They ask questions, they observe, they are hairless, they wear badly rusted medieval helmets, and you can feed them with a bun. Octopus buttocks drift past my glove compartment like it ain’t no thang. The sound of a pebble skipping across the surface of a pond brings several leprechauns to orgasm. A team of cellophaned mummies has been dispatched to deal with this situation. “Penis Fencing” is a mating ritual between two bipedal gazelles attempting to impress your uncle (the loser becomes a helicopter). See: grinning test subject explore carbon-based filling, frosting, beef, plasma, and sprinkles that dazzle your taste buds and make you pirouette with bonus zest. We will all be aggregations of search terms eventually, and the result of an advanced query will be the printing of a fresh self. Who crammed these discount prosthetic ballerina bladders into my rusty blunderbuss barrel on the internet? A petting zoo (where all the fluffy mammals turn out to be owls disguised in the skins of their previous meals) is currently still on training wheels, but operative. Sadly, my unicycle has no prostate gland and thus cannot be massaged in this way. I hate it when a mantis shrimp or similar crustacean sets fire to my hatchback just because I won’t buy it a McFlurry™.