1 Folds
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my hideous nose. Not that a nose job would help me much. With a personality like mine, you need more than surgery to get laid. You need alcohol, and lots of it. -
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It probably didn't make it any easier that Darryl was chomping down steroids like they were sweets, and was so hungry all the time he has begun to consume his own arm.
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about all the wonderful bone china that had smashed when that idiot son-in-law of Sylvia came over for tea. Such a waste, Maude loved to get the set out on special occassions like
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He kept still for a moment. Had she heard him? Minutes passed and no one had stirred, so slowly he began to make his way towards her room, sweat beading on his forehead as he held
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walked around with a long stick, ready to poke any slightly paunchy truckers in the belly, screaming at them that "EATING IS CHEATING!". Truckers do not respond well to that.
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if he had a tumour. After much thought and self-loathing, he decided that yes, he did, and that the only way forward was to name the damed thing. George was born.
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whined. But no-one listened. Everybody knew that Sam was AMAZING because he'd got everyone tickets to see The Lion King, whereas my friend had just given everyone scabies.
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It was simple really. Dr Cosby had spent so many years acrchenemying all over the place, that the Royal Academy chose to ignore that it was Lime Jello, despite the wobbly evidence.
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4
look of terror in his eyes as he slowly realised that this was it. The blonde woman sneered, and threw the key to the handcuffs off the pier. Even then, he still loved her.
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maybe he needed to go back to where he came from. A moose would never really belong in a big city like New York. Especially not a moose as ugly as Johnny: no-one liked big antlers
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hundreds and thousands, because no cup cake is complete without those, and some of those mini glazed cherries that he loved so much.
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and now wasn't the time to give up just because next doors shitzu had taken an extreme fancy to his leg.
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which really but a dampner on his day. At least he didn't have to go to school tomorrow. The school probably wouldn't have known what to do with a squashed boy anyway.
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finish his game of Zelda. Grudgingly, he got on a bus to the hospital, trying his best to ignore the school kids with their "music". He wished he'd been shot properly.
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considered it for a moment, before opening the auction at £100. 'This', he said, 'is the slightly soiled oven mitt of David Bowie, long lost in the backstreets of Brixton, by KFC'
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6
enjoying the summer sun, when, all of a sudden, a giant crack appeared in front of her in the road. Being the unobservant hippopotamus that she was, she fell through the crack into