FLUFF, FLUFF, FLUFFITY FLUFF

B. McGILLICUDDY

He was a wayward soul, settled amidst the men he hated most. She was a dutiful damsel who had lost her way in the forest of life. They met where such people meet, in a sea of leisure and debauchery, two fish, riding the hurricane's waves to nowhere, and ultimately to each other.

At midnight they kissed, and that was that. He hated her for it, she thought him a beautiful fool, and left him, there, with a cigarette in his hand and a hole burned straight through his heart. So he stole a bottle of Jagermeister and drowned in it, while she went off to philander elsewhere, and under the influence of other heavy hallucinogens.

It was for eight months, eight highly-eventful months, that their souls longed for eachother's company. Their longing ended on a Summer's day, when fist met door and hand met knob and lo and behold, her eyes met his and he plummeted. And now, we're all the better for it, says I. Says I, a wayward soul, now settled and nestled against the bosom of a dutiful damsel, who found a hansom man while traversing the forest of life. Please, Dear, beautiful bitch, would you make me a turkity sandwich?

B. McGILLICUDDY