The Smiley Smile Message Board

Quite while ago, I wrote some stuff for two different Beach Boy-dedicated tumblr accounts that basically just posted whatever stories you submitted to them. I decided to track those sites down and revisit what I'd written. I found that one site has disappeared, but the other still exists, although it's pretty much dead now. Anyway, I'm moving the stories to this website. I wrote one for each Beach Boy, and I will upload them in alphabetical order.

The first one, of course, is for Al:

Imagine it’s a Winter’s night, and you and Alan are huddled together in front a log fire to keep warm. After finishing your hot cocoa, Alan takes off his shirt and requests that you feel and compliment his muscles. While groping around at his weak skin, he smacks your hands away and runs out into the cold. You chase after him, where you find him sitting in the car, his arms folded and his lips in a pouted position. You ask him to come back inside, but he refuses. You decide that he’ll come back inside when he’s ready, and you lie down. After about thirty minutes, he comes back inside, and you reward him with candy.

This one is about Brian.

Imagine Brian driving you up to the woods to go camping together when he hits and kills a pedestrian. Fearful of prison, he asks you to keep what happened a secret and requests your help in disposing of the body. After obliging, rolling the body in thick plastic, and dumping it in the river, you both eat s’mores and have a nice time.

You're better than other smileysmilers.

I appreciate your words.

And with that, today is Bruce's story:

Imagine partying hard with Bruce on a Tuesday night. As he fills his nostrils with cocaine, you shatter a glass bottle on the back of his head. You gently pull him by the legs to an upstairs bedroom and await his coming 'round in a chair by the bed. While you wait, you being to rummage through his drawers and find a strangely accurate Al Jardine mask. You look at his check book and notice his last purchase was in Tijuana, where he bought a donkey for 349 pesos. He begins to wake up, but you hit him with another glass bottle because his personal belongings are very interesting. After a few more hits, he seems seriously injured, so you dump him behind a hospital with a post-it note that says “Blood gone” and call it a night.

Is there any chance that Bruce Johnson was actually Al Jardine in the first story, then? If he has an Al Jardine mask, then he could've been the one who you fed candy to.

Have to say, this is bloody brilliant. Keep it up!

My stories are open to interpretation.


Speaking of stories, here's Carl:

Imagine making a sandwich for Carl during a nice, summer day. While slicing the bread, you happen to gouge into your finger and begin to bleed all over the floor. Carl puts his head on the floor, using his hair to soak up your blood, and then uses wood glue to put your finger back together.

That one's sorta short, and I took a while to post it--I've been busy--so here's a bonus story. I think it's appropriate for the holiday it's being posted on.
The website where I originally uploaded these stories was filled a startling amount of pornographic stories, and I felt I had to do something to fit in. This is what I wrote.


Imagine Carl sexes you and then Dennis sexes you and then Brian sexes you and then you say no to Al and then Bruce sexes you and then Mike sexes you.



Happy Valentine's, everyone.

Oh my god. Crazy but fun!

Today we cover Dennis:

Imagine Dennis asking you out on a date. As he pulls up to your house at 8 o’clock sharp on Friday, he’s dressed in a tuxedo and hands you flowers. Before you have time to say “thank you,” he ushers you into his limousine and asks his driver to take you down to the pier. The driver misunderstands what is asked of him and drives the car onto the pier, running into numerous people. Dennis tries to make the best of the situation: he places a picnic blanket on top of the rumpled bodies and fills your glass with champagne. While he attempts to talk to you, the sound of your conversation is drowned out by sirens, the fleeting footsteps of your driver, gun shots, and a body slamming into pavement. Dennis disregards this and attempts to kiss you, but you’re too distracted by a passer-by vomiting over the railing of the pier into the ocean. After blood has soaked through your clothes and covers your leg, you decide it’s best to say goodnight and walk home.

Seriously, I hope you write for a living.

Quote of the year.

You're too kind, ladies.



And so we reach the finish line. The last story belongs to Michael:

Imagine riding naked on horseback through the a savanna with Mike Love at your side. After a rigorous riding session, you come across an heretofore undiscovered tribe who call themselves the Milanaki. After attempts to communicate with each other, the tribe surmise that Michael is a god, raise him upon their shoulders, and march back to their huts. You never see him again. 

I imagine that I'd probably be pretty sore when it was all said and done.