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literature
If you give a dwarf a beer. . . .
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Literature Text
"I told you not to drink it," Shift yelled, rummaging through my kitchen. My head exploded with such force that would make a terrorist jealous. I slowly opened my eyes, in an attempt to glare daggers at my friend's back, contemplating murder. "No, you didn't," I growled, just barely audible. I pressed my fingers against my throbbing temples. "I don't remember you saying it, and I'm always right. Therefore, you didn't." Shift slammed a cupbaord shut and I added theoretical torture to theoretical murder. Punishment to fit the crime and whatnot. I curled up on my couch into a, more or less, respectable position. Behold, Jack Walles: son of Father Time and hardcore private eye, everyone.
"You don't remember because you drank it." My friend responded in a tone that educated me on how a demolished building felt. "You never accept alcohol from Dwarves. It's always--"
"Stop. Yelling." I snarled, suddenly wishing looks could kill. Shift turned to face me, suddenly holding a metal frying pan. The red-head raised an eyebrow and gave me a level look. My face fell and, before I could come up with a colourful threat, my friend slammed the pan against my fridge. I let out a tortured cry and curled up into a tiny ball. "What was that?" Shift asked, going back to searching my kitchen. "I thought you said something."
"Nothing," I mumbled, decided on theoretical waterboarding for the theoretical torture.
Never. Drinking. Again.
"You don't remember because you drank it." My friend responded in a tone that educated me on how a demolished building felt. "You never accept alcohol from Dwarves. It's always--"
"Stop. Yelling." I snarled, suddenly wishing looks could kill. Shift turned to face me, suddenly holding a metal frying pan. The red-head raised an eyebrow and gave me a level look. My face fell and, before I could come up with a colourful threat, my friend slammed the pan against my fridge. I let out a tortured cry and curled up into a tiny ball. "What was that?" Shift asked, going back to searching my kitchen. "I thought you said something."
"Nothing," I mumbled, decided on theoretical waterboarding for the theoretical torture.
Never. Drinking. Again.
So, this was an assignment for my English class. We started reading Beowulf a few days ago, and we were talking about why Grendel started attacking. Basically, for those who haven't read it, Grendel was in a lot of pain, like a headache. He also lived under one of the most successful meadery halls in Denmark( I think?), which would throw a large party almost every night. Almost like that asshole of a neighbor that's one floor above you in an apartment complex, who never turns his music down. -.-.; So, instead of asking them to stop, he kills them all.
The reason for this writting was because my teacher asked us to write a modern day version of something like what Grendel went through. So I thought, why not give Jack a hang over? Seems like a good idea. x3
The reason for this writting was because my teacher asked us to write a modern day version of something like what Grendel went through. So I thought, why not give Jack a hang over? Seems like a good idea. x3
© 2011 - 2024 DrunkenMaster7
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