It was cold July leap year when my life changed for the better. I started my day as anyone would- by violently penetrating 12 kittens while toddlers watched and ate kettle corn. As my milky brown sperm soaked the kitties with my heroin soaked love, the toddlers threw a fit and ripped the pubic hair off an elderly hobo named Sidney. Sid was a nice man. He smelled of butterscotch and happiness. Butterscotch and happiness, of course, is referring to a form of heroin from Seattle, although Sid and I lived in Chicago and we were both from Maine. Anyways, I left my children and kittens alone until Tuesday, or so I thought. Then, quite suddenly, a large, walking tumor appeared beside me. And no it wasn't Hilary Clinton, that was the day before. That's the tumor is the cover image...
...Funny looking, isn't he? Anyways, the tumor told about a magical potion called Little Scared Dogs. He said that it made you fly. So, given that information, I promptly shoved my finger up his ass, kicked his eyes out, married him, divorced him for the money, had guilt-driven sex, and then made him eat our 10 children alive. Then I tried that potion, tasted a lot like chocolate milk, actually