great ghett0
A Creative Story by: SlankyDaManky
One fine, and relatively humid summer afternoon, I decided I would like to go for a nice, enthralling walk in the ghetto. Wether it was the thrilling idea of being shot or the large supply of drugs avalible, I still don't know why I did this. But anyways, I took a friend. Bean was his name, and being a homo was his game (shower thread). He likes walking in straight lines, then backwards, then into a metal wall with AIDS virus spread all over it. Why he does this is beyond me, but I know one thing for sure, it's really dumb. But I like it. Wait no, yah, who am I kidding. Come to think of it he's not my friend. Wait, yes he is.
When we arrived in the ghetto, you could defanitly tell it was the ghetto. I think it was because of the many african american people carrying around guns big enough to engulf an elephant's backside. They were pretty big, bigger then your average object that you refer to as big, which is pretty big, of course..
Once we got there we made our first stop, the perciouriously funny, but exceptionally unnerving, special olympics. The announcer was mean, meaner then the average person you call mean, which is pretty mean. For mysterious reasons, he was shouting things like "retard one passes the ball to retard number two" why he referred to them as retards surpasses my realm of imagination. They're just children with brain defects that looked really funny while attempting to play soccer. Oh, they played, err, let me rephrase that, sat there and looked like they were playing baseball also. We left because it was entirely boring, more boring then then most things that you refer to as boring, which is pretty boring. Kind of like eating beans on a cold august afternoon while watching the telletubbies play with eachother on the internet. Technically, that really is not boring, but I like to think of it as boring because it is funny also. Funny and intresting things that are boring according to me are both intellegent and actually, sadly happy.
So we walked, and we walked....And we walked. We walked more than the average person walks, which is pretty far. Then we kept walking. Oh, and we walked to. So we were walking, and suddenly, we saw this old man passing by on the other side of the street. He looks suprisingly enough, like one of the children from the special olympics. So we walked over and laughed at him and acted like we were one of those cops that act like there bad but there really good people who get the bad people in trouble for believing that the cop was bad when he was actually a good person in disguise trying to act bad so he could fool the criminal into thinking he was bad even though he was good. So he shot Bean in the head four times. No big loss there.
Then came the elk. OHHH the elk. He had three legs by the way. (oh and bean is back now cuz he is an integral part of my story). So the elk was chasing us on three legs. We weren't really running..More like attempting to lure it into oncmoing traffic by walking at a pace slower than a snail covered in molasses on a cold day...thats dead. Oh and he doesn't exist. Thats pretty damn slow.
So after the elk was dead on the side of the road and aborted cat fetuses chewed on his remains under obscenely high temeratures in the netherworld, we walked over to the main place in town. The big house. The Gangsters Roost. The GR. The Garrr. The G. The Big money. The dish factory. The land before time. The scalliwag house. The PA. The AG. The Sidewalk land. The canadian arab mexican protection agency's last resort to exist on the face of the earth as we know it. The..Sorry..I got a little side tracked..
When we arrived. Theyt sold us drugs. REAL drugs. Not your mom's tylenol that you overdose on by hiding the pills in your PB&J before high school to impress your buddies. Not the fake marajuana the ice cream man sells to young children in an effort to make more money then is avalible to him by his regular job of selling icecream and being a can collecting dragon slaying hobo-istic candle stick seducing fatboy ghetto midget. REAL. Like crack! And stuff.
Bean took it first, he died. I was all like wtF wtFF and then the guy shot me. So as we were wandering along in the afterlife together, eyeing the dead 3 legged goat, and praying to have our souls reedemed. When a message came;
"You can come out of here, but one of you must die" bean immediatly sacraficed himself for me and I came back into my cozy chair, with my cozy, computer, and my cozy (and albeit mad) SM skillz, and my awesome lust for warm sierra mist and crouissant pockets. I was happy.
Oh and Bean was alive to it was all a dream.
And for all you perfectionists that will ridicule me for being a liar..(banana)
END
A Creative Story by: SlankyDaManky
One fine, and relatively humid summer afternoon, I decided I would like to go for a nice, enthralling walk in the ghetto. Wether it was the thrilling idea of being shot or the large supply of drugs avalible, I still don't know why I did this. But anyways, I took a friend. Bean was his name, and being a homo was his game (shower thread). He likes walking in straight lines, then backwards, then into a metal wall with AIDS virus spread all over it. Why he does this is beyond me, but I know one thing for sure, it's really dumb. But I like it. Wait no, yah, who am I kidding. Come to think of it he's not my friend. Wait, yes he is.
When we arrived in the ghetto, you could defanitly tell it was the ghetto. I think it was because of the many african american people carrying around guns big enough to engulf an elephant's backside. They were pretty big, bigger then your average object that you refer to as big, which is pretty big, of course..
Once we got there we made our first stop, the perciouriously funny, but exceptionally unnerving, special olympics. The announcer was mean, meaner then the average person you call mean, which is pretty mean. For mysterious reasons, he was shouting things like "retard one passes the ball to retard number two" why he referred to them as retards surpasses my realm of imagination. They're just children with brain defects that looked really funny while attempting to play soccer. Oh, they played, err, let me rephrase that, sat there and looked like they were playing baseball also. We left because it was entirely boring, more boring then then most things that you refer to as boring, which is pretty boring. Kind of like eating beans on a cold august afternoon while watching the telletubbies play with eachother on the internet. Technically, that really is not boring, but I like to think of it as boring because it is funny also. Funny and intresting things that are boring according to me are both intellegent and actually, sadly happy.
So we walked, and we walked....And we walked. We walked more than the average person walks, which is pretty far. Then we kept walking. Oh, and we walked to. So we were walking, and suddenly, we saw this old man passing by on the other side of the street. He looks suprisingly enough, like one of the children from the special olympics. So we walked over and laughed at him and acted like we were one of those cops that act like there bad but there really good people who get the bad people in trouble for believing that the cop was bad when he was actually a good person in disguise trying to act bad so he could fool the criminal into thinking he was bad even though he was good. So he shot Bean in the head four times. No big loss there.
Then came the elk. OHHH the elk. He had three legs by the way. (oh and bean is back now cuz he is an integral part of my story). So the elk was chasing us on three legs. We weren't really running..More like attempting to lure it into oncmoing traffic by walking at a pace slower than a snail covered in molasses on a cold day...thats dead. Oh and he doesn't exist. Thats pretty damn slow.
So after the elk was dead on the side of the road and aborted cat fetuses chewed on his remains under obscenely high temeratures in the netherworld, we walked over to the main place in town. The big house. The Gangsters Roost. The GR. The Garrr. The G. The Big money. The dish factory. The land before time. The scalliwag house. The PA. The AG. The Sidewalk land. The canadian arab mexican protection agency's last resort to exist on the face of the earth as we know it. The..Sorry..I got a little side tracked..
When we arrived. Theyt sold us drugs. REAL drugs. Not your mom's tylenol that you overdose on by hiding the pills in your PB&J before high school to impress your buddies. Not the fake marajuana the ice cream man sells to young children in an effort to make more money then is avalible to him by his regular job of selling icecream and being a can collecting dragon slaying hobo-istic candle stick seducing fatboy ghetto midget. REAL. Like crack! And stuff.
Bean took it first, he died. I was all like wtF wtFF and then the guy shot me. So as we were wandering along in the afterlife together, eyeing the dead 3 legged goat, and praying to have our souls reedemed. When a message came;
"You can come out of here, but one of you must die" bean immediatly sacraficed himself for me and I came back into my cozy chair, with my cozy, computer, and my cozy (and albeit mad) SM skillz, and my awesome lust for warm sierra mist and crouissant pockets. I was happy.
Oh and Bean was alive to it was all a dream.
And for all you perfectionists that will ridicule me for being a liar..(banana)
END
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