Status: oneshot/complete
The Smithers Stamp of Approval
That Friday night held the promise of Twin Peaks marathons and a diabetes amount of cherry blasters, all enjoyed from a blanket fortress I'd built on the couch, in all entirely non-event spectacular.
But this was, of course, my life. So some random drunk guy just had to break into my house. And drink my chocolate milk. That I had bought specifically for the non-event I had planned. Which he was now double ruining.
Even weirder, I think Smithers actually liked him.