The Bridge Troll

TrollOut on a walk, I came upon a bridge over a small stream.  As I stepped forward to cross the bridge, I heard a voice call out, “What are you, stupid?”

I turned to look to see who said it, but didn’t see anyone.  As I turned back to the bridge I was confronted by a large, ugly being.  About 7 feet tall and extremely portly. Not in the “big-boned black is slimming” kind of way.  More in the “I eat Cheetos for breakfast and don’t give a crap what you think about it” kind of way.

It’s face was lumpy in all the wrong places and it had a goatee reminiscent of a 1990’s grunge band.  And it had a smell reminiscent of a 1990’s grunge band after being on the road for a month.

It said to me, “Pass this bridge without paying the toll and I will eat your soul!”

I said, “Dude, we’re in a park.  Does the city know you’re here?”  He didn’t seem like the normal quality of people the city would hire to take tolls at a bridge.  They’re sometimes nicer.

It said, “I hope you die!”

“Hey, alright, chill out.  There’s no need for that kind of talk.  What’s the toll?  A couple bucks?”

The large being got right in my face and yelled, “Your video sucks donkey dick!  And I banged your mom last night!”

“What the hell?”, I thought to myself.  “Dude, back it up!  Just tell me what the toll is!”

“Your use of a comma was totally incorrect in that last sentence!”, it blared in my face.

“How do you know?  I’m TALKING to you, Jackass!”, I blared back.


Huh?  Oh, I get it… “Ok, you’re a troll, right?”

“Don’t call me names you homo Jew bastard!”, it eloquently retorted.

I could probably have just hopped across the stream.  Seriously.  It was only about two feet wide.  This dude was defending a bridge that would have taken a Chihuahua three steps to cross.  But I was in no hurry.  Figured I’d take him down.

“You look like a girl!  Why do you look like a girl?”


“You know that movie you haven’t seen yet?  They all die at the end!”


“You’re a dick and I hate you.  Hope you die with your incorrect commas!”


“Answer me or I’ll post all your personal information online!”


As his rants started to run out of steam, his appearance changed.  He became shorter.  His goatee became a scraggle of a few hairs dangling from his chin.  Strangely, he became even lumpier and smelled even worse.  Acne started bursting out all over his face.  Peanut butter stains became apparent on his t-shirt.

When he finished his transformation into what looked like a 13 year old with a passion for Doritos and Call of Duty, I walked toward the bridge he squeaked, “No! You can’t cross!”

But I did cross.  And I flicked him in the forehead on the way.  And then I laughed to myself as I heard the next person approach the bridge behind me.  The troll squeaked, “‘Their is spelled ‘ei’ not ‘ie’, fag!”  And he began his little game again.


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