I am a sick man. I am an angry man. I am

I am a sick man. I am an angry man. I am a ridiculous man. I am a non-descript man. I am a superfluous man. I am a forgotten man. I am a distraught man. I am not a man at all. But
I'm a proper naughty moody geezer. I'm a muppet. I'm a mug. I'm a doughnut. I'm a wazzock.
I'm a pansy. I'm a pollock. I'm a prima donna, I'm gonna flake my way outta this joint. Me and Mr. Mustard. Yeah. Grey Popoun is the code word. I'm a corn footed cantankerous crank
-shafted manly man. I'm the driver, I'm a winner. I'm the tingler in your smell-o-vision. I'm the Manitou in your Winnebago making omelettes after that Ouija incident. I'm the
walrus. Who am I? Can I conceal myself for evermore? Pretend I'm not the man I was before? And must my name until I die, be no more than an alibi?
'No.' I thought. 'I shall not submit to such dark thoughts. My name will not die, the walrus will live on. I shall be the man I am now.'
"WAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSS!!". It felt felt good to be a walrus.
Cuckoo catchoo. I went fishing with my walrus friends and we were surprised to see a brightly coloured submarine pulling into the bay. Out stepped a man who proceeded to proclaim h
aughtily, "It's goo goo g'joob, you gits," as he rolled out a red carpet for the next attendee, a Spanish-speaking sea serpent. He cleared his throat and stepped to the mic.
Laydeez and gentleslugs, you all need to get naked and fight your urge to get nasty.. the winner is the last one standing!

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