Degeneration. The word didn't exactly roll

Degeneration. The word didn't exactly roll off the tongue, especially now that his mind was pulling a Flowers for Algernon and nose diving into oblivion. The only cure: blood.

to shit in the pope hat. It was elongated and pointy, is made for a Pontiff Poop. Then he could smirk as he blessed the world because only he would know about the turd, so he shook

it to the end of the Pontiff Poop hat (called a mitre in some circles), and proceeded to cut off the point. Pope Poopie could now serve poop pastries with his new pastry bag, but

were they Ecumenical? Unsure, he consulted various religious leaders from around the world. The good news was that as far as poop was concerned, they were united in

their affinity for women's soiled undergarments. This would create a lifelong quest.

The Panty Raid is known as the Mecca for these people. In order to get there, one must wade their way across the River of Thongs, and battle the dreaded Knickerbocker. He left at

noon, intending to level up once again in "World of Strange, Sexually Charged, Swordcraft." Once again he questioned this use (waste?) of his time but before him reared

an enormous rear. It was hairy and there was a tattoo on the left cheek that said "

If you can read this, you're too close." True that.