My End is Nigh.
Don't you just hate it when you're locked in your own house, because you can't find your keys.
In a couple of months, concerned neighbours will have noticed the accumulation of milk bottles and the smell of gone off chicken.
The police will force open my door, against a mountain of junk mail.
The poodles will kick off.
On the floor of the living room, which by then, will be strewn with poodle poo, they'll find my half eaten, rotting corpse, grinning manically.
"Shut those yappy bastards up Sgt, the're getting on my nerves."
In a couple of months, concerned neighbours will have noticed the accumulation of milk bottles and the smell of gone off chicken.
The police will force open my door, against a mountain of junk mail.
The poodles will kick off.
On the floor of the living room, which by then, will be strewn with poodle poo, they'll find my half eaten, rotting corpse, grinning manically.
"Shut those yappy bastards up Sgt, the're getting on my nerves."
posted by Tickersoid at 6:38 PM
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3 Comments:
If you start tunneling now you might escape before the poodles start getting peckish.
Fuckkit- You might be right. The ping ( microwave ) food is gone and I'm down to sharing the dog biscuits.
Death by poodle. Truly horrifying.
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