Once upon a time, in a very gay land, Gun. Gun was quite a silly name. GuN wAs A sILLY nAmE. A silly name for a silly. . . person.

She was a chiropractor for the Illuminati. Illuminati, aka: Bill Cipher. On weekends Gun stole multivitamins from Walmart, along with condoms.

Gun ran out of the Walmart hurriedly. "It's gonna be one hell of a Saturday," she said with a laugh.

"Ow, my osteoporosis!" she exclaimed while falling. "And all because of my crippling depression," she said while falling down the stairs to her apartment.

"Lawyer up ass-holes," she shouted.

The people in front of her said "LoL, WtF," and walked slower than before, such trolls. 

Gun arose once more, popping her left ventricle back into place before entering her apartment. Gun was known to be a Leggo person. Yeah. . .

She bent down in front of her Bill Cipher alter and summoned him. "Hey you three-sided dingus."

Bill appeared suddenly, looking triggered AF. "What is it, Gun?"

"What's good you decomposing tonsil? I need money for a pantsuit, can you hook me up?"

Bill looked at Gun with that "Bitch, please," kind of look. "You steal literally anything else, why can't you steal that too?"

"Why can't you make yourself a square?" Gun retorted.

"Honey, I could be YOU, if I wanted. What will you give me in return if I give you the money?"

"Well what do you want, daddy?" Gun said with a very strange southern accent while staring at him with no expression.

Bill gave her that "No, WtF," face. "Not anything like that, you fucking raisin."

Gun started crying tears of botox. "You dun goofed this time, ass-hole," she spat, charging up her special attack.

"Ugh, you're being dramatic," Bill says while conjuring up the money. "Now give me a soul in return."

"I'll give you your mom's soul. . . You just got trololo'd."

Bill smacks Gun upside the head. "Bring me a soul, preferably Dipper, by midnight, you twat."

"Okay you triangular dip-shit, you want it you got it."

THAT NIGHT

Gun snuck into Dipper's room. Dipper was reading a book like the nerd he was, denying his gayness for Bill Cipher.

"Mmmmotorola," Dipper murmured to himself.

Gun had no idea what in the name of Bill's triangular ass-hole Dipper was talking about, but she didn't care. Dipper finished his grocery list and began to have am epileptic seizure on the floor.

Gun groaned loudly. Bill most likely wouldn't want him dead, so Gun did CPR and saved dat bitch.

"Thx lot," Dipper said.

Bill appeared suddenly. "Oh da- I mean what in tarnation?" Dipper stuttered.

Bill smirked, knowing that Dipper always got off to triangles, yellow ones specifically. You wouldn't want to see Dipper's trigonometry textbook. His friend learned that the hard (and sticky) way. That is also why Dipper has a yellow yield sign stuck to his ceiling.

You might want to open an umbrella upon entering his room. Some might say that Dipper was very salty towards triangles.

Bill did not fancy soy sauce, (especially the handmade kind,) unfortunately for Dipper.

"Dipper, I now declare your salty ass, my bitch slave for all eternity," Bill said.

Dipper creamed in his cargo shorts. "Jimminy Christmas," he exclaimed.

And then Bill and Dipper left through a black hole and lived saltily ever after.

THE END

((A/N: I played the word game with my friend Nicky and this happened... Don't question it...))