Picture This
Picture this: You are the best man at my wedding. You get up to give your speech. You say, "lemme tell you about this one over here." And you lift up your shirt and your nipples are gone and scarred. And you go on to talk about how I had this elaborate scheme to steal your nipples and sell them to a rubber nipple company as a template because I've always admired your nipples and I would always talk about how "you could make a lot of money if you just sell them as a template" and you just brush it off like I'm just talking crazy so one night as you're sleeping, I break in quietly and drug you so you don't wake up and I take your nipples clean off but I'm not a surgeon so I kind of butcher it but oh well and you go on to tell this story to people but literally no one believes you. And no one believes you because it's so outlandish but in reality I actually do it and get away with it for years and years. I never admit it to you and you always suspect that it was me but I never say a word. Then on my death bed, I ask for you by name to be at my side when my time comes. When you arrive to the hospital, I ask you to come close because I have to tell you something and as you lean in I take your hand and I put two, rubbery yet crusty items into your hand. You look down and open your hand and realize it's your nipples. You look at me and I'm smiling at you with tears in my eyes. I say "it was me all along, and I got you something. Give me your hand". You give me your hand and I place something in it. It's a check. Your heart starts pounding. "What is this?" You ask quietly. "Just a little something for your trouble all those years ago". You look at the check and the amount reads: fourteen dollars and seventeen cents. In the memo it reads: "nipple royalties". You look back at me and I'm smiling even bigger now. I pass away peacefully seconds later. You look back at the check and realize I misspelled your last name so you can't cash it anyways. You try to poke me but I'm for sure dead now. You get up to leave. It's 10 am. Maybe you'll get some McDonald's breakfast before heading back to the nursing home. It was a good day.
Credited to allanbarth3
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