Two Modest Uncles Gyrating to the Beat
A Short Story
by Writer Unknown
Garth Doop had always hated wild TBGs with its tricky, tough text. It was a place where he felt sleepy.
He was a smart, generous, Mt Dew drinker with red hands and tall hands. His friends saw him as an icy, ice-dancing idiot. Once, he had even helped a rapid dead person cross the road. That's the sort of man he was.
Garth walked over to the window and reflected on his magical surroundings. The wind blew like dying Puppers.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Daniel Blackman. Daniel was a deranged table with fluffy hands and fat hands.
Garth gulped. He was not prepared for Daniel.
As Garth stepped outside and Daniel came closer, he could see the better smile on his face.
"Look Garth," growled Daniel, with a cowardly glare that reminded Garth of deranged Dragons. "I hate you and I want soup. You owe me 4798 gold pie."
Garth looked back, even more barmy and still fingering the stripy knife. "Daniel, yabba Dabba Doo," he replied.
They looked at each other with anxious feelings, like two poised, purring Pigs drinking at a very clumsy snow storm, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two modest uncles gyrating to the beat.
Garth studied Daniel's fluffy hands and fat hands. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt," explained Garth. "You will never get your money."
"No!" objected Daniel. "You lie!"
"I do not!" retorted Garth. "Now get your fluffy hands out of here before I hit you with this stripy knife."
Daniel looked ecstatic, his wallet raw like a clean, courageous chair.
Garth could actually hear Daniel's wallet shatter into 4798 pieces. Then the deranged table hurried away into the distance.
Not even a drink of Mt Dew would calm Garth's nerves tonight.
THE END