“Just calm down okay?!” You cried, growling at the three boys sprawled on your floor. “No way!”
“We have to decide who sleeps where right?” Antonio nodded vigorously. “Yeah! I mean someone gets the spare bed and the others have to sleep on the sofa!”
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. You should’ve known inviting the notorious trio of boys might not have been your brightest idea. And you’d even asked them for a sleepover.
If I’m ever able to go back in time, I’ll kick my own arse! You swore to yourself as you settled yourself down on the couch. “Let’s do it like this.” The three sat up, crowding around you. Gilbert on your right, Francis on your left and Antonio sitting crosslegged on the floor.
“Let’s play a game.” Francis pouted and leant on your shoulder. “Whaaat? What type of game?”
You smirked playfully at him, flipping some hair from your face. “Mad libs.”
Antonio cocked his head, his arms resting on your knees. “What’s that?”
Gilbert sighed dramatically. “You honestly don’t know? It’s only like one of the best games of all time.”
“I’m glad you think so too Gil.” You said, smiling at him. “We used to have notebooks, but I suppose we can do it on the computer. Wait a second, I’ll be right back!” You called as you jumped from the sofa, the lads admiring your pyjamas as you bounded up the stairs, swiftly returning with your computer and charger.
“So how’s this going to work?” You gestured at Gilbert to answer Antonio’s question. “Well Toni, when (y/n) has found a site, three of us are going to sit on one side of the table and we need to fulfil (y/n)’s requests. She’ll ask for adjectives, nouns, verbs and other stuff like that. We need to answer them, preferable with the most random things that come to mind.”
“And then?” Francis asked, intrigued. “Then you’re going to read it for us, aren’t you?” You nodded, frowning when a pop-ad scared you. “Got one~” you chimed as you grinned.
“But where do the sleeping arrangements come in?”
You poofed your cheeks out as you thought. “Hmmm, let’s make a bet. If you guys don’t laugh when I read the result out, you get to sleep in MY bed. How’s that?”
Gilbert smirked, folding his arms, Francis winked at you, blowing you a kiss and Antonio grinned widely, cheering. All three of them spoke at the same time though. “Challenge accepted!”
You clicked on one with an interesting title. ‘Greetings Earthlings’ eh? That’d be fun.
“Kay, Gil, give me an animal, a plural though.”
You smirked. “Francis, I need a profession.”
“But a hairdresser of course.”
You laughed, looking at him incredulously. “What? Well okay then. Toni, I need another animal, still plural.”
He threw his hands up in the air. “Iguanodons! What? They were cool!”
“Kaaay, Gil, I need a city.”
“Berlin, of course.”
“Francey~ Gimme a verb.”
You raised your eyebrow. “Okaaay.”
“Next I need an adjective...” you muttered. “Feathery!” You heard the Prussian laugh.
“Hey, it was my turn amigo....” Antonio pouted. “It’s okay,” you told him,” you can do the next one. A noun?”
He grinned at you. “A tomato!”
“Of course.... okay, you guys ready?” The three nodded and you shook your head, already grinning.
“In the book War of the sheep, the main character is an anonymous hairdresser who records the arrival of iguanodons in Berlin. Needless to say, havoc reigns as the iguanodons continue to retaliate everything in sight, until they are killed by the feathery tomato.”
The three blinked, registering what you’d said. Then they broke down, each in their own way. Gilbert threw his head back, his body racked with silent laughter. Antonio covered his mouth, doubling over whilst Francis bit his lip, chuckling.
“Another?” They nodded in unison. “Kay, Gil I need an adjective.”
“Need you ask? Awesome of course!”
“Toni, an animal?”
“Iguana!” Seriously, what did this guy like about reptilians?
“Leafy and blue!”
“Verb, ending in ed.”
“Another one, again with the ending on ed.”
“A noun now~”
“A verb now.”
Francis smirked. “Fuck.” Sighing, you typed it in.
“Antonio, I need someone in this room.”
“Gilbert Beilschmidt.” He was immediately smacked on the head.
Once, there was an awesome iguana and his sparkly owner, Lovino. The owner, Lovino, thought his iguana was very fuzzy. The iguana disagreed. The iguana thought he was very suave and leafy blue. The iguana swapped the owner; the owner had no idea the iguana could speak! The owner kissed out of his smile in amazement! "Yeah, I can fuck," said the iguana . "Yeah," said the owner. "You fuck just like Gilbert Beilschmidt!"
The look on Gilbert’s face was priceless, he laughed so hard he rolled off the sofa. Not that Antonio was doing any better, he was currently on his stomach, beating his fists against the floor.
Francis chortled loudly, feeling his cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
Looked like they’d lost that wager. You smirked, allowing yourself to join in the laughter. You did several more, stopping only when you couldn’t type anymore, your stomach was hurting, you were laughing that hard.
“Okay, okay so we lost!”
“But we didn’t agree on anything if you’d laugh!”
The three advanced on you, pulling you onto the spare bed with them. “You lose, chica.”
Little did they know, you sneaked out of bed when the light was good enough to see. Then you took several photos of the entangled Bad touch trio.
Here are a few more:
The year is 69, and South-Korea`s piglet with Sweden is History.
In his continued efforts to outdo the justice minister of Sweden, His Majesty, King Chuck VIII, has invited some of the country`s most sparkly prostitutes to create for him a paint fit for the most painty of all hairdressers : himself.
Unfortunately, His Majesty`s shiny tomatoes are turning his once-hairy kingdom into South-Korea`s awesomest lampshade. In an act of desperation, Queen Geraldine has convinced a sweaty Dutch singer to kill her husband`s beloved country with a much-needed scarf. Only three things stand in the way of this happening: the singer`s easily offended bondage; a pair of prostitutes who may not be who or what they seem; and the king himself.
Slash all this and some slimy and woolly rubbers in our Hamlet.
Roses are red,
noses are blue,
lingerie is lacy,
and so are you.
Once apon a time, there swashbuckled in Paris a man named bed. He was the frenchkiss guy. He could frenchkiss the night away. but then one day he got into an accident and lost the ability to frenchkiss ever again. He was shagging when it happened. A pen came out of nowhere and painted him. He was in Berlin for 7860 months to recover. Then he went to Barcelona to become the first ever fish. But after 31 weeks he was fired. He met Gilbert. They then got married. 82 days later they adopted 5 kids.
"A wurst in hand is worth 69 in the football."
"A silver mouth forgives no feet."
"A Spanish wineglass believes anything, but a saucey wineglass gives thought to his lampshades."
"A chalet in time rises nine."
My "Dream Man" should, first of all be very hairless and blue-eyed. He should have a physique like Francis Bonnefoy, a profile like Gilbert Beilschmidt, and the intelligence of a bull. He must be polite and must always remember to draw my big bouncy inflatable green ball, to tip his midget and to take my eyebrows when crossing the street. He should move heavily, have a British voice, and should always dress slowly. I would also like him to be a handsome dancer, and when we are alone he should whisper red nothings into my chin and hold my painty shoe. I know a bed is hard to find. In fact the only one I can think of is Antonio
- smooch randomly without being stinky.
- The Universe does not have feet -- it has crotches, and crotches can be sparkly.
- The fishing of random asians is too important to be left to chance.
- You can build a lamp with maces, but you can`t sit on it for long.