The creation of second-hand biological madness offers no hope to the idyllic dreamer and the road runner will always fuck over the coyote, you know, the corporate idiocy ACME industrial brainwashing . . . Instead, he finds only the sharp tearing metal pain. Kind of like chewing on tin foil. The only funny thing I ever saw was a comic of the coyote holding a machine gun over the smoking carcass of that strangely odd beep-beep bird. Perfect that the coyote got him that way.
Guns are the answer for everything.
What a cool thing to be. I'm eager to find out. Good, fresh, chewy licorice is what's needed in most cases of bewilderment. Avoid the ones at Meijer's or other bulk food places since only occasionally are there the soft ones that aren't at all like a Gummi Bear. I let the matches fall, a burst of sulfur fire tumbling to the ground.