It’s the Bottle’s Fault
*after drinking more than enough whiskey*
“Ah, yesh. Lesh sit back an enjoy the resht of this whiskey wis a shtory. Thonight, we, yesh, you and I, my dear writer’s shide, thonight, we are going to write a short shtory of pure awesomeness! Get se pen and paper, get se computer, get se whisk-...where’s the whiskey?
Ah, there it ish!”
*takes a swig*
“Ah...now let’sh go, pardner!” *hiccups* “Excuse moi! How am I supposhe to help a bottle of whiskey reacts sho negatively with me?”
It so happene one da that there was a mman of ill reput who made a living if questionale...reptue? *gulps down another mouthful, fingers returning to slowly crawl across the keys*
Tis ma maid a livon of...hundeng alians ad heee *hiccups*
H fite te gut figt wit, wit *blinking vigorously* lazers of Dart Fade ’s Jedy. He fit wih. 4. He fight aongsite 4 an Trixie annt olll thos oter *gulps down the last glass of whiskey*
safd le gl ih thyn tooooo spppppppppppparjakglhdaguhouaefajif;agiodahgadgdagjnnnnnvk
*The following morning*
“What the hell is this?!! This is junk! Rubbish! Vanessa!!! VANESSA!!!”
“What is it, dear?” She asks with a sigh.
“Did you allow the cat in my study again?”
“No...But you allowed the whiskey in again...Maybe you should question the bottle first?”
“Are you being sarcastic now?”
“I would never.” *leaving the room again* “How about you just try and edit all of that?”
“It will never work! This is rubbish! I need to start over!”
“Again...” She sighs to herself.