This is what happens when the internet is down at my school (wrote it in MS Word):
This is a word document. This is where a document, containing words, is put.
If this was not a word document, it would most likely be a non-word document. That is not a word document, at least I think so. Documents with words are made to be word documents by the magical word fairy. I know her, I met her once at a bar. She was busy making all the little non-word documents word documents. It was hard, she said. So I tried to help out by chucking any of the smaller non-word documents out the window. She said that I shouldn’t do that, and I laughed and threw her out too. She summoned all the demons of Hell to come and torment me. Those word fairies are pretty mean. I hate word fairies. So, me and the demons of hell, we were related, so they didn’t want to eat me, so I gave them a doggy treat. You may not know this, but demons of hell are very fond of doggy treats. We ate the doggy treats (I had one, too), and we decided to get even with that mean word fairy. So, we all got together, with a bunch of graphic documents (the sworn enemy of a word document), and went and tried to beat her up. She waved her magical word-wand, and corrupted all of our graphic documents. My sister, the Queen Of Hell, AKA: Betty, bit her on the leg. The word fairy yelled, and whacked her with her wand. Betty (AKA: Queen Of Hell), bit harder, and chewed on her leg more. The word fairy said stop, and I said, no, don’t stop, and she said stop, and I said no, don’t stop. The word fairy took out a doggy treat and threw it, and Betty (AKA: Queen Of Hell) went after it, and so did all my other demons of hell, and the graphic documents kinda blew away, but they were going in that direction, so I think they were going after the doggy treat, too. So, it was just me and the magical word fairy left. Just when she was about to do bad things to me, a thousand Zergs swarmed over a nearby hill, and ate her all up, which I imagine was kind of hard, because she still had her wand, which was pointy and it hurt very much. I like pointy objects, but that’s off the topic. But I would like to talk about pointy objects, but the little Angel on my shoulder says to stay on topic. But the devil on my shoulder says that stupid things with pointy objects are funny, so I gave the Zergs pointy objects, and it was funny. They started to chew on them, and ground them up, but it fell through the big hole in their chin. Then they started to poke each other with them. So then they must’ve liked it, because they did it harder. And harder. Eventually, I had dinner, because all the Zergs on one of the pointy objects was like a giant shishkabob, which is very good, the angel says on my shoulder. Anyways, after dinner, Mr. T came down from the North. I asked if he knew Santa, and he said that he did, but he killed him, and the North Pole was now to be known as “Ho,ho,ho, shut up before I put a bullet in your ass”. I asked him why, and he said that I shoulda shut up, and he shot me in one of my buttock. Or buttocks. Or maybe just butt. Or it could be a bock. I don’t know. So I yelled a lot, and went to hit him with my head, until his kung fu grip grabbed me around my head, and he put me in his Santa sleigh, which had “P1mp-Mobile” on the side, and we rode to the North Pole. When I got there, I got to see all the reindeer parts, that were lying around. I asked Santa’s corpse if I could have a pony for Christmas, but he didn’t tell me anything, because I think he was sleeping. Anywho, Mr. T dragged me inside his house, and put me on a big hamster wheel, to make power for his nightclub. It was hard, until Mr. T dragged a ho inside, and I got to watch her. I got so caught up, that I tripped and got stuck inside the hamster wheel, which was still spinning. My dick hurt after a while, and so did my head, but when I told Mr. T, he said that my dick was where my brain was, so I should keep it protected. I said, no, that’s not true, and then he shot me again in my buttockers. That’s a word I made up, buttockers. I like that word more than butt or buttock or buttocks, so I made up a word and it is buttockers. That hurt a lot, so I yelled. Mr. T didn’t like that because he said it made too much noise, but it hurt, so I yelled. That was bad, because Mr. T made me gargle Windex for fifteen minutes, until Homer Simpson came out and made him stop. Mr. T didn’t like that either, and he was going to do bad things to Homer until Homer used his head to hurt his dick. I think that made him stupid, because he started to cry and fall on the ground, like when I see a girl. I guess maybe he was right about my brain being there, so maybe I shouldn’t have contradicted him. I don’t think I deserved being shot, though, although the little angel on my shoulder kept saying that I deserved it because I argued with my elders, until the little devil on my shoulder took out a minigun and blew that him up. Then he gave me a M9 and told me to “bust a cap in that *****’s ass” but I didn’t, because I didn’t know how, so he said he would show me, but I said, no, that’s OK. He said, no, let me show you, but I don’t like that, so I punched him off my shoulder, and dropped the M9 and smooshed him. I laughed, and I said, Hi Homer, and Homer said not to contact my lawyers, and he was drunk, he was not that kind of guy. I said, but I love you, Homer. He said, get the ***** away from me, you perv. I said that’s not nice, and he said that I was a dumbass. I don’t know what that means, but I said OK, and he hurt punched me because I was being too st00pid. I don’t like being st00pid, but they must be right, because they are smarter than me. I will go to sleep now, because I just got punched by Homer Simpson and because I am a dumbass, which is OK because I got punched by Homer Simpson because I said OK because I was a dumbass.
