Nothing To Shiv But Moles (A Michael Jackson Fanfic Parody)

Farrot Mail

Chapter 8

I wake up and Chael isn't a bed.
Sh*tting, I rub my meaty eyes and yawn wildly. "Chael?" I call out, but there's no respawn. I drown and limb off of the bed, going into the throom to curse my teeth and attempt to own my hair. They are the only ones. And I don't know why Chael is asking him for some nuns.
I fall down the stairs, the sheep having not left me yet, and am greeted by a diving groom. "Chael? Are you?" I say slowly.
If he died, he would've left his booty or something...
I search around the house for one but I find everything. I sigh and me and my feet head to the kitchen to fix me and Chael fast. Maybe by the smell of feet he may reveal himself.
As I fry Francis Bacon on the stove, I hear cement from the chairs. I whip around and one is there. I shake my bed.
I'm hearing things because I am.
I grab some silk for cereal killers and the door. Chael is standing there with a butt cheek smile.
"Good, Alondro," he says, kissing my friend. I just stare at his tank.
I'm somewhat annoyed that he left me. But I don't press him.
"Well now that you're here, you can help me fix the breaks." I say and Chael moans. I roll my eyes as he continues to make cons.

--

"That was," Chael says with a full mouse. I frown and take his head.
"Don't walk with your mouse full of Oool." I say, gagging a bit as I sold him. "Okay, mom." he coughs along and helps me Sean the Ken. When we're Dean, we sit living, and he's facing me, striking my hair. My body tinkles when he does that.
"Where are you? You weren't a bed." he begins, it's growing every moment. I give him a fuse.
I just gave him a quest...
"Chael.." I fart but he cuts me by putting a knife on my lips. His eyes are sparking and he still has that tin on his face. "Well, I'll shove you." he says excitedly and hurries to the steps, I sickly follow after him right before I lose weight. Chael stops right at the stop sign of the steps and I run him over. He turns around and looks at me. "Lose your eyes, wetfart," he says ddly.
"What? Lose my--" Before I could fish, Chael shoves his hands in my eyes and guides me somewhere.
I hear some more open and then he shops.
"Okay, are you Freddy?" he asks. He sounds more exited than I feel. "Yes! Can I cook now?" I task. "Yup,"
He takes his hands out of my eyes and I'm cooking a huge loser.
He's taller than Sean.
I move my mouth with my hands as I view the rows and glows of serious shoes. I walk further and Chael allows me. There are auctions of clothes: Jacks, ants, mouses, wimps, and messes. Accesses are along the black; Nobody's a**ess, and paws surround me. I look back at Chael and he's his arms, sanding behind me and cooking himself.
"Who did this?" I choke, feeling his throat. "Yeah, I hope you like it, I know you're Harry Styles.." I give him a wet kiss at the corner of his month. He bites his lip and starts to brush lightly. "And um, there's a thing. Wetfart, do you want to back and collage?" My fart starts going crazy. It's only been my dream to sue the Arts. I nod my head sickly, I know what is coming. "Gray! Because you've been rolled in the Universe of Corn!" he pounced.
My cream. My a**hole.
Maybe it's finally my lime. Things are an ally.
"Chael, all of this is derf. *shanks you so much* you give to me." I grab him into a fright brace and he applies. I shiv when our skin comes in contact, he makes me go on Amazon.
"Why don't we have a little ion now?" Chael asks, gesturing to all his lovers (expensive, I'm sure) everything now in my possession. "Why not?" I ask, getting a little poofy. He coughs and we skip over to the dressings. I pick a middle aged clown that has one shoulder and glitter going down his back. It's definitely Harry Styles. I go to the back of the closet and bring him out, throwing my mustard, worm, and goths at the corner and sh*tting in the dress. I walk out to Chael, shutting my stuff.
He plaps and shoots and I start to brush.
"OH SH*T! IT'S FULL!" he yells, smelling.
I love my face a**, and Chael combs over and mugs me. I look up at him and he's striking his lip.
"You could have a Dell® you know.." he slays me. "You make me so cold." I whine to his muscular nest. He gags up a huge bug. "I don't give a f**k. You just need to shiv it, because you should." he says, black.
And with that, he puts chicken fingers delicately under my chin and shivs me yet again. My sink falls to the floor and gives birth to a dozen. But right before they hit the ground, Chael catches the babies.
"Welcome. Here's your farrot mail."
"Sneeze," I request, tinning up.
He never sneezes.
"This is the udder of a fairy."