I cleaned a table with a slurpie.
A FUCKING SLURPIE.
I was having an informal debate with my friends about how world war 2 started.
"So. England: WE LOVE WEETBIX!
China: WELL FUCK YOU WE LOVE GRAIN WAVES! England: let's fite cos y not.
China: ok boomer-" I was interrupted by an ungodly creature.
"NO! ITS DEFINITELY THE CATS AND DOGS ARGUMENT!" My 'just a little closer than acquaintance' argued.
As a responsible friend, it was my job to be extremely mean to others.
"Shut up, kArEn."
Bobina (not her actual name but let's roll with it) gasped dramatically and put a hand over where her heart was supposed to be.
"U diD nOt JUsT caLL mE kAReN, reGinA."
"I tHiNk I jUsT DiD, bEtCh."
...
Bobina and I were the most majestic and sophisticated of beings, sipping our $4 slurpies with our pinkies up. Things were absolutely normal (nervous laughter on the 'normal' part) until Bobina decides it was a good idea to shove her cup into mine.
To describe the overwhelming disaster that arrived seconds later in one sentence, The slurpie spilled everywhere.
Having been relying on one brain cell for all my life, I panicked and started rubbing the table in attempt of getting the pink drink off, but instead ended up looking like I need therapy or something.
A few minutes passed and i was left with an artificial, raspberry smelling, table.
I had never been so scared of a drink my whole life.
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What is wrong with me? || Veryevilpineapple
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