i feel quite pissed now

(which is q rare amirite so ok i will write a short story before i sleep)

one day a turtle was having a particularly awful night he thought to himself how is it that i can have so much to do but not do any of it then suddenly a harsh wind swept across the sands of the tundra and from that wind emerged a pie-shaped genie who said in a booming voice “good evening turtle you look like a dull emerald that got a bit pudgy around the sides” and the turtle said “well genie u r not so hot urself you are a slouchy mopey sort of pie the kind whose crust crumples into a soft thick mush the moment it meets the mouth almost a slippery sludge of sorts so one might spit and scrub and slave away to get rid of that foul taste but then the filling is what’s truly unappealing it is blueberries that have popped apart and dribbled their juices down the sides of their shirts till it pools at the sleeves, they look like wilted beachballs that have lost their will to live.”

the pie-genie frowned angrily because though she was unappealing she was also a semi-powerful being and was simply not used to being called out for her subpar structure and stuffing. 

just then a plate of spaghetti appeared sans sauce it looked like bleached dreadlocks it was absolutely revolting everyone who saw it threw up like mortarboards at graduation 

The End

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