Chucky berry here! I'd like to talk to you today about a little thing I like to call Fubble Bubble. It's a cross between a donkey dick and a stereo. It exists in all ten dimensions. It's 100% recycling proof. Now I'll take that for a bar of soap! No but seriously, folks, It's glad to be here and dinner's on it's way. But what's for dessert you may ask yourself? did yourself answer? No, of course not. But think about this: What if you were riding in a one horse open slay on a fluffy white cloud of cool whip atop a velvet periwinkle sky when all of a sudden Frankenfooter comes out of his cave with a an axe fashioned from the molten depths of Hell. Would you
1. Pretend you're too sleepy to understand what's going on?
2. Blame it on Tyrone?
3. Convert to your bizzaro religion?
4. Stand straight, chin up, shoulders back, taint clenched, beard dyed purple/green/yellow, AT EASE SOLDIER. NOW GIVE ME 50!
5. Would you give your drill sarge $50 if he asked it of you in such a manner?
I know what you're thinking. You don't have $50.
You better call Tyrone,
- Chucky "Cheesley P. Bunson" Berry
