It was a dark and stormy night. Koops walked out of his onion infested trailer, high as fuck off of his vegetable companions.
"Man, I'm socially inadequate," he bellowed like a swollen whale.
Somebody chucked a rock at him.
It was Daisy. She had head lice, and was looking for a quick fix.
"That's one way to get my AT&T."
"Just give me my god damn onions, you nasty little demented-ass turtle," Daisy wheezed. She'd really let go of herself after her pube-braiding business went bankrupt.
Koops was as fine and dandy as the day his mother shoved him out of her moist, luscious anus. Maybe it was his dad; Koops ne'er did really know.
"The price has just been "jacked" up, thanks to Obama, if you know what I mean." He said with a smile, scratching his rectum with a convenient rusty saw.
"Don't force your flea identity on me. I'm a sailor, you know."
Suddenly, the Borg of Manhattan came up and grabbed them with his tentacle-beard. He then dragged Koops and Daisy off to his Evil Dungeons of Jubililatijon.
"Oh no," said Daisy.
"Oh YEAH," said the Glarm of Frothylond as he dropped a nuke, and soap, unto Litt Tomney. But, just like the reason for the chicken crossing the road, Tomney was mad. And rightfully so, since he had always wantses to eat Peach.
Meanwhile, Koops was doing his worst to find a way out if his cheerful jail cell. Daisy was dying of temporary cancer in the corner, as she had stared at the mirror of Bushitis. 1.836 seconds later, a distinctly evil voice spoke from the conveniently placed shadow in the back of the cell.
"Muahahaha ha!" The voice said. One Matthew Maguire stepped out of the shadows, brandishing a nondescript weapon of Soviet origin. He was closely followed by a squad of Tea Party Troopers. How they had fit in the shadows, Koops failed up wonder. "Be terrified at my stereotypical and predictable monologue!"
"No," Daisy disagreed, very disgruntled. You obviously don't know the true bliss of jamming an entire garlic clove up your nose and inhaling. Try it and get back to me."
Mr. Maguire just happened to have a garlic and garlic sandwich with him, stuffed haphazardly into his weird-ass 1920's replica shotgun barrel.
He snorted. He saw the light. He perished in an erotic manner.
"Fuckin finally," Koops groaned.
"I know!" Rtmoney shouted! Now let's shove burning hundred dollar bulls into our anuses! "This is so hot!" Sighed Daisy. "That's probably because we are currently burning our anal passages!" A now homosexual Devil-cat replied. "Can O shove this artificial cow liver into your clavicle?" Said Koops sexily. "Jjjjjjjagdjdnfhf" spluttered Daisy. "How did you even say that?" asked Koops. "I have 69 tongues" Daisy replied blandly. "SO WHERE ARE MY DUCKING ONIONS!" Daisy shouted. "Oh, just in my nasal passage." Said Koops, already shoving Daisy's entire arm up his nose. "Get then yourself." He said.
"Daisy, I am. I think we're meant to be." cooed Daisy drunkenly to her scrawny old self. "Greece."
"Princess, this is serious, not seventh grade geography. What are you even doing?"
At that point in time, Matthew Maguire came out of his permanent coma and yelled "Well excuse me Princess!" Before falling back onto his coma. "If that isn't proof that we should be together, I don't know what is, BEAN ME, MR. M. D.!"
"Damn, man. I guess you're right. And I don't mean that as in correct, I mean your political views."
"What?"
"Get out of my condo."