Ridiculosity … the rate at which shit gets crazy.
A madness so thick you can’t breathe.
your ranger-lightning burns bright today fight for your meat!
I know you have hoop-cash, and fly in a Deglon-cruiser, but your sky drag is pulling you back to earth and the canyon masters need you for their chili farm.
STREEGON FOLK are hiding out in sectors-6 and 55. Jiggly, the HARTNECK RULER, fills her purse with the stench fuel of generations, while the watching owl prances and the ants feed on cradle meat.
“Shitty ass TIME WORMS are messing with us.”
They were, the functor hounds, the Dryblin Folk of Gundiz. They were gathering at the nexus in Scholville, where the genius orphans and other trash converse in tongues of greasy flame and sulfur blowing from their assholes.
Mr GRAGGLY came by to talk about the new STEW factory in Poot’s Towne, not far from Sequim, or anywhere else. He said they’re starting to marinate the long-skull flesh before feeding it to the wandering hobos, but Dr. Benway has been by and there’s a violation of Quadrant BETA rules. “We can’t sell fart snake, or coop birds no more”, and everyone is going to Hell for the blood sins.
Remember when we would hang with CRYSTAL MARTY and the Summerside Gang? – we’d ravage the Valley of Dreams looking for some hooker sandwiches and old crusty grey-side poon-hide. Nasty ass JERRY would sell you table soup, but your momma made it with Crisco and your heart is broken from too many walrus pies. You can’t find good hippo any longer, so you settle for General Tso’s panda at Panda Express.
Mr. Skoobson came by about the paint fumes and the dried-out cave rot. I said I couldn’t sell him nothing, not for 7 chicken gizzards and squirrel pudding … but he didn’t take to that answer … he took his mallet and pounded in my forehead, leaving me with a bleeding scalp and empty pockets. And that was just my morning.