My Dead Grandpa 🥺 who had a stroke

Aven gives herself a wee Scare

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A fortnight later, on the rooftop of an old Doncaster pub, Grandpoppy Styles had been guzzling a bottle of Guinness and decorating his secret shrine of his late wife, Louise (rest in peace grandmummy🥺), when the smell of smoke suddenly filled the air. He turned around to find himself face to face with Aven, the little photographer gorl. Who has asthma.

"Hey angel," she rasped.

My Grandpoppy was rather alarmed that the young American twat had tracked him down.

"Aven? Why are you smoking, you spent half our session complaining about your asthma."

"Aren't you delighted to see me?" chirped the annoying American. "I've been following you and photographing you for weeks! I even got one of you at that pretty little graveyard."

Grandpoppy was not delighted.

"Anywho," she continued. "I was thinking we could go out on a date. I bet you have a real intimidating length."

"What? No."

"I could even pay you. Like a sugar mommy."

"That's not how that works."

They were quiet for a while, as Grandpoppy wistfully gazed at a picture of dear grandmummy Louise. But of course, the perky American bird broke the silence.

"Angel," whispered Aven. "What would you do if I threw myself backwards off this roof? Would you try to save me?"

"Boy you really are stupid, aren't you?"

Staring into her erratic eyes, Aven suddenly jolted her body backwards.

Grandpoppy took a sip of Guinness.

Aven stumbled and crawled back onto the floor, feeling quite humiliated.

"Smoke," he stated.

"What? I thought you just told me smoking was bad?"

"No, smoke," repeated Grandpoppy Styles. "You dropped your cigarette and just lit a bush on fire. Quick, give me your green trainers, this would be a perfect time to burn those wretched things."

And just like that, the ugly little photographer gorl lost her favourite sneakers.

Personally, I still think that Grandpoppy Styles should have dumped her entire body into that burning bush while he had the chônce.

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