that I got from RadioShack in the nineties.
 
You don't realize it, but I'm already there, standing outside the locker rooms, eating big gobs of mayonnaise straight out of the jar.

I tap the Starfleet com badge on my shirt, and call up my old friends, The Borg. They beam both me and the cookie encased in concrete, steel, and carbonite on board their cube. They use all their assimilation technology to try to uncase the cookie. After a week of struggle, we finally get down to the carbonite. Unfortunately, this is the wrong universe (star trek not star wars), so no one knows how to melt carbonite.

I suggest flinging it into the sun for just long enough to melt the carbonite, but not disintegrate the cookie.

Seven of Nine thinks it is a good idea, but will only help as long as I tell her old boyfriend, Skittlebisquit "Hi" next time I see him.

We fling the cookie into the sun, and watch as the carbonite instantly melts. As soon as we smell warm fudgy chocolate chips, we use one of those giant grabber thingies and retrieve the cookie. It's hot, so I leave it on a cooling rack on the counter.

We set a course back to earth, and I beam down in the middle of a cornfield in Nebraska, cookie in tow.

BTW, your girlfriend, Seven, says "Hi".

iu
 
Last edited:
Ah seven, the lovely impossible badass cyborg, how I miss her.
She broke my heart, but I dont mind, it was worth it.

As you pass out of the cornfield you see a rather charming country home under a shade tree looking like it came straight out of The Waltons.

You decide to stop in and ask for a ride or maybe a peanut butter sandwich. A wide wrap around porch greets you as you walk up the steps, and an.old fashioned screen door is before you, showing a dim view of a comforting interior. It looks pretty choice, all plaster and wainscoting. There is even some vintage kitsch on display inside, some plates on a self up high, a ceramic rooster on a countertop, an old rocker covered with a quilt...

A kindly and matronly woman in flower print dress and wearing an apron, answers your knock.

Approaching you and wiping her hands on a towel, she smiles warmly. It seems she has been baking pies. She listens to you patiently and smiles all the while and invites you in.

You sit in her yellow and green kitchen talking and of course you must have a slice of pie, or two. You start to feel drowsy and the kindly woman guides you to a quiet room for a little rest.

When you wake up, nothing is the same. Now you are locked in a dank cell. Oh no! You fell afoul of the amish mafia! And they have plans for you. Before any of that old yoder hitches up the team and goes to town and calls me up. I provide him with certain luxury items, in exchange for organic produce and straw hats, we go back.

They have already taken away the cookie from you, so when I get there I just pay yoder and take off for Switzerland .

Your new name is bella. You are getting trained in raking hay and bonnet making, but by then I am miles away, skiing all day, drinking too much swiss beer, and learning to yodel, just me and the cookie
 
Many people don't know this, but the Amish are Swiss-German. I plead my case to them in their native High-Deutsch dialect, and then share with them some proverbs by Menno Simons. They are so moved by my speech, that they repent from their evil ways, and resolve to live a quiet life of nonresistance once more. They send me off with my own horse and buggy, and pack me a lunch in a cute little basket. There are a baker's dozen cookies in there, but it's not the same.

Another little known Amish fact is that they buy former race horses at auction to pull their buggies. I detatch the buggy and climb on the back of "Old Tornado", 3x winner of the Kentucky Derby. We charge across the countryside, and see your airplane taking off in the distance. Drat! I wish Walker Texas Ranger were here right now, but he isn't. He's on honeymoon with his blushing bride, Martha.

As this is Nebraska, this is cowboy country. A cowgirl in a sparkly, fringed western shirt, and big hair is working at the ticket desk. I explain to her my plight, and that a low down dirty outlaw done stole my cookie. I tell her I'll trade my champion racehorse (who is also a champion Rodeo horse) for a ticket on the next flight to Switzerland.

As we land in Bern, I use my fluency in Swiss-German to explain my plight to my seatmate. He sympathetically offers me his BMW to borrow while I'm in the country. It goes 0-140 in two seconds.

I speed along the Autobahn and locate you, skiing down the Matterhorn, while yodeling. Unfortunately, if you knew as much about the Swiss-Germans as I do, you would know that you never yodel on the Matterhorn. Suddenly an avalanche overtakes you and you are washed down the mountain and land in a giant snowdrift, right in front of my car. I see that you're alright, and then I simply take the cookie out of the pocket of your lederhosen.

I turn the car around and drive 200 mph to Monaco. I could use a little celebration right now.
 
Last edited:
Skittlebisquit said:
Ah Monaco, James bond, casinos marble houses....
Click to expand...
As it turns out, I went to Monaco once, back when I was a Barbazon underwear model in the nineties. I made a few friends there. One of them is working there still at a casino as a trauma councilor and snack vendor.

When you arrive in Monaco cynthia brighthammer is one of the first people you meet, and she listens to your tale with compassion while selling you gummy bears at $6 each. Then she calls me up.

You just cant trust anyone these days, I guess.

When I get there you are deep in the throes of a sugar high and dont notice me slip up behind you and lift the cookie from your backpack.

I give my old friend a generous tip and some coupons I had and take off for the airport. But its closed. So I decide to go up country for awhile and meet up with a band of desperados who are smuggling teddy bears into France, to try and fund a revolution, and get everyone to lighten up

Now it's just me and my new friends traveling the smugglers road, with the cookie
 
I go back to Oregon, and find my friend, "Ugh" the giant caveman. Most people think he's just a 30 foot statue, but I like to call him a friend.

Not only is he quite alive, he is the common ancestor for all the people of Grant's Pass. After I tell him my plight, he picks me up on his shoulder and carries me across the continental USA. Next, he swims me across the Atlantic. We crisscross the Alps, just me and my grunting buddy.

I feed him jerky and honeycrisp apples, and he couldn't be happier. We find you in an old chalet guarded by men with cheap suits and even cheaper cologne.

"UGH MAD!" was all they had to hear, before they ran away, screaming. Ugh pulled the roof off your chalet, and there you are, trembling with the cookie. "UGH MAD!" he roars. I give him a apple and a strip of jerky and tell him what a good boy he is.

I toss you an apple as well, and a strip of jerky. I ask you if you want a ride home. I promise you that I won't try to steal your cookie. I may or may not however be lying.

We both hitch a ride with my sasquatchian friend. He doesn't like you much, so you have to ride in his pocket, while I get to be up on his shoulder, feeding him and giving him pats on the head. We get back to Oregon and he drops you off on the roof of the Fred Meyer in Grants Pass.

Me, on the other hand, he gives me a ride up the Willamette Valley, and carefully drops me off at my front door in Portland. I give him his own little chocolate cake, before he heads back down the I-5 corridor to his home in Grant's Pass, where he watches over all the fair citizens of Southern Oregon.

You think you got off easy. As you jump on a Greyhound towards your hometown, you feel for the cookie, and notice it's gone. I reached down and stole it from you while you were sleeping in Ugh's pocket during our Transatlantic crossing. I put it up on a shelf in my kitchen, and go to bed, happy to be reunited with the cookie.


iu
 
Last edited:
pinterest-xena-sings.jpg
Xena Warrior Princess is still in love with me from when I was working as a Male escort and Poolboy back in '98.

They teach us at manwhores local apprenticeship training about how not to get personally Involved with clients, but sometimes it's just too hard to keep that tall white picket fence running through the garden of my heart.

We went to school together in California, Xena and I did, such a long time ago it was. She had a different name then, still a bad ass just the same.

When I tell Xena about my timeshare heart, and my devotion To a certain cookie, she takes pity on me, saddles up and rides out on a brindle mare, that we keep in the basement. I pity the fool gets in her groove, dang

Xena brings me back the cookie and opens a vortex back to where she is from, and we depart together again for dreamland where everything is right or wrong and decisions are easy. Just me my smoking hot pagan warrior princess girlfriend, two war ponies and the cookie.....
 
Last edited:
I'm in my recliner, watching Xena reruns on TV, and all of a sudden, there you are with her, riding off into the sunset. "WHAT???" I scream. Some things are just beyond my perception of reality.

Quickly I grab the remote and start flipping channels, and on every station, you're standing right there in the middle of the screen. Suddenly I get an idea, I flip channels down to the single digits, and try to see if the news is on. Nothing too scary. I don't want you to show up in the middle of a crime investigation or on the freeway during the traffic report.

Suddenly I stop at a channel where they're interviewing people in front of a Portland Trailblazers game. There you are, I see you, looking back and forth, confused on how you got to a basketball game in Downtown Portland.

I grab some bus fare and head downtown. There you are, walking around the crowd, looking for Xena. In your search, you don't see me sneak up behind you and take the cookie.

I go back home, feeling guilty. I look at the TV. There you are, still at the stadium, trying to figure out how you got there.

"This one's for you." I smile. I put in my DVD of Xena warrior princess and you appear back in her world. I put the dvd on repeat and for weeks and weeks, you get to be with your true love, sans cookie.

Meanwhile, I've hidden the cookie in the empty Xena DVD case. Have fun.
 
Last edited:
Xena grew tired of me pretty quick, "I am more easy to be in love with from farther away" that's a real quote, sigh.
Anyways she got uptight about me making popsicle stick sculptures of politicians (again I know) so I had to split for a while.

I went to the Oracle at Delphi and was able to cross back over with the help of a priestess.......

I decide on subtlety and remember about my collection, secret hoard number 47, which I keep in the attic of an abandoned tricycle factory in sunnydale.

After a bit of searching I find what I had sought, it's a return envelope for my old Netflix account. It used to be Netflix would send you a special disk, called a DVD that you would get in the mail. When you got done with it, you would send them back the disk, in a special envelope. I have a collection of office supply memorabilia from the nineties, so.....

I make a convincing cover letter and send it and the envelope to @Yeshuasdaughter, fingers crossed.

Sure enough a few days later I get the envelope back with the xena DVD inside. Inside the case is of course, the cookie.

I decide to play it safe and so I build a maze out of cardboard boxes full of my treasures and hide in the middle of it all with a nerd gun, several mre packages and the cat
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

New Threads

Top Bottom