You pussies are pushing panic. You should be. I'm fully famished, ain't looking for food in pantries. I'm hoofing it. Wolfing fam'lies put in the woods I stand in. Ain't even bother to cook 'em. I'll bully a woolly mammoth. Took his wool for a hoody. I look like a Wookie stand-in. Telling my toys a story. 'Hey Woody, go look at Andy. His melon's destroyed. It's gory how whoopee a cushion can be!' The torment of tortured pasts absorbed in my mourning, warping my organs black. Now normal ain't normal. Nagged by a chorus of corpses laughs. I need a quart of Jack, a sheath to store my axe, and a tub full of blood for Rita Morgan's bath.
|