Full Credits

Stats & Data

June 16, 2011

The former English Prime Minister walks to the store to buy some cat food for her hungry kitten.

    Yep, she was the walking type. Never rode a bus, never drove a car, never did nothin’ but walk back and forth between the places she had to go. Walking, walking, walking. And more walking. Past the houses, through the parks, across the street, downtown, to the dentist’s office, even to pick up her dry cleaning. She would walk to all of those places, because why not? Why would God give people two feet if they weren’t meant to be walked on? They worked so perfectly for the job, it was almost as if he designed them when he invented people. Well that was all the reason Margaret Thatcher needed to put her feet to good use. Not pressed against a pedal, or against the steel floor of a crowded bus, or constrained by the fabric of those so-called "shoes" people wear. The only place your feet should ever be is bare on the ground, pushing the rest of your body forward as they step. That's how a real man like Margaret Thatcher does his walkin. Left. Left. Left, Right, Left! Left. Left. Left. Left. Left. Left......LEFT. So she liked to change up the pace, what’s wrong with that? Nothing, so deal with it. (Margaret Thatcher these days...) She continued to walk how she pleased through town, today on her way to buy cat food from the pet store for her kitten.

While she was walking, she noticed a sudden pain in her foot. Oh no! What happened? She looked down. Welp, it looks like you stepped on a tac. Nice going, Margaret Thatcher. What the fuck did you do that for?
SHut up Margaret, you don't own me! I do what i want.
(sometimes she talked to herself abusively because she was old and senile, and other times just because she fancied a sexually titillating chat). Oh god. Oh god! What if she developed tetanus from the tac? The thought started racing through her mind. She pulled the tac out and saw a small drop of blood form where it had been lodged in her foot. The blood made her anxious. That tac looked extra filthy. She did not want tetanus. No sir, she did not. So, as a precautionary measure, she hobbled with the one foot tied around her waist with a scarf she carried in her pocket over to the hardware store and bought a chainsaw with the money she was originally going to spend on cat food (her kitten was extra hungry today and she did not want to be on the menu for her kitten tonight cause if she died from tetanus then her cat would eat her and she would give tetanus to her kitten when he ate her and that would just make her the worst type of person and what would the neighbors think oh god no we are not going down that road, Margaret). 

The cashier at the hardware store was slightly frightened by the sight of an old woman in her 80's (Margaret Thatcher) hobbling with a bloody foot tied to her waist with a scarf who was for some reason purchasing a chainsaw, but then he thought, who am I to judge? So he thanked her for her business and she proceeded to walk outside with her chainsaw and sit on a bench at the front of the store where she sat and waved at small children and their smiling parents walking through the parking lot on a beautiful sunset background. Then she pulled the cord on the chainsaw to rev its engine, and proceeded to cut her entire foot off with the chainsaw as the small children watched screaming in horror. It was excruciatingly painful, and she screamed very loudly as she cut her foot off, but it was a necessary precaution to prevent having her foot become infected with tetanus. If she didn’t have a foot, there was absolutely 0% chance that her foot would become infected. But if she kept her foot, there would still be a chance, no matter how much she cleaned the wound and ate her vitamins everyday. This was the only sure way to avoid tetanus. Ahh. The blood was coming out rather freely now, making grotesque splashing noises as it spurted onto the pavement from the open artery at the end of her severed ankle. Ewww gross... she thought. Then she died from massive hemorrhaging.

And now for some afterthoughts:

What was the moral of this story? Margaret Thatcher was a respectable English Prime Minister, and to think I would throw her name around so cavalierly in comic debauchery is almost unspeakable (but let's be real here, pulling the I-cut-my-foot-off-with-a-chainsaw card is a little tacky)