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guest
Guest
Joe Cumia was dead. His outstanding height of 6'1" wasn't able to hide the fat clogging his arteries, and there would be no bacon, egg and cheese on a roll for him ever again.
Patrick Tomlinson was in a sour mood. He didn't give a care about Joe's passing, nay; it was his phone causing him grief. It needed to be recharged but the socket was in walking distance from the couch, where he was wrapped up snugly in his pink blankie. Sure, it was 11 AM on a Wednesday, but it was also the holiday season -- He deserved to relax, despite the presence of blacks in Niki's bedroom.
With his phone completely depleted in battery, there was only one thing left to do. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, hoping Niki would see the phone and recharge it for him before he woke up.
"Patrick.... Paaaaatrick!"
Patrick awoke to the sound of a slow, dimwitted sounding voice.
There, in front of him, hovered the ghost of a familiar looking man, but the pig couldn't quite remember who the cow exactly was.
"And... who are you?" Patrick asked.
"I'm Anthony Cumia's older brother. I'm here to give you a warning." The ghost replied.
"Oh! Well the problem with that sweetie, is you're my mortal enemy. I don't need or want any of your warnings. Now leave my house before I neutralize you. My father was a trained ghostbuster."
"No, you don't understand. Patrick, I spent my final years arguing with trolls. Now I'm doomed to suffer in Hell for all eternity."
"You're in Hell for fighting with trolls?"
"Ehhh, St Peter had a myriad of other accusations like racism, misogyny, pedophilia... uh, but they were absurd and uh, I think he was just referring to my wrath against Reddit when he sent me downstairs. But I've organized 3 ghosts to visit you, starting at 6 PM tonight, so you don't keep making the same mistakes I did. Be very careful, Patrick."
The ghost vanished.
Patrick opened his eyes. Was it all a dream? Did the ghost of Joe Cumia really visit him?
He wondered what time it was. He could hear Niki from the next room over: "Oh yes, fuck me! Fuck me! Yes! Black trans lives matter! Black trans lives maaatteeerrrr ohhhh fuuuuck yessss!!!" She must have been fucking Tyronette, who usually showed up around 6 PM.
6 PM! Patrick remembered Joe's words. Three ghosts would be visiting him.
And right on cue, a being started appearing before him. Patrick pinched himself. This was no dream.
He was excited. A supernatural, spiritual, life changing experience was about to unfold. He was looking forward to what the ghosts would reveal, and how they would help him grow as a person.
Finally, the first ghost completely materialized. He did not look scary. He looked kind, and comforting. Patrick had no fear.
"Hey Patrick, this is the Ghost of Christmas Past. I just wanted to say that I spoke with God and he said that you're a fat faggot with bitch tits, so the ghost visits are cancelled."
Patrick Tomlinson was in a sour mood. He didn't give a care about Joe's passing, nay; it was his phone causing him grief. It needed to be recharged but the socket was in walking distance from the couch, where he was wrapped up snugly in his pink blankie. Sure, it was 11 AM on a Wednesday, but it was also the holiday season -- He deserved to relax, despite the presence of blacks in Niki's bedroom.
With his phone completely depleted in battery, there was only one thing left to do. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, hoping Niki would see the phone and recharge it for him before he woke up.
"Patrick.... Paaaaatrick!"
Patrick awoke to the sound of a slow, dimwitted sounding voice.
There, in front of him, hovered the ghost of a familiar looking man, but the pig couldn't quite remember who the cow exactly was.
"And... who are you?" Patrick asked.
"I'm Anthony Cumia's older brother. I'm here to give you a warning." The ghost replied.
"Oh! Well the problem with that sweetie, is you're my mortal enemy. I don't need or want any of your warnings. Now leave my house before I neutralize you. My father was a trained ghostbuster."
"No, you don't understand. Patrick, I spent my final years arguing with trolls. Now I'm doomed to suffer in Hell for all eternity."
"You're in Hell for fighting with trolls?"
"Ehhh, St Peter had a myriad of other accusations like racism, misogyny, pedophilia... uh, but they were absurd and uh, I think he was just referring to my wrath against Reddit when he sent me downstairs. But I've organized 3 ghosts to visit you, starting at 6 PM tonight, so you don't keep making the same mistakes I did. Be very careful, Patrick."
The ghost vanished.
Patrick opened his eyes. Was it all a dream? Did the ghost of Joe Cumia really visit him?
He wondered what time it was. He could hear Niki from the next room over: "Oh yes, fuck me! Fuck me! Yes! Black trans lives matter! Black trans lives maaatteeerrrr ohhhh fuuuuck yessss!!!" She must have been fucking Tyronette, who usually showed up around 6 PM.
6 PM! Patrick remembered Joe's words. Three ghosts would be visiting him.
And right on cue, a being started appearing before him. Patrick pinched himself. This was no dream.
He was excited. A supernatural, spiritual, life changing experience was about to unfold. He was looking forward to what the ghosts would reveal, and how they would help him grow as a person.
Finally, the first ghost completely materialized. He did not look scary. He looked kind, and comforting. Patrick had no fear.
"Hey Patrick, this is the Ghost of Christmas Past. I just wanted to say that I spoke with God and he said that you're a fat faggot with bitch tits, so the ghost visits are cancelled."
