#surreal comedy

Eight-year-old AJ is convinced that a man who watches you while you sleep and breaks into your house isn't a hero—he’s a world-class burglar.

Armed with a can of air freshener and her best friend Twist (who is mostly just in it for the potential snacks), AJ sets off on a top-secret mission to the North Pole to stop the "Big Jolly Guy" before he strikes again.

AJ squinted at the word scrambles on the blackboard, all of which had been turned to alphabet soup by her dyslexia. The teacher, Mrs. Purple, was having them do this as practice for the upcoming 23rd Annual Neila Elementary School Spelling Bee, but, to AJ at least, it seemed pretty pointless. How the heck was she supposed to unscramble something as (relatively) nonsensical as “lcsimawhi”?

AJ blew air out of her mouth and began doodling fashion designs in her notebook. She wished Mrs. Purple had given them a sewing or drawing lesson, or something easy like that…

AJ yawned and laid her head on top of her desk. The next thing she knew, she was standing in a dimly lit room with fragments of her word scramble homework floating in front of her like a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

AJ instantly knew what to do. She grabbed a needle and thread out of her sweatshirt pocket and began sewing her homework into a paper sock. A few times, the homework cried out in protest, but AJ was too focused on her needlework to notice.

When AJ was finished, she barely had enough time to admire her work before a giant, plastic crocodile sprang out of nowhere and gobbled up her homework sock.

“AJ?” a voice whispered.

Enraged, AJ pulled an oar out from behind her back and swung it at the plastic crocodile. SMACK! She was right on target—

“AJ!” said the same voice from earlier, louder and more insistent this time.

“Huh? What?” AJ blinked for several seconds until her classroom came back into focus.

The sight could only be described as a “daydream embarrassment”. AJ was holding the yardstick Mrs. Purple used to point at things on the blackboard like a sword, her notebook was on the floor, Twist and Mrs. Purple were standing behind her with their arms outstretched, and the rest of the class was staring at her awkwardly.

AJ’s face burned beet-red, clashing horribly with her pink sweatshirt.

She meekly turned toward Mrs. Purple and mumbled, “If you give me a minute, Madame Teacher, I’m sure I can find some way to blame this all on the President or the author.”

One day, AJ was out playing hopscotch when she was suddenly approached by an orange-eyed ghost.

"Hello, AJ," said the ghost.

"Sacrebleu!" AJ gasped, jumping back. "Who are you? And how the heck do you know my name?"

AJ spoke with a high-pitched, chipper voice coated in a French accent. Her H’s were silent, and her TH’s sounded like Z’s. 

"Oh, I know more than that, cher," the ghost said with a chuckle. "Like, for example, I know that this morning you asked your mother what the hangy-downy thing at the back of the throat was."

AJ shuffled her feet. "Yeah, she wouldn't tell me, though..."  

"Well, I can help you find the answer you seek. All you have to do is—"

But AJ's eyes had grown glassy. "Can I call you 'Daisy'? You look like a 'Daisy'."

"What!?" the ghost sputtered. "No! I'm a guy, and besides, that's completely—"

"I know someone from school named Daisy," AJ said, oblivious to the ghost's dismay. "She goes by Flower, though, and she's pretty good at the cello."

"Daisy" was completely rattled. "Oh, for crying out loud, girl, could we please just focus on—"

But AJ had already gone back to playing hopscotch, humming "Need Somebody to Love" by Jefferson Airplane.

Daisy sighed. "Now I know how The Boogeyman feels..."

After about half an hour of trying to get AJ to focus, Daisy finally convinced her to stick a popsicle stick down her mom's throat to find out what the hangy-downy thing was.

Later that night...

AJ, in her pink turtle pajamas, waited until her mother was asleep. Then, she snuck down to the TV room where Blaze was conked out on the couch.

Trembling, AJ slowly moved her Popsicle stick toward her mother's mouth. But just four inches away, she burst into tears.

Daisy materialized in front of AJ, exasperated. 

"Good gravy, girl!" he exclaimed. "Even Jason the Werewolf has more brains and guts than you!"

"Wh-Wh-Who's—hick—th-th-that?" AJ choked out between sobs.

"Oh, come on!" Daisy said, his patience wearing thin. "Surely you must have heard about werewolves at school!"

"My name's—hick—AJ, not—hick—Shirley."

Daisy yelled angrily, his orange eyes flashing. "That's it! That's the last straw, little girl! I'm taking you to where the sun don't shine!"

"Seattle?" AJ hiccuped.

"Shut up!" Daisy yelled.

The ghost made a quick movement and nicked AJ's leg, making her cry out. Then, he picked her up and raised her to his mouth.

"Goodbye, Angel K. Arquette, Jr.!"

Just as Daisy was about to attack AJ, Surly shell-spun into the room and threw a bucket of Anti-Spirit Oranges™ at the ghost. Daisy howled in agony and dropped AJ, who picked up her turtle and ran into the bathroom, screaming.

This proved futile, of course, as Daisy just phased right through the door.

“You idiots! Why in the world would you think a locked door could stop a ghost!? Use your brains, if you even have any!”

AJ and Surly screamed as AJ ran into the storage closet. Blaze stirred slightly. "No, not that one, Ollie, the blue is my favorite..." she moaned.

Eventually, Daisy cornered AJ and Surly. 

"You have irked me for the last time, AJ," he growled. "Now it is time for you to die."

"Ok, but could I at least kiss a boy first?" AJ requested.

"Oh, for crying out loud, shut up!" yelled Daisy.

The ghost sliced at the air and accidentally cut open a crate of oranges, spraying himself with juice.

"AAAHHHHH!!! MOMMY!!!!" he screamed as he melted into a pool of ectoplasm.

The screams woke up AJ's mother, who, upon seeing the mess, took her straight to bed.

The next morning...

AJ woke up and entered the kitchen where her mom was eating waffles.

"Bon matin, AJ," she said.

AJ, still half-asleep, muttered, "Mmm, bon matin, Mommy."

AJ went to the cupboard, and Blaze looked up and noticed a huge, frayed tear down the side of her pajama bottoms.

“Angel Kallie Arquette, Jr.!” Blaze gasped.

AJ flinched.

“Ou-Oui, Mommy?” she squeaked.

“You are a young lady! Why are you wearing pajamas that belong in a rag pile!?”

AJ ran her hands down the side of her pajama bottoms and turned bright red as her fingers slipped right through the giant, gaping rip. Squeaking in embarrassment, she poured her cereal quickly and slid straight into her chair to hide her messy pants under the table.

Hysterical, Blaze began to sob. “This is all my fault! I am a failure as a mother! My daughter has yet to climb the ladder of ladyhood thanks to me! AJ, God, Ollie—s’il vous plaît, forgive me!”

Blaze stormed out of the kitchen, revealing a hole in her tank top that exposed a hideous pimple on her back.

Normally, AJ was a sweet and silly girl, but like many kids her age, she could also be pretty stubborn. When she really, really wanted something, she would ask for it over and over and over again until she got it. Usually, it was a new toy or a fun game, but today, AJ wanted something a little… unusual. She wanted a wedgie!

Her mommy, Blaze, thought AJ was just being silly. AJ often said funny and imaginative things, like the time she claimed to be a princess from another planet who loved to eat escargots and rain boots! But when Blaze heard AJ asking a bully at school to give her a wedgie, she knew it was time to have a serious talk with her little girl.

Blaze was worried. She took AJ out of school early and they rode home on Blaze's motorcycle. When they got home, Blaze gently placed AJ on the sofa.

"AJ, ma cherie, I don't understand why you want a wedgie," Blaze said gently. "But it's not a good idea, and I don't want you to ask for one again."

AJ giggled. "A game? Is that what you think this is, Mommy?" she said. "Non, non, it's not a game. Jimmy from reading class told me about wedgies, and I think they sound like fun!"

Blaze was shocked. "Oh, Crumpet," she said, hugging AJ tightly. "I don't want you to get hurt. Wedgies can be uncomfortable and even painful."

AJ looked at her mommy with a puzzled expression. "So, does that mean I can get a wedgie?" she asked hopefully.

Blaze looked at AJ with surprise. "Non, cherie," she said calmly. "Wedgies are not a good idea."

"Why not?" AJ asked, confused. 

Blaze didn't answer. She took AJ upstairs to her room and asked her to stay there for a little while.

"Mommy, why can't I come out?" AJ asked, knocking on the door. "I just want a wedgie!"

"Non, AJ," Blaze said firmly. "You can't have a wedgie. It's not safe, and it's not something we do to others."

AJ was sad and confused. She didn't understand why her mommy wouldn't let her have a wedgie. Blaze felt bad that AJ was upset, but she knew she was doing the right thing. She wanted to protect AJ from The Wedgie Curse, a silly superstition that said if you got a wedgie, the word "NERD" would appear on your forehead!

AJ sat in her room, feeling frustrated. It just wasn't fair! How come Mommy's ex-girlfriend got to threaten her with wedgies and swirlies all the time (before Mommy broke up with her because of this), but now that AJ actually WANTED one, things had gotten more difficult? Suddenly, AJ heard a knock on the door. It was Twist's twin sisters, Pepsy and Pizza! They were smiling and waving at AJ.

AJ was so happy to see Pepsy and Pizza! She loved playing with them, even though Twist said they were sometimes mischievous. AJ jumped up and wanted to give Pepsy and Pizza a big hug. But Pepsy handed her a squeaky toy instead.

"Aw, come on!" AJ said, feeling a little disappointed. "I just want to give you a hug!"

The twins giggled and told AJ they’d overheard her talking with her mother and could help her get a wedgie. AJ was so excited!

"Of course!" Pepsy said with a mischievous grin. "We're friends, and friends help each other out, right?"

AJ was so happy she could barely contain herself. 

"Merci, merci!" she exclaimed, reaching out to hug the twins.

“Anytime!” the twins said with identical smirks. 

AJ followed them to their backyard, but she stopped when they started climbing up to their treehouse.

"What's wrong, AJ?" asked Prancer, Pizza’s reindeer puppet. "Aren't you coming up?"

AJ shook her head. 

"I don't like heights," she said.

Pepsy helped Pizza climb onto her shoulders so she could reach down to grab AJ's waistband. AJ was so excited, she could barely stand still! "I can't wait to give them a big hug later!" she thought.

AJ held her breath as Pizza reached out…

"Where's my little girl!?" Blaze exclaimed. She had climbed over the fence and looked a little out of breath.

AJ jumped, and Pizza tumbled off Pepsy's shoulders. They were all startled by the sound of AJ's mom's voice. AJ felt a little nervous. She knew her mom wouldn't be happy if she found out what they were doing.

AJ quickly turned to the twins. "You have to help me!" she whispered. "My mommy can't know about this!"

"There you are, AJ!" Blaze exclaimed. "What are you doing out here?"

AJ's heart pounded. The twins looked worried. AJ tried to smile at her mom. 

"B-Bonjour, Mommy!" she said. "I was just playing with Pepsy and Pizza."

AJ looked at the twins, but they were too scared to say anything. Blaze could be pretty scary when she was angry.

Blaze took AJ's hand to lead her back home, but AJ didn't move. 

"I have to get a wedgie, Mommy!" AJ pleaded. "I just have to know what it feels like!"

Before Blaze could say anything, AJ quickly pulled up her underpants.

"AJ, non!" Blaze cried.

AJ giggled. "Oh, that's what it feels like!" she said. She let go of her underpants, and they snapped back into place.

Blaze quickly picked up AJ and started to carry her home. But then something strange happened!

Blaze looked at AJ and gasped. The word "NERD" had magically appeared on AJ's forehead!

"What's wrong, Mommy?" AJ asked.

Blaze was shocked and upset. The twins started giggling.

AJ had stars in her emerald-colored eyes as she stared at the castle-themed headquarters of the illustrious Willy Wonderwall Pictures. She was going to be working at the studio as a costume designer for her Girl Scouts program, and her excitement was beyond expression.

AJ hummed a song to herself as she rang a buzzer on the side of the front gate.

“Who is it!?” barked a gruff voice on the other side of the speakerphone.

“Angel K. Arquette, Jr. from Firefly Girls Troop 124B,” AJ answered. “I’m here for the summer program.”

“‘Summer program’?” the gruff voice echoed. “What are you — ohhh, you must mean the summer sweatshop! Er, I mean, uh—oh, crap…”

AJ cocked her head in confusion.

“What’s a ‘sweatshop’?” she asked.

“N-Nevermind. Just… come in.”

The buzzer sounded again, and the gate opened with a rusty creeeak.

AJ smiled and skipped inside the courtyard.

Meanwhile, inside Wonderwall Pictures’ boardroom…

Wonderwall Pictures’ CEO, Peter Wonderwall, stood in front of a whiteboard with a yardstick in his hand. His fellow board members sat around a table with open notebooks in front of them.

“Alright, people,” Mr. Wonderwall said, pointing his yardstick at a pie chart he’d drawn on the whiteboard. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, there are six major film studios in the world: us, Lasser Bros., Worldwide Studios, Limelight Legacy, Vidi Pictures, and Summit-Vortex Media.”

“And Wonderwall Pictures has been on top for the past 20 years!” interjected studio President Stacey Fox, garnering a triumphant “YEAH!” from the rest of the board.

“Oh, for sure, Stacey,” Mr. Wonderwall said with a hollow smile. “But, these past few years, Lasser Bros. has been creeping up on us. Just last year, they made almost a gazillion dollars in DVD sales alone, and almost double that at the box office.”

The board gasped, and studio chairman Rex Burr puffed on his rescue inhaler.

“Yeah, I know,” Mr. Wonderwall said, nodding almost wearily. “And that’s exactly why we’re commencing Operation: Film Frenzy.”

The CEO flipped his whiteboard over to reveal a list:

Operation: Film Frenzy

Have robots write scripts for us

Hire Girl Scouts to design costumes for us during the summer season

Eat cheeseburgers

PROFIT!!! 

One of the board members raised his hand. “I’m a vegetarian. Can I skip Step Three?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Mr. Wonderwall answered with an airy wave of his hand. “Any other questions?”

Mr. Burr raised his hand. “Are you sure this plan is a good idea, Mr. Wonderwall? It sounds kind of, you know… unethical.”

Mr. Wonderwall scowled. “Do you want Lasser Bros. to pass us in the film market, Mr. Burr!?”

“Um, no?” Mr. Burr answered meekly.

“Good. Then, be quiet.”

Mr. Burr looked like Mr. Wonderwall had just slapped him in the face. Several of the other board members snickered.

Suddenly, the door to the boardroom burst open, and in flew a girly whirlwind of pink and blue, followed by a breathless security guard. The board gaped at the intruders in shock, and several of them dropped their pens.

“Bonjour et good day, filmmakers!” the little girl said, seemingly oblivious to the openmouthed stares. “Angel K. Arquette, Jr. is here to fulfill her passion for fashion for the summer!”

Mr. Wonderwall’s expression displayed a mixture of emotions as he registered this: panic, frustration, and a pinch of smugness.

“Oh, look, people,” the CEO said as he kicked his whiteboard out of sight. “One of our summer program girls decided to show up early, and nobody thought to let us know beforehand…”

At the word “nobody”, Mr. Wonderwall shot a glare at the security guard panting like a dog in heat behind AJ. The guard’s cheeks, already flushed red from chasing AJ, burned scarlet, and he smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

Mr. Wonderwall waved away the security guard’s apology and beckoned AJ to follow him out of the boardroom, down the hall, and into a room labelled “TOTALLY NOT A SWEATSHOP”.

Two robots were in there, one doing budget-tallying on a laptop and the other clacking away on an electronic typewriter. There was also a sewing machine, tons of fabric, and a TV on a cart with several DVDs. 

“So, here’s the deal,” Mr. Wonderwall said to AJ, “We’re open from 7:00A.M. — 6:00P.M., Monday — Saturday. You can come in anytime between those hours and work on your designs for no more than three hours (so we don’t get sued). If you get bored, you can use the TV to put one of our old movies on for background noise. Any questions?”

“Why do they call it a ‘flea market’ if they don’t sell fleas?” AJ asked ditzily.

Mr. Wonderwall face-palmed and rubbed his temples in irritation.

“Just get to work,” he said, pushing AJ towards the sewing machine. “And don’t touch the robots, ok?”

AJ saluted Mr. Wonderwall.

“Aye-aye, monsieur!” she chirped.

Mr. Wonderwall rolled his eyes and shook his head as he exited the workroom and slid the door shut.

“Weird kid,” he muttered. “Cute, but weird nonetheless.”

As the summer wore on, AJ created more and more designs for Wonderwall Pictures’ productions, most of which were variations of outfits she herself owned. Occasionally, if she got really bored, she’d put one of the DVDs in the TV-on-wheels, but, for the most part, she was happy…

…or, at least, she was until Twist came to visit her one day in late June.

To put it simply, Twist found Wonderwall Pictures’ whole “summer program” deal fishier than the fishing magazines her dad edited for a living.

“So, let me get this straight,” the scar-cheeked girl said for probably the fifth time in a row, “This company’s leaders are shutting you and two robots in a ‘not-a-sweatshop’ six days a week, and they’re not even paying you for it?”

“I mean,” AJ said rather defensively, “I’m getting my Fashionista badge for Firefly Girls, and the robots are getting their ‘data’ or whatever.”

“Confirmation,” said the budget-tallying robot, “data is gooood.”

The robot at the typewriter beeped in agreement.

Twist rolled her eyes and dragged AJ down the hallway.

“Wh-Where are we going, Twisty?” AJ asked, surprised.

“To give Mr. Wonderwall and his minions the ol’ what-for-five,” Twist answered ominously.

Meanwhile, in Wonderwall Pictures’ boardroom…

The studio’s Board of Directors were all looking at their CEO like he’d just grown a second head.

“You want us to buy Limelight Legacy?” said Stacey Fox. “One of our rivals in the film market?”

“Yep,” Mr. Wonderwall said, looking totally relaxed and composed, unlike his boardmates.

“But sir!” said studio treasurer Darren Wallet, holding out his open notebook for the CEO to see. “We’re already knee-deep in debt from buying Breakneck Comics and LucidPixel, and, frankly, filmmaking isn’t a game of Monopoly!”

“It is a business, though,” said Mr. Wonderwall, “and isn’t the end goal of any business to make as much money as possible?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“—but you’re supposed to be creative!” interrupted a bossy-sounding child’s voice.

The Board of Directors turned in their seats to see Twist and a flustered-looking AJ entering the room.

“Um,” Mr. Wonderwall said, “who are you? And why do all of our security guards suck at their jobs?”

“I am Twist Holloway, AJ’s best friend and neighbor. And I don’t know why your security team sucks; I just guessed the right password: ‘Ricky the Rat’.”

Mr. Wonderwall sighed and face-palmed.

“State your business,” he groaned, making a mental note to replace his security team with more intelligent people.

Twist cleared her throat, smoothed out her dress, and spoke: “I came here today to see how AJ’s summer design program was going, and I found out that you’re having her work six days a week at no pay. And, on top of that, you’re using robots to help you write scripts and manage your money?”

Mr. Wallet scoffed. “If you think that’s bad, wait’ll you hear what they did when I—”

Mr. Wonderwall cut his treasurer off by throwing a pinecone at his head.

“Shutting up,” Mr. Wallet said quickly.

Mr. Wonderwall turned back to Twist with a flushed scowl on his face.

“Wh-What are you getting at, little girl?” the CEO asked, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Exactly what I said earlier,” answered Twist. “You’re filmmakers, so you should be creative, and not use robots to cheat your way to a movie’s completion. You know what I’m saying?”

The board members looked at each other, then at Twist, and then they burst out laughing. The laughter echoed off the high-vaulted ceilings of the boardroom, a chorus of expensive suits and cynical scoffs. Mr. Wonderwall laughed so hard he actually had to wipe a tear from his eye with a silk pocket square.

“Creative? Oh, you sweet, naive child,” Mr. Wonderwall wheezed. “Creativity doesn’t pay for private jets. Efficiency does! Robots don’t take coffee breaks, and Firefly Girls don’t ask for stock options.”

Twist didn’t flinch. She just crossed her arms, her squiggly scar twitching with a focused intensity. “Efficiency is just a fancy word for ‘boring’. If you let robots write your scripts, every movie will be the same. And if you let AJ design based only on what she already wears, every hero is going to look like a walking glitter-bomb.”

“Hey!” AJ protested, though she secretly adjusted her sparkly headband.

“It’s true, AJ,” Twist said, turning back to the board. “You’re so worried about Lasser Bros. passing you that you’ve forgotten why people come to Wonderwall Pictures. They come for the magic. Can a robot make magic?”

Mr. Wonderwall stood up, his shadow looming large over the whiteboard. “A robot can calculate exactly what 18-to-24-year-olds want to see with 99% accuracy. That’s better than magic. That’s math. Now, security!”

“Wait!” AJ shouted, suddenly diving for the discarded whiteboard that Mr. Wonderwall had kicked aside earlier. She flipped it back over, ignoring the ‘Operation: Film Frenzy’ list, and began scribbling furiously with a stray marker.

“What is she doing?” Mr. Burr asked, hovering his inhaler near his mouth.

“I’m designing!” AJ chirped. “Twisty is right. I’ve been making the same things over and over because the robots told me to keep it ‘brand-consistent.’ But that’s not fashion! That’s... that’s a uniform!”

In a blur of green and pink, AJ sketched a costume that defied logic. It was a gown made of film reels, with a cape that looked like a velvet theater curtain, and a crown made of golden popcorn kernels. It was ridiculous. It was over-the-top. It was...

“It’s magnificent,” Mrs. Fox whispered, standing up to get a better look.

“It’s a budget nightmare!” Mr. Wallet countered, though he looked intrigued.

“It’s what a human thinks of!” Twist added triumphantly. “A robot would never suggest a popcorn crown because it’s not ‘statistically viable’. But every kid in the world is going to want one.”

Just then, the door opened again. This time, it wasn’t a security guard. It was a frantic-looking man in a rumpled suit holding a newspaper. “Mr. Wonderwall! Lasser Bros. just released their summer slate! It’s all... it’s all generated by The Script-O-Matic 5,000!”

The board went silent. Mr. Wonderwall snatched the paper. The headlines read: “LASSER BROS. TO RELEASE 400 IDENTICAL ROMANTIC COMEDIES BY AUGUST.”

The stock ticker on the wall suddenly turned red. The public was already revolting. They were tired of the "efficiency." They were hungry for something weird. Something human.

Mr. Wonderwall looked at the newspaper, then at AJ’s absurd popcorn-crown drawing, and finally at Twist’s defiant face. He sighed, the "hollow smile" finally vanishing to be replaced by something resembling a real thought.

“Mr. Burr,” Wonderwall said quietly.

“Yes, sir?”

“Throw the robots in the dumpster. And get the vegetarian some tofu burgers.” He turned to AJ. “Kid, you stay. But we’re paying you. In actual money, not just badges. And you...” he looked at Twist, “...you’re the new script consultant. Clearly, you’re the only one here who knows when someone is selling us a load of fish.”

Twist smirked. “My dad edits fishing magazines, remember? I know a bottom-feeder when I see one.”

AJ squealed and hugged Twist so hard they both nearly fell over. The summer "sweatshop" was officially closed, and Wonderwall’s “Wonder” was finally back in business.

As they walked back to the workroom to fetch AJ’s sewing machine, AJ leaned over to Twist.

“So, does this mean I can still get my badge?”