So what? I died. There were many haunting dreams, so we cuddled a fat horny armadillo. All he had to do was get the caveman out of his sexy vespa and lick a drunk Mortician so we could steal the geezer's flask of funky green embalming fluid. Then Buddha could sneak out of the morgue before dawn and find a redneck to sacrifice.

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See, we can act as smart as we want, but at the end of the day, we still follow a guy who fucks himself with kebab skewers.