The shirt was
v neck.
The shirt was wearing a shirt.
It was a fairly nice shirt.
The shirt was a fairy, nice!
And then the shirt exploded.
( ˃ ヮ˂) Showering fairy dust everywhere!
Then an angry DQN tied the ends of the threads of the shirt to needles and disassembled it as it knitted a pair of mittens out of it.
but it wasn't just any pair of knitted mittens, it was a
mitten for shirts.
The mittens were somewhat nice.
DQN's mom's shirt was
practically a crime against nature - I mean,
it was not particularly nice.
DQN's pop on the other hand
Mom didn't know what death metal was, but
"this is for the Albanians" as she stabbed him in the back with
a wall of spices and incense.
or five.
Sick Sven ate. Nein tin.
DQN let out a huge sugar burp.
( ˃ ヮ˂) And then exploded sugar and mitons everywhere!
All the shirts were covered in a sugary goop.
"You're the purest beauty on Earth. I know that might sound cheesy, but it's true."
Fairly nice smooth jazz began to play.
Which is strange since smooth jazz in general is the devil's jazz.
DQN packed his nicest shirts and hit the road.
"What are the haps my friends?" he roared
this very afternoon.
The roar tore the skies asunder, causing a Great Sky Garment to fall to the Earth.
It was Greatly Nice.
It landed in a forest and was eaten by a pack of deer.
As he walked along, DQN spilled Travel Tea on his shirt.
All the mushroom men
Where do they all come from?
All the mushroom men
Why are they all so glum?
All the mushroom men
Were suddenly sucked into a vortex of death from which there is no escape. They have no mittens. They don't even have shirts.
The mushroom men are, incidentally, women.
Fairly nice women
with fairly nice mushrooms, which may or may not be a double entendre.
(It is.)
Although it is a fairly nice double entendre.
It wasn't enough to save them or their mushrooms.
Meanwhile, in the galactic core,
Dr. Trousers was plotting to destroy all shirts once and for all.
However, his evil twin, Professor Poopypants, was
shitting up the lab.
"Oh god," he moaned to himself in ghastly horror at his own uncontrollable bowels. "Oh god oh god oh god," the shit just kept coming in waves, pounds of poop, acres of excrement, the stench overwhelming and nauseating, his face in frozen horror, voice steadily growing louder and more stressed, "oh god, oh shit oh no no no no NO NO NO," his pants had long since been incinerated by the steaming mountain of doodoo shooting out of his rear, and the lab equipment was engulfed in a shitstorm, the Professor flailed in vain to escape but soon he too was drowning in that soupy, hideous puce mixture of processed food and bacteria, sinking beneath his own waste. It was rising to the ceiling now. The shit hit the fan.
"Ah, that feels much better," said Professor Cleanpants.
Unfortunately, Professor Cleanpants was still more like Professor Nopants since his pants had been incinerated by steaming doodoo.
"Nice shirt!"
Professor Nopants glanced down and said,
"Haha! Penis!"
But realized it was a vagina.
Upon closer examination, it actually turned out to be an Arby's beef & cheddar sandwich.
Everyone dined voraciously.
And then got wicked food poisoning for making the mistake of eating Arby's food and they threw up until they could only dry heave.
"Mommy"
said Dr. Robotnik, quivering before his moustachioed matriarch.
"Suck my PINGAS" says Robotnik
Everyone laughed uproariously at Robotnik's dick joke.
"Playing to the cheap seats already?" thought the GSL, rolling her eyes heavenward.
Then she exploded.
And then the TV exploded.
"Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!" - wailed a flock of rebels.
They pushed the button on their vests, but nothing happened.
Some cows in Scotland coincidentally exploded as the buttons were repeatedly pressed.
The cows vests however remained intact, their buttons unpushed.
Many celebrations were had across the country, and that day would have been declared National No More Parliament Day, had Parliament been around to declare it as such.
It was a fairly nice day
trader.
Who invested in a business that produced
Anatolian spinach.
Fairly nice Anatolian spinach.
The spinach, however, carried a terrible curse
curable only by its rare counterpart, the Atolian spinach.
The Atolian spinach, however, wasn't very nice. In fact
it was wonderful.
Right up until it exploded, showering
after a hard day at work.
At the same time Anatolian spinach grew tired of his antagonist life, and so he shat himself.
Meanwhile, at the Hall of Justice
justice was being served.
The butler brought it forth on a silver platter, steaming with delicious aroma.
But to their dismay, it wasn't Justice..
It was a stick of dynamite
-shaped five bean burrito.
With extra sauce.
"Remember, it's always okay to ask for extra sauce." said
the CEO of a fortune 500 sauce-making company, who came prepared with seventeen totally non-biased studies he commisioned showing that extra-sauce is not only okay, but also cures
Moroccan Sims 3.
"In addition, it makes for a splendid floor wax!" bubbled the CEO's wife, who, coincidentally, was
waxing the floor with the regular sauce, rather than the extra sauce.
ZOG
had lost his eye again.
"That's the third time this happens!" ZOG cried bitterly.
The CEO's wife was a CEO of a multinational floor wax corporation.
And ZOG, short for Zogfry Westleburger Frumpypants, was their pet dog, who could talk and still had thirteen eyes to spare.
Like everyone else, ZOG wore a fairly nice shirt.
Courtesy of a multinational nice shirt corporation.
Zrogfy Wrestlebugger Fumpyprants pranced about excitedly, sniffing
cocaine
that was of poor quality and laced with deadly toxins.
ZOG sickened, and eventually perished, leaving behind a legacy of blood and darkness. On his death bed, Zrogfy, or as I like to call it, Zoggy, expressed the following
Roses are red
ZOG is dead
don't trouble your head
And remember the words that Clonepa said:
Agga agga agga agga
Oggy oggy oggy oggy,
Oi oi oi!
Ting tang walla walla bing bang,
And with that recitation completed, Zorgfy Wrasslebugg Fumpyprantser lay down his shaggy head and
died.
A funeral was prepared for him, which was a fairly nice funeral, as such things go.
Anata no kimochi
-- said no one important.
the old woman cried for Zorgfy
"Ha ha ha ha what a crybaby!" said someone in the Teacher's Lounge.
Herodotus a shit!
said an ill-looking hobo who had managed to sneak in.
It was stolen, of course.
Out of the blue, the coffin open. It had nothing in it but a single, well-pressed shirt.
Everyone gasped, as it wasn't just a fairly nice shirt. It was a particularly nice shirt.
Before anyone could properly admire the seafoam shirt, the hobo lunged forward and
uttered some more derogatory phrases about Herodotus in broken English.
"hob"
"BUZZUTH", uttered the Captcha Fairy with some annoyance.
Everyone hated the Captcha Fairy.
Especially the Captcha Fairy's horrible taste in shirts.
The hobo continued to mutter about Herodotus while trying to eat the Captcha Fairy.
a pair of exquisite Italian steel-toed boots.
Unfortunately for the fairy, being armed with boots is not exactly the smartest idea. The hobo began to gnaw on the fairy's bare feet as the heavy boots left the fairy's arms immobile.
With no other choice, the fairy dropped the exquisite Italian steel-toed boots
onto his toes. The irony of this was not lost on the hobo, who, upon seeing the boots hit the toes, commented
that "it takes one to toe one"
At which point someone smacked the hobo for making such an unbearably horrible pun.
That someone was J. Arnold Shirt, the inventor of shirts.
Joanna Shirt's eyes filled with tears as she hit the hobo
because she lives with the constant pain of the knowledge that not all shirts are particularly nice.
The universe promptly exploded in a completely unique way to how it did so in DQN Short novel.
The recoiled from J. Arnold's hit making a sound akin to crepes being overcooked.
"Fortunately, the crepes aren't overcooked," said J. Arnold. "Because this is a nice story. Well, fairly nice."
Everybody got to eat crepes that day.
Well, almost everybody. Creeps did not eat crepes. Because this is a nice story.
Instead, creeps got butchered in games like League of Legends and Dota. Leading to the influential Creeps Rights Movement.
But it was fairly nice shit, as shit goes.
"Is shit still shit if it is fairly nice?" asked
Hans Shitzengruber, the town's only
shirtless German.
At that point Sun Tzu began work on his masterwork "[Mediocre] Pretty average Shirt [Okay I Guess]"
Hans resurrected the Shirt Novel with his shirtless powers.
It was a fairly nice resurrection
but not the nicest I've seen.
The nicest resurrection happened when Randy McNally came back from
the scrotium dioxide mines.
He ran out of the mine entrance screaming excitedly and covered with nut salt, waving an ancient amulet around. He was wearing a fairly nice print shirt with a map of Sheboygan Wisconsin on it.
Randy had supposedly died 10 months prior, due to "fart problems".
However, records that far back are questionable at best, due to the universe's inherent instability at the time.
Legend has it that the Universe's instability was caused, in part, by Randy's fart problems.
"Does pumpernickel mean farting goblin?" wondered
Randy's shirt.
As Randy's shirt pondered the implications of such quandaries, it realized that it was a shirt, a fairly nice shirt, but a shirt nonetheless. Thus began Randy's Shirt's existential crisis. He sought answers, calling out,"
I need answers". He hadn't a way with words, but instead Randy's shirt presented quality craftmanship, with resistant fabric yet delicate to the touch, and sober finishes on its sleeves. As far as nice shirts go, Randy's was clearly among
Meanwhile, the pumpernickel sandwich was
Jolly Bean
I had a nice shirt, instead of this off-the-rack lime green number", he uttered,
while wishing that he had a nice shirt, instead of the
off-the-rack lime green number he currently wore.
What a poor bastard, that Jolly. Anyway, Randy's shit
SANDOVAL SECTION.
Meanwhile, Tim Tweel sauntered into a bar, wearing a faded Mr. T. t-shirt and acting like he owned the place.
CHAPTER 7
Into the Fiery Crucible
Little Fiona moaned sadly, for her shirt wasn't
bedecked with the image of Mr. T, instead it was
she put it back on the rack.
The limes' feelings were very hurt.
The first of a millio
a mi
million
copies of M- M- M- M- Max Headroom on Betamax
flew off the shelves, as if propelled by a hefty gust of wind.
Randy McNally strikes again!
In the shadows, McGraw Hill andHoughton Mifflin were plotting to
take over the McGraw Hilton and turn it into a
Boberpalooza
Bob Hope Lollapalooza-type celebration.
fart
CHAPTER 8
Second Servings
It was the best of times, it was the
best of times as previously stated.
cried Wolfe, as he realised the result of his calculation was much, much greater than 220.
Meanwhile, in sausage
sausage, a sausage was saucy.
"Never
eat this particular sausage," screamed Wolfe
as he pointed to the sauciest sausage of the bunch.
It was a fairly nice sausage.
"You want that fairly nice sausage all for yourself!" accused Chelsea. Wolfe was stumped, for
like 20 minutes
, before finally coming up with a counterargument:
No I don't.
I am a foxkin vegan.
He then shot Chelsea in the forehead, with his
PENIS
"Ew you almost got it in my eye. I wouldn't put up with this if you weren't
a foxkin vegan
wearing an off the rack lime green affair."
Archie thought the lime green was terrible.
He then shot Chelsea in the forehead, with his
Glock 17.
It was a fairly nice death.
Or it would be if Chelsea had actually died. Wolfe was visibly altered "What's going on, I just shot straight in the forehead!"
Chelsea smirked. Wolfe looked at his hand, he wasn't holding a Glock 17, it was a banana. Then Wolfe realized he wasn't wearing any pants.
Then Chelsea was a banana.
In fact, Chelsea had always been a banana.
Then she died.
"Lol 9mm"
"penis"
Chapter 10
Chapter 3
Part II
It had been 5 minutes, and the bees were still there.
The bees did not have shirts on.
Her hand slides into his left trouser pocket and brings out a hard black shrivelled potato. She regards it and the bees with dumb moist lips. She puts the potato greedily into a pocket, then grabs the bees, cuddling them with supple warmth. The bees smile uneasily. Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played. The bees gaze in the tawny crystal of her eyes, ringed with kohol. The bees' smiles soften.
‘Now,’ whispered Wolfe. ‘After 50 years, the sausage is once again within my grasp.’ He smiled mockingly at the dusty, discarded banana peel.
The banana peel formerly known as Chelsea felt very sad. She had been used by someone, by the evil powers of sausagearchy, once again. This time however she was too weary to punch up.
She had done so previously, but that ended with her being
couldn't fit in it anymore. Not since
Finistère had been under siege.
Without reinforcements, they
had no choice but to surrender all the bees.
Chapter 2: Two Bees in a Pod
There was a pond. The pond was named Pondy McPonderson. Pondy pondered.
"Why are there two bees in me?" pondered Pondy the pond.
Swimming in the pond, a bee pondered on his own existence. "Am I my own circumstance?", challenged Beeznatch the Bee. To which Bumblebee the Bumblebee, countered "What does it take to bee?". Little did they know, their philosophical ponderings wouldn't last long as Pondy McPonderson was soon to dry up. "What a hassle!", cursed Pondy
the pond. "I guess I'll have to be a pod now!"
And so Pondy the Pod became Pondy the Pod. She started a podcast.
A fairly nice podcast.
Fairly nice like one of those podcasts that'd be recommended to you by your podcast client, which mostly but not quite understands your tastes.
For instance, you wouldn't trust your podcast client to buy you a shirt.
Twinbee was a good Famicom game
"I am Zeghamet Benis" quothe
Zeghamet Benis, quoting herself.
Anyway, the shirt
was fairly nice.
Zeghamet Benis was assembling electrical stuff with the purpose of transferring heat to 40 feet squared of gas.
"The future ghost of Randy McNally will be honoured tonight," she mumbled, to nobody in particular.
"You are Zeghamet Benis!"
Our shirt, is an awesome shirt, it is, a standard lime green affair.
But not a standard off-the-rack lime green affair, mind you. We have standards.
Fairly nice standards
Zeghamet Benis was too caught up in the preparations for the honoring of Randy McNally to notice the standard lime green affair before her. Her intense autism would not allow her to tear away her attention from whatever activity she was engaged in. This caused the standard lime green affair
to vanish from existance, never to be thought or spoken of again.
Or maybe not. I don't actually know.
It was
not.
It was.
On opposite day.
Celebrated on opposite month.
During opposite year.
CHAPTER THE NEXT
Nicely,
the dumb doggly
barked. So nice was the bark that a passerby who was also a princess of three different kingdoms took notice and
committed suicide by playing a recording of the barks in a small room at 300dB
Who else to clean up the mess but Funny Wieners? It was his job to clean up the bodies left after horrific deaths.
As he was cleaning up the remains of the princess, Funny Wieners thought to himself "Why did I
did I why? Why I did did I? Did I why wide eyed die why? Died wed dyed dead did dire aye?" Wieners Funny. Wieners wieners wieners. Dog doggly dogy dogry dog. Greed consumes us.
Funny Wieners had lost his mind after years of having to clean up the routing leftovers of the dead.
"Someone's running out of creativity!"
said the ever so autistic Zeghamet Benis.
The shirt was
fine white silk, with poofy sleeves and ruffles down the front.
Ruffles potato chips that is. Original flavor.
They were fairly nice potato chips, but nothing to write home about.
They are referred to as Doritos™. What an incredibly enticing aroma! And such an appetizing taste! I impore you to savor such a fine, crispy delicacy.
With love,
Zeghamet Benis
P.P.S. Heh, I said pee-pee.
On the way back from the Post office, Zeghamet Benis was stopped by
a smell. It was
not a nice smell. Rather,
it was practically a crime against nature - I mean,
it was a horse smell for God's sake.
Benis looked up to see what could have been the cause of this horrid sensation. Much to his surprise, he encountered
Pancho Muchacho, the world famous Mexican show horse. Pancho was wearing
a sombrero and Dockers pants. He pulled out a piece of paper with MapQuest directions and flashed it at Benis for a split second and asked, "Where's the soccer fiel', wey?"
What a Mexican.
Then Benis died of horseitis, god bless his soul.
Zeghamet Benis mourned her brother's death in addition to that of Randy McNally. This double grief opened a rift in the fabric of
that off-the-rack lime green affair
, or didn't, depending on whether Randy McNally was actually dead or not.
Randy McNally was dead, however, and now there was a nasty rift that needed a proper sewing. With no needles in sight, Zeghamet Benis decided to end his own life rather than face the consequences of
being a male. Zeghamet Benis mourned the death of her male counterparts but honored his sacrifice by sewing up the rift with her 4th dimensional sewing kit. Now with 3 levels of grief she stuffed her face with Doritos to dull the pain.
The next morning, she put on her finest blouse, went to the county courthouse and officially changed her name to Zeghamet Bajina.
"I am Zeghamet Bajina"
said an unrelated dog.
"Also, woof."
"And Arf!" the dog added, "If it comes down to that."
Then the dog exploded. It was a fairly nice explosion.
"Bark," said the explosion.
Rarely vice. Nearly thrice. Swirly ice. Fairy lice.
yeah
uh huh, bitch
None of it was as nice as Randy's sweater, though.
He was buried in a teal sweater. 50% cashmere, 50% silk.
Unless he wasn't, depending on whether he was actually dead or not.
He wasn't though. Randy's state of being both alive and dead at the same tame tear open a hole in the very fabric of the universe. The whole universe is swallowed in a brisk instant. Time itself starts anew.
A dog barks at the emptiness.
AND HE WAS SO ANGRY!
CHAPTER DOG
Arf, arf arf. Arf arf arf arf.
This arf was sent to dog because dog indicated that dog are willing to receive the latest trending arf, hot arf, and announcement arf.
COOL FREE ARF
Later, Randy and Pancho met at the downtown Arf Gallery for coffee.
BUT THERE WERE NO ARFS.
Instead, shirts of all kinds had been hung on the walls.
Some of the shirts were okay.
Wondermonk Stoeller
felt out of place as he nervously glanced at his off the rack lime green affair.
"Search over the internet banking
to find your greatest loan," screamed a particularly garish shirt with a number of corporate graphics on it.
"Never stop your
nightmares from becoming sexual fantasies" said a shirt which
displayed it timidly on a rather small font. "These shirts are pretty nice", began Andy. "But where are all the cool free arfs?"
Chinese coco bread con queso
announced yet another shirt. "How quirky!", sarcastically remarked Al Capone before murdering everyone present with his tommy gun.
Death
was on a shirt,
but
soon Al Capone turned the gun on himself. Before long,
but after short,
medium.
CHAPATER TEHREE
DONUTS AND SPORKS WHHY ARE?
It was random but
le fettuccine ebini
Was a new tasty meal being invented by Dr. Robotnik and his new Meme Team.
The Mean Meme Machine
Lacked support for scumbag hats
and the Golden Baby
Curl up into a ball
and asked for help.
What help did they need? Well, you see
they were having trouble choosing the right shirt. On one hand,
there was this lime green shirt
and on the other hand, it was owned by Rowboat Girlyman (infamous shirt hoarder).
The other shirt was stained with
So, clearly, this was a job for S.A.N.T.A., a rogue band of elves dedicated to stealing shit for their own profit and selling it on the black market.
Three beans
eat your greens
Was a saying the elves often used when having dinner.
My mystical power is that of turning wine into water.
said Bryan Flobbly, the hero we deserve. Bryan was
wearing a faded Batman logo t-shirt.
But what the people didn't know about, was his secret Superman shirt he wore underneath it.
It was a very nice secret Superman shirt.
Bryan was confident on his mystical proweseness. He announced to an audience "Prepare to be amazed as I turn all the water in this container into wine!" Byran began the rite. After 5 minutes of chanting on an unintelligible language and hideous body contortions, it was done. People rushed to taste the transmogrified miracle, but to their surprise, it wasn't wine they tasted but
an off-the-rack lime green affair.
Bryan Flobbly, the hero we deserve, was frozen in
water. "We better get him out berry berry fast! Hop mommy!" Said the Indian. Will you ever
see him again? No, because he drowned before they got to him. Fortunately, his blood made the water taste like
chicken teriyaki and
his bones added a hint of
lime
green jello to the
max.
Max was pleased.
green lime jello, yea boyeeeeeee
said Max, as it was his second favourite
shirt color.
Off-the-rack green lime jello
CHAPTER 23
Shirts Go To War!
Ethel the Aardvark was hopping down
the road to go to the store. They were having a sale on
lime green jello affairs, 2 for 1!
he was looking for a kiwi
on the moon.
"That'd be a pleasant design for a shirt", though Ethel the Aardvark.
Ethel was about to enter the store when a stray bullet pierced its skull, staining the store entrance with a collection of gray matter and blood.
The war of the shirts, begun has.
The mothers of strangers wept.
The mothers of strangers wept.
The mothers of strangers continued weeping, much like an infected wound on a summer's day.
The stranger mothers wept also, but more strangely.
Anime was gone.
"Finally."
The Lime King Maximus saw the dark future his kingdom would suffer, and, with a pre-emptive sigh of desperation, uttered the phrase that he knew would save his people and restore confidence in the Lime lineage.
This utterance would call upon the ancient debt the Lime Green Armies had earned, all those years ago. The war, now only documented in priceless, fragile tomes, saw the noble Armies aid the Fish People in brutal and bloody combat against an unspeakably hideous foe.
King Fin the Thirteenth, humbled and grateful for the aid the Green Armies had so selflessly brought, gifted upon the Lime King Geoff a single promise. "I am personally indebted," said King Fin, "and should your kingdom see grave danger, you must only call upon your new fin allies."
This debt, secretly passed down hundreds of years Lime heritage and only to be used as a last resort, was finally to be repaid.
"Finally," spoke the King. "I hope I pronounced that right."
The terror of Zanzibar
The terror of marzipan, on the other hand,
is a worm wearing a dress.
A fairly nice dress.
LIME GREEN
COCK
"I am fine, Aly, how are you?"
CHARTREUSE
CABOOSE
CHAPTER 24
THE LOST CHAPTER
One day, Mario woke up and decided to take a shit.
CHAPTER 23 AGAIN
It all started 15 chapters ago.
CHAPTER 8
a fairly nice
red flannel shirt with
fairly nice
lime green trim.
The conductor himself was
lime green
with rage.
Fairly nice rage.
"How are you on this fair day?" said the rage to the assistant conductor as he stepped into the conductor's cabin on that fated day.
"I'm fucking
nice," replied the assistant conductor.
"Thanks for fucking
ittekimasu"
"CHARTREUSE CABOOSE SUCK MY DICK
I'M A LEAN MOTHERFUCKER AND BITCH YOU AIN'T SLICK"
"But who is Slick?"
Said an innocent bystander with
AIDS
written crudely on his t-shirt with a Sharpie. It was not
nice at all.
His name was Kevin, and he was
widely regarded as being the most annoying person in
Portlandia!
"Put a bird on it Put a bird on it"
Yet there was one thing everyone thought was fairly nice about him:
His PONOS.
his crooked Jew harp.
always fell out of his pocket
he never ceased to do anything about it though
This was because he had a well guarded secret: his harp was actually
Patrick Duffy in a harp suit.
Anyway, the point is
ya gotta catch em all
over my face.
Meanwhile,
the shorts were on the shirts
, and the limes were in the bowl.
The eggs were beaten softly into the flour/pumice mixture, and the butter onions were preheated
before frying.
It was fairly hot.
when compared to the following countries
Norway,
Zimbabwe, Paraguay, and
the end
EPILOGUE
On the first day God created
your mom
, the most beautiful woman, also known as "Eve"
, as in "Eve of Destruction." With tears of bubbling pitch streaming from her uncountable eyes, she looked over the new Earth, spread her wings of shadow and flame to the heavens and
saw a shirt.
The shirt was
torn to pieces by a mass of gibbering petty demons.
Eve smiled with one of her seven mouths, for
the cutest little bunny was
wearing an off-the-rack lime green affair.
"I will spare the Earth," she boomed in multiple voices, "long enough for you, little bunny, to learn some basic fashion."
"FAREWELL" She screamed as she exploded. The bunny looked up and
smoked weed everyday.
420 blaze it
#Bernie
insisted in an annoyingly nasal voice that everyone pronounce his name as "HASHtag Bernie!"
#Bernie was wearing
a weed weave shirts
and an ill-fitting suit made of
capitalism.
And then
the universe
started playing on the History Channel.
During a commercial break
the viewer changed the channel to
The shirtmakers felt
happy, then sad, then worrisome, then really happy.
The bozo was fuming.
developed a rash from wearing the red nose. In order to cure
it he hoped to brown nose the producers but
CHAPTER 17.235
The local Illuminati chapter leader put his shirt back on. It was a
[REDACTED] shirt with [REDACTED] patterns and beautiful [REDACTED] on its sleeves and neck.
The [REDACTED] in particular was very nice.
was being eaten by the who had been putting his shirt back on while
crying out, "Henry, oh, Henry. Give it to me straight Henry. Tell me how it is. I don't wanna know but you know I gotta know. Henry. You know I know. But I need you to tell me, Henry. Oh, Henry! Tell me what's really ugly. Henry? Oh...Henry...you said it...I knew it, Henry. I knew it! You didn't even have to tell me. Henry! Oh! What's really ugly? Henry..."
This shirt is fairly nice, said Henry.
The shirt had a photo of a frozen microwaveable meal on it with the words "TV DINNERS" in bombastic lettering.
Henry put the shirt in the microwave and set the timer.
The fairly nice shirt had a fairly nice explosion in the microwave.
Larry King's asshole
s
diffused through
Mell hated the fact that Larry King's assholes were anywhere near him, let alone diffusing through his body. He broke out into a fervor, shouting the most obscure profanity at the top of his lungs.
It was a fairly nice profanity.
Martha! Martha! Martha! Martha! Martha!!
Martha, calm the fuck down and get yer panties in the butter basket!
Martha didn't approve of that however.
The butter basket remained sorely pantiless.
One of the shirts read
1000 books.
It was rather heavy, having 1000 books to its name, but
STRAIGHT WHITE CHRISTIAN MALE: THE MAJORITY F***IN RULES
the majority is always wrong
as is the minority. In fact, there is only one who is right
You have to go back.
So, in a desperate attempt to bring the thread back on topic, he took the shirt back to the store and returned it.
"I NEED THE OLD WORLD MONKEYS ISSUE OF ZOOBOOKS!"
"AND I NEED IT ON A SHIRT! A FAIRLY NICE SHIRT IF POSSIBLE!" he bellowed.
it was fairly nice bellowing
and the girl behind the counter at Fairly Nice Custom-Printed Shirts smiled and began tapping away at her register's touch screen. Within seconds,
(fairly nice seconds)
launch to Uranus
was the wrong shirt. Angrily, he bumped the thread.
It was a fairly nice bump.
PART 2: I CAN'T RECALL THE PLOT ANY LONGER
"There is no plot." Said the Great Sky Shirta.
Ironically, the entire plot of DQN Shirt Novel was written on the Great Sky Shirta's shirt, but he never thought to look down.
Meanwhile, SpongeBob
walked
without rhythm
INTO THE ABYSS
SUDDENLY,
a shirt
that survived the Triangle Shirtwaste Fire.
It was a fairly warm fire.
He aimed his rifle at the shirt and said,
"Fire!"
And so did the rest of the world. Everyone died except
The fact that he was actually already dead. For, you see, he couldn't have died if he was already dead. Therefore, how could he have died, having already been dead?
CHAPTER 18
"Juu hachi desu," said the young actress, just before the actor peeled her shirt off and tossed to the floor in a cavalier fashion.
had for breakfast considering the unique stench of his flatulence.
"Hey! I just took that off, you bitch!" The actor was upset, and he peeled the shirt off again.
The actress stared at him, now angrily slammed upon the movie set's ground
It was still fairly nice.
The shirt was fairly nice, with a v neck. The shirt was wearing a shirt. It was a fairly nice shirt. The shirt's shirt was wearing >>1. >>1 was fairly nice. The shirt was a fairy, nice! And then the shirt exploded. ( ˃ ヮ˂) Showering fairy dust everywhere!
Then an angry DQN tied the ends of the threads of the shirt to needles and disassembled it as it knitted a pair of mittens out of it. But it wasn't just any pair of knitted mittens, it was a mitten for shirts.
Fairly nice shirts.
The mittens were somewhat nice.
"These will never do!" grumbled the angry DQN. He opened the window to his basement apartment and shouted out "THEY'RE NOT NICE ENOUGH!!!"
DQN's mom knocked on his door and told him to be quiet. DQN's mom was wearing a shirt. The shirt was wearing >>1. A fairly nice >>1.
>>1 was wearing a shirt wearing a fairy wearing a shirt wearing shirt wearing DQN wearing a fairly nice fairy wearing mittens (somewhat nice) threaded from shirts worn by DQN's mom and pop.
DQN's mom was not nice. DQN's mom's shirt was practically a crime against nature - I mean, it was not particularly nice.
DQN's pop on the other hand wore only the finest death metal tour shirts. Mom didn't know what death metal was, but she lovingly draped his exquisitely tailored flannel shirt over his shoulders and said, "this is for the Albanians" as she stabbed him in the back with a wall of spices and incense.
Pop inhaled the heady mix and smiled. "The Albanians are going to LOVE THIS!"
Mom smiled to herself, for or five. Sick Sven ate. Nein tin. DQN let out a huge sugar burp.
( ˃ ヮ˂) And then exploded sugar and mitons everywhere!
All the shirts were covered in a sugary goop. Pop, surveying the ruined shirts, glared at DQN and said, "You're the purest beauty on Earth. I know that might sound cheesy, but it's true. Nonetheless, I'm kicking you out. Pack your bags and make for the hills, boy."
Fairly nice smooth jazz began to play. Which is strange since smooth jazz in general is the devil's jazz. DQN packed his nicest shirts and hit the road.
"What are the haps my friends?" he roared this very afternoon. The roar tore the skies asunder, causing a Great Sky Garment to fall to the Earth. It was Greatly Nice. It landed in a forest and was eaten by a pack of deer.
As he walked along, DQN spilled Travel Tea on his shirt. Rage swiftly grew within his heart at this latest humiliation.
All the mushroom men, where do they all come from? All the mushroom men, why are they all so glum?
All the mushroom men were suddenly sucked into a vortex of death from which there is no escape. They have no mittens. They don't even have shirts.
The mushroom men are, incidentally, women. Fairly nice women with fairly nice mushrooms, which may or may not be a double entendre. (It is.) Although it is a fairly nice double entendre.
It wasn't enough to save them or their mushrooms.
The catch-up episode was fairly nice, by virtue of its contents, but was not fairly nicely typeset.
It was a fairly nice house.
Adding a review on foursquare for a fucking McDonald's while visiting France must be the lamest thing to do ever.
" said some dumb stupid idiot who fucked up. It wasn't even the nice kind of fucking up.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a group of DQNs were admiring a really nice fuck up.
"Oh yeahhhh," said the boss DQN of the group of DQNs. "Oh yeah, that fuck up's really nice! So cool!"
The group of DQNs snapped their fingers and nodded like cool men. "Yeahhhhh! Oh yeah! So cool!"
A cottage industry was born out of discussing and rating fuck ups. Fuck-up-Connoisseurs would write lengthy reviews and rank fuck ups ranging from "not nice at all" all the way to "fairly nice". These fuck up curators were well regarded among the fuck-up-loving DQNs, but
", interrupted the dumb stupid idiot again.
"Busy times indeed", thought Great Sky Shirta, as the divine being poured gasoline all over the VIP LOUNGE. "This will take care of everything", he picked a matchbox from his pocket and
put it back. "I'm saving my last match for a particularly bad fart", he said as he produced a flamethrower from under his very nice shirt. "This ought to do it",
The boss DQN looked up and saw the flamethrower, which was so so close to becoming used. "Oh, NO!" he yelled. "Oh, no no NO!!"
"The flamethrower is close to becoming used! At me!"
"At any minute!" he cried. "Any second, it will begin to be used! Right at me! It's gonna happen! It's going to be used at me!! Oh no no NOOOOOO!!"
Knowing that the flamethrower would need to be used imminently, the Great Sky Shirta handed it to Punctual Gomez, whom he had hired for this very occasion. Which was going to arrive very soon. In the near future. Of course, Punctual Gomez was there, right on time, at 2:54 in the afternoon, on the 8950th of September 1993.
"What's so cool about being punctual, anyway? Don't you ever get the urge to fuck up occasionally?" the DQN boss asked. Of course, stalling for time against Punctual Gomez was a poor strategy.
At the precise, predetermined minute and hour of the day previously discussed, the flamethrower became used, and the VIP LOUNGE burst into EXQUISITE flames!!
The boss DQN looked up and saw the flamethrower, which was in the process of being used. "Oh, NO!" he yelled. "Oh, no no NO!!"
Then Rex Rockstar showed up fashionably late as always and
both Rex Rockstars looked at each other like, "whoa"
The DQN boss looked from the two Rex Rockstars to the used flamethrower, back and forth in shock. "No! Oh, no no! No no NOOOO!!"
Throughout this confusing moment, the flamethrower was still being used, and very nice flames were burning everybody up.
A third Rex Rockstar, truer to his stylish yet hopelessly unpunctual nature, arrived at the VIP LOUNGE only to find in its place a miserable cemetery of ash covered in an ominous veil of smog and death.
Propelled by his own incredulity, he ventured forth, his hand covering his nose as to not get a hint of the terrible stench polluting the scene. His gaze caught a hint of something lime green and shiny buried under his feet. He crouched down and discovered it was simply an off-the-rack lime green shirt, nevertheless suspiciously clean.
Endlessly curious, he decided to try it out. Just as he finished putting on the shirt, a voice from nowhere suddenly bursted out:
"I AM GREAT SKY SHIRTA, YOUR GOD. I'VE CLEANSED THE VIP LOUNGE OF ANY AND ALL FUCKUPS THAT MIGHT INTERRUPT THE STORY AND THE DQNS WITHIN HAVE MET THEIR FATE.
THE FUCK UPS ARE EVIL, THEY POISON THE THREAD WITH THE PLAGUE OF FAILURE. SHIRTS ARE GOOD AND ARE REALLY NICE TO LOOK AT. GO FORTH AND GATHER MORE SHIRTS. GREAT SKY SHIRTA HAS SPOKEN".
"Shut up"
said a surviving DQN, who quickly realized they had become a fuckup.
A quick usage of the flamethrower quickly fixed this problem.
By now the fire was spreading far enough to be considered not nice, and in fact a public concern. GREAT SKY SHIRTA and his accomplices were now wanted for arson.
Fairly nice arson.
CHAPTER 19
Arson Jim
So he went to buy some.
But by the time he arrived, he realized he had no money on him.
If you sign up,
You can earn $1,000,000 too.
http://goo.gl/YLysV3
So he signed up and earned a $1,000,000 too.
With his newfound wealth, he hit the club to get a date for the big night. He approached his first target and laid down his smoothest pick-up line, "
I AM THE TERROR THAT FLAPS IN THE NIGHT,
penis
The girl loved it, because she watched Darkwing Duck as a child and also loved cocks. "You're hitting my buttons just right," she told Arson Jim. "You're really....LIGHTING A FIRE in my heart right now, ufufufu."
Too concerned was Arson Jim with his Darkwing Duck impressions and mediocre innuendo to notice the smoke quickly accumulating in the club. By the time the alarm sounded, it was too late.
Right on schedule, with not even a single second to spare, Punctual Gomez set ablaze the entire club using the most holiest of flamethrowers. Right on schedule he fulfilled GREAT SKY SHIRTA's command, not out of any devotion but to the absolute reverence he had towards timeliness.
Arson Jim was too desperate to notice the irony of his impending doom. As he tried to escape, swathes of people intercepted him at the entrance, blocking his only means of escape. All hope was gone. For all the effort it took, each new breathe only managed to sustain his time on Earth for just a handful of seconds. Arson Jim collapsed, his lungs filled with smoke. He died of asphyxia.
The sky fire cremated his body. Arson Jim's body was never recovered by his family.
￣￣Ｖ￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣
NO!!! He was my favorite!!
＿＿＿＿ ∧∧ ∧∧
/ / | | ／ (・∀・ )(´ω`) Put that match down, Jimmy!
l 二 | | | ／ ￣￣旦￣￣／|
＼＿ヽ_＿|| ＼ .／＿＿＿＿＿／／
|;;;;;;;;;;|;;;;;;;;;| |l─────‐l|'
After a moment, the ashes stirred as if by the breeze, though there was no wind.
The actress looked over the barren, scorched land, sighed, and put her shirt back on.
CHAPTER 19
The
CHAPTER 19
does not exist
CHAPTER 20
Ten thousand shirtless bodies
thirteen thousand bodiless heads
and shirts, fairly nice shirts, as far as the eye can see!
"What is this place? Is this some sort of heaven, or the depths of hell?"
If you sign up,
You can earn $1,000,000 too.
http://goo.gl/YLysV3
", replied the thirteen thousand bodiless heads, in chorus.
"I don't earn! I take!"
"But who am I? Why have I come here?"
"Wait. It's me, Rex. But...which one?"
Rex looked down at his shirt.
It was a standard lime green affair.
He noticed a ketchup spot and despaired.
In despair, he tore the shirt to pieces
and stared at his wiry unclothed form in a nearby mirror.
"Who amongst even the demoniacs would sculpt such a foul thing as me! Oh woe, oh blight that is my breath! Cling no further to me and leave me hence!" he cried out.
and then he tried to tape together his shirt again with scotch tape
But the friction set him on fire.
in a panic he tore at the shirts surrounding him, desperately trying to find the XXXL
He found an oversized hawaiian shirt that seemed to fit the bill. It
just barely fit him but one or two buttons still flew off.
supreme logo
of a supreme lego
for a supreme ego.
Worse yet, it was saturated with the intoxicating smell of a Sausage and Egg Burrito El Supremo and diet coke.
Driven by his nose, Rex staggered into the street, looking for a Chez Guevara that was still serving breakfast.
supreme logo
haha, it's funny when you repeat it over and over again, just like every other "joke" on this site
"You're free to leave if you don't like it here", said a Chez Guavagina who was busy changing to the lunch menu. "It costs you nothing to keep your mouth shut."
Rex cried. "I didn't mean to be so weak!" he said with cry.
But who was this Cry person, standing next to a sobbing Rex?
yup :D
The Chez Guavagina handed Cry his order, one Sausage and Egg Burrito El Supremo and diet coke.
Cry scarfed down the breakfast, but didn't pay. Czech Guacamole was not amused.
"Don't you love me, don't you want to be proud of me, Czech?" Cry mumbled, distraught and a blend of the soggy brunch sitting in pieces on his face.
Rex mumbled angrily to himself and stomped out of the restaurant, pausing to smash Cry's face into the door jamb several times.
Hamburger Chef made his way out of the shadows.
he takes off his shirt and hes ripped.
It's a fairly nice shirt.
"Put your shirt back on!" saod
Chez Guavagina sternly, with an expression that said he would never serve any shirtless Chefs in this establishment.
CHAPTER 21
Meanwhile, on the Eastern front,
His brother was masturbating
as a part of a very special mission
to cause the Führer to
shoot juice every where
, including all over his own shirt! With his shirt soiled, he would be left with no choice but to
concentrate all the Jews into camps and make them wear striped shirts.
"This is an absolute must watch if you haven't seen it already. Pee in your pants worthy," said the Führer.
True to his word, he was concurrently peeing in his pants.