what do you think of my just-for-fun story?
Question by : what do you think of my just-for-fun story?
okay, i continued the story from yesterday and… yes..
If I don’t get a box of chocolates in the next two minutes, someone will die. I really haven’t exactly picked who yet, but i have my first two choices. Maybe my roommates fat tabby that pees on everything of mine, including- yes, my computer. You really just can’t get that delicious cat pee smell out of something like that. Or maybe it’ll be the obese dog that glares at me from outside. I’m afraid to look out my window or leave my apartment now because that overweight dog judges me relentlessly with its pudgy eyes. What? Eyes can be pudgy. Don’t believe me? Go look outside your door right now. He’s probably watching you, too since you’re reading this, or if someone is forcing you to read this he’ll mock you. Who would be forcing you to read this, you ask? Plenty of people. That’s just how good my story is. Anyway, my second choice would be my roommate himself. He is the one who is supposed to grab me the candies from the supermarket down the street. He offered since I’ve been depressed all week about my fish dying, but it really isn’t making me feel better since he’s been gone for an hour and fifty eight minutes. Wait, sorry I guess I’m a liar. An hour and fifty nine minutes. Watch out Mr. Skittles, there’s an angry fish mourner on the loose.
A loud knock sounds on the door five minutes after my deadline, but I’m too lazy to prop myself off the couch and walk all the way to the door, and then unlock it all by myself. Actually, I am not lazy at all, I’m just too depressed. I don’t have any follow through on my threats, even ones I make to myself. I just can’t do it. That ugly, skittle eating, pee cat looked at me like I was a loser, and I couldn’t help but agree. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t want to walk down the two flights of stairs that lead to the judgy dog outside.
“Marvin? Hey open up man, it’s cold out here,” my malicious roommate wails helplessly. I press a pillow around my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I’m quiet he won’t realize anybody’s here. If it works on T-rexes, it will most definitely work on him. “You are such an idiot,” he calls, though it’s like a pleasant buzzing through my pillow. “Whatever. I guess I’ll just take your chocolates elsewhere, where I’m wanted.” A tempting tease for me, but I have been long trained in the art of baiting. After my roommate looked at his watch during the two hour long Romanization of the- just a shot in the dark here- store clerk, he probably just in time scrambled to buy something brown. Like M&M’s. Gross.
He leaves after a couple more minutes of incessant whining. Good riddance. Something springs up onto the couch, a heavy, morbidly obese thing. “Off of me pee-cat!” I yell helplessly, trying to propel him off with my legs, but he won’t budge. “You suck,” I mutter, rolling off of the couch and onto the floor. Playing on the T.V. is some cheaply made romance movie, starring a past-her-prime child star. Gross.
“You can’t leave me,” the star whelps to a buff, stony looking man.
“Yes you can, lady. Empower yourself, woman pride!” I yell to her. Movies are more fun when there’s an interesting person who adds commentary, and everyone loves these people. They even shower them with popcorn and candy in movie theaters.
“I can’t be here,” he mutters, pushing her away, before leaping out into a sea of trees. But before going out of sight, he glances back once and says something.
“Please, will you feed my fish?” As soon as I say it I feel like crying and punching the T.V. at the same time. This weird, Norwegian-esque man has unwittingly fueled my anger by muttering something that looked like the word fish. He has created a fire within my belly that makes me feel like I’m going to throw up. I need to do something constructive with this before it turns into a full-fledged forest fire. Although it would be cool to see who I blow up on. Maybe it’ll be my physics teacher. He can explain how “point A” within my stomach gets to him, the aptly named “point B.” Is that how physics work’s? I really don’t know, I usually read in that class.
I crawl quickly away from the screen and to our centuries old computer stuck with decades old stickers of fruit, which is ironic, I guess, considering the fact that we don’t have anything related to Apple. That’s irony, right? I believe so, because it goes along the lines of something I read, ironically in my physics class. See, I’m learning.
Best answer:
Answer by debiclardy
I only got half way through. I grew bored. It just sounded like a rant.
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