This is an account of the events that transpired

This is an account of the events that transpired between Mr. Needlepoop and the FedEx delivery man on April 20, 2014. When FedEx rang the doorbell it triggered Mr. Needlepoop’s OCD

Grandfather to start scrubbing the window sills with a blowtorch and acid. Mr. Needlepoop ignored his OCD Grandfather and answered the door, naked below the belt. The Fed Ex man

refused to deliver the package until Mr. Needlepoop put on some shorts. "My house, my rules," said Mr N. So the Fex Ex man tried to Granddad who had dissolved the sills to mush.

Mrs. N. was flabbergasted by her husband's behaviour. She signed for the package instead of him. The Fex Ex man was satisfied and whistled Dixie as he got back in the truck. The

truck took of and went on it's merry way until it ran over a dog. Well at least the man was a cat person. He then stepped out of the vehicle and

squashed a kitten under his stiletto heels, just to prove that he didn't cotton to cats either. We were just joshing you earlier when we said he was a cat person. The truck he had

married back when he had first lost his mind, sat waiting in the driveway, hoping against hope that he would return to it someday and drive it away from this awful place. The truck

had taken a severe beating from the equines' gunfire, and he wasn't sure he'd make it back to base camp in one piece. This was Everyone's truck, after all. Communism was sharing.

That included sharing his pain. Every one of his comrades would know how much pain he was in after getting shot by those horses. Pretty soon, this form of communism seemed like a

really ass-backwards form. Since when do horses shoot? They can’t fire guns with hooves. Turns out I was the ignorant one: It’s all explained in the Commun-Equus Manifesto.