The Legend of Mr. Pasta

This is a story based on some wacky stories my friend and I made up about a creepy teacher we had in elementary school. Enjoy!

The legend of Mr. Pasta is one whispered softly in the hallways of Noodle Middle School. It is a terrible reminder that background checks for teachers are very important. Mr. Pasta had a fine career before he lost his sanity. Starting out as a music teacher at the elementary school, Pasta hoped to one day become a principal. He did become eligible to become principal before the incident, but did not get the job.

He was called upon to be a substitute at the middle school one day. The man walked up to the front door in the light rain. It was an unfamiliar sight as he could barely see the colors of the doors from the darkness thrown down by the cold gray clouds. The barely-visible sign at the top of the door read “Noodle Middle School for Pastafarians”. As he walked inside, the metal detector went off. The cold and wet Mr. Pasta did not care. This job was far below him.

Students laughed at him on the way to their classes. Mr. Pasta growled at them and they knew there would be trouble if they continued. His hand reached for his pocket, but changed its mind. He trudged on to the chorus classroom.

“This should be a f*****g breeze,” Mr. Pasta thought to himself. He had taught these same students in music class just a few years ago. Mr. Pasta sat down at his piano, exasperated, and said “Let’s start off with solfège. Beat, beat, here we go...”. The students began their melodic drone, but something was not right. Some of the students were off-key, and it bothered him. He yelled “Whoever is singing too low: stop! You’re not funny!”. He told the students to repeat the solfège.

His ears perked and he located the disturbance. A group of boys in the back singing too low. Mr. Pasta ran up the steps to confront them, and the students in front parted before him. Screaming “Do you think this is a f*****g joke?!”, Mr. Pasta lunged at the students and drew a pocket axe from his trousers. In one brutal swing, Mr. Pasta slaughtered the entire section of boys. Invigorated, Mr. Pasta pocketed the pocket axe and realized how horrified the rest of the students were. He redrew the axe and brandished it at a group of cowering students in the first row. Realizing that all of the other students had just witnessed him killing that group of hooligans, Mr. Pasta realized that everyone there must be murdered as well.

As the kids scrambled to the exits, Mr. Pasta locked the doors and emitted a laughing scream as the insanity infiltrated him. He reached out with the pocket axe in an arc, taking out a few students diving for the window. Hearing the terrified yelling all around him, he swung the pocket axe 360º around him, knocking off a whopping eleven students in under a second. Five students were left in the room, but Mr. Pasta’s bloodlust would not be quenched by just a few more kids.

Luckily for him, the principal came to the classroom to check up on him. Horrified, she reached for the phone, but Mr. Pasta flung his pocket axe, which sliced the wiring that connected the phone to the wall. After finishing off the principal and the remaining children, Mr. Pasta burst through the door with his bloodstained pocket axe. After swiftly shanking an unsuspecting child in the hallway, Mr. Pasta headed for the front office.

Upon entering the front office, Mr. Pasta was greeted by your everyday terrified school secretary. Mr. Pasta made quick work of her before ripping the door to the vice principal’s office off it’s hinges. He flung the door to the side and happened to kill a few kids with it. His bloodcurdling screams became incoherent as his rage increased with every unholy slaughter he committed. Seeing that the vice principal was missing and the police stood just outside the window, Mr. Pasta raced outside towards his large black torturing van, dodging bullets left and right. Mr. Pasta entered and slammed the door shut. The police officers watched in horror as holes opened in the side of the van and rained bullets down upon them.

The cackling, red-faced Mr. Pasta sped towards the elementary school, weaving between the comparatively puny automobiles like he were in the matrix. Arriving an incredible two minutes later, Mr. Pasta retreated to his lair under the school. Mr. Pasta had tortured children there for years, even decapitated some with his medieval-style guillotine, but he decided it was his time to assert his dominance on a larger scale. The lair condensed into a spherical pod which burst through the ground, leaving the school in ruins.

As the pod flew around town, pedestrians looked up and marveled “It’s a bird! It’s a plane!”. That’s all they were able to say before they were brutally gunned down from 100 feet in the sky. Within ten minutes, the entire police department had opened fire on the pod to no avail. With deputy numbers rapidly decreasing at the hand of Mr. Pasta, the chief alerted the national military. Fortunately for Mr. Pasta, most of the military artillery were in use overseas fighting a war over a snide comment the foreign prime minister made about the president’s belligerent nature.

Mr. Pasta headed for the executive office, mowing down anyone who was caught in his sights on the way. Once he was hovering directly over the president’s bedroom, Mr. Pasta began his furious descent. Gathering speed at an incredible rate, Mr. Pasta prepared to crash through the ceiling. Mr. Pasta’s killing machine collided with the president just as he had expected - mid-fornication. Mr. Pasta glanced out the window, searching for the president’s sexual partners. He was not surprised to find that the first lady was not present, but shocked to find both a pussycat and a large bulldog who appeared to be dead on impact.

Mr. Pasta opened the door to remove the lifeless figures when the cat viciously sprung at his exposed head. Still possessing his pocket axe, Mr. Pasta clumsily chopped the cat off of his face. His partially clawed, blood red face watched with a sinister satisfaction as the slain cat fell to the ground. Mr. Pasta re-entered his pod and steered himself toward the president’s office. Once crashing through the door, Mr. Pasta discovered the first lady and world-famous golfer Elduck Forest engaging in coital activities. Mr. Pasta was too disgusted to simply bash them to death with his pod, so he evacuated the vehicle and beheaded them in a single slice with his pocket axe.

Mr. Pasta grabbed the telephone and dialed the leader of the National Department of Secret Super Cool Stuff. Mr. Pasta yelled into the phone with words as clear as the gaping hole through the door “Release all of the monsters immediately!”. Scared shitless, the commander obliged, pulling a lever that was larger than it ever needed to be. Every strange mutation created under the secrecy of the government rushed out of large buildings all around the country. The partially underwater city of Landville was terrorized by a kraken who was destroying homes with her several muscled tentacles. The arid region Watertown was put on alert of a horde of fighting skeletons who run rampant, slapping anyone they see with their bony palms. The elevated town of Monkeyville was filled with citizens running for their lives from giant creatures with the heads of cute kittens and the bodies of full-sized trains flying toward them. Many other demonic creations terrorized urban areas all over the country.

Mr. Pasta then quickly secured a deal with a large rival country, making him an ally of the country, on the one condition that he would join the other war that the former president had started. The military troops of Mr. Pasta’s country thinned, leaving no one to stop the nightmarish beasts from rampaging through the entire country. Mr. Pasta’s plan for world domination was coming together quite nicely.

As news spread around the globe, foreign leaders were sent into a frenzy. It set them back that all of the news that was delivered was quite belated. Anyone who was close enough to know of and attempt to report about the massacres would be destroyed before being able to spread the information. International armies sent their troops, finding conditions a lot worse than expected, but having a decent amount of success. In under two weeks, the entire band of skeletons was completely eradicated and the cat-trains went quietly if you aimed for their heads.

Mr. Pasta knew he needed to take matters into his own hands. He set himself up inside his pod and fled the capitol. Mad with power, Mr. Pasta began to fire bullets at Will. Seriously, Will got pretty fucked up. Poor Will. He did nothing wrong with his life, but got gunned down because Mr. Pasta didn’t care. They say “Where there’s a will, there’s a way”, but Will is very past having ways, for he is dead. Rest in peace, Will. You will be dearly missed by those five people who actually care about you.

Anyway, Mr. Pasta flew around the sky accelerating to over 100 miles per hour. The pod killed hundreds of thousands of people without changing its trajectory at all. It was two months before the pod ran out of fuel and plummeted to the ground. Mr. Pasta was found dead inside as his head had exploded from excess interior pressure. Unlike with Will, there were zero people who missed Mr. Pasta. He was, after all, a mass murderer.

With the cat-trains, skeletons, various international armies, and now Mr. Pasta all deceased, there was no one left to fight the kraken of Landville. The kraken rose to power and made everyone her b***h. The kraken, however, let the power get to her head. In her quest to dominate the planet, she forgot she couldn’t breathe above water. It was really a stupid mistake and a lot of people were wondering what was going through her mind. She passed away and a lot of the survivors of the whole incident feasted on her roasted tentacles. They tasted kind of like swordfish, but more salty due to her personality.

After restarting civilization from scratch, this very story was turned into the biggest theatrical success of the century, as most of the surviving members of society loved reminiscing about the way they almost died horrifically. They found that Mr. Pasta, the craziest, most evil human to ever disgrace the Earth was best portrayed as a middle aged man with a moustache and a polka-dotted sweater. He sang songs of his triumphs and skated around on ice, having a merry old time. It did not take long for the children of the next generation to make three-dimensional memes of him, reducing him to a simple joke found all over the interwebs. This truly was symbolic of the rise and fall of Mr. Pasta. Just a simple man, going from schoolteacher to internet meme, killing countless individuals in between.

~Fin~