This Little Piggy: Difference between revisions

When I reached the bottom story, the receptionist was crying her eyes out. I exited the building, into the courtyard. The smell was unimaginable, like the vomit of a fecalpheliac. It looked even worse up close. People were still crying and dry heaving as they struggled to run from the mess.

As I walked to my car, I took a morbidly curious peek. It was a damn grizzly mess, especially her head, which resembled a crushed watermelon full of macaroni with a fat-woman mask hanging from it. But what fascinated me were her feet. One was lying in the parking lot. One was floating in the fountain. Both had all of their toes freshly cleaved off.

OINK OINK OINK OIIIINK SQUEEEEEEAAALLL!!! SNORT SNORT!!!

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