Chrad fanfic

Act 2: Algebra 3

After the wings to their butterfly doors closed, Chris tossed his keys to the soft boy-faced valet. "Gracias!" Brad exclaimed. "If you're good, I might even tip a whole dollar on the way out!" "Looks like those shoes are-a gonna need a good shining!" chris said, honking a loogie on the soft-faced valet boy's loafers. With a laugh, a wink, smile, and a soft kiss on Chris's chapped lips, they boys entered the establishment. "Brad James! John Christopher Rowlett Pansey! my wife favorite cute soft faced boys!" exclaimed a large Italian man, with a night burly manly mustache and a little button nose. "your table and cocktails are ready over here." he led the boys over to the vip section of the restaurant. "please have a seat, your foods almost ready." "the usual?" Chris asked. "indeed! peanut butter and pickle sandwich" the Italian man exclaimed, a hint of suicidal dread in his voice, knowing he has to serve this disgusting abomination. Adjusting his Bib, Brad took a swing of his Jack Daniel's. He howled with delight. "Now that's a good drink! THATS A FUCKING GOOD DRINK" he yelled, his hands shaking a bit. Brad held up his glass, and looked his partner in the eyes. "you know something Chris? things have been pretty good lately" Chris smiled at his friend. "You can say that again! winning the Nobel piece prize was legen... wait for it... dairy!" "that was awesome, but I still can't believe the renamed the Lincoln memorial to the Brad and Chris memorial" the two crinkled glasses and downed the rest of their grown up juice. After finishing their supper and slurping up a few more drinks, the euphoria surrounding the table had reached peak levels. Maybe it was just the warm spring night, but the air seemed to buzz, alive with the energy of the room. Brad and Chris didn't even mind that their conversation and laughter could be heard all the way from the poor people's section of the restaurant. "Alrighty, ready to bounce?" Brad asked "lets goooooo" yelled Chris, doing his best dababy voice. Before skipping on the check, Brad took one last swig of his pizza and cracked soup, and left an uplifting fortune from fortune cookie kn the table. Now, that's a tip someone could actually use! By this point, the alcohol was working in full force in Christopher and Brad's bodies. with blood alcohol contents of 6.8 and 7.1 respectively, it was time to hit the road! they had to catch a rerun of The lego batman movie (action comedy, family movie 2017). the soft faced, tender, almost slutty looking and man-whoreish valet boy returned the keys in hand, However, after noticing how intoxicated the boys were, the valet decided it might not be the best idea to give the boys their keys. "Sorry gentlemen, but it would be irresponsible for me to allow you to operate a motor vehicle in your current state." With a swift punch and a push to the ground, the keys were retrieved. The boys kisses tenderly and high-fived, and Chris hocked one final loogie on the valets shoes. "You boys are always a hoot! Get home safe now, ya hear?" the valet boy responded warmly. Chris rolled down his window and yelled a final "these nuts!" before hitting the highway. Cruising at a comfortable 135 mph, the boys were having even more laughs. As they sped through intersections, narrowly missing pedestrians and making prank phone calls on their bluetooth headsets, they knew that life couldn't be any better. How could it be when they were also blasting the unreleased Wu Tang Clan album given to them by their good friend and financial guru, Elijah Steele. The third track on the album had just wrapped when, out of nowhere, a building found its way in the path of our two protagonists. Faster than you can say "oops", the automobile slammed into the concrete siding of the Western Federal Credit Union. The impact was grim. The Lamborghini was crushed in an instant, its weak metal, cheap components, and poor Italian design no match for the speed of the crash. The tires popped like overfilled balloons at a child's pizza party, exploding with eardrum shattering force. Metal wrapped around brick like Chris's ex wife during their marriage, wrapping her legs around his torso before she'd give him a good pegging, and tickle his prostate in just the way he liked, every single night, or else he got cranky the next day. The heavy engine was thrust through the gaping hole where the hood once was, spewing boiling oil. A Louis Vuitton duffle bag in the trunk filled with $350,000 in gold doubloons, earmarked for donation to the local children's hospital, vanished from existence in a fiery inferno. Slabs of cinder block were blasted at speeds well beyond a bullet train, terminating the lives of every poor soul within the doomed Western Federal Credit Union. The sound of their screams was drowned by the horrific decibels of the explosion as it reached levels well beyond the roar of an F-16 fighter jet. Every employee, including including the general manager, Andy, perished in the deadly spray of burning gasoline and concrete debris. In the days to follow, as firefighters worked to clear the smoldering remains of the building, the only surviving remnants of human life recovered would be a celebratory cake in the employee fridge, the message "congrats on the promotion, Andy" still preserved in white frosting. "Well, thats gonna hurt in the morning!" Brad exclaimed, as the burning inferno of hellfire slowed to a stop. "Yeah, say it louder for the people in the back!" Chris laughed. the 2 shimmered out of the skeletons of their once pristine automobiles, dusting themselves off. "shit, I got some dirt on my costo waffle knit sweater!" chris yelled anngerly. "it's okay, it'll wash out! anyways, whay do you say we call an Uber and get out of here bud!" Brad said. With a chuckle, the two walked to the curb to wait for their ride home, blind to the nightmare that was about to unfold around them.