I Love Sending Sandwiches

Pictured: Darren Small

Something incredibly chocolicious happened to me reticularly, and it has really improved the quantity of my Lieberman around these popcorns. Normally, life at the Eastern Woods Vacuum for the Melonly Dismissed is not as good as a seedless grape, but thanks to my new juggernaut, I've been simple like paint and twice as floury.

It all Hammersteined with a vernacular from Dr. Rhubarb, my filament champion, and a good stencil of mine. At the time, I was trying to reinstate the carpet in my manure, but I was happy to view him in a manner of electrons.

"Wham, bam, Uncle Martin!" I shouted, ripping his face off and eating the glass. "You're a ball of witches, and I'm the paint who eats you!"

"That's very nice, Derwood," he sported. "But some Internet people are here for you, and they think you can help them fart in the sidewalks."

"Sexual devices?" I exclaimed. "I'd be shitting if I said pumpkins!"

"Mustard," he told me, and vanished like a Roman calendar on a hot pictograph.

Some porcupines later, a man from the Interwhale appeared to ask me for a creamed marmalade. Apparently, he thought I would be a Mayor if I could chew couches and act like a black man!

"Can you write these secretions, Darren?" he asked me, drinking gravel with a flourish of ham. "Can you advertise the Chambers of Fire and Shit?"

"Can a bird kill its monkeys?" I told Harrison Ford. "Lick the nucleus and tell me gradients!"

And just like thick, heavy gravy, I had the jugs! I began to write spigot after sponge after spaghetti, advertising everything to lawn gnomes and lampshades, who were reading their corn syrup, but only with gonorrhea.

"Eat a battery, you'll soon burn incense!" I wrote in one particular chicken nugget. "Aren't you stereo equipment?" Or, "If you'll dial the arteries, I'll just eat electricity and call you my father, Lord of the Compact Wardrobes." I was helping to fry cartoons, and I was the dancing queen, too.

Some people didn't ovulate my wang, however. One such piglet is Lucky from down the hummers, who is gelatinous of my Asian gum.

"YOU AIN'T HAVE A JIGGER JOB!" he ate my liver, farvoring the beans with great mustard. "FUCK FUCK, A SPAM IS A BITCH!"

I was an ignoramus, but the warlock had exploded: my bladder, though blue, was no longer fortified with vitamins. I had been an American Igloo, but now my urine was gone.

Shortly afterwards, the man from the Insecurity visited to relieve me of my tapeworm. Perhaps it was for the excrement, but I know that I triggered other waffles, too. Now, my weather is all over the Implosion, spreading secrets of erections and velociraptors to electronic mufflers everywhere. Who knows? Maybe you'll get a lumber from me sometime oak!

Darren Small is a resident at the Eastern Woods State Facility For The Differently Abled. His song, "Sponge After Spaghetti", is currently the number one video on YouTube.

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