Hooked up to Google's mandatory rape machines,

Hooked up to Google's mandatory rape machines, we pass our rape with illegal surrealist films, such as "Homeward Bound". What were dogs? What is a cat? Strange green monuments jut

ted out of the palms of my hands as I pondered those questions. A clock with three hands was draped over the mantle. It ticked louder & louder until the blue man came out of the

woodwork & handed me a cigar. "For later," he hissed, then disappeared behind the yellow wallpaper. I suddently felt a presence behind me. I whipped around. It was Laura Ingalls.

Now this was awkward, I'd just been ogling her husband on 'my daguerreotype boyfriend.com'. I handed her the cigar & said, "Let's go slaughter that pig!" Laura Ingalls bustled abou

t in the kitchen and suddenly held up a knife to my throat. "Not me, you idiot!" I yelled. "But your a pig," she said, apparently amazed by that fact. "Not me," I said, "Your dad."

"I can't believe you would say that about my father and the police force." I said. "The amount of people who insult our hardworking protectors of the peace disappoints me."

He thought I'd finished. So did I, but more came out. "The police force is an honourable institution comprised of brave men and women without whom society would crumble into

ruin and anarchy." I wasn't listening though - I was staring at Officer Pyrope's tits. They weren't the biggest in the room but there they were - inches in front of my face. I said

"Good golly!" and punched her right breast with the force of a neutron star exploding. Needless to say, all that was left of her tit was a gaping, smoldering, bloody crater full of