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Artymiss and Buttlah Go To A Birthday Party

Artymiss laughed giddily and shook in his car seat.

“Buttlah! Buttlah, are we going to a BIrThdAy pArTy!?”

Artymiss had a strong Irish accent, which made most people laugh when the child spoke. Buttlah grunted “yes” and turned the car into his Russian colleague Domovov’s house. Domovov was turning 39 today, and Buttlah had thought it required to visit an old friend.

“Hah! Buttlah! We are going to a Party! A party Buttlah!” Artymiss laughed weakly, popping another honey nut Cheerio into his crusty mouth. Drool leaked down the side of his lips, and the disgusting child’s hand was busy cramming more circle cereal into his mouth.

Buttlah stopped the car and unbuckled Artymiss’s harness. Artymiss stretched and jumped out. “You smell like a pinecone, Buttlah!” Artymiss complemented his bodyguard breezily and waved at the bush on the front lawn of the lawn.

“Hi, shrub! How are you today?”

The shrub waved in the wind.

“You’re going to a birthday party too? How wonky, so am I! Did you kn-“

But Artymiss’s conversation with the bush was cut short as Buttlah clamped a huge paw on his head and steered him inside of the house. As they walked up the drive, Buttlah bent down to whisper in his young charge’s dirty ear. “Be calm, Artymiss. I know you might want to run off, but Domovov is Russian. Running off is very disrespectful in Russia.”

Artymiss filtered the nonsensical talk and decided that this vital information was useless. Artymiss barged into the house, and was greeted by a blast of music, the Russian Anthem playing at full volume. Artymiss’s eardrums shattered, and he ran. Straight into a brick wall. Artymiss fell to the floor, shaking his head, and looked up. It wasn’t a wall he had run in too, it was a man. Buttlah’s friend. Domovov to be more specific.

Artymiss shrieked like a pampered princess who hadn’t received her plush play toys, and ran. The very thing Buttlah had told him not to do. There was a blur of fingers as Domovov retrieved his Magnum pistol from his pocket. Two shots were fired. Artymiss, the idiotic child, was killed by his own stupidity.

The End.

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