It should be clear by now that I'm shit at thinking up titles
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Why must the Monkey subject poor Timmy to the horrors of his variegated fluids? The gods themselves, they do not know.
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- It Doesn't Just Give You Cancer
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- From the Latest Foetuswear Catalogue:
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- A Slayer's Work is Never Done
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January
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8 comments:
Harold was showing terrible signs of withdrawal, that's why he was still sobering up in lockdown. He cried greedily at James:
"Give it to me, i'll do anything for it!"
"No, it's my tomacco, and i'll be damned if a brute like you gets their hands on it."
"Excuse me my queer boy, but are you implying that I am one of these 'dead people' that you see."
"No, I was talking about the chewed-up farmer from the threshing accident over there, but now that you mention it, that melon sized hole in your chest ain't probably a good sign."
To his disgust and horror, Richard realized that the ball he'd just found had been thrown into the yard by one of the inmates of the Lord Haymont Asylum for Chronic Masturbators.
Ed Wood "Now I'll not tell you again. Throw the ball as high as you can so we can get it on film"
Small Boy "Right you are mister, but don't you think a frisbee would stay in the air longer and look much more like a space ship?"
Ed Wood "Good grief! You may have a point."
"Your crazy mister, their ain't no one in no hat"
...Then his spirit guide lead his dreamself past the gate to the Field Of Inner Self...
Early prototypes for the dunk-tank featured less water and much, much more barbed wire.
Nobody EVER gets back in The Fall, so ye can shove yer apple where the sun don't shine!
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