Wilford Brimley Eats All the Snacks

I had just gone home from walking the dog. The dog didn't
want to go for a walk but I said tough luck you're going for a walk. "Please don't
take me for a walk. MacGyver is on and it is my favorite show, and it actually
has some pretty messed up moments that not a lot of people know about. Ruff!".
Nope, too damned bad. I grabbed the leash and coaxed him outside with a box of
beggin' strips I had been munching on. The truth of the matter is, I myself am
a dog, and we all have a canine instinct of sorts. We like food and smelling
the flowers and taking shits in our neighbors' lawn.
So when I got back from home and my dog gave me the middle
finger for not considering the value of his needs in relation to mine... I heard
a shuffling noise coming from the kitchen. I was scared. I considered calling
the cops but then I remembered that I was a cop and had been kicked off the
force for selling my police badge for sweet cans of Alpo. They wouldn't listen
to me. I was alone. Except for my dog.
"Nope, fuck you, I'm outta here." Old Shags McMaxamillion flipped
me the bird again and strutted out the doggy door with sass and a tail wag. It
was just me now. An icy cold man with an icy cold heart, alone, with his
thoughts about being a domesticated wolfkin.
Suddenly—I heard a voice! Coming from the kitchen! A chill
went up my spine from thinking about what could have been going on with my
freezer. The mysterious intruder I could not see as of yet had at least
provided me with a vocal greeting of sorts. "Hello there. I'd like to talk to
you for a few moments...". I considered leaving but I knew my now former man's
best friend was outside waiting to bite me and he had rabies (no vets were in
service because of COVID-19) so I was better off taking my chances with the
robber. I reached into my Paw Patrol fanny pack and pulled out a nerf gun. Hey,
it was better than nothing. I tiptoed into the kitchen entryway, pistol in my
hands, stealthily hoping to catch the intruder off guard, and then—
I saw him. I shrieked in horror. It couldn't be. But it was.
There he was. For real this time.
My deceased grandfather.
No, wait, that wasn't him. It was Wilford Brimley, the famous
actor from commercials about testing supplies! I was scared. "I want to talk to
you for a few minutes.", he repeated. He motioned to the chair at the opposite
side of the table. I had no choice but to sit down.
"You're all out of ice cream, and apple pie." "I do not eat
ice cream or apple pie", I retorted. "Also, I sure would love to know what you're
doing in my house." "I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes." Ohhh, I knew
where this was heading—he was trying to sell me something! Well, not so fast! I
pulled out my nerf gun and pelted him in the face with a blast of multi-colored
plastic balls. Highly realistic blood, gore, and milkbone-shaped dog treats
exploded from Wilford Brimley's forehead. Wilford Brimley was dead.
I considered calling the police, but there is no police. I
sat down in my study, reading the newspaper and whistling Dixie. Suddenly,
there was a knock at my door. I glanced out the peephole. It was the police! "We'd
just like to talk to you for a few minutes", they stated, calmly, misleading
me. Well, that was so nice, I never get visitors—no, wait, it was obviously a
trap! Old Shags McMaxamillion... how could you!?!? I ran into my bedroom and
closed the door. I jumped under the bed and shuddered. Could this be how it all
ended for me? I shrieked in horror as I realized I left my nerf gun on the
study room table, next to my copy of Men are from Mars Women are From Venus
and emergency pack of sour grape apple big league chew. My scream was
interpreted as an invitation to break and enter, as I could hear the sounds of
cops slamming my door and them sniffing around for evidence. It was either now
or never! I pressed the emergency button under my bed to activate secret weapon
X. My closet door opened, and out popped my ex-wife. Just kidding, out popped
nothing. It was a button that opened the closet door. I got up and ran into the
closet. I was now trapped in the closet.
"Hey, wait!", one cop exclaimed. "Why, yes", the other pig
stated, snorting and chortling. "This is indeed the corpse of the late Woody
Woodpecker antagonist Wally Walrus." "No, stupid! It's Wilford Brimley!" "Oh.
Yeah. I knew that." I could hear the freezer door open. "The guy's all out of
ice cream and apple pie." "Well, screw this john then!", officer B retorted. "We'll
just have to find a more charitable home worth investigating." "Ruff", replied
Old Shags McMaxamillion the Twenty Second, the police dog who corruptly removed
me from the force for not listening to his needs. I could hear the sound of the
officers picking up my door, hammering and nailing it back on its hatch, and
leaving my home never to be seen or heard from again. Finally! Some peace and
quiet.
I returned to my study. I sat down, smoked my pipe, and read
a couple of Garfield comics. Suddenly, I had an intense craving for dessert. I
tried meditating and it simply wouldn't go away. "Guess I gotta serve Mr.
Tummywumpkins before it's too late", I ironically murmured to myself in
sarcasm. But it was too late. It was far too late. Too late for me, anyway. I
was too late. You're too late. We're all too late. Woof.
I opened the freezer door. I was all out of cool whip. I
attempted to custom make my own cool whip out of cottage cheese, mayonnaise,
and expired ketchup packets, but it was no use. It simply did not taste like
cool whip whipped cream foam topping. I was going to die of hunger.
Or was I? There was only one thing to do.
"Sugar. I need sugar. I need...". Yes, indeed. The light bulb
went off in my head. A gigawatt of high voltage rock n' roll. And who was I to
judge? I was just an ex-cop with an insatiable hunger for dessert. I bent down
and scooped up my meal. "High sugar." I...
I stuck Wilford Brimley's bloody brain matter into my mouth,
took a bite, and chewed. "Hey, this is pretty good.", I affirmed out loud
between bites. Munch munch. Crunch crunch. Mmmm. Tasty.
Whoops. I made a grave mistake. Literally. Pun not intended
but may as well have been.
"You forgot your testing supplies", zombie Wilford Brimley muttered
from the floor as I died from an overdose on a severely diabetic man's decomposing
brain tissue.
I am in cannibal hell now and it is no good. My lack of
caring about others sent me here, so I tell you this as a warning. If you ever
get hungry, take your dog for a walk to the local organic food store and get
some carrots and raisin cakes or some stupid shit like that.
I let out a warning. Warning: Don't ever let life pass you
by.
Category:Trollpasta
Category:Satire
Category:Memes
Category:Pages with grammar that doesn't suck
Category:YT Readings