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"What is that which you have there?"

Surely you know that such people can drive you mad.
So many questions.
What are you supposed to be, the Shell Answer Man?

Touch me
Touch me special
Touch me special
Ooh, those chips look tasty
Pass some of those bad boys over here
You, selfish bastard, pass some of those bad boys over here

There is this guy we call Chocolate Charlie.
He sits alone by the fire.
Roasting his hot buttered toes.
He likes the way it burns in here.
And sometimes he gets a snack from the man next door.
Today he has chinchilla chips.

I really don't care about the fact that your paternal grandmother has rheumatoid arthritis. It isn't that I am a cold blooded sack of spoiled shellfish. I just don't know your paternal grandmother and there are a lot of other people with different problems roaming out on the range. My shotgun only has so many unspent shells.

Get it?

I had to pee in a jar today.
The man next door revoked my bathroom priviledges.
He said I spent too much time in there.
Where else can I go and think about McLean Stevenson?

Chocolate Charlie is still bogarting the chips.
I am looking at their savory flavor.
You are too rude for this place.
You have to share to survive.

Let's sit down and get a few things straight, chemo slobby. We are all sitting here in the most unpleasant river of flowing toxins without names. We are all annoyed with the sulfuric smell of the bath house. And that swimming pool. Could the water be any thicker? I mean, oatmeal rarely attains such consistency.

"Holy shit, is that Bing Crosby?
Fellas, he only comes by on the holidays!"

Not that they keep a calendar in here or anything. They like the days to blend into each other. When you break things down,
a wretching fit
on Wednesday is pretty much the same as
a wretching fit
on Saturday. They don't have television here. Well, except for those weird ass monitor screens that continuously show us Jean-Claude Van Damme movies thirty-six hours a day.

There goes another peanut."

"Honestly, my friend.
The peanuts aren't half bad here.
Honey roasted flavor.
Don't ask me to explain how they do it.
You wouldn't like hearing about who they use for charcoal briquettes here.

I probably should get going. Bing usually only hangs around to sing two or three holiday favorites. Then the guards come and they make him drink a huge martini that has Liquid Plumber instead of vermouth. He puts up with it. What choice does he have?

Chocolate Charlie is watching Bing sing
with his mouth agape!
What a great opportunity to steal from the selfish ape.
He won't notice if I grab a handful of chips
with my Kung-Fu grip.
I see the sauce in the bowl.
You know that isn't my goal.
Chocolate Charlie is watching Bing sing
Something about a white Christmas.
If only they knew what happens when
The angels buzz us at night.
It throws the boys into something of a fright.
Your strongest walls are built of balsa
and it only gets worse if you eat the salsa.

Claude Lemieux bless us, everyone.

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