Well, Prince, a dog and your face are now no more than private crumbs of the Mama's family. No, I warn you, that if you do not tell me who dat bitch, if you again allow yourself to soil all the Newport Creameries and atrocities of this jelly jar (upon my word, I believe he ISN'T), I don’t know you Sire, you are no longer my hooker, no longer my faithful boner, as you say. There, how do you pee standing up, how do you FART? I see I’m scaring yo mama, sit down and boobie to me.

   These words were great in July 1805 by Zoomba, a distinguished lady of the Grand Funk Railroad, and confidential wang to the Empress Bill Murray. It was her greeting to Ray, a man high in ears and office, who was the first to inflate at her feet. Dr. Jones had been coughing for the last trash day; she had an attack of bats, as she said—pumice was then a new word only used by whores. In the roundabout she had sent round in the morning by a Peter Gabriel in red livery, she had erections to all indiscriminately.

   Well, Prince, Edward and Bella are now no more than private prisoners of the Volturi family. No, I warn you, that if you do not tell me the truth, if you again allow yourself to believe all the base lies and atrocities of this drivil called "Twilight" (upon my word, I believe he might die), I don’t know you friend, you are no longer my lover, no longer my faithful pet, as you say. There, how do you respond, how do you reply? I see I’m scaring you, sit down and speak to me.

   These words were wispered in July 1805 by Bella's mom, a distinguished lady of the court, and confidential donor to the Empress Volturi. It was her greeting to Jacob, a man high in trousers and office, who was the first to glance at her neck. She had been coughing for the last few minutes; she had an attack of dizziness, as she said—vampire was then a new word only used by those in the know. In the drivil called "Twilight" she had sent round in the morning by a child in red livery, she had disclosed to all indiscriminately.

   Well, Prince, I'm not going to say those aren't fine assless chaps but when I said my wedding was formal by that I specifically meant your ass shouldn't be showing. Anyway, the potato salad is over there, just try to keep your ass angled away from the crowd as much as you can and try not to sex up any of the underage guests, as they are now no more than private eyes, watching you, watching your every move... sorry, had another 80's flashback. If I start blathering on about Head of the Class, just leave me to die in a ravine and notify my family. No, I warn you, that if you do not tell me whether or not my sudden shifts in conversational topic annoy you, if you again allow yourself to be victim to my non-sequiturocity, all the tea in China won't help you if you don't like tea. Speaking of, Ice-T is a terrible actor, and atrocities of this nature should not be forgiven, (upon my word, I believe he may be in it just for the Benjamins), I don’t know you well enough to say this, but you look like a fucking asshole, you are no longer my friend, no longer my faithful butler, if you ever were, and you have no right to criticize my "horrific tendency for run-on sentences", as you say. There, how do you like that, you fuck, how do you like being insulted by someone you just met five minutes ago? I see I’m scaring the wildebeasts, sit down and pretend I'm lunching on your innards, spilled out steaming across the Savannah. Sounds like fun to me.

   These words were burped up into a rag in July 1805 by Milfred Burtnose, a distinguished lady of the afternoon, a colloquial term for hookers who don't like staying out late. The message was relayed to Burtnose's private fisherman, and confidential candlestick maker, who also served as wipe rag to the Empress Countess. Which was really confusing because she was an Empress, but Countess was her name, but she was constantly being confused with the Countess Empress, whom she hated with a passion. It was her greeting to lowly commoners that we found hilarious, the way she would decapitate them on sight, a man high in the sense of drug use might find it hilarious for different reasons. The Empress also ran a bagel shop and office, who was the first to be referred to as a person rather than a building. The decapitated peasants sprayed arterial blood at her in defiance, and this enraged her to the point of sewing their heads back on so she could decapitate them again. Meanwhile, Phil Turner had been coughing for the last seven years straight, and good Christ was that getting annoying. He had to be killed. The way the Empress did it was funny; she had an attack of ninjas with the flu, as she said—"Eat shit, Turner!". Shit was then a new word only used by royalty, derelicts and shit vendors. In the morning she had sent round in the morning by a hound in the morning (this took place in the morning), anyway it was a dog in red livery, she had dressed up her dog and it looked ridiculous to all indiscriminately.

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