So, the lady that is hefty from "meds" had ordered a pound of fudge that was made by Monks. She seemed to feel the Internet order made her more a humanitarian, than just an ever expanding human.
If her size equated with world peace right now, wait... I know so little about that. I'm also being mean and maybe snarky. I hope I'm not decaying.
A small piece of the Monk made fudge fell and ended up by my side. Peanut butter flavor. She was pretty. Golden, kind of glistening, looked soft and pliant.
I'm assuming this was a female beige fudge ball. I am male cake, and I am pretty sure I'm into girl deserts. Don't suggest otherwise. I was made at Domino's pizza, aren't they like, conservatives?*I mean, why would I know that?
Anyway, oh she could have been my girl. Me hard and dry, she, soft and dewy. But then a nose appeared. A long snout, that pain in the cake ass called "Chester", the so called "good dog". Slurp! A massive pink tongue scooped her up, she was done for.
You murderous freak! She could have been my friend here. If I am a sentient being, perhaps fudgie was, too. Oh wait. Maybe you're a dog that just likes peanut butter. Maybe I'm dried up,tasteless, used up cake. Oh dear God, will I ever sort things?
Nobody will ever eat me. But it's ok. I'm a professional writer
*
Snopes and Dominos Pizza, My Homeland linky wink
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