It’s the Bottle’s Fault

*after drinking more than enough whiskey*

“Ah, yesh. Lesh sit back an enjoy the resht of this whiskey wis a shtory. Thonight, we, yesh, you and I, my dear writer’s shide, thonight, we are going to write a short shtory of pure awesomeness! Get se pen and paper, get se computer, get se whisk-...where’s the whiskey?

Ah, there it ish!”

*takes a swig*

“Ah...now let’sh go, pardner!” *hiccups* “Excuse moi! How am I supposhe to help a bottle of whiskey reacts sho negatively with me?”

It so happene one da that there was a mman of ill reput who made a living if questionale...reptue? *gulps down another mouthful, fingers returning to slowly crawl across the keys*

Tis ma maid a livon of...hundeng alians ad heee *hiccups*

H fite te gut figt wit, wit *blinking vigorously* lazers of Dart Fade ’s Jedy. He fit wih. 4. He fight aongsite 4 an Trixie annt olll thos oter *gulps down the last glass of whiskey*

safd le gl ih thyn tooooo spppppppppppparjakglhdaguhouaefajif;agiodahgadgdagjnnnnnvk

*snores*

*The following morning*

“What the hell is this?!! This is junk! Rubbish! Vanessa!!! VANESSA!!!”

“What is it, dear?” She asks with a sigh.

“Did you allow the cat in my study again?”

“No...But you allowed the whiskey in again...Maybe you should question the bottle first?”

“Are you being sarcastic now?”

“I would never.” *leaving the room again* “How about you just try and edit all of that?”

“It will never work! This is rubbish! I need to start over!”

“Again...” She sighs to herself.