--In which it ends. No, really!--

"I don't know how to start this, though!" Polly whined. She was sitting on the bed in Queen Itsy's room. The Moon Queen was on the floor, cleaning. (Ha!) "Don't you think this is a perfect beginning for this?" she asked.
"I'm fixin' a hole," the Queen responded. "...in my room..."
"Quoi?" her dead friend asked. "I've gotta keep on task here. My mind keeps wandering where it will go..."
"Have you talked to Jeremy lately?" Itsy asked, as she munched on a bowl of salad.
"I have to stop writing such weird stuff!" exclaimed Polly, growing more confused by the minute. "Anyway..."
Polly was confused. This was not at all strange, but not only was she confused, but she was depressed, baffled, bewildered, and stumped as well, all contributing to her state of confusion. Above all, she was not a Vulcan...?"
"It's just like everything I say has just been written down," the Queen pointed out. Polly wrote something down in her notebook.
"I'm too confused to come up with anything," added Polly.
"What's the matter?" asked Itsy as she walked from the room. She didn't seem to really care what the answer was. Then she returned, holding a glass mug of grapefruit juice.
"You're old!" groaned Polly. Itsy glared at her.
"Well, it's not that bad being a relic from the Moon Queendom," the Queen stated. "but why're YOU so down about it?"
"I feel sorta guilty about picking on you all these years," Polly told her. "And when you get old you... you know."
"Die?" Itsy asked, "And decompose?"
"Exactly," she sighed. "Everyone except Paul and me. We have to sit here and watch everyone we're close to die."
"Well, you can at least watch my kids grow up." said Itsy.
"And watch them die as well!" moaned Polly. "As well as Desmond and Julia -- and their kids -- and grandkids -- and-"
"I get the picture!" shouted Itsy. "Sheesh! You're really down today."
"Wouldn't you be?"
"I suppose so," guessed the Queen. "He can call me a flower if he wants to, I don't mind."
"Oh, boy!" groaned Polly. "Anyway, do you know where Paul might be? He'd understand... I think."
Then George bust into the room. He was getting old as well as Queen Itsy, who were beginning to show signs of their age through wrinkles and specks of gray hair. "Itsy, Paul's scaring me! He's depressed!" He looked over at the sad and confused-looking Polly. "Not her too!"
"Yeah, she's been complaining about how she has to watch us all die," Itsy said. "Heh, Paul too," George added. "You two need lives!" he muttered in disgust.
Polly sighed. "Exactly... I want to be normal again!"
"You mean mortal?" questioned George. "Why?"
"Do I need to explain?!" she cried, "Where's Paul, he knows!"
"He's down in the courtyard, crying his eyes out," said George.
"He is not!" objected Polly. "All those gardeners are planting the petunias and marigolds down there."
"What does that have to do with multi-coloured scarves?" asked the King.
"Absolutely nothing," stated the confused Polly, who then ran off.

She found Paul, none the less, in the courtyard, sitting in a tree. The sun was high on that afternoon in mid-April, and it's golden rays brightened the Glass Castle, making it an even grander sight.
"Paul!" she called up to him. "We need to talk."
"I knew you'd come, dear." he responded from the dark branches. "Climb up here."
Polly held on to one of the lower branches and made her way up to where he was sitting. "It's the right place for this, don't you think?" he asked.
Polly sighed, "I just don't know, not anymore anyhow. And I never was one for setting."
"Or character study either," he added. "We're really the main characters, and we haven't changed all that much -- and now were on the last chapter, if these stories ever decide to end anyway."
"What is it with you and these stories you keep talking about?"
"Oh, nothing," he said. "But I know what's gonna happen next!"
"What?" she asked, but it was a bit muffled when he kissed her. "I've got a feeling that WASN'T what was supposed to happen."
"Ya know, I used to love being the knight-of-the-living-dead, but now I just don't care...not about anything really."
"Not anything?" she asked with a melon-collie look, "Not even... me?"
"Don't be silly! You're all I've got, I need you!" he exclaimed and held onto her tightly. "Well, I suppose I care about Desmond and Julia, and a bunch of other people, but I just feel awkward, out of place even."
Polly sighed. "What ARE we going to do for eternity?" she mused. "We've already done so much."
"How 'bout we build a raft and float out to an uninhabited island somewhere?"
"I don't think so," Polly laughed.
"Hmm..." he thought. "We could join the mob and be happy with a full time job."
Polly shook her head.
"Uh, we could travel through time to yell at famous rulers to come, find seven different ways of wreaking havoc on the moon, fight evil pirates...?"
Polly smiled. "We've already done all of those things, dear, except we found eight different ways to wreak havoc on the moon, remember?"
"Oh.. yeah," he said, turning slightly red. "That really was a long time ago, I'd almost forgotten about that. Uh, we could contact space aliens though the aid of sea-shells and sand-waves?" he suggested, and Polly laughed. "Well, then... we... we could... host a ghost on the coast and serve him green grape jelly on a monkey-powered eye-glass rotator with sixteen cannibal-cups falling from the mouth of a giant, invisible rabbit! Couldn't we?!" he asked with an insanely wide smirk. "Yeah, let's!"
"Oh, Paul." Polly sighed. "I'm sorry, I really am, but that is the absolute height of stupidity. It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"
"Just hear me out, dear." Paul pleaded.
"Alright, you've got ten minutes."
"Okay now," he started. "You agree that a banana is yellow, right?"
"Yeah, I guess..."
"And an apple is red..."
"Yes... I suppose so."
"Right. Now...what colour is grass?" he challenged.
"Well, purple, of course," Polly answered. She sighed and wondered where all of this was going.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, okay!" Paul said quickly. He was obviously getting excited. "We agree on all that, but it isn't the point, is it?" he asked.
"It could be, how should I know what it is?" Polly replied.
"Oh, it could be the point," Paul agreed. "But that doesn't mean that it is. I mean, I could just as well have taken a box of sixty-four crayons and thrown them out of a window one-by-one with a maniacal look on my face, but what's the relevance? I mean, come on, there's just as much point in that as if, well, as if I named things and had you tell me what colour they were, so that naturally just wouldn't be my point, now would it dear? And I must say, you really have to be more reasonable if you thought that WAS my point." Paul finished with a flourish and promptly fainted from oxygen loss, falling out of the tree and landing safely in a flower-bed.
Polly blinked a few times, then sighed, got down out of the tree, and woke him up. He looked up at her with a confused and hurt look on his face.
"Then what is the point, dear?" she asked, "What is so terribly important?"
"Those curtains over there," he sighed, "are not blue, they're periwinkle."
"We are not starting this fight again!" screamed Polly, "I don't CARE what colour they are!"
"Well, if you were a little more... a... a... a little more meabolical-"
"I think you mean meticulous, dear."
"Yes, well, if you were that, you'd care too. Those curtains just aren't blue!" he demanded.
"I'm solving this once and for all," Polly thought to herself. She silently got up, walked over to the window, and yanked the curtains down.
Unfortunately, the curtain rod came down as well, and hit Polly on the head. She fell to the floor, and by an extraordinary coincidence, landing on a fossilized Cheese-head that had fallen out of Jack's hand, which pierced her neck, and consequentially causing her to expire. Again.
"Oh, dear," said Paul. "What IS all this business with no maids?" he asked angrily before he, too, expired from the realization of how long Cheese-heads take to decompose.

Desmond discovered his parents deceased bodies early the next morning. At first he took little notice, after all, he'd grown used to the fact that they would occasionally be discovered in this state. He'd also heard the shmarmy story of how they came to be that way a couple million times. But this time something was wrong. Very wrong.
Desmond ran up to the Sun King. "Uh, sir?" he began, "My, uh, parents are dead."
The King burst out laughing. "Yeah, so?"
"No, you don't understand!" shouted Desmond, "They're REALLY dead!"
"Oh, stop it Desmond, you've-"
"No! There is something wrong! They're really, really, REALLY dead!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "I mean, I have seen them dead before, but never like THIS! They're not here, not that they really were all there in the first place, but believe me!"
Itsy walked in the room, hearing Desmond in his frantic state. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"THEY'RE DEAD!"
"Of course, that's old news... that's so old it can't even be called old news." replied the Queen. Desmond sighed, shook his head, and then fixed his brown hair that he'd messed up.
"Why doesn't anyone believe me?" he groaned.
"How COULD we?" Itsy asked, " There's too much against you. Your parents have been dead, like, forever, they'll always be here to bother us. They're never going away. Besides, you look too much like Paul to be taken seriously. I'm sorry, but it's true."
Desmond groaned again. "I've gotta get myself right outta here!" He ran away.

Later that day, a crew of four or five people, who were holding dirty spades, rakes, hoes, and water buckets, marched up to the Sun King.
"Can I help you?" the King asked.
"We are the gardeners," one of them began. He had a strong Scottish accent, and had a bag of fertilizer slung over his shoulder. "We have a small problem."
"I'd say so," the King commented. "You're trailing dirt all over that nice, clean, and expensive rug. You're like snails or something."
"But there are three dead bodies in the courtyard..." said another gardener, an older woman wearing tacky gloves with ugly orange and brown flowers on them, and mud on her wrinkling face. "They're disturbing our work."
"THREE dead bodies?!" the King asked. "Now that's a bit unusual..."
"UNUNSUAL?" asked the woman.
"Well, one less body and I'd have a safe explanation," the King stated. "Is there a man and a woman -- fairly young looking?"
"I'd say that two dead bodies would be unusual as well," commented another one, a tanned man carrying a half-filled water bucket. "But yes, they were found together."
"We found these by them," one of the others said. He was short and had a big nose. He pulled out a pile of blue curtains and handed them to the King. George sighed and shook his head.
"What am I going to do with them...? I suppose I could always have them be-headed..." he thought to himself, then turned to the gardeners, "Well, if you can, bring those two inside... unless they're up again."
"And the third?" the woman asked.
"Somebody'd better call the morgue," the King said, and walked away to deal with more king-like businesses -- such as lunch.

That evening, the King and Queen were having dinner, and listening to their minstrels play very strange music. George looked disgusted at the sound.
"What's wrong?" Itsy asked with concern. "Is something amiss?"
"Yeah," he replied. "Like the melody." he commented.
"Oh," said Itsy. Then she remembered something. "Doesn't Polly usually play that?"
"Uh-huh," added the King, then took a sip of whatever it was that he was drinking. "I don't think they're up yet. And Polly looked pretty bad. That cheese-head sure did a number on her neck. I wonder if she...?"
"George, do you think they could possibly be gone?"
"It never entered my mind before... but for some reason, I don't think they're coming back. Desmond was right..."
"Did I hear my name?" asked Desmond, joining them in the dining room. "And do two people owe me an apology?"
"No and no," replied Itsy.
"You know I was right," Desmond said with a smirk, showing that he definitely was Paul and Polly's son. "And now they're gone... never thought it was possible, did you?"
"Okay, I guess you're right," the Queen mumbled.
"What is this world coming to when Polly and Paul don't come back?" asked the King. "What kind of sick person would think up such a thing?"

A flying cow, trapped in space, somewhere near Saturn bumped into a large piece of cosmic debris from Jack's Pluto Cheese Factory. The cows udder burst open to reveal Jack in a space-suit, who'd apparently just been awakened out of hyper-animation. He yawned, and shouted, "It's about time!"
His words were picked up on his two-way radio, and accidentally sent somewhere else in time and space...

"I've decided that for this New Year's Resolution, I'll start a diet, right after the Holidays..." A very large man said to his friends, as they sat down to a beautifully laid out Christmas feast.
"It's about time!"
The man assumed that this vulgar comment was made by his brother-in-law, Ted, who was sitting peacefully on the opposite end of the table, spooning out some cranberry sauce. "I'll kill you, you zodflobber!" He lunged across the table, and slit Ted's neck open with a butter knife.
Ted never got to create the faulty #120-36-B screw that had come undone, causing the Cheese Factory to never have exploded.
Because the Cheese Factory never exploded, George never invented Cheese-Heads. One was found, though, under the cushions of Jack's couch, that Itsy discovered, and conveniently tried to plant in the court-yard to make a cheese tree. Polly's neck was still pierced by the fossilized Cheese-Head, but Paul couldn't have died from shock about the Cheese-Heads, but threw himself off of Sutt Cliff a few more times to join her in the afterlife.
On one of his falls, his comb fell out of his pocket, and landed on the back of a passing turtle, who was hungry because 60 YOJ stepped on the bug that would've been his breakfast. "The last piece!" the turtle exclaimed, and picked up the comb. His shell suddenly turned into a small space shuttle, and took off.
The turtle stopped somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse and placed the comb on the table in the laboratory of the Utility Muffin Research Kitchen. Reaching for an over-sized chrome spoon, the Muffin Man accidentally picked up Paul's comb, and thought to himself, "I could make a clone of Zaphod's brain."
And so he did, part of which went to Polly, causing her 'air of Zaphodness.'
The Muffin Man threw the comb out the window, hitting the side of a truck carrying the Universe's Largest Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, sending the enormous hunk of candy to fly through a nearby office window.
The building burnt down, due to two abandoned cigarettes.

"Hands up!" D'arcy demanded, holding the comb under a paper bag like a concealed gun. "Gimme that last sample of the common cold!" Her demands were met.
The sample was lost somewhere on earth, causing a young girl to become too ill to attend school on a Friday in mid-December of 1996. This caused the girl, who was slightly insane, to never see the words 'The Cattle Of The Sun God' written on the board in her English classroom, consequently resulting in the short story 'A Groovy Story That Has No Title' to never have been written.

"See?!" What have I been telling you?! TIME TRAVEL IS IMMORAL! STUPID PAR-"

THE END...!