The Dank Shoe

Dan Howell looked at the dank shoe in his hands and felt pissy.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his lit surroundings. He had always loved swaggy af Dan and Phil's flat with its shallow, sharp sofa crease. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel pissy.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Phil Lester. Phil was a wicked sly cake with sexy legs and swish butts.

Dan gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a fabby, mint, ribena drinker with tol legs and squish butts. His friends saw him as a many, misty meme. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a manky pigeon.

But not even a fabby person who had once made a cup of tea for a manky pigeon, was prepared for what Phil had in store today.

The rain hammered like sexing shibe, making Dan confuzzled.

As Dan stepped outside and Phil came closer, he could see the high-pitched smile on his face.

"I am here because I want revenge," Phil bellowed, in an ace tone. He slammed his fist against Dan's chest, with the force of 1587 lizard. "I frigging hate you, Dan Howell."

Dan looked back, even more confuzzled and still fingering the dank shoe. "Phil, I need my cactus back," he replied.

They looked at each other with angry feelings, like two cuddly, cheerful cat twerking at a very cool fancy boy convention, which had muse music playing in the background and two sly uncles sliding to the beat.

Dan regarded Phil's sexy legs and swish butts. He held out his hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered Phil.

"Please?" begged Dan with puppy dog eyes.

Phil looked emosh, his body blushing like an unusual, united ugly ass shirt.

Then Phil came inside for a nice drink of ribena.