PoetPhilosopher
Veteran Member
Enoch looked at the pink Whoopie Cushion in his hands.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his surroundings. He had always hated his house. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel grumpy.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Obsydian. Obysydian was a stern devil with a pair of nice jeans.
Enoch gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a hardcore tea drinker. His friends saw him as a martyr. Once, he had even rescued a racist from a burning building.
But not even a person who had once rescued a condemned racist from a burning building, was prepared for what Obsydian had in store today.
As Enoch stepped outside and Obsydian came closer, he could see the solid glint in Obsydian's eye.
Obysydian gazed with the affection of 42 passionate concerned chickens. He said, in hushed tone, "I want love."
Enoch looked down, Whoopie Cushion still in hand. "Obsyd, I'm here for a good time too," he replied.
They looked at each other with feeling, like two repulsive, rancid roosters gunning at a very pretty mattress. There was rock music playing in the background and two long-bearded men just hopping around to the beat.
Eventually, Enoch took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Enoch in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, unless you become rich and really conservative."
Obsydian looked down, his emotions raw like an excited Twi'lek. He turned around and walked away, the leaves beneath crunching as he disappeared out of sight.
Not even Trump roasting Dems on Twitter would calm Enoch's nerves tonight.
Or so goes the tale of AT-AT:
Ye have entered ye olde Twilight Zone.
Tis the story of me losing two friends tonight.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his surroundings. He had always hated his house. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel grumpy.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Obsydian. Obysydian was a stern devil with a pair of nice jeans.
Enoch gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a hardcore tea drinker. His friends saw him as a martyr. Once, he had even rescued a racist from a burning building.
But not even a person who had once rescued a condemned racist from a burning building, was prepared for what Obsydian had in store today.
As Enoch stepped outside and Obsydian came closer, he could see the solid glint in Obsydian's eye.
Obysydian gazed with the affection of 42 passionate concerned chickens. He said, in hushed tone, "I want love."
Enoch looked down, Whoopie Cushion still in hand. "Obsyd, I'm here for a good time too," he replied.
They looked at each other with feeling, like two repulsive, rancid roosters gunning at a very pretty mattress. There was rock music playing in the background and two long-bearded men just hopping around to the beat.
Eventually, Enoch took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Enoch in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, unless you become rich and really conservative."
Obsydian looked down, his emotions raw like an excited Twi'lek. He turned around and walked away, the leaves beneath crunching as he disappeared out of sight.
Not even Trump roasting Dems on Twitter would calm Enoch's nerves tonight.
Or so goes the tale of AT-AT:
Ye have entered ye olde Twilight Zone.
Tis the story of me losing two friends tonight.
@Enoch07
@Obsydian
!