There once lived a guy who lived a shoe.

There once lived a guy who lived a shoe. His shoe was way too big for him and it stunk really bad. Instead of putting foot powder in his shoe, he sprayed cologne everyday.

After a few days, he couldn't smell his feet at all. As a matter of fact people around him started to comment and say how lovely he smelt.

Ofcourse they were being facetious. The fish he placed in the Sole of his shoes was malodorous indeed. They'd try to Tune him to the problem with Code words but he'd Flounder about

10 inches below the surface, malignant, but ready for the hootenanny. Oh. My. God. It was going to be SOOOOOO great! Everyone was bringing shovels and pushpins. Pushpins and horny

old mall walkers. This was the biggest, baddest, bloatiest subterranian Zit of all time. 10 inches below the skin. The "red" radius was 2 feet down my torso. It was "brewin'" like

Cockney slang: An ocean of pus forming a dense, painful reservoir just south a ways of his nipple. The Magic Schoolbus wanted to field trip there, which didn't make things easier.

Ken Kesey said, "Screw it. I'm the driver. We're going to Acapulco." The Pranksters groaned, but they knew he was right; the False Lake Near the Right Nipple was overrun with

Some black goo that had tentacles. The Pranksters opted to take the road less travelled, which saved their lives. Jack Kerouac was pulling daisies with Allen Ginsburg whilst the

other simply rolled around in their own fantasies. None of them seemed to have much of a care. None of them seemed to notice the goo that edged towards them.