Damn! The neighbour was playing his guitar again. He plucked such particular notes that the sounds reverberated through the wall, up my nose and into my brain where they cause my nasal hairs to vibrate sympathetically. It was like when the opera singer hits a high C causing glasses to shatter. My neighbours guitar vibrations caused me to smell something bad. The smell was all over the house, it stink so much but when the sound and smell combine. It was horrible, it's like hell in a public bathroom. Pictures of incrusted filth, stale water and pubic hair flickered before her eyes. She had to get out. She had to escape this stink-filled house. She turned a around to escape but the door locked itself. Then soft sobbing floated to her ears from a bathroom stall. Oh no, it was Moaning Myrtle! I tried to flush her down the toilet but Moaning Myrtle clung rigidly to each side of the seat, & refused to go down. In fact, she tried to kiss me on the mouth. Yech! "Didn't know you were into girls!" I said. "Hermione, I gave up on men the day my husband refused to let me have that red toaster," cried Myrtle. "Well, take it out on him, not me," said Hermoine. That was the last day that Myrtle ever saw Hermoine. Fortunately for Hermoine, there were other Myrtles she knew. In fact, she knew of 37 other Hermoines. All of whom were obsequious and would slavishly follow... Kim Jong-Un. The Hermoines were sworn to allegiance with the dictater of North Korea. Dictater is what I meant to say. He dictates taters. Hermoine Taters. They taste good with cardboard sandwiches of tinfoil kimchi and anchovies. In North Korea, Best Korea, they like to use the cheapest spice of them all: starvation. It makes stone gruel taste adequate.

 

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