its a story made by my friend its funny. xD comment on her stuff! she's pretty good:>:>



Cookie

I swear to God/Allah/Buddah, I was not under the influence of any sort of mind-altering substances. I may always act like it, but do not be fooled, it’s just one of my many lovable quirks. Or at least I like to think so.

The only drug-like thing (if you’d even consider it that) I had that day was caffeine.

And not even a lot.

Okay, so I had two cups of coffee…

Fine, three.

Alright, alright! Four.

Fine. I had eleven cups of coffee, okay? ELEVEN. (and a half.)

I was probably vibrating my way to school that day.

Then I came across him, and had the urge to tell him he’d be eaten my a cookie.

Yes, a cookie.

Eaten by one.

Death VIA Cookie.

But really, I went through with it because he provoked me.

I blame him. Specifically his Gay Legs. GHASTLY!

I mean, really, how can a guy have better legs than a girl (me, to be specific.)?

They were taunting me.

I was just a few feet away from the school gates, when they assaulted my line of vision.

He was wearing black skinny jeans, that were so tight, I almost thought he just painted his legs black. Not that I thought he was a guy first, since he had those awfully gorgeous long legs, but when I looked up (I always look down when I walk.) I saw his panda face.

Yes, panda face.

It was like he had two shiners (black eyes), but it was not. It was just what another sleepless night (or so I’m told) left him with. I think he tried getting his hair to get them covered up, and unnoticed (yeah, right), but the whole hair-in-his-face thing just made him look more beaten up.

And no, it was not because I didn’t like how he looked that I told him that he’ll be eaten by a cookie—the jerk bumped into me!

He swaggered like a drunk dude right into me, and then dragged me down with him while he fell.

Now, whilst falling, I screamed to him, “Cookie eat you!” not how I wanted it to come out, but it’s close enough.

Now, no, I didn’t get a concussion. No form of bodily harm was inflicted upon me. No sprained ankle, bruised ribs, and what not.

He got all those.

I swear I weigh below a hundred pounds.

Now, after a trip to the nurse… and another one to the big ass hospital nearest school, he was alright.

No(t much) harm done.

Everything was forgotten, and buried in the past, and that kind of stuff. It was all good.

And I got a puppy! Isn’t that swell?

Of course, though, Mumsie dearest threatened to mutilate/kill him if I didn’t invite Clumsy Panda with the Gay Legs over for dinner as an apology for “beating him up” as (I and) my mum refer to that preferably forgotten and buried-in-the-past incident.

The bell rang a few minutes before five—I dreaded that hauntingly annoying sound.

Cookie (I forgot about the whole C.P.w.t.G.L. incident, and since he was the color of cookie dough, I named him Cookie.) being the unjedgemental, innocent, evil incarnate that he(she? I never checked.) is, went through the cat door (yeah, a cat door for a dog) and…

Well, lets just say, that form behin our solid mahogany door, I could hear a loud “Oh SHIT!” and a relatively loud crashing sound, and a long string of French.

My Mumsie was kind of pissed at C.P.w.t.G.L. (whom I later found out was named “Quentin Reese Stevenson” because he ruined her potted rose bushes (that was the crash) and we had to break out the first aid kit.

But that wasn’t enough to get rid of the notion that he had to stay for dinner.

Drat! Foiled again.

Now, either Me+Quentin/C.P.w.t.G.L. was a really bad combination, or he’s just really like that, but Quentin/C.P.w.t.G.L. was really accident-prone.

I swear he could trip on a completely clean and un-obstacled flat surface.

Now, being the super nice person that I am, I made Quentin/C.P.w.t.G.L. a gift. It’s a doll version of him. (well… not really. It’s just a tennis ball glued on a lump of cloth and cotton tied together with yarn hot-glued to the top.)

It was for showing off Cookie, really, so I told him/her—Cookie—to go get the ball. Of course, telling Quentin/C.P.w.t.G.L. that it was a doll, and calling it a ball, earned me a weird look from him.

Cookie, the little devil incarnate that he/she is, instead of bringing me the ball, gave me, instead, the yarn that I glued on the ball, and proceeded to choke out the rest of the doll.

“Oh my goodness! Cookie ate you!” I said, whilst tugging on his sleve and pointing to my devil incarnate/dog.

He chucked, then, instead of running off screaming into the distance, said “Hey, your prophesy came true.”

Now I don’t take anything else drug-like but coffee, but I seriously think my dog’s on some sort of illegal drug.