- - || She sat down and got comfy. She tried to ignore the talking chandelier, she looked away from the squirming plants,
And tried to tune out her singing gavel.
She started to gaze off into the distance *again* as Pickles Sherman began to talk, as she became more relaxed, her legs started to spread.
The aroma of her kitty intoxicated the atmosphere. || - -
" The reason I'm here today is because I, Pickles Sherman, think that this baby, Deborah Pickles, isn't mine. " said the man.
"I've been suspecting for a long time that my soon-to-be-ex-wife, Rebecca Pickles-or should I say Rebecca Corn, has been cheating on me" he said.
"I also suspect that this baby isn't mine. Ever since we had her, the mailman has been visiting us more often-and I'm sure neither me, or my wife have been ordering things off of Amazon."
"We don't need any more supplies, we're full on toilet paper, diapers, milk, everything."
"My wife would always say that he's 'just dropping off newspapers', but she doesn't even read newspapers, neither do I, and Deborah can't even read."
- - || - - || - - || - -
"Whenever the mail man came, she would drag Deborah outside, and the mailman would pull her into some sort of hug-while crying."
The man was cut off by his soon-to-be-ex-wife, who was now crossing her arms.
"Is there something wrong with my daughter saying hi to the mailman?" said the mother.
- - || - - || - - || - -
The judge would stare, blankly into the distance.
The sound of an angry couple arguing filled her ears, but the more she stared away, the more the noises came to a halt.
She blinked, one eye after the other, before looking up at the couple.
She looked down, and reached for her gavel, hands shaking, knees weakened, palms sweaty.
She became dizzy and lightheaded as she picked up her gavel, before passing out, she aggressively slammed the gavel against her table- grabbing everybody's attention.
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The dumb bitch flopped onto the floor like a rag doll, her 🐱 smells infecting anybody who sniffed it with intense sickness.
