If they ask WHY I DID IT?
… tell’em it was a SNICKERS BAR …
Fun fact about me: I’ve BEEN to PENNSYLVANIA … (it ain’t no picnic …)
I was working on my spider egg farm when a couple ladies, dressed in gray flannel, came up to my camper to talk about SEA-FLOW.
“We were wondering if WE could benefit from spider egg nutrients?”, the blonde said, as she massaged her boovula through her classy skirt. She had a case, what looked like a rifle case, and inside was a PLOTON GUN that fired WHALE JIZZ at 34% the speed of 12 million flamingoes … this was getting interesting.
“We will let you rub squirrel oil on our breasts as we ungunjoolate our boovulas, with only underwear on, and you can do a bunch of cocaine … BUT … you need to do this thing …”
And we talked about the THING: schedules and linkups and meetings and midnight phone calls over pay phones … burners and churners … it was LIT. We put on Golden Earring’s Twilight Zone, and that’s when the brunette with the really BIG JUGS unleased them and the coke they had … and then it got crazy …
