The walk

One thing I've learned in this crazy little thing called life: If it looks like a duck and talks like a duck. It must be a duck. A crazy dildo-duck. All flopping around perhaps of purple latex. "Quack Quack." what a cute abomination. He'll bite you, and don't try to use him.  That mean little bastard will rip through your intestines like an ice auger devours the frozen winter ice.

Some of you readers may be saying, "Why?" "What does this mean?" Obviously you're not a golfer.
So i'll continue.

It was a morning of discontent, or perhaps an evening of incontinence. My parnter in crime was a lanky gentle giant, like a Smokey the Bear and Tree-beard  cross breed child. He was my caretaker. Keep my leash taught. I tend to wander inside of women. A walk through a rape cauldron filled with sex stew as it simmer ready for serving. the masses awaiting for their belly-climax. Queueing up by the thousands, the sight was impressive. Impressively sexual.  Our turn had come, a meal fit for a Me,  although I wasn't entirely sure on the contents, for I had ceased to have functioning taste buds as a result of my ever-deteriorating condition and behavior. To the sassy young  attractive  ghoulish goblin handing out tickets to a polar bear orgy, the offer still stands. Many moons passed  and the work bells chimed. "Now is our chance, we must escape." With guards at every door Me and Smokeytree stood no chance. The words of Duchovney rang in my head, "Use your piss." Genius, piss: The only thing more potent than ghoulish menstruation. unleashing a hurricane of yellow light from my loins, mixing with the putrid taste of curdling vagina mucus, the smell was horrendous, horrendously poetic, justice has been served, all you can eat. These minions are free, I ask for no reward, for your viginities  are useless to me. The walk continues.