Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Our waitress was named Pickles.

A narrative, written line by line by the group who went to Mellow Mushroom tonight:

It was a dark and stormy night in Tuscaloosa when the headless horseman rode into town. However, his lack of head impeded his ability to stay on the road. As he fell off the roof he shrieked, "I should have worn my L.A. Light-ups today! Too bad the batteries ran out, so I had to resort to wear my Crocs."
"Even though Crocs are waterproof, why do they make furry ones?" Sandra asked the one-eyed salesman, her pet mongoose loyally at her side. With a blink of his singular eye he turned into a yelping seahorse suddenly flapping on the beach, dehydrated and hanging on for dear life. Paris Hilton washed up upon shore with her dumb dog, with regurgetated whale mucus in every orface of her body. She showered for days on end, eventually being very pruny.
Prunes were a dirty Santa gift I received once. How disappointing for a 7-year-old. I immediately drowned my neighbor's guinea pig in figgy pudding and converted to Judaism.

Thank you, thank you.

Loyally,
Anna, Sarah, Kate, and Yates

(and Barrett, Hill, and Cal)

1 comment:

cal.horton said...

we just arent funny anymore. Torn up our group. At least can we get a priceless picture of kmac just for entertainment?