Then just when you thought things could not get sillier, someone burped and a penguin fell out of his shoe. Do not ask me how it got there, or why the shoe was on his head, but this set the pies off. For a few seconds all that could be heard was a toilet water-curdling screech, which meant “charge!”
Please turn tape to side B…
The villagers readied their Dicks to meat pies head on (get it? meat pies?) [GOD I WAS HILARIOUS IN YEAR NINE]. Many stood their ground, smacking the pies over and over with their dicks, while others ran inside to grab forks. Of course, being the coward I am, I hid in an corner and dreamed of wild mice that ate parmesan cheese made from the souls of little children. This dream reminded me of out children. I remember that they were in child car, and hoped to god that their carer Michael Jackson, had gotten them to safety. I remember how once, Mr Jackson slept with a heap of kids. No, not children, kids as in goats. He’s very ‘into’ animals.
Anyway, no one stood much of a chance against the army. When the remaining villagers realised their dicks were useless, they tried to use new tactics. One tried eating them, but accidently ingested a poison gland. This caused him to trip out, chase imaginary butterflies, then eventually run into a tree and get knocked unconscious.
Things were becoming hopeless. People started to look for means of escape. Oh my god, I’ve reached paged four [obviously the handwritten version], who would’ve guessed I could stretch a story this far? Especially one that resembles the gunk on the bottom of my shoes, after its put through a mulcher, lawn mower, digested by a dozen cats, Razy’s mum, then lit on fire by rubbing two Chihuahuas together. I mean c’mon, pies? Penguins? Get real. Oh, I guess you want to continue. I don’t see why, but okay.
Some locked themselves in their houses, but were killed anyway because they left their windows open. Others sought refuge with the village elder, John Paul II. Of course, that was useless, as the only audible sounds from the elder were “rer-rer-rer,” “erg,” and, “argh,” due to his throat disorder.
The few that weren’t fighting or doing what I stated above, were attempting to evacuate the town. I was one of them, and as we escaped we had to defend ourselves with whatever we had at hand. I picked up a penguin and used him like a sword. It worked! Some used fish, wood, chickens, and their dicks, but we could only hold them back so long. In the end only me, the penguin, a few battered chickens, the village paint grower, and an undercooked muffin managed to get to safety.
As we viewed the terror that engulfed the town, something happened. This something that happened, happened so somethingly that to continue talking about how this something happened would be pointless. But since the whole story is in fact pointless, I will tell you of the something that happened.
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