Hi guys I'm happy to be here! My name's Mateo and I live in El Salvador. Thank you having me
I quickly wrote you guys a silly short story. Hope you enjoy and please feel free to massage me anytime!
Clarke Blast was thinking about Toby Hemingway again. Toby was a gracious painter with spiky fingers and tall legs.
Clarke walked over to the window and reflected on his rural surroundings. He had always loved magical Berlin with its roasted, rapid rivers. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel lonely.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a gracious figure of Toby Hemingway.
Clarke gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a vile, mean, cocoa drinker with ginger fingers and pointy legs. His friends saw him as a lively, little lover. Once, he had even saved a rabblesnatching old man that was stuck in a drain.
But not even a vile person who had once saved a rabblesnatching old man that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Toby had in store today.
The moon shone like eating pigeons, making Clarke lonely. Clarke grabbed a stripy kettle that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Clarke stepped outside and Toby came closer, he could see the curly glint in his eye.
Toby glared with all the wrath of 4797 understanding excited elephants. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want a pencil."
Clarke looked back, even more lonely and still fingering the stripy kettle. "Toby, I ate your puppy," he replied.
They looked at each other with afraid feelings, like two knowledgeable, kaleidoscopic kittens talking at a very controlling accident, which had flute music playing in the background and two sympathetic uncles thinking to the beat.
Clarke studied Toby's spiky fingers and tall legs. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Clarke in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you Toby."
Toby looked cross, his emotions raw like a glorious, graceful guillotine.
Clarke could actually hear Toby's emotions shatter into 6067 pieces. Then the gracious painter hurried away into the distance.
Not even a mug of cocoa would calm Clarke's nerves tonight.
I quickly wrote you guys a silly short story. Hope you enjoy and please feel free to massage me anytime!
Clarke Blast was thinking about Toby Hemingway again. Toby was a gracious painter with spiky fingers and tall legs.
Clarke walked over to the window and reflected on his rural surroundings. He had always loved magical Berlin with its roasted, rapid rivers. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel lonely.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a gracious figure of Toby Hemingway.
Clarke gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a vile, mean, cocoa drinker with ginger fingers and pointy legs. His friends saw him as a lively, little lover. Once, he had even saved a rabblesnatching old man that was stuck in a drain.
But not even a vile person who had once saved a rabblesnatching old man that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Toby had in store today.
The moon shone like eating pigeons, making Clarke lonely. Clarke grabbed a stripy kettle that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Clarke stepped outside and Toby came closer, he could see the curly glint in his eye.
Toby glared with all the wrath of 4797 understanding excited elephants. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want a pencil."
Clarke looked back, even more lonely and still fingering the stripy kettle. "Toby, I ate your puppy," he replied.
They looked at each other with afraid feelings, like two knowledgeable, kaleidoscopic kittens talking at a very controlling accident, which had flute music playing in the background and two sympathetic uncles thinking to the beat.
Clarke studied Toby's spiky fingers and tall legs. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Clarke in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you Toby."
Toby looked cross, his emotions raw like a glorious, graceful guillotine.
Clarke could actually hear Toby's emotions shatter into 6067 pieces. Then the gracious painter hurried away into the distance.
Not even a mug of cocoa would calm Clarke's nerves tonight.