The Hail that Pounded like Sleeping Flamingos

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Kurtis Conner was thinking about Drew Gooden again. Drew was a courageous god with moist fingers and handsome hands.

Kurtis walked over to the window and reflected on his misty surroundings. He had always loved old-fashioned Kurtistown with its mighty mountains. It was a place that made him feel happy.

Then he saw someone in the distance. It was the figure of Drew Gooden!! 

Kurtis gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a friendly, callous, La Croix drinker with beautiful fingers and curvaceous hands. His friends saw him as an angel. Once, he had even brought a baby bird back from the brink of death.

But not even a friendly person who had once brought a baby bird back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Drew had in store today.

The hail pounded like sleeping flamingos, making Kurtis cross. Kurtis grabbed a beautiful knife that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Kurtis stepped outside and Drew came closer, he could see the kooky glint in his eye.

"Look Kurtis," growled Drew, with a grateful glare that reminded Kurtis of courageous rabbits. "I hate you and I want Internet access. You owe me 6969 pounds."

Kurtis looked back, even more cross and still fingering the beautiful knife. "Drew, eat my shorts," he replied.

They looked at each other with angry feelings, like two roasted, round rats laughing at a very admirable Christmas, which had Danny Gonzalez music playing in the background and vampire dad bopping to the beat.

Kurtis studied Drew's moist fingers and handsome hands. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt," explained Kurtis. "You will never get your money."

"No!" objected Drew. "You lie!"

"I do not!" retorted Kurtis. "Now get your moist fingers out of here before I hit you with this beautiful knife."

Drew looked ecstatic, his wallet raw like a great, green gun.

Kurtis could actually hear Drew's wallet shatter into 6969 pieces. Then the courageous god hurried away into the distance.

Not even a glass of La Croix would calm Kurtis's nerves tonight. 

THE END 

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