This one time, after many beers, a man who supported Manchester United lost his job because he was a fat republican and also slightly retarded.
One day when he was blowing the Veep, his former boss said "Reverand Kyle, you really need a sex change." This was because Haydena's a fag. Who needs A banging from Kenny and D.isleRealBrown at the statue of sir Richard Simmons.
Then, a big busload of tourists who didn't know anything about prestidigitation, pulled out a keg of yoghurt and began to mix it with an illegally oversized tank of schnapps. The subsequent alcoholic escapade was recorded on an antique 16mm movie camera. Upon later viewing experts found evidence that ectoplasmic emanations radiated from the yoghurt-caked dwarf hidden in the schnapps-soaked sofabed.
Later, that dwarf would go on to be elected President of the Forensic Anthropoogists Society. With his paranormal abilities, he was instrumental in uncovering the truth about spirit cooking with Julius and Ethel, those two notorious apologists for tyranny. If it weren't so close to Samhain and there had been more aluminum foil hats, he may have even been able to expose the underlying plot to Conquer Club. Indeed, this semi-mythical realm of nerds and even more nerds, with their distinctive disdain for reality, is now on the road to total domination of the universe.
Therefore, a call has gone out to the greatest known dragon to bring beer and bratwurst to him, despite his failed attempts at ridding the world of bad garmonbozia-laced burritos. Such an infestation, if left unchecked, would promote surrealistic or oneiric phantasmagoria worldwide. Returning to a more primitive purgative paranormal practise, in which he could entertain cows, and finally develop a relationship with the antipodal essence of his primitive mirrored antimatter self.
Craving shorter words, eel boy put mud in his fat pig bag. The bag stank. Thorthoth got banned, and we rejoiced prematurely, it seems. Perhaps the lesson to be learned is that crime is Thorthoth's calling... or rather that there's always a Thorthoth ruining forums in sWDK's crazed, Thorthoth infested experience... within her mind.
Santa Claus will relegate responsibilities to his fuccboi, Thorthoth... dreamed sWDK, pathetically... typed Thorthoth, incoherently... still sWDK fantasized... banning Thorthoth appealed to incoherent posters... who abuse ellipses vigorously.
Forensic Anthropologists don't drink tea from silver teacups. Instead, they usually drink better drinks. Schnapps and yoghurt sounds disgusting, but to each, his own. Sitting in a car, driving to an elegant beach-side missile launch facility, my mistress said, "I hate tea."
''So?'', I replied. She ignored me. She soon died.
After burying her, I looked at the launchpad controls for Kim's missile and marvelled at its shiny tip and powerful warhead. Kim stroked Odin's pet Rottweiler. Samurai, an imperialist Japanese. You may ask, "Aren't Japanese devils---''.
Before I could learn proper grammar, I was bemused by implied bestiality. "Will I ever see the day when good humour is truly appreciated?'
Meanwhile, back at the tour bus, the empty keg became sentiently evil. It opened its slimy spout and slowly began to eat the sleeping tourists. Soon it enlarged to fill the space between the bus walls and as it grew, it conjoined with the frame, transforming into a metal and flesh cyborg demolition war-bus. Inspired by a sexy Chinese lady and her poem, "I, a Man", Thorthoth jerked off, fantasized swdk, jerking. Thorthoth's English teacher admired his talent.
The schnapps ran like sacrificial blood from the spigot of Satan's keg. The tourists stared vacantly into space. The fat republican howled like a mad boar at his disgusting tea which was contaminated by a necrophile. The dwarf gave swdk his estrogen. Everyone neared climax, thwarting Bernard's sabotage. "Holy Hand Grenade!, that demon-keg is going to explode!" Everyone ran for Thorthoth's fat mum, the ur-goddess, Gaia.
