Turd Water No. 5
I've never considered myself beautiful, but I've been feeling particularly down about my looks in recent months. Maybe it was the stream of rejections on Tinder. Maybe it was the subtle looks of disapproval by old women in public. I felt more and more like an incel. Maybe I'm not good looking enough to be even an incel.
A letter was slipped under my door in the dead of night; "To The Loathsome in Apartment 15". This could only refer to me, the troll amongst all the beautiful people. Tearing open the envelope, a short note plopped onto my desk. The words were clear. "Midnight. Behind the complex."
I grew anxious as midnight approached, stuffing my face with greasy shit that would only further dig the hole that was my ugliness. My skin jumped when that fucking iPhone alarm went off a second time without warning. Why do they always swap the "Stop" and "Snooze" buttons? Apple - the biggest fucking trolls on the planet.
I plodded my pudgy ass towards the destination. I was anything but discreet. My smelly folds - barely contained within my Captain Murica shirt, along with my guyfawks mask - could be clearly seen by anyone within two blocks. Frankly, I believe anyone as ugly as me can fly under the radar because people simply don't care about landwhales like me. They'd rather look the other way.
I looked around the rear of the complex, expecting a shadowy figure. Instead, there was a metal briefcase out in the open. I was already sweaty with anxiety. I decided to bring the briefcase back to my apartment, to see what prank lay inside. It was probably a coupon for Planet Fitness.
Inside the briefcase was a letter; "Dear candidate, today is your lucky day! In the interest of being perceived as "inclusive" - and P.R.O.G.R.E.S.S.I.V.E.!! - we have developed this product for loathsome fucks, such as yourself! Rejoice candidate! - R.L."
I didn't know whether to be scared, confused or annoyed. Along with the letter, I noticed a tiny bottle I could have sworn wasn't there before. In silver embossed letters, it read: "Turd Water No. 5 by Ralph Lauren".
This has to be a joke. What was this shit? Was it literal shit? I decided, what did I really have to lose? My life couldn't possibly get any worse.
I downed it all.
I immediately regretted my decision. To put it plainly, I was high as fuck. Well that's probably an understatement. I was James Brown high. Fuck, maybe higher than that. I started writing out all the numbers in Pi, then the Fibonacci sequence, then some kind of alien language that I vaguely understood to be the instructions for interstellar travel. I realized I could prove that O.J. did it. It was obvious all along!
Then I came crashing back to earth. What was this liquid? Maybe it was because I was still coming down for 10 miles high, but I realized the first letter of every ingredient spelled out something sinister... "B e l l e D e l p h i n e "
I knew then I had really fucked up. I needed to call 911, the government. Anybody. Ghost busters? Was I still high? I googled Ghost Busters but only movies came up. No phone numbers. I started panicking even more.
BELLE DELPHINE WAS IN THE HOUSE
Credited to tux_greyhat
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