Phillipea is Grande y Finue falafalafalafalafala
This one goes out to my good buddy Phil who is currently living in New Hamshire. Just like New Jersey, New Hamshire begins with the word "new", but unlike jersey because I don't live there. Scientists agree, I don't like it...but only because I don't like states that are trapezoids.
Well one time Phil and I were wrestling or arguing or something up in Seneca Falls, New York and I did not like the crap that was so fluently flowing out of his mouth. I don't remember what we were talking about, but I do remember the only option I saw for myself was prolonged bodily harm towards Phil, something that would permanently scar him both physically and mentally for years to come. That day I promised Phil, myself, and God that I was going to grow my big-toenail out and file it to a point until it was long enough to puncture his spleen. I also thought about not washing my bigtoe so the puncture wound would get infected, but found it hard to keep the soap from the rest of my body from running down my feet.
So it went, all winter, all spring, all summer. Eventually I was like a Raptor, I learned to use my new weapon to catch small prey like rats, kittens, and bunnies. I became deadly accurate, and as my toenail grew, so did the muscles in my leg adapt. I now possessed the ability to kill anything within a three and a half foot radius with the snap of my leg. Just as a chamillion has its tongue, I had my toenail...and Phillipea was a dead man walking. My foot also had the ability to cut the toughest steak, the freshest breads, and even tomatoes without squishing them, and could be used like a fork to bring the food to my mouth.
It was planned. I would wear my sandals that could easily be removed and with one quick strike I would hawk down Phil's spleen, leaving his immune system critically disabled and lacking the ability to fight off infection.
I was so powerful, and soon realized it was not me that had control over my toenail, it was my toenail that had control over me! I had become so very obsessed with revenge to the point I was not even human, but a monsterhuman thing created for pure evil. It had to be stopped.
Nail clippers never had a chance, my nail was too strong from the constant supply of biotin, collagen, and bunny flesh. Scissors broke, swiss army knifes crumbled, even hedge trimmers failed miserably. I then knew cutting the nail off was no longer an option...I had to remove the entire toe.
I once upon a time installed fences. One of the tools used in this job is a 6 foot steel rod with a sharp end to break through tough tree roots that are not effected my the power auger. This thing is super sharp and I knew it would do the job. On a rainy Sunday night I brought the tool and my toe out to a field in the middle of nowhere New York, took aim, and with one mighty swipe, cut my toe off at the ball of the foot. The toe wiggled a little, then died. It was done.
Phil, I sacrificed my left toe for your well being, but beware, oh Phillipea, for now the right foot desperately seeks revenge for its missing appendage, and cannot be controled for much longer. WHAA HAAAA HAAA
Well one time Phil and I were wrestling or arguing or something up in Seneca Falls, New York and I did not like the crap that was so fluently flowing out of his mouth. I don't remember what we were talking about, but I do remember the only option I saw for myself was prolonged bodily harm towards Phil, something that would permanently scar him both physically and mentally for years to come. That day I promised Phil, myself, and God that I was going to grow my big-toenail out and file it to a point until it was long enough to puncture his spleen. I also thought about not washing my bigtoe so the puncture wound would get infected, but found it hard to keep the soap from the rest of my body from running down my feet.
So it went, all winter, all spring, all summer. Eventually I was like a Raptor, I learned to use my new weapon to catch small prey like rats, kittens, and bunnies. I became deadly accurate, and as my toenail grew, so did the muscles in my leg adapt. I now possessed the ability to kill anything within a three and a half foot radius with the snap of my leg. Just as a chamillion has its tongue, I had my toenail...and Phillipea was a dead man walking. My foot also had the ability to cut the toughest steak, the freshest breads, and even tomatoes without squishing them, and could be used like a fork to bring the food to my mouth.
It was planned. I would wear my sandals that could easily be removed and with one quick strike I would hawk down Phil's spleen, leaving his immune system critically disabled and lacking the ability to fight off infection.
I was so powerful, and soon realized it was not me that had control over my toenail, it was my toenail that had control over me! I had become so very obsessed with revenge to the point I was not even human, but a monsterhuman thing created for pure evil. It had to be stopped.
Nail clippers never had a chance, my nail was too strong from the constant supply of biotin, collagen, and bunny flesh. Scissors broke, swiss army knifes crumbled, even hedge trimmers failed miserably. I then knew cutting the nail off was no longer an option...I had to remove the entire toe.
I once upon a time installed fences. One of the tools used in this job is a 6 foot steel rod with a sharp end to break through tough tree roots that are not effected my the power auger. This thing is super sharp and I knew it would do the job. On a rainy Sunday night I brought the tool and my toe out to a field in the middle of nowhere New York, took aim, and with one mighty swipe, cut my toe off at the ball of the foot. The toe wiggled a little, then died. It was done.
Phil, I sacrificed my left toe for your well being, but beware, oh Phillipea, for now the right foot desperately seeks revenge for its missing appendage, and cannot be controled for much longer. WHAA HAAAA HAAA
posted by Garden Club @ 8:43 AM
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