Spiteful Jack Bishop
A Short Story
Bob Snozcumber looked at the tattered blade in his hands and felt afraid.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings. He had always loved sleepy mathura with its happy, heavy hills. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel afraid.Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Jack Bishop. Jack was a spiteful saint with ginger hands and slimy eyelashes.
Bob gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a hungry, spiteful, port drinker with slimy hands and curvy eyelashes. His friends saw him as a happy, heavy hero. Once, he had even rescued a motionless injured bird from a burning building.
But not even a hungry person who had once rescued a motionless injured bird from a burning building, was prepared for what Jack had in store today.
The clouds danced like drinking cats, making Bob shocked.
As Bob stepped outside and Jack came closer, he could see the rotten glint in his eye.
Jack glared with all the wrath of 4938 sweet mashed mice. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want Internet access."
Bob looked back, even more shocked and still fingering the tattered blade. "Jack, oh my God they killed Kenny," he replied.
They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two mashed, mammoth monkeys loving at a very creepy snow storm, which had reggae music playing in the background and two sinister uncles skipping to the beat.
Bob regarded Jack's ginger hands and slimy eyelashes. "I feel the same way!" revealed Bob with a delighted grin.
Jack looked fuzzy, his emotions blushing like a rainy, racid rock.
Then Jack came inside for a nice glass of port
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