It was a dark and stormy night, but somewhere else and not where the story was set at all. Where the story was set, which was on a blog, it was hot as balls. Like the bayou, but only in underwear.
It was a writer who was writing the story, overthinking everything. He kept a gun in his pants, because Alfred Hitchcock indicated in a McGuffin style speech once that he should.
Chapter 2
SUDDENLY! As if by some catastrophic failure of mental hardware, the writer blurted out something in a strange accent that wasn't even his. 'Aye ham very well-educated,' in a blurty fashion, was what he said when he said it back then, in the speech marks. He used a long word, then, but irrelevantly and only thought it.
Hmm, he thought. That was perpendicular, and quite unnecessary to the story
...so he cut that part and noted 'TLDR' in the edited version.
Then, he put upon his sparsely-haired head a Burberry patterned trilby while he prepared to leave the library in the west wing of his caravan, which he didn't have, and he wasn't in the library, but it would have had books had it been interesting at all, but it wasn't. He'd cut that later, too. He resolved to spent less time blogging and more time working, but he wouldn't get the chance because of foreshadowing!
Hitching up his pants before setting out, he shot off his cock.
The End.
Epilogue
Love you.
