Do you need your squob twiggled? Call Disco

Do you need your squob twiggled? Call Disco Clown Services, where every employee is an expert in twiggling squobs, and we guarantee the best experience and professional results.

I smashed my fist into the radio and shifted the ice pack on my throbbing squob. "EXPERTS, MY ASS!!!" I pulled into Disco Clown Services headquarters and readied the C-4.

"WELCOME to Disco Clown Services headquarters. My name is Mark may I take your... SWEET MOTHER OF GAWD!!" The explosion sent off a rain of confetti. My revenge was nearly complete.

The disco clowns were going down. They were giving us traditional clowns a bad rap. Much like sparkly vampires did to the real blood suckers. I smiled at the 2nd explosion-revenge

shots that were plastered all over the 9oclock news. We'd sent a message to the rest of the clowns when we pipe bombed that orphanage. We were not to be fucked with, we were the OG

: we are now the Doll Hunters! Zombies, clowns, dolls, geez, what'll God throw at us next?

It was at that point a colossal pie came flying at us directly from the heavens. We, the once-mighty Doll Hunters, scattered like roaches in a dirty sink. Blueberry goo exploded

noisily, coating everything. I slipped in delicious blueberry goop immediately and gave myself a hard blueberry whack on the noggin. Dazed, I lay there, on my face, and wondered if

I'd found my thrill here on Blueberry Hill. Yes, I decided, licking myself from head to toe, then diving right back into the blue goo again. I woke with a start! My BACON! Burned.