"I bundled these sticks up all nice 'n' tight, now lemme tell you how I do it: I buy a big bundle and some big fat greasy sticks, and then I just mesh them on into each other nice 'n' slow, make a process out of it, ya know? Build, build, mesh, mesh, mesh, squish, squish, and at the end they're all together nice 'n' quaint 'n' pretty, captured in a delicate eternal frame on the mantel."
Tears streamed down his father's stone cold flabby face. "Nice work, Jeff," he said. "Really, Jeff. Nice work. Jeff."
In the elegant living room, Jeff's family burst into simultaneous applause and tears. Father's face became pale and his tears turned to blood. He heaved and seized and fell over dead.
Everyone else in the room stood still and didn't say a word. Their tears ceased and they stared blankly ahead without emotion. As time passed they all slowly decayed and merged with the floor. Over the next few hundred years, the entire mansion followed suit.
A hundred more years passed and an orchard sprang up naturally where the house had been. Glistening bleeding fruition smiling sticky melting aluminum into the gelatinous burning spheres. Embedded in thick rough earthy layers, whining and wheezing and expanding and contracting up and up and up relentlessly churning into the sky CHUG CHUG CHUG YEAH.
Alright, let's get this boat moving. We have a lot to talk about, so let's just start at the beginning and methodically work our way through the dense mass of tangled triangular conceptual bonds.
Melon flats, trellis parsnip, branding iron. Donkey flaps, crooked bland eagle scouts marching off into the mist, brandishing their eyebrows wildly in the big fat sunlight. Old greasy hammers in a clumsy heap. I'll brand you with a branding iron if you want.
Shittttttttt. SHITTTTTTTT I HATE EVERYTHING. FUCK YOU ALL. UUUGGGGHHH.
