The doors were a jar of lettuce dipped in the kind of ketchup that a man would find produced in the region of France that people don't like to talk about. French fries were falling and being embraced by the magic of the ketchup. Lids were placed on the glassy eyes of a King without a crown on his tooth even though his dentist recommended the procedure months ago.
Buns of glory. Two fresh buns. He reached down and took his pants off. The buns were able to breath freely. He grabbed his buns and covered them in the ketchup and the fries. The clown cried his way across the parking lot and shit a fucking melon into the buns. The melon was literally fucking, as in the act of a fuck.
Postulation!