I hate Thursdays. Odd day, I know. Mondays,

I hate Thursdays. Odd day, I know. Mondays, sure. Wednesdays -- yeah hump day's hard on a lot of people. But most people are OK with Thursday. Thing is, I'm not most people.
When the clock strikes midnight on wednesday night, my eyelashes start growing. And growing and growing until they're the size of yard sticks. It makes Thirsty Thursdays a pain.
My eyelashes are not designed for this level of abuse.
My toenails however, that's another story. Let me tell you about this one time when I tried to cut them with a pair of garden shears. It was going so well until
those godamn Jones' from next door came over with a fruit cake, asking if I wanted some. This was the ninth time this week that those senile bastards hav tried to
poison me with bakery products. Perhaps the best way to deal with them was a counter-bake-off.
So I looked the sheriff in the eye, said "Who do you think you're messing with, pal?", and went on to make THE BEST GOD DAMN SOUFFLE IN ALL OF HISTORY!
The sheriff got down to his knees and wept, for the souffle was cooked from the distilled souls of happiness fairies, each spoonful turning to pure gold in his mouth. Yet, he
did enjoy it, he did have severe constipation later that evening which as you can imagine, HURT LIKE HELL
The constipation tasted amazing, but surprisingly caused him to throw up. THE END

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