After eating their pizza with the crust on top, with mushrooms, and without
mushrooms, and fifty two pepperoni slices that had not been put together
correctly (and keeping the box), the two men and the psycho decided to
order some desert.
Since it was Friday, Draco called TGI Thursdays.
"'lo?" an acne covered voice answered. (don't ask how we know it's an acne covered voice, but Malcom and The Middle was on last night. And that's a cool show! Not that it has anything to do w/ acne covered voices ...NO I LIED! It DOES! It really DOES! CUZ FRANKIE MUNIZ HAS AN ACNE COVERED FACE!!!!!)
(NO WAIT! I LIED AGAIN! Frankie Muniz has barely any pimples on his face! We related it to MALCOM IN THE MIDDLE cuz uhhhh...WE'RE THE AUTHORS! So...uhh.DON'T COMPLAIN!)
"Hi. I'd like to order a desert. Do you deliver?" Draco tried being polite. He was testing a theory to see which was more effective: being an asshole, or being nice.
"Nope. You pick it up."
Draco's line of patience was running thin.
"Well, where are you stationed?" he snapped.
"Corner of Third and Main."
"What city!" he yelled.
"CHICAGO!" the waiter was irritated now.
"WHERE'S THAT!"
"Illinois..." the stupid guy was confused now.
"Oh, that's my home-state," Draco lied.
"Oh really, where ya' from?" the nerd was interested now.
"uhhh..." Draco racked his brain in search of answers. "HOUSTON!"
"That's in Texas..."
"Not THAT Houston. You know, the one in uhhhh..." Draco forgot the state mentioned above. "ALASKA!"
"There's a Houston in Alaska?" The freak was freaked now.
"Yup, real hot down there...Never snowed once." Draco said.
"Excuse me sir, but you sound like you're from Europe. Somewhere around Britain maybe?"
"I TOLD YOU! I GREW UP IN HOUSTON, ALASKA!"
"BUT YOU ALSO TOLD ME ILLINOIS WAS YOUR HOME STATE! AND THAT IT'S NEVER SNOWED IN ALASKA! You fucking CRACKTARD!"
"Oh." Draco thought thoughtfully for a second. "What's a cracktard?"
"Nevermind. What would you like to order?" The waiter was tired now. Draco added it to his list of American lingo to use Later on.
"Oh. Nothing. I was just going to suggest something."
"What's that?"
"You guys should call yourselves TGI FRIDAY'S."
"Well that's one crazy idea. What did they teach you down in Houston, Alaska?"
"Well, I don't know about you. But here, we have seven days of the week."
"US too..." The dude was annoyed.
"Is every day called Thursday?"
"Nope. But not every day's Friday either."
"But Fridays better than Thursday!" Draco yelled after slamming down the phone. HE explained to Harry and Ron that the penguins screaming from the Galapagos was interfering with the overseas phone call.
Two weeks later, watching the television, he heard the news. An Illinois citizen and employee of TGI Thursdays had become a millionaire after changing the name from TGI THURSDAY's to TGI FRIDAYS.
~!~ Three WEEKS LATER~!~
"Harry. You're a cracktard!" Draco told Harry.
"Oh. Okay." He said absentmindedly.
"DON'T YOU CARE! I JUST CALLED YOU A CRACKTARD!"
"AND?"
"Stupid cracktard."
"hmm?" Harry didn't look up from his phone book. (he's a Draco poser)
"RON!"
"What?" He was grateful for an excuse to get away from his homework...even though he has none...
"You're a cracktard!"
"WHAT THE HELL DID I DO TO YOU?!"
"Oh. Nothing." Draco shrugged and walked away.
"What's a cracktard anyway?" Ron asked Harry.
"Beats me." Harry shrugged as a pair of Adidas Dockers (???) began beating him.
Ten minutes later, Ron heard screaming from Draco's side of the room.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A DOG HUMPING WENCH! TAKE YOUR LUMPY REDNECK ASS BACK TO 'BAMA WHERE IT BELONGS! And go play some soccer to lose some of that freakin weight, it's the only other alternative for gator huntn'!" Draco yelled as he slammed the phone down.
"Who was that?" Ron asked, curious.
"Oh, just your mom. But don't worry,. She'll call back later!" Draco said with a grin. Ron's face got as red as his hair, and Harry tried to hold him back, but the Adidas Dockers were still clapping against his ears. Draco just laughed.
"Harry, you have something on your head." He smiled.
"Duh Draco," he glared at him.
"Well, Ron...I was just wondering. Penguins don't have tennis shoes. They don't need them. So why are they beating Harry in the head?
"Beats me..." Ron said, and the shoes aimed in his direction.
A/N: GIVE IT UP FOR MELANY! OR SHOULD I SAY ME! The guest author for this chapter!
Haha that sucked!
Since it was Friday, Draco called TGI Thursdays.
"'lo?" an acne covered voice answered. (don't ask how we know it's an acne covered voice, but Malcom and The Middle was on last night. And that's a cool show! Not that it has anything to do w/ acne covered voices ...NO I LIED! It DOES! It really DOES! CUZ FRANKIE MUNIZ HAS AN ACNE COVERED FACE!!!!!)
(NO WAIT! I LIED AGAIN! Frankie Muniz has barely any pimples on his face! We related it to MALCOM IN THE MIDDLE cuz uhhhh...WE'RE THE AUTHORS! So...uhh.DON'T COMPLAIN!)
"Hi. I'd like to order a desert. Do you deliver?" Draco tried being polite. He was testing a theory to see which was more effective: being an asshole, or being nice.
"Nope. You pick it up."
Draco's line of patience was running thin.
"Well, where are you stationed?" he snapped.
"Corner of Third and Main."
"What city!" he yelled.
"CHICAGO!" the waiter was irritated now.
"WHERE'S THAT!"
"Illinois..." the stupid guy was confused now.
"Oh, that's my home-state," Draco lied.
"Oh really, where ya' from?" the nerd was interested now.
"uhhh..." Draco racked his brain in search of answers. "HOUSTON!"
"That's in Texas..."
"Not THAT Houston. You know, the one in uhhhh..." Draco forgot the state mentioned above. "ALASKA!"
"There's a Houston in Alaska?" The freak was freaked now.
"Yup, real hot down there...Never snowed once." Draco said.
"Excuse me sir, but you sound like you're from Europe. Somewhere around Britain maybe?"
"I TOLD YOU! I GREW UP IN HOUSTON, ALASKA!"
"BUT YOU ALSO TOLD ME ILLINOIS WAS YOUR HOME STATE! AND THAT IT'S NEVER SNOWED IN ALASKA! You fucking CRACKTARD!"
"Oh." Draco thought thoughtfully for a second. "What's a cracktard?"
"Nevermind. What would you like to order?" The waiter was tired now. Draco added it to his list of American lingo to use Later on.
"Oh. Nothing. I was just going to suggest something."
"What's that?"
"You guys should call yourselves TGI FRIDAY'S."
"Well that's one crazy idea. What did they teach you down in Houston, Alaska?"
"Well, I don't know about you. But here, we have seven days of the week."
"US too..." The dude was annoyed.
"Is every day called Thursday?"
"Nope. But not every day's Friday either."
"But Fridays better than Thursday!" Draco yelled after slamming down the phone. HE explained to Harry and Ron that the penguins screaming from the Galapagos was interfering with the overseas phone call.
Two weeks later, watching the television, he heard the news. An Illinois citizen and employee of TGI Thursdays had become a millionaire after changing the name from TGI THURSDAY's to TGI FRIDAYS.
~!~ Three WEEKS LATER~!~
"Harry. You're a cracktard!" Draco told Harry.
"Oh. Okay." He said absentmindedly.
"DON'T YOU CARE! I JUST CALLED YOU A CRACKTARD!"
"AND?"
"Stupid cracktard."
"hmm?" Harry didn't look up from his phone book. (he's a Draco poser)
"RON!"
"What?" He was grateful for an excuse to get away from his homework...even though he has none...
"You're a cracktard!"
"WHAT THE HELL DID I DO TO YOU?!"
"Oh. Nothing." Draco shrugged and walked away.
"What's a cracktard anyway?" Ron asked Harry.
"Beats me." Harry shrugged as a pair of Adidas Dockers (???) began beating him.
Ten minutes later, Ron heard screaming from Draco's side of the room.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A DOG HUMPING WENCH! TAKE YOUR LUMPY REDNECK ASS BACK TO 'BAMA WHERE IT BELONGS! And go play some soccer to lose some of that freakin weight, it's the only other alternative for gator huntn'!" Draco yelled as he slammed the phone down.
"Who was that?" Ron asked, curious.
"Oh, just your mom. But don't worry,. She'll call back later!" Draco said with a grin. Ron's face got as red as his hair, and Harry tried to hold him back, but the Adidas Dockers were still clapping against his ears. Draco just laughed.
"Harry, you have something on your head." He smiled.
"Duh Draco," he glared at him.
"Well, Ron...I was just wondering. Penguins don't have tennis shoes. They don't need them. So why are they beating Harry in the head?
"Beats me..." Ron said, and the shoes aimed in his direction.
A/N: GIVE IT UP FOR MELANY! OR SHOULD I SAY ME! The guest author for this chapter!
Haha that sucked!