Biker Pigs from Hell are dangerous. And mean. And not very nice.
Demonic beings such as they are, they can tempt anyone into joining their gang -- because to become a Biker Pig from Hell means that you evolve from a nobody into a somebody. You could be wandering the streets one day, diving into dumpsters for food and shelter, and the next, on a badass motorcycle, tearing through asphalt like a hot knife through butter (and/or other easily cut-through objects of easily cut-through constitution). I loved the Biker Pigs and always wanted to be one.
That is, until a Biker Pig stole my hamburger.
See, a hamburger technically does not consist of actual ham, per se. The meat is made from cows and not pigs. Anyone with a background in hamburger science would know such things and would not be angered by the fact that a person would eat one (unless you were Hindu, but that's a different story).
I was eating my hamburger, and...actually, I don't even want to continue the story.
THE END
1 comment:
HA! More like a Biker Pig stole your motivation for writing the story -- ha ha hardy har.
(On a side note: pretty sad when you have to comment on your own content. Hmm.)
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