Character Annihilation is a blatant excuse for the editor of this blog to write scathing, hate-filled articles about SPUFers. Not really. They are simply a bunch of fictional stories about various SPUFers. Today’s story is about SPUF’s resident vroom vroom, A 1970 Corvette.
Corvette tutted as he threw open the front door. He glanced around the hallway, before adjusting his shirt, pulling up his sleeves and tip-toeing in. The place was a dump. Cobwebs hung along every ceiling. The dust was so thick you could cut it with a knife. In fact, Corvette did just that, pulling his trusty Kunai out of his pocket. He quickly regretted it, as now his knife was filthy. Wasn’t just the dust that was thick, this place hadn’t been aired out in a long time. Drink-able air.
Something had to be done. That’s why Corvette was there. He was a maid. Apparently. His attire didn’t scream it, since traditional maid uniforms would clash horribly with his three piece suit. Clothes don’t make the man, you know.
Before he started, Corvette decided that he ought to check the other rooms. He was only being paid to clean what could be seen, but this was horrible. He wondered how anyone could live in such a state, let alone the house’s owner. Oh well. He needed his tools first though.
Corvette yanked up his sleeves again, then disappeared outside. Parked in the lone parking space where the garage was supposed to be was a heavily modified vehicle of Corvette’s namesake. Beautifully kept. It contained all of Corvette’s cleaning apparatus, neatly contained in special extend-o-matic pockets, designed for maximum mobility and minimal space. Corvette picked out a couple of tools.
While the hallway looked bad, it had nothing on the rest of the house. You could feed a family of ten on the dust on top of the television in the living room alone. He made the mistake of knocking one of the chandeliers in the dining room with the handle of his broom and found himself covered in a strange, orange grime, a combination of dead skin, dirt and years old rust. Speaking of rust, the silver cutlery had lost all shine. If Corvette hadn’t known better, he would have mistaken the cutlery for ancient neanderthal tools.
Then came the room that Corvette feared the most. The bathroom. The door was locked, the handle snapped off. That was not a good sign. Corvette grabbed his Kunai and shoved it into the hole where the handle used to be, wriggling it around slightly. Eventually, the door opened. Corvette took a deep breath and closed his eyes, preparing for the worst.
Somehow, the bathroom was squeaky clean. Guess the boss around here never used this bathroom. Oh well, off to the second place Corvette feared.
The kitchen was partially flooded, a small drip from the sink had turned into a small lake. There was a very worrying smell coming from the area of the microwave. The fridge door was open. The freezer could no longer call itself a freezer, its content being warmer than the rest of the room. Thankfully, the cupboards were mostly empty, apart from a single moldy teacake, which looked like it had long given up the idea of being eaten and had really let itself go.
Extreme circumstances meant extreme solutions. Corvette dashed out to the car outside and grabbed his nuclear powered mop, before heading back inside.
After many hours of back-breaking work, Corvette stepped back to admire his handiwork. He’d done an amazing job. Master would have been proud. But his admiration was disrupted by a loud, revving sound.
Suddenly, a large truck plowed through the front door, wrecking the entire front end of the house. Once everything had stopped moving, a head peered out of the vehicle. It was Jay and his party-truck of rocks, ready for tonight’s roleplay event.
“THAT DOES IT!” Corvette shouted as he stormed off. “I’M GETTING A JOB AS A BUTLER!”