Template:Featured

From Uncyclopedia test II
Jump to navigation Jump to search

My refrigerator and I speak occasionallyIt's not much during the day. White, drab. Bland. Humming, bumming.

Night. We converse at night. I open the door and a community, a whole society, awaits me.

I'm particularly fond of Jeff, the pickle jar. He's full of these witty little jokes. They make my spleen writhe; they're just so funny. There's nothing quite like it.

He wants this girl. Her name is Bethany. She's a bottle of grey mustard, slouched in the back corner with other condiments.

Read more...

Recently featured: Micro$oft Window$Dear John letterBelching hyenasA baby gorilla ate my homeworkThe IllogicopediaCohagen: the Forbidden FilesDinner Table With PillowsEnter the ChickenSlipping My Pickle InChanServ