LAST ONE AND THEN EXPECT A NORMAL STORY
The generator named this one Thoughtless Robert Smith. Ouch?
(Y/N) (Y/L/N) looked at the weathered newspaper in her hands and felt active.
She walked over to the window and reflected on her grey surroundings. She had always loved grey London with its ice-dancing, icy igloos. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel active.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Robert Smith. Robert was a thoughtless friend with pink spots and beautiful legs.
(Y/N) gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a tactless, energetic, beer drinker with sloppy spots and sticky legs. Her friends saw her as a large, low lover. Once, she had even helped a bad baby flamingo cross the road.
But not even a tactless person who had once helped a bad baby flamingo cross the road, was prepared for what Robert had in store today.
The moon shone like smiling rats, making (Y/N) afraid.
As (Y/N) stepped outside and Robert came closer, she could see the decaying smile on his face.
"Look (Y/N)," growled Robert, with a lovable glare that reminded (Y/N) of thoughtless snakes. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want love. You owe me 7591 pounds."
(Y/N) looked back, even more afraid and still fingering the weathered newspaper. "Robert, I love you," she replied.
They looked at each other with ambivalent feelings, like two plain, pongy puppies singing at a very intelligent wake, which had reggae music playing in the background and two smart uncles boating to the beat.
Suddenly, Robert lunged forward and tried to punch (Y/N) in the face. Quickly, (Y/N) grabbed the weathered newspaper and brought it down on Robert's skull.
Robert's pink spots trembled and his beautiful legs wobbled. He looked worried, his wallet raw like a sore, stingy sandwich.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Robert Smith was dead.
(Y/N) (Y/L/N) went back inside and made herself a nice drink of beer.
THE END
OH MY GEEZ