My house is not built for the amount of people it had crammed into it last night.
Luckily, my bed was already broken, so that couldn't happen again.
Same goes for the chair.
My walls can't really be wrecked further.
The house couldn't really be trashed any more.
Nor could the breakage of my wardrobe be repeated, if you exclude its occasional scary moments when it decides to become a mass murderer, and flatten which ever beings happen to be canoodling, completely unawares, under its watchful gaze. Perhaps the wardrobe is a prude, and disapproves heartily of the "tongue action" that it was being forced to watch. Or maybe (and more likely, I feel) it has a crush on Oli, and is painfully jealous of the relationship that is unfolding beneath it. Unable to control the unfamiliar surge of feelings, it allows its large, badly painted MDF door to tip and fall, sure to squash both Steve and Oli. If the wardrobe can't have him, why should anyone else?
Lucky for Stoli, the door was hindered by the ultra-fast reflexes of SuperJoe - a new breed of superhero, saving the world in only his wetsuit. Out now in a cinema near you.
I confuse me.
3 comments:
I like you.
I don't like Steve. Bitch. But other people adore her.
Ahh good day Cissoy. Just like old times before all the unpleasentness.
Even the 'Cassie's boobs' jokes were back in the traditions of the old days.
Ahh.
LEPROSY LOOKS LIKE THIS: THAT WAS ALL ME BABY.
good use of canoodling. People should say that more often
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