Fine, you go ahead and start the car. Meanwhile,

Fine, you go ahead and start the car. Meanwhile, I'll finish putting rope around the children, burn the house and make sure the neighbours keep quiet. Just don't complain when

the scent of rotting flesh makes its way into the air conditioning. That little tree ain't gonna do shit for an elementary school bonfire. Just make sure you're ready to go when I

throw enough of the school children's dead bodies into the fire to fuel the flames. Soon people will catch onto our atrocity, and we will have to out-run them. I know you can

do handstands, but that's irrelevant now that Suze Orman has caught on to our financially irresponsible crematorium. But hey, handstands are a good way to cope with a tragedy, like

secting Crab Spin, a cartwheel of sublime grace and beauty requiring the ability to dislocate one's joints on command. Gramma's clicking hips drowned out the sound of approaching

Luftwaffe. It was too late for us but at at least we could enjoy this enchanting dance. As her hips clicked, bombs fell

and slaughtered the tens of millions of people below her. Turns out each decorative bauble on her barely-clad form was rigged with a remote bomb release switch.

Unfortunately the switch was need triple a batteries and all she had was 9 volt. A marksman with a frappucino mustache shot her in the neck and she plummeted like

the big fat flea bag she was, crashing into the back of a pickup truck, that sped off into the sunset.