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"CALL THE EXTERMINATOR!" the chef shrieked

  • "CALL THE EXTERMINATOR!" the chef shrieked at the top of her lungs as she burst out of the pantry.
  • Arnie the soup-chef came in, wielding his big, tough ladles and massacred the rats in the pantry. Blood and fur spattered everywhere. Head chef was furious. Now it's contaminated!
  • Arnie shrugged, sneakily pushing the dismembered tail of a rat back into the soup. Fresh ingredients should never be wasted, after all.
  • But then he noticed a fly floating in the bisque. He called over the waiter which turned out to be a smartly dressed goofy looking guy who was covered in blue fur. The man siad,
  • "The fly adds protein. It's the only protein we have in these parts. I cannot even get Ill'lshpit - the food I need to keep my coat the most radiant blue it can be."
  • I salivated and drooled a bit then chomped down on the compound eyes which crunched deliciously as the omatids collapsed into shards in my mandibles.
  • I also liked Man Dibbles, which included a facination with Ron Dibble's mustasche. Returning to my bowl of bug eyes, i gave some thought to growing my own mustache. A transplant
  • wasn't completely off the table, but where would I find the money? She wanted larger boobs and I could sell my mustache to pay for them. I munched my Oh Henry bar while considering
  • the possibilities. My 'tache had long been a cause of admiration for men and women alike. No mere slug balancer I, rather a cultivator of the finest fuzzy face furnishing. Waxed,
  • dyed, and properly maintained, it was the grandest 'stache in the land. That is, until Beatrix said she wouldn't make out with me until I shaved it. The bitch.
Started
2011-02-01 01:23:42
Finished
2011-04-24 13:14:48

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