Earnhest Vladimoyer Zelenski

Earnhest Vladimoyer Zelenski

A Short Story: Computer generated.

Vladimoyer Zelenski was thinking about Valdimeyer Putin again. Valdimeyer was a chubby evil with scary torso and cute hair.

Vladimoyer walked over to the window and reflected on his open surroundings. He had always loved big Kiev with its loud, late Liberty Square. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel mean.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a chubby figure of Valdimeyer Putin.

Vladimoyer gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an earnhest, hardworking, Tooti-fruity drinker with slimy torso and bald hair. His friends saw him as a huge, harsh handsome. Once, he had even helped a plain Ukraine cross the road.

But not even an earnhest person who had once helped a plain Ukraine cross the road, was prepared for what Valdimeyer had in store today.

The cold teased like Fighting crow, making Vladimoyer arroused. Vladimoyer grabbed a propaganda gun that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Vladimoyer stepped outside and Valdimeyer came closer, he could see the thankful glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want Salad and Curaçao," Valdimeyer bellowed, in a flat-chested tone. He slammed his fist against Vladimoyer's chest, with the force of 4712 dog. "I frigging hate you, Vladimoyer Zelenski."

Vladimoyer looked back, even more arroused and still fingering the propaganda gun. "Valdimeyer, I fight with me brothas," he replied.

They looked at each other with curious feelings, like two rough, regurgitated raven seizing at a very single War, which had Van Halen music playing in the background and two NPC uncles relequishing to the beat.

Suddenly, Valdimeyer lunged forward and tried to punch Vladimoyer in the face. Quickly, Vladimoyer grabbed the propaganda gun and brought it down on Valdimeyer's skull.

Valdimeyer's scary torso trembled and his cute hair wobbled. He looked coy, his body raw like a manky, misty magazine.

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

Vladimoyer Zelenski went back inside and made himself a nice drink of Tooti-fruity.
THE END

The Squidgy Blade
A Short Story
by Computer Generated

Vladimoyer Zelenski had always loved wild Sludgeside with its quirky, quickest quarries. It was a place where he felt sad.

He was a sinister, wild, whiskey drinker with pink thighs and brunette fingers. His friends saw him as a mute, mangled muppet. Once, he had even rescued an amused baby from a burning building. That's the sort of man he was.

Vladimoyer walked over to the window and reflected on his rural surroundings. The sleet rained like cooking frogs.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Valdimeyer Putin. Valdimeyer was a sinister saint with dirty thighs and red fingers.

Vladimoyer gulped. He was not prepared for Valdimeyer.

As Vladimoyer stepped outside and Valdimeyer came closer, he could see the mighty glint in his eye.

Valdimeyer glared with all the wrath of 3177 giving scary snakes. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want Internet access."

Vladimoyer looked back, even more jumpy and still fingering the squidgy blade. "Valdimeyer, Is that real leather," he replied.

They looked at each other with active feelings, like two knowing, kindly kittens sitting at a very vile carol service, which had R & B music playing in the background and two callous uncles bopping to the beat.

Vladimoyer studied Valdimeyer's dirty thighs and red fingers. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Vladimoyer in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you Valdimeyer."

Valdimeyer looked ambivalent, his emotions raw like a bewildered, barbecued banana.

Vladimoyer could actually hear Valdimeyer's emotions shatter into 5270 pieces. Then the sinister saint hurried away into the distance.

Not even a glass of whiskey would calm Vladimoyer's nerves tonight.
THE END

The Squidgy Knife
A Short Story
by

Vladimoyer Zelenski looked at the squidgy knife in his hands and felt delighted.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his sleepy surroundings. He had always loved snooty Truro with its odd, ordinary oceans. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel delighted.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Valdimeyer Putin. Valdimeyer was a ruthless volcano with grubby moles and fluffy thighs.

Vladimoyer gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a ruthless, incredible, cocoa drinker with ample moles and fluffy thighs. His friends saw him as a mutated, mushy muppet. Once, he had even helped a shaggy disabled person recover from a flying accident.

But not even a ruthless person who had once helped a shaggy disabled person recover from a flying accident, was prepared for what Valdimeyer had in store today.

The sun shone like jogging blue bottles, making Vladimoyer stressed.

As Vladimoyer stepped outside and Valdimeyer came closer, he could see the silly glint in her eye.

"I am here because I want Internet access," Valdimeyer bellowed, in a smart tone. She slammed her fist against Vladimoyer's chest, with the force of 9216 dogs. "I frigging love you, Vladimoyer Zelenski."

Vladimoyer looked back, even more stressed and still fingering the squidgy knife. "Valdimeyer, oh my God they killed Kenny," he replied.

They looked at each other with stressed feelings, like two anxious, abundant aardvarks rampaging at a very adorable Halloween party, which had orchestral music playing in the background and two clumsy uncles jogging to the beat.

Suddenly, Valdimeyer lunged forward and tried to punch Vladimoyer in the face. Quickly, Vladimoyer grabbed the squidgy knife and brought it down on Valdimeyer's skull.

Valdimeyer's grubby moles trembled and her fluffy thighs wobbled. She looked afraid, her body raw like a homeless, happy hat.

Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Valdimeyer Putin was dead.

Vladimoyer Zelenski went back inside and made himself a nice mug of cocoa.
THE END

a reply to: FisheatsFish

a reply to: FisheatsFish

a reply to: FisheatsFish

Now on to the real topic of discussion Blue Curaçao. I don't like it. Makes your poo black can't be good for you if it does that.

a reply to: Bigburgh

Thank you for the concern, but did you at least get a "lol" out of the stories. It's like madlibs! Remember them?

Personally, I like the first one only, The other two were no good.

a reply to: FisheatsFish

Noel? Is that you?

(Fielding)

LOL

a reply to: HilterDayon

I do not get the reference. So no, I'm not Noel.

a reply to: HilterDayon

They all three were good. As good as the Jabberwocky.

a reply to: HilterDayon

I've changed my mind, I have given you all one star.