id like some honest feedback on this short story i made

I was shopping in Michael’s when I heard grunting coming from one of the aisles. Thinking a pig had somehow made its way into the shop, I went to see what was going on.

When I turned the corner, I saw Slick and Scat “writing” on a damp notepad.

“Your grunting had me thinking a pig was on the loose,” I said.

“Aye, WELL I’M NO A PIG… I HINK,” Slick replied, in all his wisdom.

“Really? There was me thinking you were. I mean, you smell identical to one. Are you sure you aren’t a pig?”

“I SAID I HINK! ARE YOU DEAF OR WIT?” Slick shouted.

All his shouting caught Michael’s attention. He came around the corner and immediately bashed them both on the head with a broom.

“That’s for the noise!” Michael snapped.

“But I never even spoke!” Scat said, rubbing the hill-sized knot on his head.

Michael bashed him again.

“And that’s for answering back!”

He then grabbed the two morons by the scruff of the neck and flung them out the door.

“AND STAY OUT, YA COUPLE A BIN-RAKIN’ BAMS!”

“WE WILL BE STAYING OUT! IN FACT, EVERYBODY WILL BE, BECAUSE WE’RE MAKING OUR OWN SHOP AND IT’S GONNA BE TEN TIMES BETTER THAN YOUR GLORIFIED POUNDLAND!”

That sent Michael into a rage. He went to grab a tin of beans to launch, but by the time he came back, the two fools were gone.

“I’ll get them next time…” he groaned.

—

With nothing else to do, I thought I might as well see what Slick and Scat’s business was all about. After all, it couldn’t be any worse than sitting around doing nothing… or so I thought.

When I arrived at their manky flat, I saw a sign on the door that read:
“SLICK AND SCAT’S SHOP OF GOODZ.”

Not a good first impression.

I knocked on the door, and Scat answered, holding a doll’s head with one eye missing.

“You don’t plan on selling that, do you?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

“Dinnae be daft. We’re selling it in the mix-and-match section! It’s amazing the ideas you can hink of when ye think ootside the box.”

“I think you’re the only one outside your box.”

“Jealousy’ll get ye nae-where. Anyway, come in and take a look at what we’ve done wi the place.”

Inside, it was somehow worse. Pot Noodle was spilled all over the carpet, the posters looked like they’d been drawn by a sleep-deprived caveman, and there was only one item on the shelf — a piece of paper that said “PINGLES.”

“I’ve got to hand it to you boys,” I said. “You did a great job replicating the look of a shop that’s been struck by a nuclear bomb.”

“Are you just gonnae stand there insulting our beautiful work, or are ye gonnae help us?” Slick muttered, chewing on a frozen chip.

“I suppose so,” I groaned.

I helped by going out to advertise the shop. Before I left, I gave them some instructions.

“Clean up, and don’t make any decisions that require a brain.”

Easy instructions for a normal person to follow — but they aren’t normal people. In fact, I’m starting to question whether or not they should even be classified as people.

—

I arrived back shortly after with two customers: Neville, and some random woman I paid a fiver to come.

When we got inside, I told them, “Look around, and shout me if you need anything.”

Rather than letting the customers browse, Slick immediately tried to sell them a pair of manky Reeboks.

“May I interest any of you in a pair of second-hand Reeboks?” he asked, dangling them like jewellery.

“Uhm… no thanks. Bread and milk will do fine,” the woman said.

“Aye, and I just want fifty coleslaw pies,” Neville added.

“Please yersels. All I’m gonnae say is food willnae keep yer tootsies toasty through the winter.”

He tossed the trainers into the meat section.

That was the final straw for the woman. She bolted out the door like Usain Bolt, leaving us with just one customer.

Neville.

“WHERE IS THE PIES?!” he roared.

“Uh… I never bought any coleslaw pies,” I replied.

“N-NO COLESLAW PIES?!?!?”

Scat walked up to Neville with his hand out, like Chris Pratt in Jurassic World.

“Easy now, Neville…”

Bad mistake.

Neville grabbed him by the leg and launched him into the wall.

“I NEED MAH PIESSSSSSS!!!”

“What is it you think Neville wants fae us?” Slick asked me, deadpan.

“Are we being serious? He wants pies, Slick. PIES. Pay attention!”

“Ohhh… pies. Why didn’t you say so?”

Slick pulled out a cardboard cut-out of a pie.

“I CANNAE EAT THAT!” Neville bellowed.

“You’re no very imaginative, are ye, Neville?” Slick said.

“ARGUGHHHHH! THAT’S IT!”

Neville exploded with anger. He started hurling plates, chairs, and — most deadly of all — Slick’s trainers. It was only a matter of time before he flung something we couldn’t dodge. We had to deal with him fast.

I looked around for something useful, and in the corner I spotted a massive rope. The plan was simple: I’d run around in circles tying him up while Slick distracted him.

As I made a beeline for the rope, Neville began chasing me, each footstep causing a mini earthquake.

Luckily, Slick managed to distract him.

“YOOOOHOOOO! OVER HERE!!!”

While Neville was occupied, I grabbed the rope. The plan was in motion.

I ran laps around the room, tying up his legs, and after a few minutes he came crashing down.

“YES! WE DID IT!” I said.

“Aye, mainly because of me, but thanks for your help anyway… I guess,” Slick replied.

He came over to give me a high five, but in typical Slick fashion, he wasn’t paying attention. He tripped over the rope, snapping it in half.

Neville was free once again.

“Oops.”

“HOW DARE YOU TRY AND CONTAIN THE ONE AND ONLY NEVI— mmmmmmm! MMMMMM!”

Halfway through his sentence, someone lobbed a coleslaw pie at his face.

That someone was Michael.

“Michael, thank God you’re here,” I said, relieved.

“I came to check how yous were getting on. You’re lucky I bring an emergency pie wherever I go.”

“Cheers for the pie, Michael. I was having bad withdrawals there,” Neville said.

“How long were you without one?” Michael asked.

“Five minutes.”

Silence.

After that, Neville walked out smiling, whistling away like nothing had happened.

I’m not sure what part of that was scarier — the meltdown over a five-minute withdrawal, or the mood swing afterwards.

—

I spoke with Michael for a bit before getting ready to head home. At the door, Slick and Scat stopped me with an “announcement.”

“We’ve decided tae shut down the shop. Reason: we cannae be arsed tae run it nae longer,” Slick said.

“Aye, we’re starting a new project,” Scat added.

“And what would that be…?” I groaned.

“We’re gonna be… STREAMERS! Just like that MrBeasty fella on YouTube,” Scat said.

There was so much wrong with that sentence, but rather than argue and lose what few brain cells I had left, I left. Michael followed right behind me.

“WAIT! YE DIDNAE HEAR OUR MASTERPLAN YET!” Slick shouted.

We ignored him and kept walking.

—

In the end, the shop was a disaster. I can’t say I’m surprised, considering it was run by two muppets who can’t even spell their own names.

I guess the moral of the story is: never participate in a plan that’s doomed from the start… unless your name is Slick and Scat, of course.

The end.