I was pulled from a disturbingly repressed dream about my Anger Management teacher by the sweet scent of Coffee. And wet dog. I was unsure which had pulled me from the dream, though I wanted to beat them. The dog was closest. After blinking the ever present miniature crud rocks from my eyes, and wiping away the line that ran straight from the corner of my mouth to my chin, I put my clothes on (Team Zeth T-Shirts, Get em now), and headed to the kitchen. In this kitchen, I found my real canadian girlfriend, Barbie, making breakfast. Though I require my women to present every meal to me in sandwich form, thus explaining the loaf of bread sitting dangerously close to the burner, which was dangerously close to the bottle of olive oil, which was dangerously close to the whiskey. "Honey, do not move." Hearing my firm but gentle voice, she naturally froze instantly. "We are in the middle of a Final Destination scenario." "You are full of five kinds of... oh there's a sensor on KaW now isn't there?" she asked quizzically. I nodded. "Right. Damn devs. You're full of five kinds of shitaki mushrooms." "I will be after you finish my damn food. More breakfast woman!" I relaxed, not feeling my zeth sense tingle. Death obviously had not sought me out yet. I must not have been trying hard enough. Walking forward, I encountered the pot of coffee. Grabbing a cup that read "Trump 2016", I filled it halfway. I turned to Barbie. "I want Coffee and I want Alcohol. Suggestions?" She nodded. "Thanks to the Irish you can have both." She glanced around. "Now where DID I leave that bottle?" I wasted time sipping on the Trump Cup, Patent Pending, while she reached up high, and bent down low, searching for the bottle of strong alcohol. It was most enjoyable. Until she found it. "I found the Whiskey!" Barbie exclaimed. "Something doesn't feel right about that statement..." I mumbled, walking forward. It was then that I noticed it. A leak. In the bottom of the bottle. Over the Stove. And in Grand Final Destination fashion, everything went wrong in a manner that defied physics, logic, and expectations at the same time. "BARBIEEEE!" I screamed, while standing in place. Or maybe I was running backwards. Hard to tell. Either way, the flame traveled up the stream of Liquor Store Select Whiskey, exploding the bottle, because logic, and igniting my trophy Canadian Woman like a gasoline soaked hippy at burning man. Get it? Burning man? Burning... To make things considerably worse, in her irrational horror, she flailed around the kitchen like another metaphor that makes little sense. An octopus on top of an NSA van? And in her wild movements, she struck the knife rack, which sent a well sharpened steak knife into her foot. She fell. It wasn't over. I stood idly by, while she screamed obscenities that would make a sailor or a reddit user blush, vaguely wondering if she would turn into Canadian Bacon. She kept rolling, and this was her undoing. She kicked her foot, which set the knife free, letting it soar through the air like a majestic eagle. It hit our wine glass rack, stationed, of course, directly above her. The glasses fell. And she was impaled by wine glasses, which are both as fragile as eggshells, and strong as knives. She wiggled for a moment more, staring at me with accusing eyes, before falling limp. Blood was spreading on the tile. Would take hours to clean it all. It was then that I heard the knock at the door. Setting my cup down, I turned to answer it, but was stopped by something on the cup. Trump. I narrowed my eyes. "You." I glared at the cup. "Trump. You silver tongued bastard." I jogged to the door and answered it. And then I nearly had heart and bowel failure. Standing in my doorway, his hair flying majestically in the wind like a parasite sucking on his brain, silhouetted by the sunlight, was Donald "You're Fired, Build a Wall" Trump. I closed the door. 1/2 Next time on Zeth and the HNGVBUDT. A battle of wits. A cleanup. An idiot. A Business Monopoly. Real Monopoly. And The Truth about Trump. 2/2 Last Time on Zeth and the HNGVBUDT. The Final Destination, Barbie Found the Whiskey, Women are supposed to make sandwiches, and Trump, the omen of death. After closing the door, I took a deep breath. I was clearly hallucinating, and it was just the mailman at the door. And not... that. After regaining my wits, which are never far from my grasp, I turned and opened the door once more to greet what was behind it. There had to be a glitch in the Matrix. It was still Donald Trump, hair standing at half mast, eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed in a manner that very much resembled a baboon. Or perhaps a bird. The Blue Footed Boobie. "Trump." I growled, doing my best to seem menacing, which was near to impossible. I was still wearing my "Ted 2" sweats. A shame. Not even trump deserved something that good. "You're fired!" He yelled, putting his hand on my face, and lifting me off the ground. Expecting to have my skull crushed in an overly ridiculous Mortal Kombat-like manner, I was pleasantly surprised when he gently sat me down again, out of the way. He then straightened a invisible wrinkle out of his suit, and walked in, as I sat dumbly aside. When I regained my wits again, they always seem to get lost, I resumed my angry outburst at the representative of the EEEEEVIl One Percent. "You! You scoundrel! You killed my girlfriend!" I pointed a finger at him accusingly. He looked visibly offended. "I've done a lot for women!" He turned and walked to my dining room table, sitting. "No. No get up! You don't deserve to sit on my thrift store furniture!" I sounded exasperated even to myself. "And you've done a lot fer mah damned womun! Ya kilt 'er!" I was given a brief pause when the thing that called itself hair on his head bobbled up and down threateningly. "I've killed nobody! I'm Donald Trump!" He wasn't exactly yelling intentionally, but onetheless he was maintaining a volume that was nearly ear shattering. No wonder people always clapped so loud after one of his speeches. They were deaf, and couldn't tell how loud they were making their hand percussion sounds! That must have been it. "I know who you are. You're Death himself! Your idiotic presence got my girlfriend skewered like a Shark at a Japanese sushi joint!" I pointed to the cup of whiskey and watered down coffee on the counter, bearing the mark of the beast, his heathen name, on the front. "I did no such thing!" He yelled. He was trying to out-yell me. Well, he would be hard pressed to do that. It was one battle I would not lose. "THEN HOW DID SHE SPONTANEOUSLY GET MADE INTO A FINAL DESTINATION SCENE?!" I screamed at him, crossing the room in three steps. He stood. "YOU'RE FIRED!" He exclaimed loudly, as a small drop of spittle soared from his mouth, striking me firmly in the left eye. "Aw, christ, euuugh." I stumbled backwards, my good eye watching the creature atop his head bobbling again. "Right in my eye, time out." I grabbed at my eye, feeling his acidic saliva invading my optical... thing. Optical... apparatus. And after sufficiently rubbing it, I felt it was time to prove my supremacy. "Get out." I pointed to the door which he had easily entered not thirty seconds before. He crossed his arms. "Make me." I crossed mine. "I will." "And how will you keep me out?" He raised one of his well manicured eyebrows. "I can easily Come back in." "I'll build a waaaa-aaait a minute! I see what you did there." I pointed at him. He nodded. "Now really. I'm not leaving. You cannot make me. Ugly people have no effect on a handsome devil like myself." "Ah yes, but insults do!" I exclaimed, reaching into the bowels of my mind for the filthiest Trump jokes I had ever learned. And he actually looked afraid. "How are ya gonna shut down planned parenthood? Turn them into one of your casinos?" He flinched as if hit. "I made a good profit in Atlanta!" he retorted. I let out one of my haughty british "harrumphs". "Oh you did? How much of that profit did you have "toupee" to get that creature on your head?!" He let out a noise like a balloon being slowly deflated. "And as for your border plans, what? You don't want any Mexicans to "comb over" the border?!" "I love the Mexican People! I love their spirit!" "Sure. How many of 'em work for ya? If you deport them all, your wife might have to clean for once. And speaking of your wife, she always looks like she's trying to understand some joke she was told. Maybe that joke is you?" He narrowed his eyes, starting toward me. "You're FIRED!" he yelled out, slapping me aside like some sort of ragdoll. I hit the wall doing forty MPH. I was just opening my eyes when he walked over and stood over me. "How do I make you leave?" I asked weakly. He chuckled. "By beating me at a game that I've mastered." I grunted. "Monopoly." I was greeted by a nod. I quickly rose to my feet, and fetched my Monopoly board. And as we started the game, I felt I was ever so slightly outclassed. Unless, of course, he purchased some casinos. Then I had a chance. He only got angry when I started winning, making clever use of the Railroads, and those adorable little hotels. And I broke him. He sat as if in disbelief for a moment, staring at the board, and then, in classic monopoly loser fashion, he flipped the board, sending money bags, shoes, vintage cars, and community chest cards in all directions. By the time the first hotel hit the ground he was on me, ramming me. My chair flipped and he pinned me to the ground. "You're fired!" he exclaimed, holding me down. Then something that was both beautiful, and disgusting at the same time happened. Like the evolution of a butterfly. His hair crawled off of his head, leaving a wrinkly, bald thing, resembling the left... nut, of J. Edgar Hoover. It all looked like an old spice commercial, with more Donald Trump. "No, No, I won't let you take my brain!" I yelled as it crawled up my chest, toward my perfect head, and perfect hair. "No!" As it began the climb over my face, I bit it. I reached out and grabbed a mouthful of Donald Trump hair with my teeth. And as the foul creature wiggled and writhed, and flung my head, letting it go, and sending it in an arc to the stove, which was still burning. It hit. And burst into flame. Without his parasitic hair, it seemed Donald Trump had no fight, though it was possible he was faking. Therefore, I grabbed my gun from beneath the counter, because guns in every crevice are good, and aimed it at his head. "This is for my house you idiot." I muttered. "You idiot." he said to me. "What did you just call me?" I asked, dumbfounded. "Call me." said Trump, staring at me dumbly. "What, No! I'm not... why would you say that? You're crazy." "You're fired! You're Fired!" he parroted. "Hang on... are you just... repeating what I say, and saying "you're fired"?" "Build a wall!" "That too." I lowered my gun. "I.. this doesn't feel right. I could kill you but it would be like killing a dumb child. I slid the gun across the counter, and helped Baby Trump to his feet. "There there, little guy." I said, leading him to the door. I pushed him out it, and closed it. The entire way down my driveway, I could hear him repeating "You're Fired." with the occasional "Build a wall." It was bizarre. Now about the Barbie's body... I needed a plan. Shoot, shovel, and shut up? Minus the Shoot? Or I could shoot her to make sure. And to think, If I hadn't found that whiskey. Or if Barbie hadn't found it.
This guy. Because asking for a lock on somebody else's thread totally persuades the admins to lock it. Totally.
Ive lost alot of iq points reading this; i started shaking afterwards and almost fainted. My head hurts now