Let me be clear -- I am a window. Now listen, Mufasa,
I've got at least seventeen parsnips in my left hand and that effeminate
leprechaun can't wait forever. YOU HAVE TO CUT THE RED WIRE WITH YOUR
GUMS! I lied. It's a potato. I met someone today. His name was Mr.
Tubs-in-pants. He has tubs...in his pants.
Epic.
I like to call him Mr. Pants, for short. Because he is short. But that's okay, because he can still dunk a basketball, provided it's an Easter basket that is on the ground. Showoff. He hippity hopped all the way home after I rubbed his face with a half-eaten mango, and that was that. Unfortunately, he is now sitting right outside my window, raising the roof. Figuratively. No, wait. Now he's performing some sort of rain dance. Nevermind, that's not a rain dance. IT'S THE CAMO-PANTS DANCE!!! His legs are invisible, you know. I swear, it's like there's just a torso careening wildly across my lawn.
Anyway, don't worry about Mr. Pants. He's not important. The real matter at hand is the matter in my hand. It's a hamster. I really...really wanna just stuff it in my mouth. Then swallow. Rinse. Repeat... But I know I shouldn't. OW! The hamster is trying to eat me! ...Fine! I'll just eat you!
...Okay, okay, that was gross. Never stick a hamster in your mouth. It tried to bite my tooth, so I had to spit it out, into the bathtub. By the way, this isn't my house. But the door was unlocked, so it's all cool. Besides, nobody will notice me. I'll just hide in the pantry before they get back. I do that a lot to my friends. I hide in their pantries while they are home, and then I send them Facebook messages.
Flirp: Hello.
Friend: Hi. How r u?
Flirp: I am fantastic. How are you?
Friend: im god
Flirp: No you're not.
Friend: imean im good
Flirp: That's cool.
Friend: yeah
[30 awkward minutes of silence later...]
Flirp: I am in your pantry.
And that's when they call the po-po, so I have to run away and find femail men with hot tubs and three-legged cats. Cats usually have four legs, but the ones with three legs are how you know if their owners are the kind of people who are willing to trade the appendages of housepets on the black market. I'm not gonna lie. You have a liver, and it's the worst. If you sit down for just a minute and hug your feet, you might decide to take up the sport of somersaulting on things that people have touched with their toes.
I can spin around until I projectile vomit.
Epic.
I like to call him Mr. Pants, for short. Because he is short. But that's okay, because he can still dunk a basketball, provided it's an Easter basket that is on the ground. Showoff. He hippity hopped all the way home after I rubbed his face with a half-eaten mango, and that was that. Unfortunately, he is now sitting right outside my window, raising the roof. Figuratively. No, wait. Now he's performing some sort of rain dance. Nevermind, that's not a rain dance. IT'S THE CAMO-PANTS DANCE!!! His legs are invisible, you know. I swear, it's like there's just a torso careening wildly across my lawn.
Anyway, don't worry about Mr. Pants. He's not important. The real matter at hand is the matter in my hand. It's a hamster. I really...really wanna just stuff it in my mouth. Then swallow. Rinse. Repeat... But I know I shouldn't. OW! The hamster is trying to eat me! ...Fine! I'll just eat you!
...Okay, okay, that was gross. Never stick a hamster in your mouth. It tried to bite my tooth, so I had to spit it out, into the bathtub. By the way, this isn't my house. But the door was unlocked, so it's all cool. Besides, nobody will notice me. I'll just hide in the pantry before they get back. I do that a lot to my friends. I hide in their pantries while they are home, and then I send them Facebook messages.
Flirp: Hello.
Friend: Hi. How r u?
Flirp: I am fantastic. How are you?
Friend: im god
Flirp: No you're not.
Friend: imean im good
Flirp: That's cool.
Friend: yeah
[30 awkward minutes of silence later...]
Flirp: I am in your pantry.
And that's when they call the po-po, so I have to run away and find femail men with hot tubs and three-legged cats. Cats usually have four legs, but the ones with three legs are how you know if their owners are the kind of people who are willing to trade the appendages of housepets on the black market. I'm not gonna lie. You have a liver, and it's the worst. If you sit down for just a minute and hug your feet, you might decide to take up the sport of somersaulting on things that people have touched with their toes.
I can spin around until I projectile vomit.
so it i don't have a pantry... where do you hide when you are talking to me... by the way i need a new pancreas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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