Well, well, and yes, also well, what have we here? A wet sandwich? Two pieces of soggy leavened bread embracing a limp and veiny cake of meat? Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself...when I say "what have we here," I of course refer to a "here" of which the likes of you noble nibblers know hardly the least. So let's have at it, shall we. Shouldn't we? Won't we?
It all began -- well, I suppose most of it began -- really, honestly now, only a small portion of it began -- thinking cosmically now -- the grand It -- you must understand, no? -- this Tuesday past. Riots were practically shitting out of the Earth's crust, and I hadn't even had my morning self-asphyxiating masturbatory eulogy. But enough of my home life. Tuesday brought with it riots: people, human beings, and fucking assholes were up in arms (although I could have sworn the assholes didn't have any) regarding some event. And if it weren't for Shabbeus Duntwod, I would have been nun the wiser.
Yes, good Shabbeus "the wodster" Duntwod, made sure to proclaim my inferior wisdom of nunnery that day, that fateful and vaguely-reminiscent-of-toast day. Y'see, it seems that all these protestations were shaking the faith of the faithful, what with their paradigm-shifting vigor and ethos-shattering stench. I was delousing my third cat for the fourth time (if you know what I mean (knowing wink)) when The Wodster broke me the news.
"Thhhhglhuuub," he exclaimed.
I nearly started. Certainly came. And forcibly farted.
"Sez who? I know my rights as a nun of the Catholic Cornhole and I say that other people's bullshit doesn't matter. If they want to grumble, let 'em. It's a free goddamned country," I thought to myself. Then I addressed Shabbeus:
"Who let you in?"
Something had to be afoot, for if we had nothing to be a foot, how would we walk? On our hands? You fool! Moreover, I hadn't expected to grace mine rheumy eyes with The Wodster until Thursday, and yet here the devil was on Tuesday. Boy, was I in for a treat. Or a trick. Dun-dun-dun...it was Halloween night the whole time! Betcha didn't see that coming. Anyways, turns out Shabbeus turned out to turn out real good turned slowly over a fire -- that reminds me, Shabbeus is (was) a pig. Now he's on the list of my many bowel movements, sewers away, fertilizing babes or poisoning minds, whatever those whelps call it nowadays.
Right. The whole riot/protest/people outside my head bit was still biting at me, as I'm sure it nips at you now, hmphyesindeed. I hadn't the slightest clue where to begin my search, so I instead opted to make some toast and toss it at the elderly -- something I do when struck with deep ennui or fright-induced erections -- but I picked the wrong fuckin' day to do that, believe you me. You believe me, right? Because if any of this yarn be true, Tuesday past was no time to be lobbing crispy bread bits at the less fortunate (let's be honest, the elderly really drew the shit straw). Yea, it was mostly terrible to watch: gangly sacks of meat were just lumbering around out there in the street, some kinda hominid-badger hybrid was barking out orders on a sousaphone (kinda like a megaphone but for Italians), Greg was shitting bricks onto Joe who was crapping ass into Ma who hadn't shat in years, and there I was, grinning like a madman and sharing my toast with them all. You can imagine what happened next!
Whaddya know,
Heh
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