Author's Note: I do not recommend reading this story. It's only going to be on here for a little while because my friend wants to see it. This story in no way reflects my actual literary abilities. Hahaha. It was actually just something that my friend and I wrote during class last year to kill time.

Worst Story in the World

Along the outskirts of Los Angeles, there lived a woman by the name of Patty along with her husband; Bernard and their puppy, Maurice. They lived a wonderful 20 years of married life.

One night, after some routine vigorous, hot, steamy, passionate sex, Maurice started barking continuously. Bernard got up to investigate. Instantly, he noticed a fire in the kitchen. Patty and Maurice got out safely, however, Bernard was fried to a crisp. Patty called the police and checked into a 5 star hotel.

The next morning, Patty was awoken by the phone. It was the police. They had a lead in the investigation.

Patty rushed over to what used to be her ocean-side property. The FBI had found a gas can near the swing set. It was ruled to be an arson case. Weeks passed, which turned into months, when the police found their number one eye suspect.

A man confessed to his hiring and brainwashing by Patty. Patty was having an affair with the arsonist, and wanted to marry him. She decided to have Bernard wiped out, and take all his money. Bernard had been a lawyer for 30 years, so she knew he was loaded. Patty was instantly taken into custody.

Her trial date was set for 2 weeks later. After 3 weeks had passed, the trial was well underway. New leads were sprouting about left and right. Patty’s whole background was unveiled to the public. The community was outrageously shocked.

5 months had passed, and the trial was coming to an end. After another 2 weeks, Patty was found not guilty of all charges. She secretly had been fucking each of the jury members in exchange for freedom.

After being locked up for five months, she decided to live life on the other side of the field. She decided she no longer liked me, but instead women. She moved to the busy streets of Los Angeles. There she became Vice President of Walt Disney Land Theme Park California. She made BIG bucks. More than Bernard ever would’ve made. She lived comfortably in the Hills of Hollywood with the biggest house in Los Angeles county. She became quite the partier. She was well known in the bar scene.

Every night after work, she’d go to Zinky’s, the bar across the street from her lover’s place. She had a lesbian life partner named Julie. Soon after their marriage, Patty became an alcoholic, drinking vodka at work and captain at home. Julie became worried it was going to interfere with her career, which was rapidly making her richer and richer.

One night, after drinking heavily at Zinky’s, Patty decided to go home. A drive to the countryside at least 30 minutes away was not a good idea. Not more than 10 minutes away from her house, she decided to pull over and walk home.

After she didn’t return home by 3am, Julie went to look for her. Julie was worried. Looking away from the road for .000025 seconds, she heard a thump. Julie pulled over, got out, and fainted. She was shocked! To her surprise, right down the street Patty was laying in the street, passed out from another day of heavy drinking. Julie had hit her and instantly killed her beautiful lover. Julie fled.

Frantic, she packed her shit, and flew to Miami; where she went into hiding, changing her identity.

Back in Los Angeles, A by-passer saw Patty’s corpse and notified the police. They came to the scene and called Julie, who didn’t pick up her phone because she was on a flight.

Once Julie arrived, she called investigators and admitted to the slaying of Patty while drunk off her fucking slutty ass. The officers deduced that the woman was still drunk off her ass, since she was making the phone call in the first place. Unfortunately, they could not trace the phone call because their phone tracer was on the fritz.

Apparently, two of the officers were “busy” doing a lot of “phone tracers”. Lots and lots of “phone traces.” So many, in fact, that they got really excited and knocked the equipment over, shattering the machine into millions of tiny pieces. Anyways, it just wasn’t possible to trace the call.

Once it was made clear that it would be impossible to trace the phone call, the police chief decided to go back to Patty’s huge house. All he found was the annoying Saint Bernard Maurice. After that, he decided to make a trip to Julie’s house, knowing that she was Patty’s very intimate and very bisexual lover.

The chief knew exactly how to get to Julie’s home, since he had to go there a lot when Patty was still alive. Mainly for reports of them disturbing the peace. When he arrived at the house, though, no one was home. The police chief began to have the sneaking suspicion that Julie may have had something to do with Patty’s death.

Meanwhile, back in Miami, Julie was working hard to make sure her new identity wasn’t known to police. She bought a lil’ ol’ condo on the beach, where she liked to lay on her porch; naked so her neighbors could see. That slut. She decided to buy a Siamese cat, since she was getting a little lonely. She named it Maurice II. What a furry little guy he was.

So Julie would lay around all day in the sun with nothing on but her birthday suit, Maurice II at her side. The new identity she had established as “Marie Antoinette” was working out quite nicely for her. She was even able to get herself a decent job as a stripper at a club similar to Zinky’s. Picking up that extra $50 a night from Zinky’s: Miami Beach, it really helped her get a cell phone, so her new “sex craving clients” could contact her on the go.

One night, as she was taking a bath, something appeared in her roach infested bathroom. It was the ghost of Patty! The only thing Julie could think was:

‘Holy shit! I shouldn't have drank that last glass of scotch and vodka!’ Unfortunately, she had drank that last glass, so now she was seeing visions of the ex lover she had hit so brutally with her SUV.

So the next day, still wasted off her ass, she decided to take a trip into town to make some money, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, it was Christmas, so nobody was around. What was she gonna do? She needed money and sex. So, she decided to drive to Atlantic City, where sex possibilities are overwhelming. She also had an idea to do a little gambling on the side, but only if she made money on the streets.

Oh the money Julie made on the street corners of Atlantic City. However, her horrible gambling addiction got the better of her and she lost all of the money she had worked so honestly for.

After losing all her money, she decided to file for bankruptcy. Being a prostitute and stripper didn’t put the cat food on the table, so she had no choice but to fly back to Hollywood.

There she met Brawny, the woman who did the advertisements for the paper towels. She liked to use Beaver tranquilizers and steroids mixed together. That’s why she was buff and manly.

Julie and Brawny lived happily ever after on Patty’s rebuilt oceanfront property. Maurice I was never heard from again, but there were rumors going around that Julie had finally gotten rid of the last reminder of her old life.

T H E E N D