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The creatiion of The SLAVaxy
A Short Story


SLAV LORD looked at the thicc Sweatpants in his hands and felt heppy.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his insane surroundings. He had always loved The SLAVaxy with its united, upset USA spies. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel heppy.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of SLAV GOD . SLAV GOD was a godly man with slavic thighs and hard heels.

SLAV LORD gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a thicc, tall, Vodka drinker with muscular thighs and chiscled heels. His friends saw him as a good, glorious God. Once, he had even revived a dying, SLAV kid.

But not even a thicc person who had once revived a dying, SLAV kid, was prepared for what SLAV GOD had in store today.

The hail pounded like squatting dogs, making SLAV LORD ecstatic.

As SLAV LORD stepped outside and SLAV GOD came closer, he could see the odd glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want The SLAVaxy," SLAV GOD bellowed, in a stronk tone. He slammed his fist against SLAV LORD's chest, with the force of 449 rat. "I own you, SLAV LORD ."

SLAV LORD looked back, even more ecstatic and still fingering the thicc Sweatpants. "SLAV GOD, you squat like no other SLAV," he replied.

They looked at each other with fierce feelings, like two stronk squatters at a Slavic Hard Bass Festival, which had Slavic Hard Bass music playing in the background and two slavic uncles flipping to the beat.

SLAV LORD regarded SLAV GOD's slavic thighs and hard heels. He held out his hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered SLAV GOD.

"Please?" begged SLAV LORD with puppy dog eyes.

SLAV GOD looked aggressive, his body blushing like a smoggy, substantial Sickle.

Then SLAV GOD came inside for a nice shot of Vodka.

THE END