When Mike Became An Angel And Shat Off The Clouds, chapter 3
The coffee was prepared and everything was going to run smoothly, everything would be perfect. Mike would die drinking the meaning of his life, dying with as much pain as possible. Yes, as much pain as possible.
The only thing that could go wrong was as if Tré from the other heaven, (that's the Tré who spends his filthy days locked up in a mental asylum with a bunch of rats with cleavage and especially one called Edgar, they're close friends), went into this heaven and started to mess around. The rats (with cleavage) would go craazy, dancing around with their cleavages, that is of course why they're locked up in a mental asylum. Tré would go into nurseries and give out free dildos, his speciality, 14 inches. And he'd give them to the 5 year olds in particular, because he once met one called Finbar, a nice little trampling he was too. Finbar had many brothers and sisters, Allen, Holly, Marcy and David and Eric and Bert.
Tré had also met a 1-year-old singing baby who told him to "fuck off and die";, but to "also look for love";. That baby had been singing for many years, for all its life actually.
But apart from that, everything was perfectly fine. But then again, there's nothing wrong with a bit of spontaneous combustion. Tré usually found himself feeling rather intimidated by his superior intellects, but today he felt quite pleased with himself as he had given such a good speech to the coffees.
"I'm a big boy now,"; Tré smiled to himself, swinging from side to side.
This had not always been the case, in school, Tré used to copy his smarter friends, such as Billie Joe. Except the fact that he dumbed it down all by himself, when Billie Joe put down words like "create";, Tré had to use easier words like "make";, because he didn't use more sophisticated words like the ones Billie Joe used.
Anyway, on with the story. Yes, some of you might want Mike to die more than others. I know I do.
You do all know that I could've written a story about Tré's manly shoulders, nose and chin, or Billie Joe's decision to change his name to Jillie Boe, but no- I had to write a story about 'Mike'...
So, Mike is about to die.
On the 29th of February, Mike's death day, it's time for Mike to fuck off and die. Tré had already consulted Pussy and told him to persuade Mike to have his coffee like a good boy, which was as easy as sniffing glue, except those people who don't have noses or any glue, it might be a tiny bit more difficult.
"oh Mike...here kitty kitty here boy, come on Mike! Oh shit, forgot you weren't a cat..." Pussy started to persuade Mike to come and drink up the coffee.
"What? I'm a cat now? cool!" Mike said, as he got all excited, but he got even more excited when Pussy held out a bowl of coffee, something he had prepared earlier when he thought Mike was a cat.
"look at the gorgeous coffee...you know you want it...touch it touch it squeeze it squeeze it who's a kitty who wants some coffee? Oh shit forgot you weren't a cat..."
Mike took the coffee without a second or third thought.
he took a humungously huge sip and burped rather loudly with a gay little squeak at the end and Pussy waited...
The only thing that could go wrong was as if Tré from the other heaven, (that's the Tré who spends his filthy days locked up in a mental asylum with a bunch of rats with cleavage and especially one called Edgar, they're close friends), went into this heaven and started to mess around. The rats (with cleavage) would go craazy, dancing around with their cleavages, that is of course why they're locked up in a mental asylum. Tré would go into nurseries and give out free dildos, his speciality, 14 inches. And he'd give them to the 5 year olds in particular, because he once met one called Finbar, a nice little trampling he was too. Finbar had many brothers and sisters, Allen, Holly, Marcy and David and Eric and Bert.
Tré had also met a 1-year-old singing baby who told him to "fuck off and die";, but to "also look for love";. That baby had been singing for many years, for all its life actually.
But apart from that, everything was perfectly fine. But then again, there's nothing wrong with a bit of spontaneous combustion. Tré usually found himself feeling rather intimidated by his superior intellects, but today he felt quite pleased with himself as he had given such a good speech to the coffees.
"I'm a big boy now,"; Tré smiled to himself, swinging from side to side.
This had not always been the case, in school, Tré used to copy his smarter friends, such as Billie Joe. Except the fact that he dumbed it down all by himself, when Billie Joe put down words like "create";, Tré had to use easier words like "make";, because he didn't use more sophisticated words like the ones Billie Joe used.
Anyway, on with the story. Yes, some of you might want Mike to die more than others. I know I do.
You do all know that I could've written a story about Tré's manly shoulders, nose and chin, or Billie Joe's decision to change his name to Jillie Boe, but no- I had to write a story about 'Mike'...
So, Mike is about to die.
On the 29th of February, Mike's death day, it's time for Mike to fuck off and die. Tré had already consulted Pussy and told him to persuade Mike to have his coffee like a good boy, which was as easy as sniffing glue, except those people who don't have noses or any glue, it might be a tiny bit more difficult.
"oh Mike...here kitty kitty here boy, come on Mike! Oh shit, forgot you weren't a cat..." Pussy started to persuade Mike to come and drink up the coffee.
"What? I'm a cat now? cool!" Mike said, as he got all excited, but he got even more excited when Pussy held out a bowl of coffee, something he had prepared earlier when he thought Mike was a cat.
"look at the gorgeous coffee...you know you want it...touch it touch it squeeze it squeeze it who's a kitty who wants some coffee? Oh shit forgot you weren't a cat..."
Mike took the coffee without a second or third thought.
he took a humungously huge sip and burped rather loudly with a gay little squeak at the end and Pussy waited...
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