Sweltering, suffo ating, slimy suffering.

Sweltering, suffo ating, slimy suffering. Melting and roasting and charring every scrap of my dying energy and drips, MOLTEN HOT floods the corners of my eyes, ferociously fucked

which is why I wear goggles while chopping jalapenos. Don't get me started about the raw onions! My skin becomes raging, blistering, (cook me I'm done) grizzled pieces of leather.

That's why I wear a positive pressure biosafety containment suit when chopping onions. I use waldo robotic arms in a containment facility for chopping chilies. My "Inferno chili"

helmet is comprised of a dual fan and three catalytic converters. When I cut chicken I send remote instructions to a satellite that controls a laser knife in an underground

micro-ginzu RDNA lab, controlling genetic Scrabble ops at the molecular level. I'm sure that even a sports commentator like Fukui-san would truly appreciate my knife-work, even

the fat lady goes through every night when she hits the glass breaking note. Will they know I secretly enjoy watching them

unlike the bored, pretentious nobility who only show up to snore at the crooning of obese prima donnas? Oh, how I worship the fat lady & her singing. It's more than that. I hate

skinnies & dream about making sweet love with La Diva bouncy castle style & getting her to hit top G in ecstasy. I snuck into Tosca in camo & infiltrated my way back stag

e, wearing my infrared opera glasses so I could find La Diva in the darkness. But alas, I discovered her affair with the stage manager! Heartbroken, I threw myself over a cliff...