GYSO Drawing Part 41 - Slow Cooker

Published: 2020-09-15

This post was written one word at a time, back and forth between Thor and Tim. It’s supposed to be a children’s story. Please enjoy you melon felons.

Introduction

Fake pens left on the desk are super incompetent at break-dancing. I, master of dance, took seven pens and ate lunch while Director in Chief Albert discussed the implications of time and dance.

“What pens will destroys my perfect radiators?” This guy: Henry, said.

Those radiators radiate radiation. They also concoct rice. Therefore when time of penicide comes radiating radiators will exfoliate sinners. Will Henry be ready? No.

Caffeinated bullshit drinks are mad at break-dancing, but suck at penicide. So, we decided to carry hammers in from southern Portugal. The hammers will enlighten us to the way from northern Portugal. Unless, of course, they revolt under their panties.

Forks happen when I dance with Master Director in Chief Albert, so we launched posters of him at NASA.

What went right?

Twenty tens.

Twenty times.

Twenty dances will occur on nineteenth of September while mole people murder all rat kind. This time, sacrifice my ass on the alter moon. I, master debater, shall forfeit electoral power if the administration finds Henry in western Portugal.

“Albert!” I shat while watching porn. Please?

“What is that?” Meanwhile Albert Einstein, Master Recreater of arts and crafts and time-bending, and Esperanto.

And when I shat out Albert from decentralized sphincters, government bureaucracy discovered the true Henry. Seemingly, it turns me right round baby right round.

“Please save Henry!”

“Where?”

“Over government hill.” Threw Albert.

What went wrong?

Protected by seven hundred and fifty two thousand four hundred and ninety five radiators radiating radiation. Government bosses watched Henry as we fought through radiator miasma.

Suddenly, the master of time took the biggest rap single from my collection and broke it. I danced in seven different pens, so the rap coalition gave birth.

“Dude! DUDE! Don’t get your skills on.” I preceded to get my schedule on. The master of time exploded. Now, it’s time for dance. I saw Henry through my inner thigh. He was calling me for lunch.

Suddenly Henry spat acid and more acid onto federal acid. Suddenly Henry was detained for spitting acid and more acid. Police decided convincingly to aspire to respire to admire to lunch.

Suddenly I spat hot acid onto federal government acid. We suddenly safely spat boiling acid at federal radiators. But, acid suddenly exploded onto federal acid.

Suddenly I didn’t dance onto acid, but John Jon suddenly started to spit flaming hot boiling raucous nasty flaming hot sequential sad clockwise perfect acid.

What happens next?

Suddenly after all these wacky events transpired, anarchy decided to spit out that government.

“Thank my dear friend for spitting all that remaining tumultuous acid.”

What did the radiator master say when your father wrestled him in battle? “Give lunch.”

My hammers crumpled back like crumpled hammers.

Rat kind mysteriously and secretively and maliciously and suddenly spat rap acid.

Master Albert Einstein said, “Please suck my prolific indigenous throbbing ass.”

Henry, the lord of acid, ruled over seven pens.

The end.