My legs were assembled out of tin by a dwarf, but you don't see ME complaining!
Bare bones exposed by nervous clenching robotic grip.
Corrupt facility, seek employment, malfunction, morph into a bag, *magic fluttering spark angels* you are important, don't let your beard drag you into a wormhole.
My mother weighs at least 97 pounds, SO SUE ME. HAH.
I want to tell you a story about a man named Albronso McAlbronso. He speculated loudly about meat, grabbed a hammer, and gesticulated wildly, swinging his fists back and forth. Meanwhile, he was tracking his progress through the maze with unbelievable accuracy. OKAY BYE.
Nodules of flesh spared by grinding contraptions.
You may have noticed my prominent malleable glands. My glands resulted in who I am today: A man of glandular capabilities. A man with prominent glands. You know the type.
My joints ache and I am crumpled on the dusty floorboards. My boots are caked with dust, my eyes are caked with dust... I have baked my soul till it's crunchy 'n' ready to eat--YUM.
I flossed my teeth this morning, and here I am today, ready to trip over your undulating relaxing shoelace competitions. Y'all are so competitive I could just smash yer intestines with a gelatinous wrench.
These grasses won't grow much taller. I want to be killed.
Behind most products you buy, there are thousands of sad factory workers living sad, terrible lives. But I have a solution: The factory workers need to band together and build a factory out of their own skin. Then, whenever the factory workers cry (which will be frequently), they can bottle their tears and market them as products. This will generate revenue, which can then be used to pay for skin replacement surgery, and to provide a bright and carefree future for the workers. Bam. Got that taken care of.
