Image credit: Twitter Twemoji Image credit: Twitter Twemoji
As Zach walked down Yonge he heard the incredible bass from the speakers of the pickup truck. Much to his surprise, the truck was not playing rap, hip hip or rock, but the Spice Girls.
How degenerate, thought Zach. What a breach of masculinity. Playing the Spice Girls from the speakers of such a manly truck.
Except it turned out he hadn’t just thought it, but spoke it. And he hadn’t just spoke it, but shouted it. And he hadn’t just shouted it, but screamed it. And he hadn’t just screamed it but pointed to the pickup truck with a crooked finger and dirty fingernail. His face was so scrunched in disgust that any passerby would think he was gesturing at a mountain of dung.
Although several passers-by were shocked, they opted not to say anything at all. But the window of the pickup truck rolled down and it turned out both the driver and the front seat passenger were absolute giants, with bulging biceps, “Chads” as Zach’s associates on the truecel Discord would say.
“You got a problem?” asked the passenger, pointing back at the scrawny little man who was pointing at him from the sidewalk.
This was written in 15 minutes during a Joy of Writing meetup.