ALF Lost Episode: Difference between revisions
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“Alf, have you been going through the laundry again?” It was that father character, you know, you remember him. Don’t you? Alf smiled. “No, but I ate your wife’s pussy out last night!” The audience laughed very loudly. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” It soon became clear that Alf had been masquerading as a Spanish gardener in order to acquire free food and housing while evading the border police. “What the fuck is this!” They opened their fridge to find that several dead cats had been gutted, killed. Their throats had been slit, their eyes were bulging out and their disconnected teeth glistened. “I’ve been killing your cats and eating them!” He giggled. While Alf normally ate cats regularly on the show, it was never fully addressed that he had a serial killer method of gutting and consuming them.
“I’m getting the shotgun.” The father walked out of the room and the camera man accidentally sent the camera reeling to the left. “I
“FEED ME.” He squealed. “FEED ME!” This is how all diseases work. They build your trust to
The scene immediately cut to the family, who were encased in a massive glutenous red jelly. The Alf voice whispered. “This is the central nervous system of the host body.” They weren’t moving, in fact. Their eyes were glassy, hollow. They were dead and the Alf stomach was slowly sucking the nutrients out of their body. I felt nauseous. “Let’s play Jeopardy!” Alf yelled while the body slowly digested them to nothing. The skeletons lay there as the outro music played. This wasn’t the Alf that I knew. It was supposed to be a family friendly program for friends and family alike to enjoy. But I’d gone too far. I’d spent my whole life collecting the Alf. I suddenly heard some party music, like the kind you’d hear in a shitty eighties lounge, and a picture of alf smiling was shown.
My cat, Markus Portwell was going through the garbage cans looking for delicious tuna when a familiar face appeared by my window. It was Alf. I don’t know how he got here. He was actually driving a van and he had delicious candy in his hand. He was eyeing my cat now, licking his lips. He strolled naked into my living room and smiled at me. “That’s a nice cat, you’ve got there, Byron.” He said. My name wasn’t Byron. “You’ve got a very nice feline there, BENJI!” He yelled. My name wasn’t Benji either. “BETTER BUTTER THAT BITCH UP BENTLEY!” He yelled. My name wasn’t Bentley and I wanted him out of my house. It now occurred to me that the front three letters of my
“Fuck shit dick ass.” He said, leering at me. I wasn’t sure what the alien was trying to communicate. “Suck my spaghetti string noodle dick.” I picked up a chair and broke it on his head, snapping his neck. The suit ripped open, revealing that there was simply a midget inside. I had killed a midget. I buried him in a ventriloquist dummy case and started to make some eggs, as it was 7 AM now and I had been watching Alf all night.
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