When Tristan entered a competition to win a car, he was pretty sure he’d be in the running to win. You had to say in seven words something clever about a certain brand of king-sized chocolate bar. Tristan knew he’d come up with an unbeatable seven words.
Anyway, Cesaria, the fat lady from down the road, won the car. She was a great big fat lady, and Tristan wasn’t surprised she’d won because she was so fat she looked like she’d been eating nothing but king-sized chocolate bars for half a century.
There was a choice of colour when it came to the car, and Cesaria picked the yellow one. It was bright yellow; sort of the colour of baby’s poo. How tasteless. Cesaria wasn’t just fat, fat, fat; she also had no taste; no aesthetic sense whatsoever.
She said in an interview that she’d entered competitions for years and never won anything before. Sore loser. Tristan hated sore losers. She was fat, tasteless, and a sore loser. Tristan hated her guts.
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