"Rachel, wake up!" the voice echoed down the hallway. The blob of bed sheets tussled and churned until a head popped out.
"Ugh…" Rachel moaned. "I fuckin' hate Mondays, and every other day of the week, for that matter." The gender-confused transsexual tumbled out of bed and fixated her stockings so that they each rode up her legs at an equal length.
"Breakfast is almost ready!" his mom yelled.
"Don't give a shit 'bout your shit, mum!" he replied.
"Pardon?"
"Love you, mum!"
Rachel paced around his room a bit, both audibly loosening his man-titties and getting his daily exercise. He made it a habit to crank it out early on in the morning so that he wouldn't feel groggy later in the day. He half-assedly groomed his Braeburn My Little Pony figurine and gave it a quick smooch on the bum before returning him to his glamorized position on the bookshelf.
"Well, Chuckle-Nuts," Rachel started, "I guess I'm off to grab breakfast. I'll be back later and we can have our special time." He shared one more passionate glance with Braeburn before starting down the hall. As he neared the staircase, he felt a Level 3 storm a-brewin' in his back pockets, and before he could comprehend what was happening, the spaghetti began flowing out of his rear-end with a force the likes of humankind have had yet to witness. The ferocity of the propulsion was so intense that the flapping of his rippling love-handles broke the sound barrier, and in an instant, he was gone.
