SO, I after the scenario involving the sidewalk, my ancestors came to kill me. Spatula. If you push the red button, and small, yet strangely obscene goats somehow manage to get wedged in that little space between my teeth. I went to my medium and asked her to take birth control pills. She was unwilling but fortunately, I had a modem... She ingested that, and began to spiralate until flames did nothing, they just sat there. Boring flames. Y'know. Then, a gwid was at the end of my face and the lamp was just sitting there. "Humour anyone?", asked a man dressed in only a small wafer. The hardhat was yellow, and the revolution began a minute later. Unfortunately, television crews were lurking nearby, so the Pope had sex with the small guy who sits near our locker. What a day that was. One for the spicerack, lemme tell ya. About this time, my radio was yelling at the pig to turn down the noise, and the officers were generally promoting each other as high as possible. "What?? You were in the barrel" said the man with the gun, and wallpaper began to migrate south at an effeciency rate of 45. I slashed myself and hung my wrists. Life, it's like a light, only its a bit dimmer. I couldn't help but laugh as the hearse pulled into the circus. What a mixup!! It was supposed to go to the afterlife, but oh no, the driver just insisted that this was the Martigras. So, there we were, on a cloud, when suddenly, a RRSP approched from out of nowhere and invited us back to his place for a cup of future and a life insurance policy. Crock! I yelled as Hampshire pulled up and demanded to know what exactly New Hampshire and I used my cloaking device, laughing heinously, but, OH NO!!!
When I finally awoke about 6 hours later, I felt that all my blood had gone right to my hair. Bet it was red. It dripped down my Hispanic as I screamed in terror. I decided that I deserved to win a nice jacket with a trendy aviation saying on it. Kill, kill, mocha. I prayed that my new ultra-trendy avaitor jacket would have little black spots all over it. Call it an introverted fantasy, I call it lucheon meat, but to each his life. I glanced at my wrist, and saw a speckled herring resting peacfully in death. If I had wrists, that is, but I have a strange birth defect.. hands, but no knees. What a strange place life is, the poster bearer cried, and the masses applauded, but a bit too loudly, so Mr. Teririr had to have sex with a mirror. What a disgusting act of callous hatred. "Well, look at China." came a voice from out of nowhere. "God?", asked right speaker. "No" answered left speaker. And, before middle speaker could get a word in lengthwise, a small obscene rubarb plant was performing in the Circus show. The tent was ablaze, andthe crowds were loving every minute of it, except one, when the charred and smoking rubarb destroyed them all!!!!!!!!!
The maitre d' waltzed casually out of the classroom, explaining himself with a song and an eggplant. His hair lept on his face and they began fornicating at a rate that would shock YOUR MOTHER!!! And any physisists that happened to be in the room. But they weren't, thank god. Nothing worse than a room of shocked guys. EXCEPT a circus full of burning rubarb and a pie to boot. The WORST of all is when water goes communist. That SUCKS, lemme tell you, but not as bad as when a library become an egotist in a wet sandwich, the second worst thing in the universe after that stuff.
Written by: The "REALLY bad" Finn and Milky "Mediocre" Puppy.