Pill box of shame, submit to taxi dreams of leather quarters, hear?! Accepting the quotation margin of the small-minded mink stole party is only half of the equation. Forfeit a couple sidewinders for a shrimp on the barbie; you’ve lost your butter balloon figure. Exact your vengeance upon a bladder of light gas. What’d it do to you, you ask? Floated around my face and laughed at me, it did, told me I couldn’t fly. I popped that jackal crackler right then and there.
Is that why I wound up in here? Because I popped a damn balloon?! No, that can’t be it. But then again, I wouldn’t put it past you, you arbitrary—glorious, all-knowing—overlords. Good one, guys. So hey, would you mind pumping some music into this cell? Something avant-garde would be downright decent of ya.
I really wish I could use my arms.
WHARVED 