Carnival Patrol meets Carnivorous Hole!

Hello Weltlings!
I've got a slimebomb for you: I expect the last race down to the sausage factory was a good one --- I'm here to tell you it may be your last.

Can I welcome you to the crabs family? Let me just say a certain pincered specimen has been branching out to Davidian proportions in lieu of carnal retreat (a la swarthy-monge), reaching far-reaching hellos here and there on that grimy urethrren floor.

Should I place the hand? Where did your hips go, fatso? Recently, we're officially mad at the worldwide girlfriend coalition for not sucking the spinach and keeping below 230 pounds as promised after the last crushing.

Ho! Have I crawled all over your lardo politesse? All I can say is this: You are an unpardonable whoosh of sissies, tromping in the the stench of girlhood.

I've being keeping out of the story bowl as of late. You might have formed your own Russian pinealopinions with late night television cooking shows, but hardly a feat, greylords! I can crush a mouse! I can salt the very last earthbound mussel! My hands are a relish of Polish sauces that your dreams must wank up over! The slow insertion into the oesophagus is no laughing matter... It's demoralising! Try an energy gel! I can defeat you in several mouthfuls of water.

Coast to coast? Where will you hide? Last race to the sausage factory!!