Does everyone have a honey milk? Good, good, good, good.
I have many fears from tuber-gnawers to gong pounders. Nothing gives me a case of the scaries worse than the mean old swamp king. All the pests go to live in the swamp to get away from the smacks and the... the swats... and don't go getting rowdy now. Just listen up. Shhhh.
The swamp is full of all the worst sorts of pests. The chitters, the scrabblers, the smock burrowers, the toe ticklers, and the naughty nippers. These little pests will raise up bumps on hide and get inside your lunch if you bake some greasy oats for your picnic. If you drain down that swamp you'll see a whole bunch of wigglers and trundlers flopping mad in the muck. They'll hiss. HISS. Then they're gonna want a new home.
Like your hat. Or y-your... your... the parts on your legs and bottom. The pants. Shhhh. Not so loud.
The swamp king won't take this all napping in his nook. He is going to make a terrible clamor and shhh... shhh... oh it will be so loud. He will throw stink pots and turn over craft tables with all the cat's eyes. He will handle collector grade near mint comic booklets and reduce them to good plus quality. His musty muck will be all over every walkway and parking garage.
Down in the burrow, where the yum yums are, the swamp king is going to find a home. It's cool. It's dark. It's moist. He is going to come down here with m-me. Where will I live? All of his pests will come down here with him. The gnawers and the scurriers will be in my sauce. The milk will spoil from the stink. All of my favorite roots will go limp. The s-swamp must not be drained, friends. Please.
Put more into the swamp. Keep it there. Lock it up with mossy swamp chains. That is my n-new platform since Gentle Creature Zuckerberg stopped with politics.
Please vote mossy swamp chains. A musty door on the swamp that we can lock. Swamp guards in bright yellow vests to shove pests back into the swamp. Gently now, of course. A gentle shove. Go back little things. Under rocks and into skeleton eye sockets. N-not the burrow. Stay away.
I love you.
Gods of soil bless you all.
(Lips smacking, mouth full of peanut butter, glistening streams of peanut butter oil running down chin) "I'm full as hell, and I'm not going to take another bite!"
I saw good men turned to mush in the wars against the soggies. Men much better than you, Mr. President. If you are going to take John Brennan's security clearance, take my security clearance too.
Bonk: The Only Good Bonk Is A Head Bonk
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