My First Love, Michael Ball. Bonus Story!

While researching my first love/embarrassing Michael Ball obsession exposé, I came across this treasure. Big shout out to one fabulous plot generator! Plug in some names plus a few randomized nouns and adjectives, and you get a gut-bustingly funny document.

This truly beautiful short story was created in December of 2015. Enjoy!

Brave Ashley —

A Short Story

Ashley — was thinking about Michael Ball again. Michael was a spiteful author with sticky abs and chubby spots.

Ashley walked over to the window and reflected on her beautiful surroundings. She had always loved hilly Plymouth with its gigantic, glamorous gates. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel ambivalent.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a spiteful figure of Michael Ball.

Ashley gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a brave, intelligent, port drinker with sloppy abs and sticky spots. Her friends saw her as a tart, tender teacher. Once, she had even jumped into a river and saved a faffdorking deaf person.

But not even a brave person who had once jumped into a river and saved a faffdorking deaf person, was prepared for what Michael had in store today.

The moon shone like swimming owls, making Ashley delighted. Ashley grabbed a ribbed torch that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.

As Ashley stepped outside and Michael came closer, she could see the slow smile on his face.

“I am here because I want a kiss,” Michael bellowed, in a snooty tone. He slammed his fist against Ashley’s chest, with the force of 9035 goldfish. “I frigging love you, Ashley — .”

Ashley looked back, even more delighted and still fingering the ribbed torch. “Michael, I am your father,” she replied.

They looked at each other with calm feelings, like two hot, happy horses jumping at a very witty snow storm, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two clumsy uncles loving to the beat.

Suddenly, Michael lunged forward and tried to punch Ashley in the face. Quickly, Ashley grabbed the ribbed torch and brought it down on Michael’s skull.

Michael’s sticky abs trembled and his chubby spots wobbled. He looked angry, his body raw like a mutated, mute map.

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

Ashley — went back inside and made herself a nice glass of port. THE END

Please comment, telling me your favorite part of this short story. My vote’s for the line, “Michael, I am your father.” Or that shocking ending! Who knew I could be so vicious?

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