A Day In The Life Of A Retard
A Day In The Life Of A Retardd, as retards write it, is about a boy who is well....a retard. But not that kind of retard retard, he is more....like a retarded retard kind of retard, which you will find out.
- 1 A Day In The Life Of A Retardd
- 2 A Breakfast In The Life Of A Retardd
- 3 Change In The Life Of A Retardd
- 4 Hobbling with A Retardd
- 5 Breakfast Now!
- 6 What's next, Retardd?
- 7 Cleaning with Retardd
- 8 Migraines With Retardd
- 9 A Lunch In The Life Of A Retardd
- 10 Ow.
- 11 Something Apparent In The Life Of A ?
- 12 Something Apparent IN The Life Of A Intellectual
- 13 Something Freakishly Apparent
- 14 Something Freakishly Apparently Ending
- 15 What a horriblech way to die
A Day In The Life Of A Retardd
You're probably wondering why I spelt the title wrong. You probably doubt my existence. You probably
masturbate use the toilet once a week. No fear. That's just like... well me. (except I don't doubt my own existence and... I do masturbate)
My day begins with a wake-up, just like um....any other of anyone's days, or if you're nocturnal, nights. Every day I get bullied. By this clock. I have to wake up because he rings in my ear and it...pains. So I smash him. Ya, I kind of bully bullies. Life's like that.
It hits you when you expect it.... no, er wait.
I don't even write stuff like this when I wake up, so this should be A special day. Today's a special day, it's my birthday!
No, it's not.
A Breakfast In The Life Of A Retardd
Wait, wait, wait. I haven't woken up. And aren't I writing this book??? SO DON'T RUSH ME!!!! I take my sweet time.
And I don't say that on a normal day.
But today ain't normal, it's special. Today is a special day, is my birthday. NO....wait. Anyway, point being I can brush my teeth.
See, I put the toothbrush here and I shake my head. That way, I don't even have to move the toothbrush! I save so much energy!
I bet you hadn't thought of that. Or thoughteth that.
HAH! I bet you wouldn't even think of thougheth anwyay.
Or whatever other way.
So I brush my teeth. Now where do my pyjamas go. OH RIGHT!
I must change.
Change In The Life Of A Retardd
Not like 'stuff I can believe in' because 'I can't believe it' Butter, I mean. But so I change my clothes.
Look, I have a clothes changing schedule.
- WAKE-UP: Time not set.
- BRUSH: I think like ten minutes later
- CHANGE: After I don't use energy.
- BREAKFAST: It is at a 30 minute interval.
Point being I'm organized. Ya...
My trousers go over my head right?? Hey, I forgot my underwear.
D'oh! I tripped!
Hobbling with A Retardd
I hobble down the stairs. It's hard to walk. Or hobble. Or both. Which is highly unlikely. So I hobble... er, wait... ya. I don't hobble but don't walk either, so I hobbalk down the stairs.
10 minutes later, I'm down! BUT NO!!! I MISSED MY BREAKFAST BY 10 MINUTES! TIME TO WAIT FOR THE NEXT 30 MINUTE INTERVAL AT... ER WAIT.. .SEVEN! Yes.
How to pass the time? Let's see.... ooh, newspaper.
Hmm....Man b-....er....b-b-BOMBS! No er... ed... Bomb-ed!
Bah, news is boring.
And I wasted time reading that.
I eat cereal. It tastes funny. It says, add milk.
The o-o.... Oxford! Dictionary says it's a dairy product. I HAVE TO BUY IT????
I eat plainly.
No...I eat cereal. SHUDDUP!
What's next, Retardd?
I clean cereal. And bowl. Without milk. Which is costly. Ooh...pizza....
Yum yum! I dream for 30 minutes and realize I must clean up the dr-... dr... Droo... el. (Bleh bleh)
Anyway, I use a paintbrush for fine cleaning. It takes long.
Cleaning with Retardd
(TIP: To clean, make sure you use the largest brush you have. The largest I have is a paintbrush though.)
I use a paintbrush. It's pointy-tipped. Few hours pass. And minutes.
But mostly hours.
My watch it's 10:15. So i've been cleaning for 1015 hours! Smart, eh?
Wow, another 30 hours! 10:45! Whoo, I'm done.
You know what I should have done? USED A VACUUM!!!!
Cleaner. See it vacuums the thing you nead to clean. That's why It's a cleaner.
No wait, it's a vacuum cleaner. I slap myself.
Ooh, er....I think I feel a migraine coming on.
Migraines With Retardd
My head pounds. At me. I pound it back. It hurts even more.
So I must rest.
Ooh, it's already 11. I must make my lunch.
Let's see...what should i have.
A Lunch In The Life Of A Retardd
I search my fridge. With a torch. It helps. Ooh, some spam! Wait, wait, wait. Didn't I delete that from the maily thing on the box yesterday? Or yesterday yesterday?
Dah, whatever. At least it's not expired. See, no EXPIRY DATE! Wait. What's a expiry anyway? I thought it made your thing ugly.
How to cook spam? Oh yes, I need cooking oil, right?
I go to my neighbour's house and unscrew the valve. I steal some of their petroleum oil. See, oil. Better quality too!
I pour it in the pan. And turn on the gas.
There's an explosion.
Me house explodes.
I go concussion now.
Something Apparent In The Life Of A ?
I wake up, lying on the damp wet bed. Sweat rolls along my cheek, like a teardrop. Except it's not. Apparently, the concussion has turned me, so to speak, intellectual.
Or more smarter than others, for those simple-minded fools, I once 'twas. I get up, the sweat sticking to my elbow like er... glue. Very sticky glue. Wait.
There's something contradictory here.
If my house did explode/combust/a-splode (for those simple minded fools), then why is the bed still intact?
Well, unless of course I'm not in my house.
That way would work.
Something Apparent IN The Life Of A Intellectual
I'm not in my house. It's like a conclusion/resolution/epiphany/happen! (for those simple-minded fools)
See, the walls are obviously made of plywood, not Medium Density Fibrewood.
Or M.D.F to be abbreviated. I hum to myself, a sonata, humming the aproggiatura and accaciaturas, mordents and turns. They're all ornaments to my ears.
In the alto clef, I sing. Lower than the bass.
Apparently, someone hears me. Ding-ding-ding.
A bell chimes, ringing like a death toll.
Something Freakishly Apparent
I'm going to die.
That was like an ending/conclusion/resolution/happen! (for you know...)
Or E.C.R.H (FYK) to be abbreviated. Dive and duck, taking cover.
I'm hiding under a sheet of plywood, which at any moment could collapse under me. And that strange belly-like noise.
I mean bell-like noise. I actually made a typo! That was like a underachievement/anti-achievement/not an achievement/Er....unchievement (for those....simple brainded fools)
Oh no, the intellectuality thing is wearing off....
The worst way to end a story is to make the ending short and conclude everything in like a few words, for example, "i'm actually a genie", "he killed me", "and the cheese ate the rake" or something irrelevant, like "that's why i have no spoon."
This story is one of them.
Something Freakishly Apparently Ending
No, the title should be Something Freakishly And Apparent Ending.
But you know that you do not know. Or does that contradict the contradictory.
Plank not withstanding.
Neither is my house.
Oil, right? I vow to nevar eat some oil er...no wait.
Too many typos. Too much weight crushing me too. Er... I die.
And the plank crushed me.
What a horriblech way to die
Horriblech? I'm dead and writing this. You see, now I'm turning slowly uninteleectshual. Gah, more teepos.
I wrote this as a ghost.