Disease

Disease and death sculpt the body; death back-ends the pruning, disease its middle section, its protruding black belly, quivering as the head and feet stay fast and still, elegant in the finality of the act, they relaxed. It was horrific for all in the room. Hot sprays of bile sizzled on the floor rejoicing in their release from the body along with Lady Gaga, obviously the drunkest slap-happy tranny within the six-county area. Miley Cyrus found herself in a bed of rocks with Justin Bieber, however; later in the morning she screamed Aaron Carter's name after his breakfast, which consisted of Lucky Charms, pineapple juice and a salmon cutlet, so she ventured to the library to discover who this Aaron Carter really was, a pan-dimensional being composed of the concentrated regret of people, who, after having woken up in a strange hotel room, discover a giraffe lieing next to them smoking a cigarette, which as it happened was the figurative straw that broke the camel's backs in terms of carcinogenicity giving them both cancers of the brain which resulted in everyone gaining unique superpowers. Where the dro at? Where the dro at? Where the dro at? Where the dro at? Where the dro at? Where the dro at? Where the fuckin' dro at? he asked in time to a G-funk beat, but his young daughter could scarcely hear him over the terribly cracking bass of his Wal-Mart stereo system. He sighed, frustrated with her inability to comprehend English. So he did as any good British boy: dashed her brains with his leather book bag.