will smith had always hated smooth kitchen with its blue-eyed, bulbous butter. It was a place where she felt depressed.
She was a retad, iccy, squash drinker with brown calf and sloppy thigh. Her friends saw her as a manky, miniature monkey. Once, she had even revived a dying, crppeld man. That's the sort of woman he was.
will walked over to the window and reflected on her jazzy surroundings. The fog teased like buzzing bees.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of barry the bee. barry was a thicc bee with ginger calf and slimy thigh.
will gulped. She was not prepared for barry.
As will stepped outside and barry came closer, she could see the poised glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want jazz," barry bellowed, in a smol tone. He slammed his fist against will's chest, with the force of 1229 birds. "I frigging love you, will smith."
will looked back, even more jazzy and still fingering the gay needle. "barry, i am your father," she replied.
They looked at each other with muderous feelings, like two rough, real rats dancing at a very stupid funeral, which had jazz music playing in the background and two fat uncles swimming to the beat.
Suddenly, barry lunged forward and tried to punch will in the face. Quickly, will grabbed the gay needle and brought it down on barry's skull.
barry's ginger calf trembled and his slimy thigh wobbled. He looked retaded, his body raw like a round, rapid reage.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later barry the bee was dead.
will smith went back inside and made herself a nice beaker of squash.
THE END
