Or maybe it all started one brisk autumn day in 1977. Sure, fuck's life had been a charmed one up to that point - marrying the prom queen, raising 2 lovely boys, Ryan and ASSMUNCHER, and living the picture perfect suburban life, complete with picket fence, black lab, and the .5 of a child in the basement that nobody liked to talk about. He was the youngest VP, Bryce Motor Oil and Child Sedative Company had every had. Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him.
But that was all to change this day. fuck crossed the street hurredly. He was already running late for the marketing meeting, and that was sure to displease crotchety old Mr. Grimbly, the CEO, and relunctant promotor of fuck. So fuck made the mistake of crossing the street hurredly. He could have looked both ways, he could have stayed inside the crosswalk. He could have not walked on green, or bent over to pick up that lucky fire ant and stuck it in his shoe. What might have been...
Len Kramer was a good man. His profession was truck driving, his passion were his kids. A gentle-hearted man, Len's wife would laugh at him whenever he'd scoop up a cricket in cupped hands and take it outside, or free a wild ostrich from a hunter's snare. He was one of the good people. He had never hurt a soul. Until...
fuck crossed the street hurredly, looking neither left nor right. His fate awaited him.
Len let the pedal drop, trying to make the yellow.
And at last the moment came. The moment both men had been born to share.
Len's eyes caught sight of fuck, but it was too late. fuck never saw Len's truck at all. His last thought was "Ooo, lucky fire ant!" and then he was sent to any early grave.
Len, for his part, starting humping his widow, the smooth bastard.
THE END
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I ate a hooker half a bottle of knife.
