Mar 06, 2015, 10:23AM

This Is Scrawny the Dominator Calling

Hypothetically speaking...

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Hi! This is Scrawny the Dominator calling on behalf of Slave-o-Saurus Wreck's Leech Patrol.

How’s your sexiness doin today?

Oh, that's just great to hear.

We were just wondering if you had some time this afternoon to discuss some things related to your interest in the private destruction of my heavenly wind storm.

Good, glad to hear it... so... When we consumate our hatred, why are there always tentacles dangling from your left front tooth, and what is that marriage oriented song created by their vibration?

Uh huh... yeah... great, got it, thanks. That's gonna be really helpful in determining how to dispose of my body in the green fires back home...

What? A ghost made out of smoke? Yeah, definitely...

Okay, anyway....

So, hypothetically speaking, let's say there's a an empty swimming pool and someone—could be you, could be me, could be our fake dad, whatever—let's say they fill this empty pool with illicit sandwiches. And after that, let’s say they open up all the kennels and let all the animals and all your mentally ill "pet people" jump into the sandwich pile?

Yeah, no one cares about feelings, that's why words exist... Yeah, I know, that's easy to forget...

So anyway, you were saying?



Now, do you have an alarm you can set so both of us can be really late to whatever event we're going to?

Yeah, work days and our funeral competition both count as 'events.'

Oh cool... I never even thought about combat pudding. Wow, yeah!

So, I just cut up my arms into a 100 tiny little pieces. Any thoughts on this?

Hah! Ha ha ha! I don't give a crap either. Leech patrol's honor is a nebulous orgasm for only the most outrageously worthless remnants of the Portugese Empire.

The color of our fog child's skin is, in the words of Norwegian interior design specialist Captain Dingo Chomp, a brighter shade of 'dancing monster.' In what sort of scorched natural habitat could this be used as a form of camouflage and, more importantly, how can we convince the nursery to ship all of the remaining umbilical supplies to a place like that? By the way, free shipping is a must.

Yeah, cubes of duck powder...

Now that we've used this information to forge a new branding iron for the herd, this is what's going to happen: a sales representative from Fertility Wolf's Racially Insensitive Trinket Barge will be calling you very soon to give you some cheap tropical rubdowns via static projection. If you'd prefer, the sales rep could even bask in the nudity that shines just beyond a thunder veil. Either way, you'll be getting this assistance through an immeasurable dawn fold which masquerades as Cantankerous Quasar's sea shell powered sweat equity.

Thanks again for talking to me today. If you have any problems or if you need to ask any more questions related to the impending transaction, feel free to pretend that this phone call never even happened.


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