- Calling for dinner? You're late again. Five days in a row and it's no surprise. Same old mashed potatoes, and same old meat cooked until it has the same texture as chewed leather. Why do I give you $150 bucks a week? I know, so I get to ignore you, crap in your toilet, eat all your cheese and crackers. I hold no feelings towards you but apathy. When will you die? When will you choke on a chicken bone while I cross my arms and silently laugh to myself? Ha ha. Your demise is my wet dream. I need to use your phone. Don't give me that look, I'll smash you in the mouth. I'll make you swallow those snaggle-teeth. Who the hell made you God? You're nothing but a mooch. Buying new cars with my money. You can't even cook pre-made chicken patties. Dammit, you wonder why I drink so much.
- by The Plasmarifle |
- Fiction
- | Submitted on 10/29/2008 |
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- Title: Dinner
- Artist: The Plasmarifle
- Description:
- Date: 10/29/2008
- Tags: dinner
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Comments (4 Comments)
- Emerezillion - 05/24/2009
- wow
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- Simply Roses - 03/07/2009
- OMG i LOVE IT! 5/5
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- HeraWolf - 11/02/2008
- Pretty good! This sounds very angry. I love it!
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- garbage ghoul - 10/29/2008
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HOLY s**t! That sounds as angry as Jackass by Greenday XD
I like it. I like it. :] I think you should add on to it XD - Report As Spam