Mr. Pomerantz

Naked eye! Naked ear! Naked angels! Splattered and boring like a turkey overloaded and lording over all the rest of the imps. Oh no you don't, leatherface! Dunk me under, and, leatherface, wring me out to dry!

Fish frying and feckless freckles and nipples and nether regions but neither you nor I could take it off because we're complacent, and psychotic. We're complacent, and...listen to me, Mr. Pomerantz! I want you to shoot that twittering salesman in the throat. He doesn't deserve to live and he doesn't deserve to die! He deserves to be a mime, displaying his liverwurst sprayers to the blistered and starving, rubber-suited, pantaloon fops!

Just beyond the liverwurst portal, the ship is sailing. The ship is sailing, and you're standing at the dock with your wee-wee hangin' out! You're standing at the docks with your sing-a-long-ding-a-ling-ding-dong-singin' . So what do you wanna do now, Pizzeria Uno? Sterile, celibate, samsonite janitor? Give me all your time and your money! Give me your jujubes and your plantain chips! Give me your marbles and your jacks and your pistols. Today is playday, bub!