Lost Diaries: The Fat Puker
January 12th 2007
I removed the chloroform soaked rag from Dr. Boof's mouth, and struggled to fit his scrubs on. He's a generously sized fellow, but he's no match for my girth.
Busting out of the janitors closet, I stomped towards the ER. You're my patient. Your ass is grass and I'm the lawn mower.
The surgery begins without a hitch, and your stomach is soon exposed. In a blinding flash, I grab the scalpel, slice open a meaty chunk, and hork my Double Bacon Chee with the quickness. Dabbing my index finger in your blood, I cackle madly as I swab a message on the wall...
August 22, 2007
Saw a mom running by my window today. Your mom. Bingo.
Strapped on my corrective shoes (I get shin splints) and slammed the door shut with my bearfist. I got on my custom made Power Wheels Escalade and slap on my Ray Bans.
Cruisin' at a safe distance, she doesn't notice anything. Nothing but a man in his Escalade (want a ride honey?? Congratulations. Now you can.) As I approach, she begins to recognize the reckless gleam in my eye. She knows she's about to be puked.
Tucking and rolling onto the sidewalk, I take her down at the knees. I open my mouth, but not to talk. As she covers her face in a futile attempt to stem the flow, she rapidly begins to lose consciousness. As she fades peacefully, I place two coins on her eyes to facilitate her slumber.