Random shorts

Proud Luke Clifford

Luke Clifford looked at the ribbed teapot in his hands and felt fuzzy.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his industrial surroundings. He had always hated urban Philadelphia with its zesty, zany zoos. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel fuzzy.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Rachel Jolie. Rachel was a vile painter with pretty legs and dirty thighs.

Luke gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a proud, thoughtful, tea drinker with pointy legs and vast thighs. His friends saw him as a dull, damaged deity. Once, he had even saved a tense old man that was stuck in a drain.

But not even a proud person who had once saved a tense old man that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Rachel had in store today.

The wind blew like walking rabbits, making Luke anxious.

As Luke stepped outside and Rachel came closer, he could see the expensive glint in her eye.

"I am here because I want equality," Rachel bellowed, in a modest tone. She slammed her fist against Luke's chest, with the force of 3749 cats. "I frigging hate you, Luke Clifford."

Luke looked back, even more anxious and still fingering the ribbed teapot. "Rachel, oh my God they killed Kenny," he replied.

They looked at each other with sparkly feelings, like two helpful, handsome humming birds rampaging at a very brave accident, which had jazz music playing in the background and two intelligent uncles skipping to the beat.

Luke studied Rachel's pretty legs and dirty thighs. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you equality," he explained, in pitying tones.

Rachel looked confident, her body raw like a glorious, gigantic gun.

Luke could actually hear Rachel's body shatter into 6119 pieces. Then the vile painter hurried away into the distance.

Not even a cup of tea would calm Luke's nerves tonight.

THE END