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Hint: I like to sew my pants up with pudding.
Already three sheets to the wind, Alphonse insisted the barkeep pour him out three more tequilas. "You know, irregardless is not a real word", he whispered hoarsely to the Canadian sky marshal sitting at the filthy Lucite bar to his left, nutmegly sipping her pork slurry daiquiri, pinky raised and quivering.
She responded with a grunt, glanced at Kevin the bartender, and nodded toward the empty shot glasses lined up in front of her would-be date.
The sheeping nervously huddled in a dark corner, eying the weird guy in the too-large boots. "Beyond a reasonable doubt", thought Binkie, a yearling with convincing buds jutting from his forehead. "Weasels ripped my flesh."
Spill-proof recycling bins were stacked to the ceiling and beyond, pouching and facilitating towards the mental limits of the lemur. "Lemur, lemur lemur!" Clicks, whistles and grunts comprise a crude language of sorts, and the little critter seemed to be telling us that he's been doing stand-up for three years now, and still hasn't seen evidence of life on Mars.
Meanwhile, Mengele was breeding Satanic dryer sheets in the Brazilian hinterland.