Tell a story involving bagpipes.

“Ahh!” You shriek and awake after having an awful dream about…about…wait, what was that about? “Ah, whatever,” you think to yourself, trying to calm your mind so that you can drift back off into a peaceful slumber. After the long day of the usual, school, track practice, homework, more homework, dinner, more homework, the thing you want more than anything else in the entire world is to fall back asleep. Just as consciousness is about to fade away, a sensation tickles ever so slightly at your ears. You’re too tied to move, but the sensation persists so you swat at your head. Suddenly you realize that tingling sensation is a faint drone of a vaguely familiar tune. Frightened by the random song in your house you quickly sit up and hold your breath to better hear the song. Oh, it’s so familiar…what’s that song?! After a long thirty seconds of contemplation, it hits you like heartburn after eating ten double beef burritos… “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga. Yes, that’s it! After singing through the first verse and then the chorus, you realize that you’re alone in your room at two in the morning, quietly belting a Lady Gaga song, so you stop. You slowly and covertly (vocab word!) make your way down your stairs, following the gorgeous melody. The sound of whatever was playing the song was like nothing you’ve ever heard before. Whatever was producing the music sounded something between an angry cat and a car horn, but nevertheless, it was beautiful. You make your way to the door to your kitchen, and you realize that whatever is playing is currently in it. Terrified you shut your eyes and burst open the door. Quivering you open your eyes to see what had made you come all this way and…nothing. There is nothing out of the ordinary in your kitchen, and the music has stopped. “What the…” you think to yourself. Before you have any time to think further you are thwacked in the back of your head by something large and oddly shaped. You lose consciousness. When you reawaken, you realize that you are no longer in your house. “Where am I…and since when am I wearing a kilt?” All these questions and more pass through your head, unanswered. Out of the corner of the room another man wearing a kilt hurls a bagpipe at you. “Play!” he demanded. Scared, the pick up the bagpipe, and immediately start playing “Poker Face”, even though you’ve never touched a bagpipe before in your life. People in kilts begin to form a circle around you. Terrified you keep playing, and suddenly, everyone begins to dance! After hours of this, you scream, “STOP! I WANT TO GO HOME!” Everyone stops and stares at you, and they all repeat, “You’re one of us now.” You shriek at the top of your lungs for a solid twenty seconds and then burst open your eyes and sit up in your bed, still screaming. “It was just a dream, it was just a dream,” you tell yourself. Shaken, you fluff your pillow and try to go back to sleep. As you are about to fade out of consciousness, a soft sound begins to tickle at your ears.
*I AM SORRY for the outrageous longness of this story…I just couldn't figure out how to end it so it just kept going…and going….

The summer can be calculated in one sentence: spending the day with your friends at the pool. However, the whole day flips if you get locked in a muddy bathroom. It was one of the fieriest, boiling days of summer I had ever experienced, and me and two friends, Diva and Guzetta, were spending a refreshing day at the pool. We swam, cut the kids in line at the slides and also received dirty looks from them, got yelled and threatened by lifeguards that we would be kicked out of the pool forever if us three went on the slides instantaneously again. I took the bullhorn and made fun of them and consequently got yelled at some more. Somewhere between the bedlam, I drank an Icee to replenish myself from the sizzling day, but then I found myself sprinting 50 feet to go to the bathroom. So, after I was finished, I washed my hands and reached for the door and unlocked it. I pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge. I pulled harder, but nothing happened. As any normal person I panicked and started striding bath and forth, wondering if I would see the light of day again or if I would survive the sizzling day stuck in a 112º bathroom. I took deep breaths and counted to ten to mitigate myself and repeated, “someone will find me, someone will find me, someone will find me.” However, two hours went by and I was still isolated in the putrid, reeking 5x5 hole, pounding my head against the wall repetitively. Suddenly, I heard a sound…a familiar sound. I put my right ear against the door and acknowledged the saccharine bagpipe tune of Schlemish. One of their songs was playing, and I wasn’t there?? I stood up, took a deep breath that I regretted immediately, kicked the door so hard that my foot vibrated for twenty seconds after, and the door hovered into the pool, but sending me to freedom. My friends stood outside the restroom door, beaming and holding bagpipes, and we all sang and played our bagpipes until the lifeguards kicked us out.

The man ran through the street, carefully avoiding the cracks in the road and the smoldering ruins of cars. He knew they were fast approaching; he didn’t dare turn around. Rarely he would encounter an unbroken window in which he would see, for the briefest of seconds, the flash of plaid behind him. But he still ran on. In the distance, through the smoke the city was enveloped in, he could see the silhouette of a tower. The last echoes of explosions faded through the streets; the bombing of New York was over. But still the man ran. The object he held underneath his jacket squeaked for every stride of his legs, seemingly calling back for the men chasing it. Every squeak gave the Irish Secret Service men new resolve; every squeak gave the prey new fear to push him forward. He ran through the broken glass doors of the Empire State building, knowing the Secret Service men wouldn’t follow. They wouldn’t risk ripping their kilts on the glass. The power was out, so he had to run up the stairs. The sound of obscure Irish swears and the clip-clop of shoes faded into the distance. He burst through the door on the roof. It was cold; it was November. It was very quiet. The only sound was the wind whistling; not even the birds made any noise. Suddenly, some presence pierced the air; everything went into slow motion. The Irish Secret Service man, hiding behind the entranceway, had crept out to ambush the man. Upon seeing him run off, the Irishman dove, catching the ankle of the other man. The man pushed with all his strength against the bagpipe he held; it landed on the railing, 1,224 feet above the sidewalk. Time stood still; both men quit their struggle. A slight breeze floated down from above. The bagpipe fell. It whistled as the air passed through its pipes. It was screaming to be saved. The crater it made in the sidewalk below would later be designated as a historical landmark by the President, after all had returned to normal. Back up on the tower, the Secret Service man wept, and the American passed out. Having single-handedly won the war, he was tired.

Perry sat alone at the kitchen table contemplating the claimed fruity taste of Fruity Pebbles, when Max arrived. Max sharply set a curious looking box on the table. Looking up with questioning eyes, Perry grunted. Max countered with: "Hey dude. Listen I gotta go to curling practice in like....well five minutes ago. So, I gotta run. Just, don't open that tantalizingly bright box. Whatever you do, just don't open it, man." "Why not?" But Max was off to change into lime green curling spandex. Perry stopped staring at the Fruity Pebbles and stared at the box. It was a horrible plaid with a small gold clasp on it, a terrible combination. Perry's fingers itched with temptation and after a minute he could no longer stand it. With a quick CLICK, the box had been opened. A scream--much like that of a small female's--erupted from Max's room. "DUDE. WHY DID YOU OPEN THE BOX????WHY????NOW WE ARE CURSED TO WEAR BAD SCOTTISH PLAID AND AN ATTRACTION TO OLD BAGPIPE TUNES UNLESS YOU SLAY THE EPIPGAB!!!!!NOOOOOO!!!!POURQUOI?!?!?!" Terrified out of his boxer briefs, Perry tripped over his stool and ran from the house in his new plaid kilt with matching socks. After a few days of pointless skulking and several attempts at ripping off his kilt (there was always another underneath!), Perry collapsed in an empty pub (formally known as Mike's but now known as "Duff's") and glanced at the News. "Gavin MacDonald speaking to you live from the newest series of crises in our city. Here on McPlaid Avenue a vicious attack took place. Young Peggie Vanschmittyhagen seems to have been wholly devoured by a beast called the 'Epipgab'. Peggie was seen last at four o'clock when neighbors say she was attacked by a rabid bagpipe. If you see this said bagpipe please phone 1-800-PLAID-IS-FAD." Perry lifted his head. What had he done? Poor Peggie Vansomething! He must slay the Epipgab! But how? Surely you could not just slay the Epipgab that easily? He looked around for a sign that may lead him in the right fact, it was not a sign, but a flyer that read: "MADAME MUFFIN KNOWS ALL ABOUT SLAYING EPIPBAGS COME TO HER SHOP." Perry gulped reading: "On top of Mount Sotallit'sannnoying." But Perry knew he must save the city and climb Mount Sotallit'sannoying. For twenty-two days Perry climbed the mountain. When he arrived at the top, he had to wait forty-five minutes because the Dalai Lama had a few unanswered questions. After the Dalai Lama left (Perry made sure to dramatically check his watch while he was leaving), Perry entered into the steamy room. "Hello?" he called. "I am over here, child. Come." "I-I can't see you through this incense..." "That is not incense, boy. It is steam from my many ovens that bake all kind of muffins of wisdom." "Oh. Madame Muffin, TELL ME HOW TO SLAY THE EPIPGAB!" "Simple. Stab him with a stale ice-cream cone. Good-day." "That's it." "Yep." "I traveled all this way for that?" "Yes. Take a complementary bran muffin on your way out." So Perry and his bran muffin left with some dignity. As soon as he came outside, Perry saw the gigantic Epipgab crashing into buildings and stepping on various people while other things burned for no apparent reason. "Oh no! It seems as if the Epipgab has grown with each person he has eaten!" Screeched Perry a.k.a. Captain Obvious. Suddenly, the Epipgab snatched innocent Max and his curling gear. Perry gasped: "Not the curling gear! That cost twenty payments of fourteen nintey five! And shipping and handling!" With a random and seemingly able to teleport stale ice cream cone in hand, Perry leapt from the mountain towards the Epipgab. Down the Epipgab fell when Perry stabbed the ice cream cone into him with ear-splitting notes! And finally Perry reached the ground carrying Max and beaming. The whole town hip hip hoorayed Perry for his bravery and awarded him with a golden statue upon the dead Epipgab's hide. From this day forth, Perry had as many Fruity Pebbles as he wished to stare at and eventually found the kilt to be a flattering fashion statement.
I apologize for the length...I couldn't just stop.

It is a rather chilly night in late September, Saturday September 25th, to be exact. After performing our best rendition of the “Get it, Got it, Good!” show, the band is stoked. We get some refreshments and then eagerly mosey our way back up into the stands to see the other bands perform. Now that all of the bands have performed, it is time for the College of Wooster to close the show. I am perplexed as to why the band is wearing kilts, but hey, you don’t have to be fashionable to be a good musician. The band plays about 3 tunes, which are quite enjoyable. But then, “Bum bad um daaaa ee yoo mmmm” What is that hideous noise I am hearing? “Boo eeh ah yo mm dah doo dee” Is that a…BAGPIPE? Oh my gosh, please shut up already!!!! I came here to see a marching band, not bagpipes squeaking and droning that stupid Irish song. Or is it Scottish? I look around, and the audience members are impressed. They smile, clap, and some are even dancing! NO! NO! NO! I stare in disbelief. Is it REALLY possible to like that instrument? I can feel the blood rushing to my face as I get more and more furious, struggling not to rip all my hair out. I know that I must take action to stop this, but how? I take my smoke bombs (which I always carry with me for times like this) and throw them towards the crowd. I can see their disgust and panic, and everything turns into pandemonium. Now, I have the perfect opportunity to “take care” of the piper. I run down to the field (and no one notices) and I pull out my pocketknife. I make sure the piper doesn’t see, and then I run as fast as I can towards the piper. SUCCESS. This bagpiper will never be able to play his instrument again. Is he dead? No. Is his bagpipe ripped into shreds? YES. Moral of the story—Drop the bagpipe, and nobody gets hurt.
*This story is based off of a true story
**This is meant in no ways to dis the College of Wooster, just bagpipes

“Whoa! I don’t want to see that!” were the first words to come out of my mouth when I saw twenty middle-aged men playing bagpipes and strutting across the field in short, green, plaid kilts that showed off their repulsing leg hair. The bagpipes filled the air with a noise that sounded like finger nails clawing a chalk board. I was on a road trip with my friend and we happened to stumble across a parade as we were wondering around aimlessly. As we were both crying from the pain inflicted upon our ears and the image forever burned into our minds, we decided to leave the area of the parade and explore somewhere else. We came upon a big clearing where there was a rickety old bridge made of wood just barely clinging to the side of the landscape with a rushing waterfall to the left and a peaceful river beneath it. Did I mention the drop from the bridge was 7.2 miles down? The only way to get away from the bagpipes was to walk across this death trap and I was up for the challenge. However, my friend was not. She refused to suck it up and get to the other side and the bag pipes were getting closer. Like any good friend would do, I began to drag her across the bridge, not noticing the splinters she was receiving and as luck would have it the bag pipes were 10 feet away from us. Half way to the other side, the bridge started to tremble and it broke in half, flinging my friend and I to our death but on the way down I heard a noise. It was the echo of a bagpipe and the bagpipe was coming straight at me. Someone from above told my friend and I to grab it and press the big red button. What do you know? The bagpipe doubled as a raft that saved our lives. The end.

There are only three times in my life in which bagpipes have made an impact but this is my story. Let’s face it, unless you are the descendent of someone who speaks English by replacing “my” with “me” (something like “Where’d you filthy scoundrels hide me pint?”) then bagpipes probably don’t play a significant role in your life but I digress. Bagpipes defy the laws of instruments with their volume and peculiar timbre but to be honest, I’ve never really cared for them much and here’s why. Encounter with bagpipes number one: marching band. That’s right, you said it, marching band. A long while ago, back in October, right in the midst of the marching season, our band attended a festival at which the guest band was from the College of Wooster. Their marching was fair, their playing very nice, and their uniforms kilts with a plaid pattern resembling that of scotch tape. They took a break from their program and invited eight dancers and five bagpipes onto the field for an interlude to the show. Odd? We thought so too and thus the case in point is that bagpipes that add about fifteen painful minutes to a ten minute marching show do not belong on a marching band field. Encounter with bagpipes number two: Blossom Music Center. This summer time home of the world renowned Cleveland Orchestra is a perfect way to enjoy music with a family and have a lovely picnic while enjoying the sounds of the beautiful melodies…or so we thought. Many areas of the park have street musicians and one happened to be a bagpiper. So with my little sister in my arms we approached the curious man in a skirt with the large instrument, he pumped up the airbag, and began blasting “Scotland the Brave”’! My sister was in such a tizzy from the unexpected volume she screeched bloody murder in my ears, and I could have sworn my eardrums burst on the spot! Not a fun day and I was beginning to loathe the blasted instrument. Encounter with bagpipes number three: Rocky River Park. My parents decided to bring my sister and I down to the beach after getting a delightful scoop of Mitchell’s raspberry sorbet as an after dinner treat. We pull up in our minivan, my sister caked in her scoop Blue Cosmo, and walk over to the rocks overlooking the beach. With the sun lowering in the sky, out of the corner of my eye I saw a man walk out onto the break wall with, you guessed it, bagpipes. I sighed with disbelief at my luck, swearing under my breath that this horrendous instrument came to ruin my night and yet to my surprise his drone turned to the timeless “Amazing Grace”. As the sun painted the clouds pinks and purples over the shimmering lake, I sat with my family soaking in the sights and beautiful music and from that moment I have loved the bagpipes.

Please excuse my sloppy handwriting for I am writing to you from the inside of a bagpipe. My story involves many things I am not proud of but, I am here to tell you the course of events that led me to my current circumstances. It all started with my favorite meal…
Ever since I was little I remember watching my dad play the bagpipes. He had these really old bagpipes, named Revenge, which I inherited when he died. I learned to play and after a while I decided to buy new set of bagpipes. The first chance I opened them, the sweet smell of new bagpipes filled the room, just like opening a new can of tennis balls. Mmmmmmmm. Before I even got a note out, I started knawing on my bagpipes. So delicious….sweet, yet salty…. Chewy and crunchy…..Before I knew it, I ate the whole thing. So, it became a regular meal for me. A couple times a week I would go the local bagpipe and convenience store to get some bagpipes which supplied my meals for the week. I kept my secret well hidden, for I didn’t want anyone judging me (and I’m pretty sure there is a law against eating, knawing, or having any kind of relations with instruments other than a purely professional one, here in Alaska.) After sometime, my addiction became an obsession. I would eat one, maybe two bagpipes everyday and I started making funny honking noises when I sneezed or coughed. One day, on a gloomy Sunday afternoon, I was sitting cheerfully nibbling on my afternoon snack bagpipe when all of a sudden Revenge was sitting on the table. Hmmm… how’d he get there??? So, I put him back on the floor and though nothing of it. Two minutes later, he was there again. Once my attention was back to my snack, Revenge started smoking and steaming and he yelled, “BAGPIPES ARE NOT FOOD!!!!!” The last thing I saw was Revenge’s large mouth closing over my body.
So here I am, inside Revenge, writing to you my sad tale on how I became entrapped in my father’s bagpipe. I’m feeling rather hungry…..

Around the World in 80 Notes
There were once two bagpipes living happily in the Scottish highlands, on the Isle of Skye. Mr. and Mrs. Bagpipe lived happily together for a long time, in fact they frequently played the song by the Turtles, "Happy Together." But Mr. Bagpipe grew tired of this monotonous drone of a life--his wife always played the melody. So one day, he decided to take a trip around the world, to broaden his outlook, and maybe, just maybe, he could learn some new songs, which he could then teach to Mrs. Bagpipe, and they could spend the rest of their lives playing completely new songs. His first destination he decided, was the United States of America. A lot of his old bagpipe buddies moved there to earn some more money. So he went over to the dock, got on a ship headed for America, and played himself a lively jig to keep his spirits up. His voyage was uneventful, he mostly stayed in his cabin below decks, playing whatever tune came to mind. After about a week of a seafaring life, Mr. Bagpipe's ship reached America! Mr. Bagpipe went right away to go look for a job. He went to the main square and decided to start his own company. He wanted to make a company of producing bagpipes in the United States. But when he talked to various others in America, they all would laugh at his accent and tell him they couldn't understand him. So Mr. Bagpipe decided America was just not the right place for a bagpipe aspiring to become a businessman. He decided the next place he wanted to go to was somewhere that he could just see the sights, and meet other musical instruments. So he decided the next destination to be China! Mr. Bagpipe quickly went online, found his desired airline, and booked the next day flight to China. Mr. Bagpipe was so very excited, he could barely contain his muffled notes of excitement as he boarded the plane. After a long flight, Mr. Bagpipe arrived in China. First, he began by just going to see all the various sights he learned about in his musical instrument history class. Then, he met these coveted musical instruments. He heard their oriental noises, the soft drum beat, the whistle of the flutes, the ringing sounds. Mr. Bagpipe ran over and joined in, droning as loud as he could, and playing his changing notes with perfect accuracy. All of the Chinese instruments stopped and stared at Mr. Bagpipe. They didn't like his joining in on their songs, it didn't sound right. It was all Mr. Bagpipe could do to walk away with his head held high and not play glaring notes of anger and sadness. So Mr. Bagpipe sat down on a rock on the side of the road, and began playing all of the different types of songs he learned on his trip. And he decided he met his goal of learning new songs and things. So, he packed his bags, and decided to go back to Scotland. When he arrived, he joined Mrs. Bagpipe, taught her all of the new songs he learned, and they played for the rest of their lives.

Juan Jose Ricardo Diaz trudged across the broad Rio Grande, into America, carrying nothing but his bagpipes. His green and red bagpipes appeared to be innocent, but the guards at the US border gate were not dumb. They easily discovered all 7 kilos of the contraband marijuana inside. To Juan, the rage-inducing and adrenaline-pumping factor in this situation was not that he had been caught carrying several kilos of illegal hallucinogenic marijuana into another country, nor that he would be convicted of a felony and spend years in prison. Juan was fuming because the cartel boss assured him that he would be transporting cocaine, not marijuana. At the American guardhouse, Juan easily complied with the officers, answering all of their questions, seemingly untroubled by his predicament. However, in his mind, Juan was concocting a devious, diabolical, and vengeful plan to strike back at the corrupt cartel boss. That night, in the jail cell, the luminescent moon seemed to illuminate the dark desert landscape. Like a swift fox, Juan tip-toed past his sleeping cell-mate, creeping over to the locked door. With no trouble at all, he picked the lock and snuck down the hall. With the door to freedom insight, Juan hesitated, and then went back. He couldn’t leave without his bagpipes. Juan evaded the handful of guards on the night-watch, and proceeded to the room filled with confiscated goods. He swept through the room, grabbed his bagpipes, and then ran out of the compound. However, at the border, he did encounter some trouble. Surprisingly a Mexican guard, not an American one, spotted him, sniping him with a fluorescent flashlight. Like a ninja, Juan paralyzed the guard with a swift blow over the head with his bagpipes. Victorious, Juan sped away from the border in an old Chevy pick-up, hungry for revenge.

November 3, 1870


I am writing today because I have been working on an invention for a very long time, and it is only now catching up with me. Every moment of every day, I cannot help but desperately desire the feeling of being back home in Scotland; back with Edward, Melville, and Mother, all healthy and alive. For years, I have been working on my telephone, trying to invent something in which to communicate with my dear brothers in Scotland: both have since died, fuelling my desire to complete this machine. My aspiration is for everyone worldwide to be able to communicate with each other, whenever they fancy. It has taken me quite some time, and I am still in the beginning stages, but I plan to finish soon and have a conversation with someone dear to my heart. The only thing that puts me to sleep at night is the sound of bagpipes- the sweet melody and the low, soft droning of the chords. The poignant melody reminds me of home; I perceive the sound of bagpipes playing in the backdrop of all my memories- my childhood, running and playing with my brothers, warm home cooked meals, hot summer nights, sleeping under the stars; no moment of Scotland can be complete without the sound of a bagpipe behind it. Forever open to the entry "bagpipe," a dictionary basks in the candlelight on my bedside table, waiting to be read each morning. It says: a reed instrument consisting of a melody pipe and one or more accompanying drone pipes protruding from a windbag into which the air is blown by the mouth or a bellows. This cold, factual definition cannot possibly illustrate the same comforting thing that has been with me since birth; the one thing that never fails to mollify me and soothe my nerves, bringing me to the fondest memories I have. The unique timbre of a bagpipe cleanses my soul, fills my body with warmth, and supplies my body with the necessary strength to finish my invention.

Yours truly,

Alexander Graham Bell

The arm dislocated itself from the drones body as blue, thick liquid poured out of the abrasion the laser had left. The white, shiny drone screamed an agonizing yell as it dropped to its knees and looked for its bagpipe. Clutching the instruments soft, plaid bag, it hoisted the weapon onto its shoulder and fired back at the martians on the opposite side of the battlefield. The intergalactic region on Malapollia was at war with the martian planet Burt, and regiments of drones poured onto Burt everyday with reinforcements, and plenty of bagpipes. The number of casualties on each side was astounding, the blue blood of the drones and the yellow, sticky blood of the martians met in the middle of the battlefield, mixing to create a diarrehea-green soup. The one-armed drone successfully fired a laser from his Bagpipe 2400 into a pile of ammunition in the martian trenches, killing both a supply of lasers and three blood-thirsty aliens. At the sign of the explosion, a pack of drones hopped over the trench and rushed towards the martian sideline, shooting a string of lasers out of their bagpipes with every step taken. The red strips of light blew into the trenches as screams of pain and terror reverberated across the barren planet. The martians were not to be outdone, as they took out their bagpipes and fired back, the lasers breaking the drones' bodies in two. The one-armed drone looked on in awe, as his comrades hit the ground, blue liquids spattering out of their body. He clutched his bagpipe tightly against his body. He knew the time had come. Leaping out of the trench, he ran straight through the group of drones still shooting down into the martian trenches. Like a slow-motion scene in a movie, he soared over the martian trenches, shooting every enemy he could see. Suddenly, a ripping pain swept through his body, and he landed with a thud on the other side of the trench. The laser wound was not from the martian bigpipes, it was from friendly fire. The hole grew in the middle of his metal body, more and more blood being lost. His grip on his trusty weapon loosened, as the drone perished under the fire of bagpipe lasers.

Bobby swung his legs over the bed and hopped down. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles as a tired one year old would do and opened them wide. There was a large green and red plaid bagpipe sitting right at his feet. Wait! A bagpipe?! He rubbed his eyes again and it was gone, was he going crazy? ‘Bobby!’ his mom called ‘The bus is here!’ He shook his head and ran downstairs. He swung himself onto the bus and peered around for an open seat…there was only one problem…instead of children sitting on the seats there were bagpipes-green and red plaid again! The bus honked and he was jolted out of his bizarre hallucination. He went through the rest of the day in a kind of daze seeing bagpipes in almost all of his classes and being shocked out of the hallucinations by loud noises. He finally made it through the whole day and raced home with his eyes shut. (This did not fare well for him nor the tree). He walked through his front door rubbing his head. Maybe this bang to the head would keep him from his daydreams! But alas this was not to be true- he looked up to the landing and there was a bagpipe-this time with a light shining behind it and….was that a harp playing softly in the background? There was only one thing left to do, he picked the bagpipe up and took a great breath. He put the instrument to lips and started to play. It just came naturally! This bagpipe didn’t disappear and Bobby became a famous bagpiper known throughout the world as Bobby the Blasting Bub.

Scottie McScotscot the scottie dog was the worst bagpipe player ever. The more and more he practiced, the worse he got, until one day, Old Man O'Mickey was pushing up daisies. After the townspeople of O'Scotsville heard of the news, they were enraged at Scottie and planned to banish him from their small village. Just as Judge Patrick was about to slam his gavel against the podium, making the decree official, a messenger piegion flew in, chirpping an ergent announcement. He said that the Smithyson army was quickly approaching the village, with a plan to pillage and plunder. Forgetting Old Man O'Mickey momentarily, the scottie dog residents gasped in horror of the thought of their villiage being completely wiped out by the grusome Smithysons. Out of the blue, an idea occured to Judge Patrick, "Scottie McScotscot!" he proclaimed, "We will sent you into the battle to defeat the Smithysons!" All eyes in the courtroom turned to Scottie. Sco"ttie, not the sharpest crayon in the box, had no idea how he would be of any help to the village. "But why me?" he inquired. "Your bagpipes Scottie! You play them so poorly that you KILLED Old Man O'Malley! You can KILL the Smithyson army!" the judge explained. So a few minutes later, Scottie was fully equiped for battle with his bagpipes held firmly in his paws. "Go Scottie McScotscot!" Judge Patrick encouraged, "We believe in you!" The other townspeople of O'Scotsville chimed in, with encouraging statements, as Scottie marched into battle. "Earplugs in!" Judge Patrick instructed. All the villagers obeyed willingly, as they anxiously waited for the battle to begin. The Smithyson army marched over the hill and Judge Patrick commanded, "Play!!!" Scottie then began to wail on his bagpipes, and the Smithysons dropped like flies. Some of them were flies. Soon the whole army was wiped out thanks to Scottie's horrible playing. The villagers rejoiced, giving Scottie McScotscot the key to the city and burning the bagpipes at the stake, to avoid any further accidents (R.I.P. Old Man O'Malley). Soon President Tom Cruise (What? Ronald Reagan did it, why can't he?) found out about the small town hero and gave him the Noble Peace Prize for killing every member of the Smithyson army. To make a happy ending even happier, Scottie McScotscot soon stumbled upon a bassoon and found out he was truely gifted at the intrument. Hooray for Scottie McScotscot the scottie dog of O'Scotsville.

Once upon a time, in a land filled with people who couldn’t be happier. This town was called Happy-Ville. The one thing that made Happy-Ville so happy was that there was always beautiful music playing. Somehow, somewhere, there was always at least a faint noise of “what feelings sound like”. This day started just like every other in Happy-Ville, the sun rose and the birds chirped on beat and in-tune. As the day progressed the music became less and less faint, the people became less and less enjoyable. This continued until finally the music was completely gone, and then IT began. The people in the town quickly grabbed their ears and fell to the ground in pain. There was no way to stop this horrible noise, until Steve woke up from his afternoon nap. You see, Steve walked outside and soaked up the sun, feeling as happy as every other day. Steve is what most people would call deaf. He soon came to figure out that his incapacity to hear anything was precisely what was keeping him impervious from the pain. So Steve quickly rushed up to where the music for the town was broadcasted. He walked in and saw an evil bagpipe; he was just sitting there playing noises into the microphone. Steve quickly pulled out his trusty pencil and brutally stabbed the bagpipe in his bag, deflating him and bringing a sigh of relief all across the town. This fateful day made Steve the town hero and left a wandering question in the minds of the townspeople. If music is what feelings sound like, what on Earth is the emotion that goes with the bagpipes?

A small old man in a densely populated lofty town paraded down the free-way, methodically playing his bagpipe, possessed. It all started when this very man was young and went to see the Saint Patty's day parade with his family. The boy was deeply moved, so moved that he picked up the playing bagpipe right away. The boy was a prodigy and no man could ever have claimed to be better. One day upon reaching adulthood, the lad shipped out to Ireland to learn the secrets of bagpipe. He was told that the best player who ever lived was buried in the old cemetery on Potato lane. The man knew what he had to do; he had to see this man's skeleton. So on Friday the thirteenth, our young brash friend ventured into the unknown as a grave robber. Exhausted and melancholy, the boy had not found the grave and was leaving until a bagpipe called to him somewhere. It was then that his eyes glanced upon a peculiar grave stone, it was the one. Upon entering the grave the lad uncovered a bagpipe, he had to play it. This is where our story comes to the end, the boy is then instantly possessed and is forced to walk the earth playing the same four ( I can't tell them apart) songs over and over until one day he spontaneously combusted, causing the people of the world to rejoice.