I remember the day the guns stopped firing.

I remember the day the guns stopped firing.

Bongload after bongload, with no rational consideration of whether or not they could really get any higher.

Especially since they were toting Scott Stapp as they ascended. Taking him higher wasn't all he'd cracked it up to be. They dropped the deadweight until their heads bumped into the

-se giant milky white sacks. There heads were making dents into this bacony smelling ceiling made doughy white substance. They were floating against a gigantic flabby tummy that

when manipulated on each side, formed a mouth."Feed me, Seymour," said the navel, as waves of laughter rippled across his cellulite "cheeks". Nipples resembling iris' on his m-oobs

burst open in grotesque, fleshy inflorescence and drew the helpless onlookers towards them with their mesmeric perfume. "What is happening?!" one lady was heard to scream, "I only

Want to get an hours sleep. Drunks on the street, with foreclosed lives, are the new normal. They are taking over everything. It is a full on disaster and I am ready to implode!"

The imminent Vagrant War had affected his mood and we decided to leave him alone for a couple of hours. Just enough to let him rest, not long enough to lose him again.

The poor sod 'd probably never be the same again. But hey that's war for you. Some things never change.