Sunday, June 26, 2005

 

smart shoppers!

chris finally broke the silence. "i... i... i guess i like the g-g-g-glitter?" he stammers.

a dark look crossed al's face for just a moment before he yelled, "ARE YOU CRAZY?!? GLITTER! I'M NOT GAY! LACE IT IS!" he threw the pillow, and jason thanked got that it landed on paris' face, covering her zombie-like stare.

al looked closer at the frilly lace-covered pillow and smiled. "do you love it??!?!" he asked.

chris was frozen in terror from al's outburst. after getting an elbow in the rib from jason, he blurted out "i love it."

"i got it at ross!" al sang out, dancing across the room to...EW!... kiss his wife... (sorry, i just threw up in my mouth a little. gross.)

Friday, June 17, 2005

 

you smell what the museum is cookin?

as the hulk of a person came closer, and closer, and closer, a melange of smells assaulted the boys' noses. jason tried to pick them out individually - donuts, chocolate, fish sticks... "what's that one?" he thought to himself. it had a nostalgic quality to it, he couldn't quite place it. then the humongous creature's foot came into a tiny patch of light from some unseen source. "source... source... why did i just think the word source?" pondered jason. he started to panic as the realization came over him, his mind began racing, remembering going shoe shopping with his mother at payless after they'd see the new bogo commericals - "oh, no. no, no, no. anything but this. hasn't today been bad enough? fuck, how do we get away from--

jason's train of thought was cut off as star jones grabbed him and chris by the throat, pulling them up to her puffy, bloated face. they grimaced at her fried chicken/rotten milk/red hots stench emanating from her ketchup-smeared piehole.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU BOYS DOIN' IN MY WAX MUSEUM!!!" she hollered, then throwing them to the ground.

the last thought through jason's mind before he passed out was how pleasant it was to have a breath of fresh air after being captive to the breath of the massively fat shoe whore.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

 

Death Of a Social Butterfly

The boys gasped at each other, hearing the squeals below the floorboards.
They ran towards the back of the "Diff'rent Strokes" exhibit, knocking over a small Gary Coleman wax replica, erupting a warbled "Whatchoo talkin' bout Willis?" from the figure's damaged voicebox.
Jason and Chris found a hidden door behind a plant, kicked it open in a moment of heroism, and ran down some dimly lit stairs.
They followed the sounds of the heiress' sobs and came upon a candlelit room. There the Barbie-doll lay limp, in a chair with belts tightened around her slim wrists, ankles, and neck.
Her dark circled eyes were opened wide in horror and frozen there.
She lay dead before the boys.
They looked at one another, then back at her. There was some shuffling coming back into the room.
Both boys skittered behind a large rusty steel saw and hid.
A large figure entered, shuffling it's tree trunk legs and wearing a splattered tunic.
The boys squinted toward the dimly lit intruder, sweat stinging their eyes.
The figure was grunting and whimpering to itself as it came upon the lifeless body of the heiress. It blocked the view of the body and began doing something to Paris that made her legs and arms shake violently.
Jason let out a gulp and looked at Chris.
Chris looked down at his crotch as a stream of urine trickled down his leg and out from behind the saw. He was scared pissless. The stream ran out and then down into a nearby grate, creating a tiny tinkling sound.
The large thing halted its work, stiffened up, and slowly turned towards the sound. It then cocked it's head to the side and started to walk towards the two friends.
They still couldn't make out the features of their stalker, but it was coming closer to them...

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?Free Web Counter
Free Website Counter