Notices bulge OwO what's this?

by Anonymous

Summary:

"It's just a young heart confusing my mind, but we're both in silence
Wide-eyed, both in silence
Wide-eyed, like we're in a crime scene" - Candles, Daughter

Charlie Kirk went to the Ratatouille restaurant to have lunch. He ordered the foie gras and proceeded to bathe it in cheap tomato ketchup like the culinary philistine that he is. After his meal, he left no tip for the service.

“No tip?” asked Linguini, “But Americans always leave a tip.”

“Not me. Fuck you faggot Frenchmen. You didn’t help us in the Iraq War, so shove some freedom fries up your ass. Anyway, this meal sucked and was woke! I hope an Algerian immigrant rapes and beheads your girlfriend lmao,” and Charlie Kirk left to receive a golden shower from that goddess of Nubia, Candace Owens.

“Linguini, you can’t let that man insult your establishment or its marvelous gastronomic creations,” explained Anton Ego.

“I concur. But what can be done?” pondered the awkward waiter.

 

A few weeks later, Linguini was standing on top of the Losee Center building at Utah Valley University. Remy, his rodent puppeteer, guided him, pulling on his ginger locks of hair. It was a sensation that felt so familiar, yet was now thrilling in new ways. It was sensual like never before, as though this lowly rat was making tender, passionate love to the massive, warm human that was his marionette. It was sublimely submissive, erotic in a way only his dear Collette had ever made Alfredo Linguini feel hitherto. He had an erection as he patiently waited for the moment to strike.

He realized now he loved that rat, his little chef, in taboo ways he could never articulate out loud. He would go to his grave without telling a soul about this strange and immense lust.

“Just one pull of the trigger, that’s all it takes,” he thought to himself.

His cock twitched.

Remy, his diminutive master, was not naïve to these feelings. They were mutual in fact. But this was more about sinful desire, more than the intense passions that the little hairy pilot returned to the colossus he dominated.

It was about revenge.

How dare that cuckold, Charlie Kirk, insult his cooking!

 

The moment arrived, after seeming like eons.

“You don’t like foie gras? Well, I hope you don’t DUCK!” quipped the awkward waiter as he fired.

“Duck? That’s a bullet,” Charlie smarmily observed before a torrent of wine-colored blood erupted from his pencil of a neck.

Upon killing the pundit, Linguini orgasmed. Thick creamy ropes fired in parallel to that fateful bullet, soiling his Disney-Pixar The Incredibles-branded underpants.

Quick as a wink, Remy’s nimble fingers led Linguini from the crime scene. Before long, they were on a flight back to Paris, that city of carefree romance, fine dining, and gay mystery.

“We did it, mi amour. We really did it,” said Linguini. “But there’s one thing I still don’t understand. How did you, a mere rat, learn to fire a Mauser 98 .30-06?”

Remy replied: “Nigga, I can cook. This is nothing.”