Richard must be displeased, for curses are forbidden in the yacht club. So is making dumps, which richard is currently persuing. Then, after many "well whatever"s and "shit in your own stockings"s, He left. The King of andrew dice clay stylings has left the boating arena. Dick just wanted some love, or some loving, maybe even a taste of future love. But no. Lonely Dick Dastardly exited the building with a slow drone of fart in d minor. The sad fart note. His sphynctoral symphony to the megabucks minions.
Is Dick to big? and octagonal? Na, people love big long octagons like they love summer in the desert. But What could be the problem? "Fuck it" thought dick, out loud, to some kid in the park. The kid cryed, openly. "What do i care? Im all gleeked in fire rubles and cinamon saphires. and my ascot is feathery and light! This pleases me."
With his spirits a little more drunked, Richdast dissaparated out of the park towards his go machine. "drunk going is the way to go, duh" rich told the officer at hand, whose gun was drawn, screaming rules and reg's. "Gaaaaaaay" thought dick, holding his own banger and using it without being a rookie weiner.
Welp! time for our hero to hide out again. Departure to Dastard Manor was quite pertenent. Murder, one of the funner sports, is apparently lockupable. And fuck lockups, That too is for rookies. Now Dick has a chance to be alone. He can enjoy bathing in swan water, and cooing to the birds he hated, so as to distract them from puking onto their fowls faces. "This is the life" was richards motto for the moment, and "this is the life" it was indeed. Richard Funbutter Dastardly IV was rich. So much so, it was spelled "Wrych". Boatski's and Fast-lane druggin were required, and doing what you want meant that you were responsible and godly.
And everyone HATED him. But Richard had two words for them: "STAB" and "mirthless laughter". This muhfucka rich duh stupid muhfuckas! he gon do wha he wont!
"Man fuck rules and danger, im going back to playground park!" God this was a bad idea, but to richard, those were the only ones. He escorted himself sexily to his whipgarbler and sauntered in. And with a poke of the reset button he was mach 4.5 outta there, headed straight towards some unsuspecting little one's. "These one's are littler than before! man i bet they roast up real nice" Dick said to one of the parents, who had passed out from the stench of his dick. Babies were Dick's specialty! on the grill. And what a feast he was about to have!
So! he loaded up his yellow G 55 AMG with like, about 9 lil biscuits, aka infants, and enjoyed their last cries as he delivered them to his fridge. Then, @ approx. 4 a.m. on the 12th of february, Richard passed away, stomach full of infa-meat and sloppy Extasy, and a grin on his face.
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