GET the COOKIE

[Captain Jigglypuff]

I show the cookie a photo of Cookie Monster and it screams loudly in horror and passes out from shock. I the grab it and put inside a time capsule that is the launched into space

 

[negative-speedforce]

It's been a while since I went to space, so I'm going to need some help.

I sneak into the vault below the mad science university I attended, where history's greats are cryogenically frozen, awaiting a time where they can return and live again. Then I see the plaque- Yuri Gagarin, Soviet Cosmonaut and the first man in space!

I thaw him out, and after much linguistic confusion, given that I don't speak Russian, he finally understands that I want him to go to space again. Given that space travel nowadays is much more comfortable, he agrees.

We manage to bribe the guards at Cape Canaveral and tiptoe onto the launch pad, where one of the old Space Shuttles is waiting. We climb aboard, and Yuri helps me start up the engines, and off we go!

After a few orbits of earth, I see it. While Yuri admires the void of space, and asks questions via Google Translate about how technology and the population had boomed since his time, given all the lights he sees on the planet below, I use the Space Shuttle's robotic grabber arm and snatch the Cookie before it can do another orbit of the planet.

I introduce Yuri to Youtube brainrot content on our trip back down to Earth, and by the time we return, he's quoting classic Vines like, "Look at all these chickens!" and "Road work ahead? Uh yeah… I sure hope it does!" through a thick Russian accent. Landing the Space Shuttle and dropping him off in an empty field near Moscow, I take my Cookie and get on a train, heading to the sunny shores of Greece.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

Your tour guide awaits, wrapped in a toga, and crowned with laurel leaves, wearing a long beard, just like Socrates.

But who is behind the stretchy fake beard? It is I, defender of the chocolate chip, sworn protectress of The Cookie.

As I motion the group toward the snack table, I pickpocket you and switch The Cookie for an appetizing spanakopita.

As the crowd debates the pros and cons of the ethics of eating octopus, I take my own sentient treat out the back door. There my helicopter awaits. I'm off on a date with Yuri Gagarin for an ice plunge in St. Petersburg, where I will teach him of the wonders of Capitalism, using The Cookie as an example.

 

[negative-speedforce]

Let's see... Russian, can fly a helicopter... I have an idea.

I start pouring ingredients into my evil cauldron as I make the evil concoction that will allow me to recover my Cookie undetected. Sodium chloride... fermented, aged solid milk of a heifer... wheat that's been ground and reformed into the shape of the crescent moon...

Finally, when it is finished, I take a long, big whiff of my creation. Delicious, tempting, and irresistible. Perfect to bribe this potential ally.

I find her crouched on a rooftop in Moscow, and when she sees me, she nearly shoots me with an electric discharge from one of her Widow's Bite gauntlets.

"Who are you, and what do you want from me?" Yelena asks, eyes narrowed.

I pull my concoction out of my bag. "I have something you want."

She still seems suspicious. "And what do you think I want?"

"I made macaroni, if you want some."

Immediately, her eyes light up, and I know she's interested. "All I need you to do is get me onto a helicopter headed for St. Petersburg. Then, the macaroni is yours."

She agrees, and a few minutes later, we're on our way. It's not long before we see your helicopter, flying lazily along, unaware of the second helicopter right behind it. I hand Yelena the macaroni, and she hands me a rope, and a firm nod.

"You'll need to be careful. If you get hit by one of those blades-"

"I know. But this has to be done." I stiffen my lip and stand up straight. "It has to be done, for the sake of the Cookie. If I don't make it back, please, tell my mother I love her."

Then, I leap from the helicopter, swinging down on the rope, and narrowly avoid the spinning blades atop yours. I land on top, rip open the door, and grab my Cookie from your hands, then jump, unfurling my parachute as I descend, cackling maniacally.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

Yuri stands at attention and shouts "FOR STALIN! FOR GLORY! FOR THE PEOPLE!"

He gives me the most romantic, gentlemanly kiss on my hand before jumping out of the helicopter (without a parachute), aiming his body like a bullet towards your gracefully falling form.

He catches up with you and snatches the cookie, without even fluttering a string on your parachute. Still falling like a missile from space.

"Oh no, cute commie boyfriend. Not this time!" I scream.

Banking the helicopter a hard left, I careen down towards the earth with the passenger door wide open, facing heavenward.

Yuri falls right into the passenger seat, and without skipping a beat, hands the cookie to me, in the most gentlemanly fashion, murmuring something in Russian. It sounds very romantic. He could be talking about beets and parsnips and I'd still be a googoo eyed.

We land the helicopter at the spa just north of St. Petersburg, and take a sauna together, sharing warm Chai, before taking the polar plunge.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

So, I think I had an extraterrestrial event.

The Cookie was gone, and a clue was left in its place. Some kind of cryptic riddle left by @FayetheADHDsquirrel .

As I was snatching for the paper, it evaporated in my fingers. And in its place, the cookie reappeared, as if it were beamed down from The Enterprise.

I raise a vulcan hand salute to the night sky, and recite a thankful "Nanoo Nanoo" to whomever beamed my cookie back from her clutches.

I then put the cookie in the pocket of my coat, and zip up the pocket.

I decide I want to do a little sightseeing at Multnomah Falls. Ah, the Columbia River Gorge. God's country. Nothing like old growth forests, tall volcanic cliffs, the tallest waterfalls in America nearly every mile, and a massive river with fir and fern covered islands in the middle, where sea lions rest when they're following the salmon from the sea.

I grab a cup of cocoa from the visitor's center, and share it with The Cookie, on this misty winter's day. I let The Cookie eat the marshmallows and drink the bigger helping.

 

[FayetheADHDsquirrel]

You took a nap after the cocoa and I snatched the cookie. When you awoke once more, you found a note where the cookie had been.


Solve this my riddle to learn the cookie's fate.
Think quickly now before it is too late.

One of us contains the other of us and in some way are we are the same.
Think of write and drink and read and pour for from these you'll learn my name.
What am I ?

 

[negative-speedforce]

I hate riddles.

See, my ex-friend from Supervillain School, Smeagol, got really into the 70s, and while he was out of his mind living under a rock in Saskatoon, he got super into riddles, and that was SO VERY OBNOXIOUS!!!!

So, after I steal the clue from @Yeshuasdaughter by bribing her guard corgi with a pup cup, I take the clue and stare at it long and hard, until my eyes start to hurt. Still can't figure it out, so I turn to a reliably accurate source- the internet.

I make a Reddit post asking someone to solve the riddle for me, and instead I just get a bunch of replies from greasy, chronically online neckbeards saying, "LOL, look at this noob" and "typical female, can't solve a basic riddle, go make me a sandwich". Gross.

So, instead, I try asking AI. As usual, ChatGPT returns an unhelpful word salad that sounds vaguely good but makes no sense overall. I sigh, feeling vaguely icky for even touching AI, but like, I was desperate, y'know?

I return to staring at the riddle, the ink smudging under my fingers, when finally, an idea occurs to me- I made a hang-gliding Frankenstein to help me get the Cookie once, why can't I do something similar this time?

I go to my evil lab and start building another monster, this time using the abnormal brain of a deranged software programmer for it. Now, witness my evil companion- Hacker Frankenstein!

Hacker Frankenstein manages to extrapolate the data and location of your printer from the text on the page the riddle was printed on, and as such, is able to hack into your computer, reset your password, and open the safe you have placed my Cookie in. I take my Hang-Gliding Frankenstein out, and I land on your balcony, open the safe, take the Cookie, and strap myself back in with my unethical creation, returning to my lab.

Mwahahaha!!!!

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

Switching to all frequencies on my cb radio, desperately seeking the cookie, through the broken static I barely hear something regarding The Cookie.

There it is again. I turn up the cb radio in my semi truck and listen very closely. It's broken, through static, but I can barely make out " @negative_speedforce has stolen a cookie with her accomplice, Hector Francisco ."

"Hector Francisco?" I google the name. I find only one person on earth with that name. Hector Francisco, a baker in Mexico City, owner of Panaderia Mariposa.

Packing my tactical assault kit (and my sunscreen and bathing suit) I book a flight to sunny Mexico City.

Disguising myself as an obnoxious tourist, I join a tour group. But as we pass Panaderia Mariposa, I segue from the queue, and throught the double doors into la panaderia.

Holding a sugared begote inches from Hector Francisco's nose, I scowl "I'm only going to ask you once, where is The Cookie?" Old Hector, a septugenarian with a mustache and smile lines around his twinking eyes puts his hands up, "Senora, I swear I do not know anything about your cookie. But if you'd like to try some of my famous galletas de chispas de chocolate, they're hot and fresh, right over in that bin."

I look around at all the tempting treats. Conchas, y novias, y galletias, y brocas, y bunelos. I max out my credit card on the pan dulces, spending the very last of the cash in my wallet when he mentions "Fresh from the kitchen I have a stack of tortillas recién calientes! So hot, you need an oven mitt to carry them back to your hotel!"

I look forlornedly at the empty panaderia, and at the very happy baker, Hector Francisco. I did not find the cookie anywhere. Hector pipes up, encouragingly, "That's everything I baked this morning. Perhaps you will find the cookie you are searching for in there?"

As I walk out of the store, down the cobbled avenida toward my hotel, carrying my bags of pan dulce, I hear a familiar voice. It's @negative_speedforce ! I hide behind a thatched veranda as I hear her say "I couldn't have done it without you, Hacker Frankenstein, now The Cookie is mine! Let us begin our vacation together, just you, me, and the cookie, lovemuffin."

"Ugh," I whisper to myself, "It was Hacker Frankenstein, not Hector Francisco!!"

My first urge is to throw the bags of pan dulce at my arch nemesis. But since I have an enduring addiction and love affair with fine Mexican pastries, I instead, put the packages down very carefully on a bench, whispering to them softly, "You my friends will not survive the night". (Emphasis on the pastries.)

As a guitarist plays a sad Spanish ballad in the distance, I realize I must sacrifice some of my bounty in order to acquire the true sweetness there is left in the world. The Cookie. It's all that matters in the end.

So I fill my arms with Empanadas de dulce, cream horns, conchas, etc etc. Jumping out of you like a cougar who's kids are in college, I yell "This is for The Cookie!"

And before you can remember the Spanish word for "No!" I splat both you and your weird little frankenboyfriend in the face with all of the pan dulces.

As you're simultaneously screaming from the mess, and also cheering from the flavors, I snatch the cookie from your grips. I put it in a ziplock bag in my pocket and catch the first taxi to el aeropuerto.

I realize that to be truly alone with The Cookie, I book a private plane as far as I can get from Mexico.

Greenland.

Yes, I'm unemployed. In Greenland. But... I have other credit cards.

I buy Greenland for twice the amount Donald Trump offered. And then I proceed to build a wall. A big, beautiful wall to keep all cookie thieves out. One might even call it a firmament, it's so gloriously indestructable.

Getting really cozy in the Danish-style castle that I'm given as Greenland's benevolent overlord, I place The Cookie on a cushion with the royal jewels, like a diadem or family crest.

Life is good.

 

[negative-speedforce]

FIRST OF ALL, my boyfriend is not Hacker Frankenstein; it's the beautiful Park Sung-hoon of K-pop boy band fame, though he doesn't know it yet. Or that I exist. Sigh. Maybe someday.

See, you may have built a wall. However, I have a Hang-gliding Frankenstein. And a whole lot of fireworks.

I take the next flight to Iceland, then my monster catches the volcanic thermals and starts to sail along the wind toward the icy shores of Greenland. When we reach it, we notice a big dome over the capital city of Nuuk, and that's when the fireworks come into play.

I've come prepared, with a big bundle of them- dipsy dos, dipsy don'ts, with or without the swizzle stick, whistling kitty chasers, etc. I light them, then quickly drop them on the dome before my fingers get singed. In a dazzling display of colored light, a hole is made in the dome, and we fly in.

The castle guards are easily intimidated by the 8-ft tall stitched-together monster I have as my bodyguard, and the fistful of fireworks I'm wielding, and they quickly scatter. Guess they weren't as loyal as you thought they were. Anyway, that just makes it easier for me, as I enter the castle, disguising myself as a maid in a little black and white dress and apron, and start dusting the furniture.

I go upstairs, to where you lie in your chair, being fed grapes by a servant like a Roman Empress, and I begin dusting the crown jewels. I snatch the Cookie from its case, exchanging it for one of those little Scrub Daddy sponges that are yellowish and round and won't be noticed as being not the Cookie at first glance, tuck it into my apron, and start running. You notice, and call out, "Hey, where are you going, you didn't finish dusting the chairs!"

I shout back, "Upstairs toilet is clogged, it's an emergency!", and you seem to understand. I go to the castle balcony, and send Frankenstein back to my lair alone.

This time, I'm going to take a detour and catch a plane to Tahiti to work on my tan, since all this isolation in my lair has left me pale and vitamin D-deficient. Just me and the Cookie.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

Just you and The Cookie, huh? And that is where I find you one night...

Eating barbecue fire pit roast pig and watching a traditional folk story told through Tahitian dance.

As you and your date, The Cookie, sit in the front row, in awe of the dance, the drums, the torches, it is no great task to simply put on a floral button up shirt and a few leis, pretending to be a tourist trap waitress, and walk right past you, gathering your dishes, and The Cookie.

No, The Cookie did not stand you up mid-date. I took it back! I brought my wandering Cookie home where it belongs. Away from villains and their alluring ways.

The Cookie sits in an open jewelry box atop my nightstand, gleaming in the moonlight, like a diamond engagement ring. No more to wander to tropical isles, when all the love it ever needed was right here at home.

I plan the wedding tomorrow. Perhaps we'll get married in California Wine country. The grapevines will be a perfect setting for the bridesmaids to wear oatmeal raisin.

But for now, I sleep in purity and bliss in my little Pacific Northwest forest cottage, with dreams of a white dress dappled in white chocolate chip macadamia embroidery, under the chuppa, in Petaluma, on the sunny Sonoma coast.

 

[negative-speedforce]

I return home to my lair, heartbroken. The Cookie, my beloved Cookie, has vanished in the night, leaving me alone.

I drink myself to sleep on warm milk, bemoaning the loss of the Cookie. Then, the next morning, when I go to the mailbox, I see it. A wedding invitation, to the wedding of my arch-rival and who else, but the Cookie.

Time to crash a wedding.

I get on my flying machine, which is duct-taped together from a unicycle, an old box fan, and a beach umbrella, and open up the back door of my lair, and drive the unicycle off a cliff. As I fall, I start to worry if I've made a mistake, then an updraft picks me up and I start sailing toward my destination.

I sneak into your wedding, wearing a fake moustache and a chef hat, disguised as a caterer. Finally, as the wedding starts and you begin your vows, I rip off my disguise.

"She'll never love you like I love you, Cookie!" I declare. "Come back to me!"

As if blown by a phantom wind, the Cookie rolls off its pedastal, and starts rolling down the aisle, until it lands right in front of my shoes. I snatch it, stuff it in my chef hat, then get back on my unicycle flying machine, riding (and flying) off into the night, headed for sunny Santa Monica.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

I go back to my old flame, that commie cutie, Yuri Gagarin.

He's nice and all, but nothing could replace the sweetness that is The Cookie.

Yuri knows nothing could come between me and The Cookie. He knows it's wrong to see The Cookie in anyone else's hands, and so he flies me in his helicopter, chasing after your flying machine.

FYI helicopters are much faster than box fan flying machines... unless they're left over from the Soviet Union. His chopper is little more than a flying Trabant. There's more than one reason we won The Cold War.

Eventually, after I get behind and push, the commiecopter catches up with you. Don't ask me the physics, I don't know.

Kissing my darling Yuri goodbye I leap out of the door and onto your flying machine. I grab the cookie and parachute down into an especially dense portion of the Amazon rainforest, where the local cannibals are friendly to only me. I brought my own food to share with The Cookie. I wouldn't follow if I were you.

 

[negative-speedforce]

See, you misunderstand something.

Oftentimes, when given access to education, clean water, and real food, cannibalism vanishes from a society.

So, armed with an armload of trashy grocery store vampire novels (to teach reading), 20 pizzas from the local Little Caesars, and a bottle of Diet Coke, I begin tromping through the jungle, swatting mosquitoes the size of my head away from my face.

Finally, I reach the inhabited part of the jungle. "Hello? Mr. Indigenous Tribes?"

Suddenly, my hat is knocked off my head by a blow dart. I gasp as people surround me, spears raised. "Are you here to cut down all the trees and kick us off our land?"

"You speak English?"

"Yeah, I went to school in Rio. What, do you think all tribes in the Amazon are like, illiterate savages?"

"Oh, heavens no!" I put down my armload of pizzas, and notice the leader guy has a rosary around his neck. "And no, I'm not here to take your land. I brought pizza. And soda. And vampire novels."

I pass out food to my new friends, then ask if they've seen a lady with a Cookie going by. They reply that they have, and that you were last seen headed toward the snake-infested ancient ruins, which they sent you to because they were mad that you assumed they were cannibals. Very rude on your part, by the way.

They send me on my way with a bunch of bananas, and I trek through the jungle toward the ruins in the distance. As I approach, the sound of hissing gets stronger. Then, as I scale the walls and look in, I see you.

You're cowering in the corner, holding the Cookie tight, waving a torch in front of you to ward off the hundreds of cranky snakes surrounding you.

"Back! Back!" You shout.

I slide down on a vine (which might be a snake's tail, but I hope not), grab your arm, and rescue you, swinging out of the ruins and toward the river. I drop you into the water, but not before making sure there's no piranhas and snatching the cookie from your pocket. Now, since it's February and I'm in Brazil, time to go off to Carnival!

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

That wasn't me.

I think you misunderstood something. I didn't parachute down to an indigenous tribe. I parachuted down and hung out with some local cannibals. Big difference.

It must have been dark in that ancient snake temple, because I am pretty sure you took an old Spanish Dubloon off of a log. And making sure the water wasn't full of piranhas, you dropped a log into the river.

I won't tease. I promise.

Meanwhile, I was upstream about 30 miles. And the cannibals were actually the descendants of the pirates who hid said treasure. Their great great grand-pirates got lost in the forest somewhere in the seventeenth century.

So I actually only hung out with the cannibals for about fifteen minutes. I personally didn't want to chill with them very long. They're nice to me, but that doesn't mean I particularly like them.

Once I realized you weren't following me, I called up Yuri. He picked me up in the Trabant-acopter and we're actually up in Jamaica now. Dancing to reggae and chilling out on the beach near the bonfire.

It's been a good time.

Have fun at Mardi Gras. Once you realize it's a dubloon in your pocket, you'll probably be able to stay in a really-really-really nice hotel.

The cookie is in my sundress pocket, as I relax out on the sandy shore of Jamaica.

 

[negative-speedforce]

Man, I knew I should've been wearing my glasses- but they make me look like a big nerd.

Anyway, after a day of fun and festivals, I return to my hotel room, where my jacket, with the sweet, sweet Cookie in the pocket, is sitting on the coat hook. I reach in and pull out what seems a lot less Cookie-shaped now than it did yesterday, an antique dubloon, not my precious cargo. It's not a total loss, as I am able to sell that to some hobbyist and get money for airfare to find out where the actual Cookie is.

Bemoaning my imperfect vision, I put on my glasses for once, because I'm not about to let the Cookie slip through my grip again, and immediately, a group of local children start pointing and laughing at me, and a big lunkhead of a teenage boy shoves me into a random locker that appeared from seemingly nowhere. The curse of looking like a big nerd, I suppose.

Once I've managed to break out of the locker, I go to the airport, narrowly avoiding getting tagged with at least 3 kick me signs, and check my phone. See, I put an airtag on the Cookie, last time I had it, and color-matched it to the color of the chocolate chips, so no one would notice it. Now, it appears the Cookie has made it to Kingston, and the little ping on the map shows it sitting in front of a little local beachfront grill.

Sneering, I catch the next flight out of Rio, and am on my way to Jamaica. On my flight, I have to shoo off several children who see my glasses and attempt to ask me about math and science. I may look like a nerd, but that doesn't mean I know anything about conventional science! I'm a mad scientist, after all!

Once I land, I start strolling the beach, toward the Cookie's last known location, and then I see you, happily dancing in a sundress to some Bob Marley music. Since women's pockets are shallow, I hatch a plan to turn up the music and turn on the bass boosting setting on the stereo. As you begin to dance a little harder, the Cookie starts jostling around in your pocket, until finally, it falls out onto the sand, with you none the wiser as you sway to Sun is Shining.

In disguise as a beach volleyball player, I snatch the Cookie while you're not looking, and slip a Blackpink CD into your pocket instead, place the Cookie in my bag, hidden underneath my volleyball and sunscreen, and return to the airport for my escape.

I think I'm done with the sun. I'm going to Sweden!

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

As soon as you didn't return my serve, I realized my volleyball sparring partner had disappeared. Or was that... you!?

Frantically I search my pockets for The Cookie. I search the sand. I even bring in bloodhounds. But every trail leads squarely to the airport. Specifically to Heilung Airlines. Not Wardruna. Heilung.

Yes Heilung and Wardruna used their big music bucks to open up dueling viking themed airlines.

You thought you'd have a relaxing trip. But actually there are guys by torchlight banging on skin drums and a lady in a reindeer cloak throat singing, as the airplane hits 16 hours of turbulence.

You wish to yourself that you would have chosen softer, gentler Dzivia airlines, but that would have taken you to Russia. And Yuri, being the aerospace hero that he is, would have recognized you the minute you got off the plane.

So I catch a flight aboard the next jet out of there, with Wardruna. Just as loud and intense, but I was just hanging out with cannibals, I can handle a little viking paleo metal.

So I kick back, enjoy the show, and about 16 hours later, deaf as a doorknob, and all shaken up from the turbulence, and the 4 hours where Wardruna screamed "ROW ROW ROW!" and actually stuck oars out of the side of the airplane, whipping the folks in coach and making them row the oars at 30,000 feet for some odd reason.

Good thing I chose executive class. I was up in a private room, swinging in a hammock by candlelight. Still, it was really, really loud.

I get off the plane, like I said, totally deaf from the 16 hour Wardruna show/ cultural reinactment. I see you exiting the terminal, yelling at the top of your lungs, "WHAT? WHAT?"

At least I guess that's what you're saying. I can't hear after that concert.

It was no big thing to sneak up behind you and steal the cookie from your checked luggage, as it came around the carousel.

I then booked a flight aboard peaceful, tranquil, ethereal Dzivia airlines, and am treated like a flower maiden as I ride, cookie tucked inside my parka, upon the gentle zephyrs to a small town on the Bering sea.

I charter a cruise with a whale watching ship, and am transported to Nome. I plan on trekking inland, and spending a little time alone with The Cookie, following the same path Christopher McCandless did.

I really liked his story, and want to spend time in stillness, thinking about all he went through.

So, cell phone in pocket, emergency food in my backpack, and after telling town folks where I'm headed, I make my way out to the bus. I can be alone and really think, and have some good heart to heart conversations, with The Cookie, about deep things, like life, family, existence.

I plant a little patch of wildflowers outside the bus in honor of Alexander Supertramp, and go to sleep inside my tent. It's chilly, so The Cookie, after a long day of deep conversation in the wilderness, is still inside my parka, next to my heart.