I'm, like super bored. Enjoy this crazy, non-related chapter.
It's just for fun people!

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You hang upside down on the couch, staring up Papyrus' shorts, stroking your chin with eyes narrowed.

"Dam, you have nice legs." You nod.

"About time you noticed."

You slide off the couch, hitting your head before sitting up. Sam's bedroom door slams open, his tiny figure walking out.

"F IS FRIENDS WHO DO STUFF TOGETHER!" He screams, making the windows shatter.

You do a fancy clap while Papyrus just snorts, sitting down on the couch with a bottle of honey in his hands.

"F is for fu-"

You whack him with a pillow, glaring slightly.

"I was going to say f is for fun. Geez woman."

"LIES!"

Sans slides down the rails, flailing his arms on the way down. He hits the floor, shooting up with his arms in the air.

"TA-DA!"

"Nyeh. I've seen better." Papyrus waves him off.

You slap him across the face with a rubber chicken, doing the duck lips.

"Ha, that's funny because you're doing the duck lips but you're holding a chicken-" You slap him with the chicken again.

"I'll shut up."

Sans poses over, going behind you and grabbing your shoulders. You blush when he leans down by your ear.

"THE BEST TIME TO WEAR A STRIPPED SWEATER, is all the time!" He screeches in your ear.

Papyrus examines your pokadoted sweater, pin-pricks narrowing.

"Sans I'll think you're incorrect-"

Sans grabs the rubber chicken from your grasp and hits Papyrus across the face.

"Shut up."

"I'll shut up."

You back up, holding out your arms like a challenge.

"Yo, bro, it's not just pokadots," you grab the front of your shirt and poof it out, it magically turning into stripes.

"Get ducked on." Sans whispers, holding up the rubber chicken to Papyrus' face.

Your eyes go different ways while Sans and Papyrus look to who knows where, thinking about life.

THE END.

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Don't do drugs kids.