The shirt was
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.