Dabbling in Drabbles

Spoiled Pastrami

"You have offended me in ways that are beyond the comprehension of your puny mind," Phil said lowly, eyes cut and brows furrowed dangerously. "You have brought dishonor on my entire family with your thoughtless display, and brought forth only the deepest of pains on my person. And for that, heathen, you must be punished. Prepare to die!"

And with these words, the small pink plastic sword was plunged into the sandwich. Once, twice, thrice—his hand became erratic as he furiously stabbed at it, throat growling in outrage, "Stupid pastrami!"

Helga walked past with a load of laundry, throwing to him casually, "Phil, don't play with your food."

Phil huffed, sticking the little plastic sword in one last time and pushing the spoiled meat away from himself. "As if it can even be called that. I'll be washing my mouth out for weeks."


A/N: From my fic "Life with the Shortmans," Phillip, ladies and gentlemen. *Facepalm*

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