Silly grinned as he cut his chocolate ice cream fudge sundae cake with a large, thin, machete. It towered almost five feet above him, completely frosted in vanilla icing. The only person attending Silly’s birthday was Gandmamaso, the Milk Mother. Gandmamaso took a swig from the pure white flask, and grinned a toothless grin. You would think with all that milk, Gandmamaso would have a perfect smile.
Then, the door to the house burst open, and people started streaming in. Cousins, aunts, and uncles Silly had never even heard of, crowded around him.
“So, how old are you now, child?” asked Billyette, Silly’s cousin from the Western Sahara.
“Welp, guess we all give you 16 punches!”
There were about 100 people in the room. Silly stared at them. “Please!” Billyette struck first, an uppercut to the jaw. Silly screamed as it fractured, and he fell to the floor. All of the cousins, aunts, an uncles each got their share of birthday punches. Silly lay on the floor. Even Billy, a 5 month old child, got his share. Each time a fist collided with Silly’s broken body, he jerked and shuddered. Eventually, the gang got tired of punching the dead body, and crowded around Silly’s cake, ripping out chunks like deranged apes. Finally, your cousins, aunts, and uncles leave. You try to get to your legs, but they seem to be fractured in thirty different places. Luckily, your right hand is unbroken. You grab a wet chunk of ice-cream cake, and smile a toothless smile. The last piece of cake.
its my birthday yay! silly = sully btw
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