Witless Witches

I threw in a toad and stirred the pot. “That smells so good,” I said. The tall thin witch sniffed the air above the boiling liquid. “Smells like dog crap to me,” she said. “Maybe that giant wart on your lip is blocking the aroma from reaching your hairy nostrils,” I said.

The thin witch screeched. “I curse you for all eternity,” she said.

“Blah, Blah blah,” I said.

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