Later that day, Shrek had finally been able to remove himself from the swamp water.
He dragged himself home lazily, and flopped onto his bed of hay.
Shrek didn't actually have a home anymore. That was trampled by the donkey too.
"God damn donkeys..." Thought Shrek, in disgust.
"..I need a holiday.." Shrek wasn't exactly a bum. He had a small loan of a million dollars, but didn't like to flash it around.
Shrek fell into a deep slumber of memery.
In his dream, he was in the place of his lord and saviour, PewDiePie.
Shrek was making his latest video, when he decided to use his $399 chair to do something that other chairs could not..
He fell backward, but... he didn't stop falling back.
That's when he realised that he was falling into a black pit.
He dropped into Obama's arms, and screamed bloody murder.
Obama had a face full of malice..but that's when Kim Jong Un came to save him!
But, Kim Jong Un was kind of fat and died of a heart attack.
Shrek woke up from this nightmare, and decided that he should go to Slimming World before he travelled.
He didn't want to end up like Kim, as he was pretty damn fat himself.
Really though, Shrek is the size of 5 Honey BooBoos strapped together which have just been to a buffet.
Massive.
Shrek ran to the nearest Slimming World, bursting straight into the doors of the place.
He screamed "I DON'T WANT TO BE FAT!!"
But, all the people at Slimming World did was hum the tune of All Star.
Frustrated, Shrek left the building, and punched the nearest look-alike of Obama he could find.
He soon came to realise that the Obama look-alike was actually the Real Slim Shady.
Slim Shady squealed, and grabbed his crotch.
Shrek didn't like Slim Shady, and so threw him into the sewer.
But Shrek was not going to give up on his endeavour to lose weight,
he was going to show Slim Shady who the real slim hoe was
now he was going to going to lose weight faster than eminem yeets his mom's spaghetti.
So this was his long lost toy story dream to lose the weight.. But what was he going to do
when he did?
He couldn't become an artist, he had heard you needed to be french for that and
you needed a goatee. And besides the French hated the Irish and their lusciously dry ginger bread hair.
So what was he going to become?
He stared into the deep night abyss, by the crackling fire. Encompassed by the warmth that Fiona didn't give him.
"Hmmm, what can AyE do?" he stroked the bald spot where his weave had been snatched.
"..North Korea."
"They are all slim in North Korea..."
"I must be slim."
"I MUST be North Korea."