I didn't plan on becoming a courtesan. But

I didn't plan on becoming a courtesan. But when I met the Comte de Camembert at the Opera de Ville, I couldn't resist his offers of chateaux, gold Louis and fine stallions. Helas!

But when I got into the Comte de Camembert's coach, something else happened. He said, "Madame, you are here for an extremely evil and supremely dangerous mission. The crack

Cocaine is dangerously mutated. People have taken it and ended up in mental institutions for life. Do you want that?" Madame Dujardin said no. She wanted paradise, nonetheless.

The Old Man of the Mountain had promised her a paradise and a paradise she shall get. He instructed how to make The Philosopher’s Stone in the Sang Graal with the cocaine & hash on

but a brief vacation upwards from the seventh circle of Heck that is their lives. It's not even Purgatory. That lasts longer. It's a rip-off, too, because you can still see fragmen

... I mean frogmen, showering in secret, in full scuba gear. They make themselves odorless like triple washed washed salad, deep throating their regulators in unison, the abyss

swallows them whole like the small-souled cretins they are. One-on-one the anthropomorphic amphibians are sucked into the yawning maw like grapes into a hedonist's waiting mouth.

One of them sang "Hello my baby, hello my darling". He was the first to be consumed. All the rest of the amphibians were wise to keep their mouths shut until the singularity had

subsided. As the mud settled and the crickets began to chirp again, a feeling of peace returned to the bayou. And the day held potential once more.