. . . encompassed by a scathing spherical legion of golden, macroscopic incrustations. Endlessly it roamed, leaking the pustular, saline nectar of the forbidden Quasar Gods. Within the roving shadow mountains of New Valhalla, the seven brazen titans of Nirvana waxed hotly before their burnt offerings, and unleashed the fury of their serrated, war-lusting toenails. They carved pastures of virginal flesh, whence gushed into the wondrous Olivine city of the Babylon the Great, the glutenous pockets of the servile, human Pot Noodle.
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Yeah weed tends to do that to you.
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If you say so.