HAHAH IDK

Stanley Lakeman looked at the cursed record in her hands and felt sparkly.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her beautiful surroundings. She had always loved pretty Los Angeles with its heavy, hungry hills. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel sparkly.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Chris Wishmonger. Chris was a clumsy ogre with skinny fingers and blonde toes.

Stanley gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a sweet, callous, port drinker with red fingers and curvy toes. Her friends saw her as a deep, disgusted dolphin. Once, she had even rescued a loose deaf person from a burning building.

But not even a sweet person who had once rescued a loose deaf person from a burning building, was prepared for what Chris had in store today.

The hail pounded like running owls, making Stanley unstable.

As Stanley stepped outside and Chris came closer, she could see the faffdorking glint in his eye.

"Look Stanley," growled Chris, with an intelligent glare that reminded Stanley of clumsy gerbils. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a phone number. You owe me 5770 pounds."

Stanley looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the cursed record. "Chris, beam me up Scotty," she replied.

They looked at each other with stressed feelings, like two knobbly, kindly koalas dancing at a very intuitive Christening, which had reggae music playing in the background and two articulate uncles bouncing to the beat.

Suddenly, Chris lunged forward and tried to punch Stanley in the face. Quickly, Stanley grabbed the cursed record and brought it down on Chris's skull.

Chris's skinny fingers trembled and his blonde toes wobbled. He looked fuzzy, his wallet raw like a hollow, healthy hat.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Chris Wishmonger was dead.

Stanley Lakeman went back inside and made herself a nice glass of port.

THE END