Spellinghamstein took the strange object

Spellinghamstein took the strange object out of the box. The box contained a paper that seemed to shownwhat the object was for. These "Direction" asked you to put a pencil in

to the frontal lobe and the remove the contents as best as possible. Next, insert the object into the vacant space and replace the skull. Dr. S -as his patients called him-

had created a pleasure bot. His next task was to

have sex with it, but he was interrupted by the vibration of his Motorola. Cindy was calling, and he wrinkled his nose at the wave of sentimentality that radiated from his heart.

via Twatter about his colon polyps. He re-read his first-ever Tweet. "I fucking hate Twitter and hope all the stupid twats who use it die horribly and soon." An honorable goal.

But back to his colon polyps. It seemed that, every time someone Tweeted something meaningless, a polyp was born in his colon. Soon there would be more polyp than colon, and soon

the polyp would have colons. On Twitter, they ballin', but in the real world, they fallin'. Times were tough since two thousand and nine, only a few remained benign.

Not much of a poet, and I sure as hell know it, 'specially 'bout polyps, they drippin' in dollops. The colons protruding from polyps maruding, I need a proctologist...uh....uh-oh..

My rump needs a cleansin', big enough to park a Benz in. Dogs be sniffin and nosin around, takin intel to the pound that my scent is outmoded. So name your price, Proc, I'm loaded.