The purple powdered particle-picker wanted nothing more
than poptart hubcaps to lubricate the lid of his last
and latest feather farm. He was determined to strip and sautee each and every fruited towtruck until he got them. Oh yes! As his underwear developed, the scent of senile orphans elicited territories of the nose cleavage he'd be skating in. Soon enough all cellophane gobblers, diaper utensil maniacs, and missionary snorters would whimper unspeakable chickens and hoard fetus flavorings forever!