It was a saturday night just like any other.
Me and a bunch of my friends had a party the night before, and i was the first to wake up.
I went to the fridge and decided to make everyone some chicken.
I still had some left, so i went over to the fridge and got it ready.
I started frying it, and ten minutes later i decided it had gone on long enough.
I pulled it out of the fryer, and cut a bit off to see the inside.
I heard a voice behind me, british and angry.
"STILL FOCKING RAW YOU IDIOT!!"
I ran, attempting to wake up my friends.
"AND LOOK HOW MUCH OIL IS STILL IN IT!!! THE US IS TRYING TO INVADE IT YOU DAFT GIT!!!!"
I ran towards the spot my friends had fallen asleep at, only to see that they'd been murdered.
Perfectly cooked Foi Gras had been jammed down their throats, killing them.
I felt a cold presence behind me.
Gordon Ramsay wispered into my ear.
"You are not the Master Chef."
A cold blade pierced my heart, and i died.
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Two people walked into the lobby of Moreana Mordegard Glesgorv's Marquee.Well, "People" is a bit of an understatement.
Bonesy:"That was a stupid movie, Burning. Why am i even here?"
Burning:"Because going to the movies alone makes me look weird."
Bonesy:"But bringing a skeleton in a suit makes you look normal?"
Burning:"Oh shut up, you weren't complaining when you ate my nachos."
Bonesy:"Touche."