(no subject)
The female doctor went on a walk to a castle. She brought with her roast chicken and roast pork, and cucumbers and bell peppers, which was she decided she would use to stuff her meat with. This particular doctor was a very good cook, although, i would have guessed that the reader would have guessed this already by now, seeing as not many inexperienced cooks would have been capable of stuffing both chicken and pork when not in the friendly confines of their kitchen. In fact, most people probably couldn't stuff a chicken and pork anywhere. I know I can't. My mom barely can. My family can tell when it's thanksgiving morning, because we'll wake up to our mother cussing as she works on shoving stuffing up the turkey's ass. Which is perhaps why not many people are particularly adept at stuffing anything, because not many people that I know of are particularly adept at shoving things up people's asses. Not to say that mom is one of these people. Or the female doctor for that matter. All I'm saying, is that I'm just saying, that it's hard to get practice for this kind of thing. The female doctor, we, have established, is adept at shoving various food items up the rectums of various cooked animals. And we also have established, that this does not necessarily imply that she is particularly adept at filling any other form of ass, rectum, or otherwise. Not that this specific fact has anything to do with the story at hand, however, I felt that the audience of this story, mostly adolescents, would be particularly keen on knowing this crude fact, and I felt compelled to let them know, that I do not, unfortunately, know. Thankfully, I do know some more information about this female doctor, or else I wouldn't have taken the time to write this story down. Thus, I will add to the information that she is a female doctor, going on a walk to a castle, with roast chicken, roast pork, cucumbers, and bell peppers. She has a spoon with her too. She likes to eat with a spoon. Knives are out of the question; they give her the creeps, as for forks, well, she had a bad experience with a fork once that she would rather not talk about. She was rather adament in her wish that she not be asked to tell of this experience, so I refrained from suggesting to her the possible employment of a spork. She also brought with her a cheeseplate. Why she brought with her a cheeseplate, and not, perhaps, a meat platter, or fondue fountain, or just a regular old plate, it's not clear, however, I am guessing that her reasons for the cheeseplate much resembled those of the spoon; a mixture of irrational dislikes and distasteful past experiences. Although some have suggested that the female doctor was crazy, and these claims do have some credibility, I personally do not place much weight in them. I had an uncle once, with four children, a wife, a regular job, a dog, a cat, dishwasher, the works. Everyone and anyone who knew him swore he was completely normal. Except for his single discrepancy: his everpresent cheeseplate. No one knew where it came from. No one knew what it was for. No one knew what it did. All anyone knew was that this cheeseplate accompanied my uncle everywhere. He had it rigged to his back with two lengthy pieces of twine, which he religiously replaced every month so as to ensure that his precious cheeseplate would not crash to the ground. One time it did, at Christmas dinner, when he attempted to stand up and the twine became caught in the back of chair. All I heard was the cheeseplate hit the floor, and then my uncle's screams. Like I said though, other than that cheeseplate on his back, he was perfectly normal. I write in the past tense, because, unfortunately, the cheese plate did not remain on his back forever. In an office prank, some of his coworkers stole it while my uncle was taking his lunch nap, and threw it in the garbage. My uncle searched frantically for it, and, according to some reports, finally resorted to torturing the information out of one of the thieves with a stapler. For days he sifted through the landfill, but to no luck; he never found his precious cheeseplate. He quit work, and lay listlessly on his couch at home, refusing to speak to anyone. His wife bought him a new one, but he left it lay in its bag, untouched. My uncle put a gun to his head soon after. But like I said, he's not crazy. And neither, do I believe, was the female doctor. Besides, the cheeseplate does not hold much sway over the rest of my story. Which I will continue another time.