“I dropped my contact!” she yelled. Since

“I dropped my contact!” she yelled. Since this was Minnesota, everyone stopped moshing and helped her search. The lights went up and Death Kraut for Cutty had to stop the set. She

realized too late that her blurred vision wasn't due to a missing contact but just due to the hazy smoke-filled room. The moshpit was filled with crouching thrashers searching for

the tooth of the singer that had just suddenly fallen and smashed his head straight on the stage's floor. The little thing had to be worth at least a hundred dollars. And it was

bajillion yen, (well that's what the old dudes on Antiques Roadshow said, and they're always right) I decided I too'd like to have 1000 bajillion yen. So I stole some Ancient Mayan

and tried to ransom him back to his people. Something must have gotten shifted in the dialect I used because instead of 1000 bajillion yen, I got two dozen yak eggs that looked

like my girlfriend's mozzarella tits. God I hated being ugly and fat. It meant my women were ugly and fat. Just once I'd like a women with smooth skin, but I have to pop my bacne

. I wallowed in the shallow cult of appearance a while longer until the Two Fat Ladies invited me to their biker gang. We fatties rolled on some bustas with our homies, Rosie O'

Donnell, looking surprisingly trim in a monk's toga killed both bikers and then proceeded to molest the two fat ladies who were riding pillion. "Not Likely!" They cried and pulled

out all of the dandelions from the lawn that the bikers bodies were slumped on. As the sun set, all of the weeds were gone, and it was looking really nice, well except 4 the bodies