Slowly he opened the door. They filled the space behind like beans in a can... a can of terror. They watched as he spooned himself over the threshold, more liquid than man. The fear had turned him into that thick paste known only as "Bulch". There was nothing Gant hated more than the clear fluid that leaked from a pumpkin after it was diced. It invaded his dreams - the silky ooze forming a second skin over his swollen mass. There was another problem and he was on the verge of giving up, but that had never been his style. He had lived through the coronavirus pandemic, which had dragged on for 20 turgid years, and he wasn't going to give up now, because that had never been his style. Unfortunately, he didn't have a choice: suddenly, he started shrinking. As the floor of the club zoomed towards him, he thought, "oh no, not again". The petunia pattern was a nice touch. The thump of Black Eyed Peas was not. Looking around the villa Bill considered impaling the DJ with the kebab he was holding But on the whole he decided instead to just eat the kebab and then poke the DJ in the stomach with the greasy skewer. This annoyed the DJ, but being a people-pleaser, he asked Bob what tune he would like to hear. "I'll tell you in Morse code,"Bob replied.He poked the DJs belly in the Morse pattern of "Money for nothing" by Dire Straits. The DJ just sat like Poppin’ Fresh, handling the pokes with giggles. Then an awkward gay feeling arose and he swatted the finger away. The DJ had to talk about sports all day to clear the gayness.

 

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