Meh Series

  Fart wasn’t his real name. His real name was Fredrick Aloysius Reginald Thompson. But after The Incident during gym class (you know the one), the name “Fart” stuck harder than an old peanut butter sandwich to a cafeteria ceiling. Fart didn’t mind. In fact, he leaned into it — literally. One day, while chewing gum and slapping stickers on lockers, Fart heard a weird sound. Not the usual whirr-clunk of Gerald’s shell skateboarding. Not the annoying buzz of Principal Meh’s electric scooter. No. This sound was more… ominous. It was the Cosmic Blurp — a giant, sentient gas cloud from the Planet Flatulon-9, here to turn Earth’s atmosphere into one big burp balloon. It hovered above the school like a sneeze that wouldn’t come out. Everyone panicked. Except Fart. He climbed to the roof with a bag of cafeteria chili nachos and a look of grim determination. “It’s my time,” he said, flexing his butt cheeks like a warrior preparing for battle. The Cosmic Blurp cackled: “I S...

Chapter 1: The Morning That Wasn’t It was a Thursday, but not the kind of Thursday that made you want to get out of bed. In the apartment above the laundromat, Sam blinked at the ceiling, listening to the slow drip of the kitchen faucet and the distant hum of the city. The alarm clock flashed 7:01, then 7:02, then—well, you get the idea. Sam shuffled to the kitchen, where the toaster sat on the counter. It was an old, reliable model, with a sticker of a llama wearing sunglasses. Sam dropped in two slices of bread, pressed the lever, and waited for the familiar pop. But the toaster didn’t pop. Instead, it hummed. Not a mechanical hum, but a tune—a little off-key, but definitely the chorus of “Eye of the Tiger.” Sam blinked. “You okay, buddy?” The toaster glowed faintly. The bread inside began to levitate, spinning gently. A tiny, digital face appeared on the toaster’s chrome side, pixelated and determined. “I want to be more than a toaster,” it said, voice crackling like static. Chapter...

  In the sprawling, paper-strewn offices of the Multiversal Employment Hierarchy, Desk Clerk Third Class Zorp Glorble was having a bad eon. His desk, a sentient slab of quantum  The *MEH Series* universe, as depicted on www.mehseries.com, is a quirky, irreverent sci-fi setting that blends cosmic absurdity with deadpan humor. It’s a place where existential crises are as common as burnt toast, and the universe is run by the Multiversal Employment Hierarchy (MEH), a bureaucratic nightmare that assigns jobs to beings across dimensions, often with hilariously mismatched results. Planets, species, and even abstract concepts are thrown together in a chaotic stew of interdimensional shenanigans, with a tone that’s equal parts Douglas Adams and Kafka. Since the website itself is light on specific lore, I’ll craft a story that captures its vibe—focusing on absurdity, bureaucratic dysfunction, and the cosmic equivalent of a shrug. Here’s a tale from the MEH universe: --- **The Case of th...

Meh didn’t plan on going on vacation. He just walked out of work one day and never came back. “Where are you going?” asked Gerald the Battle Turtle, clinging to his lukewarm bagel. “Somewhere without alarms, responsibility, or people who talk about their dream boards,” Meh said, throwing a single sock into a suitcase and calling it packing. Destination: Blahh Island Population: 3 bored pelicans and one angry tourist trap Meh arrived via budget submarine (it only surfaced half the time). The locals greeted him by shrugging in sync. The hotel was called The Okay Inn. It had one star, and that star was chipped. When he got to his room, the air conditioner made sounds like it was dying… emotionally. “Perfect,” Meh said. Then he lay on the bed that was slightly damp for no reason and turned on the TV. It only played documentaries about moss. Day 1 Tried snorkeling. The ocean rejected him. Day 2 Tried to get a tan. Got a sunburn in the shape of a sad face emo...

It was the kind of morning that didn’t suck terribly—but wasn’t great either. The sky was the color of slightly expired milk, and Gerald—who was entirely coffee-less, sockless, and emotionally fragile—ambled into Meh HQ. His target: Vendy, the office vending machine with a reputation for savage sass   . “Gimme one Ultra Zesty Citrus Slammer,” Gerald whispered, clutching his $1.75. A robotic growl echoed, the screen flashing “ERROR CODE 13: UNWORTHY HANDS.” A smoke-billowing panel slid open, disgorging a robotic arm… which handed him a tiny scroll marked: “If you want the Slamm…” And that’s where our story really takes off. 🔹  Operation Snack Retrieval Gerald huddled in the break room, dramatic lighting courtesy of the rogue “Cooking with Explosions” rerun on the big screen. He was plotting a grand heist—complete with trench coat (overstuffed with screwdrivers, gum, and a laminated Geneva Convention cheat sheet). He dubbed it “Coup of the Century: Vendy Edition”...