Once upon a seafood medley, there was an old fragile woman. No one knew why she was there alone at the restaurant except for me, but she seemed to enjoy it. (past the sagging eyes and everything else of course) Her name was Loyhinkoplorethom. When she sat down at the unsanitary booth, at a glacier-like speed, she made an odd sound. I bursted out in endless laughter as my whoopie cushion was executed perfectly as my great great great great great great grandmother glared at me with an unforgettable look. As I continued not to care, a gross stream of saliva slid down my chin and into my fried rice. Suddenly, my "great times six" grandmother's head dropped onto the silverware, especially the knife, and she started skewing blood from her fat and droopy temples. My grandmother times six had an aneurysm and died that day. Even though she wasn't really related to me in any sort and that she was a complete old lady stranger who I didn't know the name of, I still felt as though it was my fault. Two hours after the incident, I am in my living room continually laughing about the flatulence noise that uttered from a vile elderly female that tread onto the very meticulate carpet of the restaurant occupied by many asians.
