Fuzzy wuzzy was the bear. Fuzzy wuzzy was his hair. And his heir. And fuzz. And thing. Wuzzee fuzzy? Yup. Wuzzee the keychain of destination? Eh wot? *Plink*
I'm confused now. The sun just lay down. I think it gave up trying to poker the moon. No money in it. Just like there's no wind where the turnips nest in autumn. Winter, spring, summer they fall. Hehe. Heh. He. H. Grizzly.
Fried chicken is full of cellulose. Fried chicken is full of a substance that tastes like chicken. Therefore cellulose tastes like chicken. True? Like Garfield's skin and bones modelling career. Off the rock-er. And mine. Phooey.
You are what you eat. So am I. I eat cow, chicken, fish, swine, vegetables, marshmallows, rocks...no wait scratch the 2nd to last one. This means I'm a hybrid cow-chicken-fish-vegetable-swine-rock. At the same time people call me human (actually I'm from Mars but don't tell... I'll hunt you down with my death ray blaster gun adaptor cable speaker pen ink phone) YEA~ RUN, YOU!! Thus the definition of humans, from my point-of-you (or point-in-you if a get the knife ready), is:
hu-man-s :
1. combination of daisies and carbon fibre mixed in a smallish saucepan and gently grilled over a liquid N2 fire.
2. gummy
3. plink
The swine have spoken, the apocalypse is at hand. And with the clenching of my fist... squashed.
Pwee~
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