Wow, looking good there, ya cock explosion! Go out and buy the newest Mary Manson tape so I can get my mall security buddies to beat the tar out of you when you try to steal some mascara to scrawl across your greasy forehead.

Some of the more intelligent cowflops in town accept the fact that I'm invariably going to hunt them down and administer a few thousand CCs of "intense, brutal pain." Manny Benningsly uses a marker to provide me an easy guide for when I break in through his window and start partitioning his torso with a meat cleaver.

Cubical Troll. Pay no attention.

AGH! No!

Mrs. Potato Ass is caught asleep in her native territory, the scum-encrusted couch. Don't even think of splitting her uprights or else you'll pull out with a penis sporting more colors than the rainbow. Not that I know personally; I wouldn't even screw this sack of lard with somebody else's dick.

Mrs. Potato Ass finds a victim and lurches to attack. The poor sucker never knew what hit him, and tried to defend himself by squeezing what he thought were the two bloated ticks hiding under her shirt.

The mountain of butter is finally toppled! Cupcakes and burritos across the world rejoice and cheer. Preschools open back up again, not having to worry about losing kids either to Mrs. Potato's appetite or one of the thousands of folds in her bulging stomach.