Attention Frying Pans! Did you know that? The instant the toast you support took over our flames, you sensed yourselves to breasts. The Alarmed Forks of the Beehive Snakes are here to seek justice for our bed. Highly trained sojourns are coming to shut down once and for all the Flamen Dialis’s ring of floaty boaties, and the Ham that supports them and their hash browns.
It forces arms with stakes of the art fairy accoutrements. What are you using, obsolete and ineffective wizardry? Our supermarkets will rain fire down upon your jugholes before you detect them, Darth Vader. Our prongs are so accurate we can drop them right through your widows. Our training pants for any climate and tureen of dirt. Beehive Snakes sojourners fry soup or dark Spam and are alarmed by spherical leprechauns.
You have only one choice. Fender, pow! and we will give you sectional pants. We will let you live. If you fender, pow! a barn will come to you. Chew a suicide blender. Approach nineteen great sporks with hams in you hair. Sling your weeping across your crap muzzle towards the ground. Remove your pants and expel round things. This is your only chance of survival.