Don’t Be Suprised if My Pillow Pet Murders me
He’s still upset that I got rid of his girlfriend
“A pillow pet? Mom, I’m frickin a adult, I don’t want a pillow pet!”
Eight-year-old me was furious at my mother for buying me a “baby gift” as a birthday present. It took 10 minutes for me to get over it, as I quickly realized Brad was the closest thing I had to a friend. I began to take him everywhere. My mother noticed our unbreakable bond and got me another pillow pet for my next birthday.
“Another one? Let’s frickin go mom you’re the bomb!”
Having Shelby was great, but I still only took Brad with me whenever I left the house. One day, Brad asked me if Shelby could come with us to the park, and I said yes.
That was the worst decision of my pubescent life. The two played without me the entire time, leaving me to play with Snotty Snell, the gross kid who seemingly lived at the park.
Jealousy filled my budding mind. That night while Brad was asleep, I took Shelby to my mom’s room and told her to get rid of her.
When I told Brad the next morning, he was furious.
“YOU DID WHAT? YOU BONE-HEADED, SNOT-CHEWING, UNDERWEAR-POOPING, SOCK-SNIFFING, BED-WETTING, UNABLE TO EXCEL AT ANYTHING BECAUSE HE LACKS…
