Demons

Hoo hah! I am seriously going off the deep end up in this MUGGGG, people. I dreamed I was starring in a new Woody Allen film called 'Daffy Dames and Acid Reflux: an Ode to Charlie Chaplin.' (Side note: HOW have I gone for so many years without saying 'up in this mug?' it is so fucking genius. I will say it always now.)

Alas it was not for real, instead of the glitter and glamour of Hollywood I have to content myself with other amusements:



Playing my eel drums... brrrrat tat tat! Ba rum pa PUM PUMMMMM! Haaaaa! Annndddd....





Pressing 100 small puppies to make one can of 7-Up... um what else:



.. making fried dough cowboy hats for YO MAMA! Bwahahaha. Get it, yo mama is so ugly she looks like some wizened old cat with a big ass nose wearing a cowboy hat made of fried fucking DOUGH! That's crazy fairground freak show shit. Which neatly brings me to...



Santa the kindly child pornographer! Damn, you KNOW that shit is for real. Just don't ask to see what he is hiding under his hat... I'll give you a hint: it's a camera. It's always a camera, fool.

So, prett-ty fucked up, eh? Well, WAKE UP AND SMELL THE EEL DRUM, people. The world is full of horrors untold. Proof positive, mes amis:



Scizz-nooby fucking DOO. The live action film starring MATTHEW LILLARD, aka The Scourge of 1990s Teen Cinema and the reason I cry at night.

Fin.