Thoughtful Luke Butterscotch
A Short Story
by
Luke Butterscotch had always loved old-fashioned Liverpool with its manky, magnificent mountains. It was a place where he felt happy.
He was a thoughtful, gentle, brandy drinker with hairy eyelashes and moist hands. His friends saw him as a cooperative, cooing carer. Once, he had even saved a rainy old lady that was stuck in a drain. That's the sort of man he was.
Luke walked over to the window and reflected on his pretty surroundings. The rain hammered like jumping koalas.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Chantal Vader. Chantal was a spiteful writer with blonde eyelashes and skinny hands.
Luke gulped. He was not prepared for Chantal.
As Luke stepped outside and Chantal came closer, he could see the tart glint in her eye.
Chantal gazed with the affection of 9538 helpful misty maggots. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want equality."
Luke looked back, even more healthy and still fingering the weathered sausage. "Chantal, I ate your puppy," he replied.
They looked at each other with unstable feelings, like two homeless, hollow hamsters sleeping at a very stupid holiday, which had trance music playing in the background and two sweet uncles loving to the beat.
Luke regarded Chantal's blonde eyelashes and skinny hands. "I feel the same way!" revealed Luke with a delighted grin.
Chantal looked lonely, her emotions blushing like a mammoth, mushy map.
Then Chantal came inside for a nice glass of brandy.
THE END