Starco prompt: Netflix and literally just chilling
Friendship Thursday wasn’t too much fun when, well, two of
the three participants were passed out 10 minutes into the show.
Star doesn’t mind…a lot, because it’s still Friendship
Thursday and she’s still with her friends – technically. She looks over at
Marco hunched against Ponyhead’s pink mane, mouth wide and snoring lightly. At
least they had a fun day – though whatever they managed to pick up at Emelio’s
Pizzaria could’ve used some…work, to say the least. She grimaces at the melty
slice that sits on the side table, untouched since her first bite.
Way too many
The Friendship Snuggly that she wore has managed to slip
down past her waist, and she’s much too lazy to bring it back up around her
shoulders and burry her nose into the blue cloth. Plus, she kinda wants a
sandwich, and maybe some fruit punch from the kitchen.
She stretches her arms out, pushing up toward the ceiling and
yawns, then stretches outwards next to her. Kitchen in mind, she begins the
slow process of getting up when a familiar head full of brown hair falls against
her side, onto her lap, startling her back to her seat. She looks over at where
her best friends previously were: Ponyhead’s moved closer to her, tilted in her
direction, and the movement must have sent him over to her for a more
comfortable sleep. What did they even do today
to be as tired as they were? Especially Marco, who seemed completely unfazed by
his new sleeping positon – in fact, taking light of it and nestling his head
against her leg.
Star brings her hand to his shoulder to shake him awake,
then pauses, tilting her head down to look at his sleepy form. His hair is
matted in the back, and he looks so tired yet content and, well, her fruit
punch can wait a little longer, right?
She takes a chunk of his hair and smoothes her fingers
through it, brushing out the knots and separating the strands into bundles of
threes, creating a loose little braid. A giggle escapes her as she looks at her
handiwork, twirling it around at the back of his head. Her other hand lightly
brushes against his bangs at his forehead, his breath even and mouth slightly
open with just a hint of drool, and she cards her fingers through his hair
before tucking it behind his ear. There, she traces tiny sketches from his ear
to his cheek with a gentle finger, her thumb gliding against his jawbone right
under it. And she swears he sighs, falling deeper onto her thighs, nestling his
nose into the fuzzy blanket, and has he always been this soft and gentle and –
“Uh, B-fly, what are you doing?”
Her arms unconsciously fly off his body and to her sides,
burned, as Ponyhead looks her and Marco up and down from under the blanket.
“Nothing!” Star laughs awkwardly, then remembers the
sleeping boy on her lap and lowers her voice. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Kinda looked like you were petting Earth Turd.”
She frowns. “I was not petting
him. And stop calling him that!”
“Why should I?”
“Because he isn’t an ‘Earth Turd.’”
Ponyhead gives her a knowing look, then raises an eyebrow at
the boy lying against her (her!)
bestie. “Looks like a turd to me.”
The horsehead blinks. “Because he’s cuter than a turd?”
“Yes!” Star exclaims, glaring at Ponyhead resolutely, until
it registers what she just said. She tricked her – a specialty of her Mewni
best friend. Ponyhead smirks at her, muzzle tilted to show she’s won, and Star
immediately panics – waving her hands back and forth because absolutely not, no
way, not possible - “Wait, wh-what
no! No, he isn’t – no. No.”
“I can’t believe
you think Earth Turd is actually –”
“Pony!” She doesn’t even register what she’s done until she
hears a yelp and groaning from the floor, where Marco now lay face planted at
an uncomfortable angle. She’s immediately next to him, apologizing for pushing
him off the couch and helping him up from the carpet.
So I’m like, really. Really gay. Like we got a flaming homosexual over here. Like that kinda gay, uk?
Anyhow, in eighth grade, my mom wanted me to go to this boy’s Eagle Scout ceremony. This boy happened to be *Nigel, AKA my best friend *Amelia’s crush. So of course, I convinced her to go. The whole thing was kind of boring. That is,,,, until we showed up.
At this point, I hadn’t come out to a single person-not even Amelia. But she did know I disapproved of Nigel’s political views. So did she, but she was willing to look past it. Anything for love, amiright?
Nigel is a nice boy, and he goes to my church. But he pisses me off. He’s very openly homophobic, so of course I’m not (and have never been) his biggest fan.
The plan for the night was that Amelia was going to stay over at my house that night after the ceremony/party. So by the time the ceremony was halfway through, Amelia and I were both restless. Being the troublemakers we are, we decided it was best for us to entertain ourselves.
So we got up and went to the buffet. And the moment I laid my eyes on the brownies, I had an idea. Was it a bad idea?Maybe. But was it great? Definitely.
So, stifling my giggles as Amelia followed me to my destination, I rolled the 3-4 brownies up into little turds. I left them on the ground right by the door of the men’s bathroom. All that was left to do was wait.
The whole time we hid in the closet we couldn’t stop laughing. But when we heard footsteps we composed ourselves and looked through the blinds. We waited for our victims until Nigel’s little brother and his friends walked up to the door…before stopping in their tracks and collectively gasping.
They conversed briefly, in hushed tones before finally deciding to go get Nigel.
Nigel was pale and shaking at the sight of the turds. “No way. No fuckin way.” He looked about ready to throw up.
Everyone blamed a little boy who is known for misbehaving. They thought he’d pooped on the ground. It caused a shift in the mood of the party.
Nigel had to clean it up. He cried the whole time. It was glorious.
But it wasn’t over yet.
While in the closet, we concocted a plan to bring this prank to the next level. We bought brownie mix and nutty frosting through my mom, who had no idea. After cooking the brownies we smushed them up and mixed them with the frosting. We had made the most delicious turd in existence. It was chunky and moist, and everything we could have imagined and hoped for. It was perfect. So the next day at my church, Amelia and I dropped the giant turd by the men’s restroom–laughing hysterically the whole time.
The first person to come across it was a little girl who was trying to her hand sanitizer. She turned pale, and tugged at her dad’s jacket. But he ignored her. He did not notice.
The next person to come across this beautiful concoction of ours was Nigel. He looked shocked and about ready to cry. Upon further reflection, Amelia and I have realized that he probably felt as though he was being followed.
The last person to come across it was one of my grandfather’s friends. My grandfather works at the church–a janitor of sorts. His friend did his business before reporting the turd to my grandfather, who turned green and looked like he had been told he had minutes to live.
Amelia and I left church in fits of laughter, unable to contain ourselves. The icing on the cake was when my grandfather called my mom upset that he had plugged the toilet with a turd someone had left on the ground. He was surprisingly used to it because people at our church have strange bathroom habits, apparently.
((We eventually confessed when the priest thought it was a hate crime against the church–he was actually rather chill with it when he realized it was preteen pranksters. Surprisingly, my brother decided to take the blame from my mom, while Amelia and I took the credit. This is my second favorite story to tell–Amelia and I have deemed the story Code Elton John…If we ever want to tell it, we ask the other if we can tell ‘the story about Elton John.’ And maybe one day we’ll try again, for old times sake. Thanks for reading. @fightmeimgay))
sometimes i get people irl asking me if i photoshop my face or something for my selfies and i’m like nO? and it’s starting to really make me feel bad about myself… actually you guys from the simblr community are so sweet, you never ever told me anything else than beautiful things but if you ever thought about it no, i don’t photoshop / face tune my face :(
We live in the Bloodborne AU in which scientists made contact with the Moon, but instead of turning us into beasts and eldritch abominations it just made it so 95% of the population can’t wear hats without looking like turds.
Check the dates, the general population stopped being able to pull off hats in 1969.
In May 2017, Stickland became engaged in an online feud with political columnist Virgil Texas, who compared Stickland’s large figure to that of a “disgusting glazed ham” and accused him of being a “Sig Sauerkraut-packing chud” after Stickland introduced a measure intended to punish children who identify as transgender. Stickland claimed his feelings were hurt by this comparison, and in return accused Texas of being intolerant.
Some commenters accused Stickland of being “a sentient turd” and claimed that he looks “like if Paul Blart hit the skids”. One user posited that Stickland should be more concerned with how such gendered bathroom bills might affect him, as he cannot see his own genitals.
I had adventure! I stole car and got chickun berger. I met up with wee burd who told me about treasure. I took boat and looked for treasure but didn’t find. Turns out burd meant water looks like diamonds. Burd is a turd.