The Aggressive Couch

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Tire Irons in the Fire

I have too many tire irons in the fire. I need to pull a few out and whack the smuffins with them.

In other news, I found in a box, in a box, in a box.


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Now it's my turn to hump the mic!

Comments

One Response to “Tire Irons in the Fire”

  1. Harry C Pharisee says:

    If Monmouth Beauregard had attempted to get off the chair, it would have triggered the detonation device. But he didn’t. He just shit himself like a bitch and waited for the pigs to arrive. Flying pigs. Flying Dutch pigs from Cranston, Ohio. He’d been in their tricycle gang after getting started in the rent to own dildo business. Sows were his main customers, and unlike human males their significant oinky others encouraged their sexuality. Dildos, llamas, the occasional washing machine, nothing was too profane for those sows and their doting bulls.

    Monmouth wondered why the omniscient narrator was reminding him of his pecuniarily porky past. Then he remembered. The omniscient narrator was an idiot.