Stories From A Foul Mouthed Dwarf

One fine morning, while going about his usual business: feeding the hungry… to his Alsatian, helping old ladies… to fall into the road, Drew found a book of short stories.

He ran home, excitedly skipping and jumping, on whomever he could find, and once inside, shouting up stairs to his mum, who was at the time busy with one of his uncles.

“Mummy, mummy, I found a book of short stories!”

No answer…

“Mummy, mummy, I found a book of short stories!”

Still no answer…

Making his way up the stairs, pushing past all of his other uncles, who were patiently queuing, he excitedly shouted through the bedroom door.

“Mummy, look what I found: a book of short stories. It’s quite rude though. Is it ok to keep it?”

The door slowly creaked open, and standing in the doorway was his mum, dressed in a leather dress, holding a whip.

“What the fuck do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“But Mum, I found this book,” Drew said, handing the book to her.

After looking at a few pages, she launched the book out of the open window.

“Fucking little poof! Now go out and find some friends. I’m working,” she told him, slamming the door in his face.

Drew walked down into the street and knelt down, picking up the book and brushing of the dust.

“If only I could write short stories,” he wished.

When he looked up from the book, there was a little dwarf standing in front of him dressed in a red suit, smoking a cigar.

“So, you want to write do you Dumb Shit?” the dwarf asked puffing on his cigar.

“Oh yes please sir, I would love to be talented.”

“YOU’RE FUCKING USELESS!” the dwarf suddenly shouted, making Drew jump. “This is your lucky day DICK HEAD. I can write, and that’s my book.”

Drew read the cover of the book: Stories From A Foul Mouthed Dwarf.

“Wow,” Drew gasped, “you are an amazing dwarf.”

“Listen Idiot, I’ll give you my skill, BASTARD, But it, FUCKING CUNT, comes at a price.”

“What’s that?” Drew asked.

The dwarf shook his head.

“You really are fucking stupid, aren’t you.”

“Funny,” Drew remarked, scratching his head, “that’s what everyone else says. Ok, I’ll do anything to write like you Mr Dwarf, just make it happen.”

With that, a flash of light shot from the dwarf’s mouth, and hit Drew in the face.

“UTTER CRAP!” Drew shouted, putting his hand over his mouth, “what’s happening to me? FUCKING IDIOT!”

The dwarf gave a sigh of relief.

“Thank god for that,” the dwarf sighed, “I’ve been trying to get rid of that Tourette’s curse for years.”

“But, FUCKING MORON, what will I do now?”

“Do what I’ve been doing for years,” the dwarf laughed, “write a load of vulgar short stories.”

“Oh well,” drew thought, “suppose I’d better get myself a laptop, BOLLOCKS!”