Once upon a time, there lived a very stupid and idiotic film director named Brorejfdkaol. His name, for those who are interested, will never be mentioned again. This complete idiot had a balloon. He loved his balloon with a great passion, and always did exactly what it wanted. Since the balloon usually didn't want anything, this guy was kind of bored. As much as he kept asking his balloon what he could do for it, the balloon kept giving him the silent treatment. Still, he loved that balloon.
One day, while directing a sequel to "The Country Bears," a sequel that people around the globe had begged him not to direct, his balloon took off. It just kind of left. I mean, there it was, tied to a moving van, and it just kind of flew away! "No!" cried the director. "Not my balloon! That's my baby! I want my baby back."
After someone made a stupid joke about ribs, (this person ironically had broken ribs,) the director, who by the way was still a complete idiot, ran away crying like a little baby. He ran into his trailer. No, he really ran into his trailer. Right into the wall. "Ow!" he exclaimed. "That smarts."
He heard another comment about the trailer having more of a brain than he did, and proceeded through the door. No, he actually went right through the door. A seven foot tall father, angry with the director for not putting his kid in the movie then grabbed him and threw him right through the door of his trailer. He collapsed to the floor in a blubbering heap, which he did anyway after work everyday, and discovered a little balloon string lying there. "Oh my poor balloon," he lamented. "Oh my poor poor balloon."
Unfortunately, the seven foot tall father was still quite angry. Breaking down the door, or what was left of it, he ran into the trailer and kicked the director right in the baby back ribs. The director flew into the air, feeling somewhat like a balloon he once knew, and smashed through another wall, which contained a picture of his mother. This wall, as yet another unfortunate circumstance, lead into the bathroom. More specifically, however, it lead right into the toilet. The director, standing at a pint-sized one foot three, was able to fit right in, something he didn't do too well in school. The seven foot father, which by the way happened to be his wrestling nickname, walked calmly in and pushed the plunger.
The director had never felt a spin like he felt right then. Not even when his big sister Barby, yes that Barby, put him in the dryer saying that he needed to accessorize. Down and down he went with a swarm of disgusting watter. Eventually landing in a blubbering heap, which he was getting quite used to doing by this time, he blubbered and wept. Finally he stood up in the sewer he had found himself in, and he saw something totally unexpected.
It was already a miracle that he had survived the kick to the ribs, but now there was another miracle. Lying there, floating gently in the beautiful brown water, bobbing up and down like the stock market, spinning lazily like a drunk man on a mary-go-round, was his balloon! He had found it once again! "I have found you once again!" he shouted.
His balloon still bobbed there and didn't appear too overjoyed that they had been reunited. The director didn't notice this, as he was overjoyed. He pulled his balloon from the muck and began to dance around with it. Yay! At last this gruesome story was over. But there was still a problem. How were they going to get out of there? That was a big question, but there was still a worse dilemma. The director vowed that he wasn't going to leave until the balloon told him the way out.