You run into the trees screaming nonstop for the gods to come down and fill your EZ Bake with the plentiful wonders of the horn of Cornucopia. This worked the last time you did it but you have to admit you were pretty stoned out of your mind and the frightened hobos you cornered may have added to your food supply. One way or another. That meat was delicious. What? You suddenly stop, your wide, toothy grin suddenly beaming on your face. Before you lies a wounded deer. It's terrified eyes glaze over with comprehension and an inconceivable flood of terror at beholding your blood-smeared, oven-wielding presence. You really need to drop that oven. It's for goddamn little girls.
After moving sideways to a large, protruding rock, you smash the oven open into bits and pieces, maintaining unflinching eye contact with the deer. After ripping out some sharp implements and, subsequently, the entirety of your pants, you laugh maniacally and saunter drunkenly over to the creature struggling in a pool of its own blood. You quickly and considerately fix up its wound by removing the bullet and wrapping its leg tightly with your pants cloth and it hops away happily like so many Bambis you've fixed up before. Why else would you have animal blood on your crotch? And the man juice staining your legs is from the uncontrollable pleasure you feel upon saving the weak and helpless in the world. It's perfectly normal. For you. You hear a shout and dogs barking in the distance behind you. After a moment of honestly satisfying groin shudders and the consequential spillage of semen into your 10-year old Superman pull-up briefs, you come to the sudden paranoid and unreasonably schizophrenic realization that the cops are after your ass for what you did to little Norton James back in elementary school. Poor little Norton. The authorities never did find his left foot. Or him. But he's in your basement alive, and if they get you, he'll go free! And all the goblins and upside-down kappas that he has been storing away in his unholy gate to the fourth dimension of Hell will spill loose upon the world like so much nervous piss dribbling down between the cuffs of your saturated briefs.
EZ Bake. EZ Bake. EZ Bake. Cross-dressing...Huh? Ripping the door off of the shattered remains of your creepily effeminate childhood past-time, you whoop to the gods for your safe journey, and you fly! You fly like nobody has before! Mostly because, in your idiotically eager attitude, you mistakenly assumed you could fly by holding an EZ Bake oven door above your head and weren't watching where you were waddle-running and subsequently took a dive off of a steep cliff with thorn bushes littered everywhere at the end of your deep fall. The pain feels so good, but alas! You cannot stop! You have a mission! Supremely confident that your arbitrarily immoral compulsions are nothing but god-given orders, you decide that you must dispose of all of the pigeons in the city. Their happily content cooing is nothing but the angry sex moans of the devil. You must return to the city! Security is powerless before your mighty, crippled form, you think as you cackle between bursts of painfully lucid understandings that your friends from high school never call. Probably 'cause of Norton. Damn Norton and his shitty thighs. Always fucking up the good bits.
Oh shit, you just tripped 'cause you're totally naked now. Either your clothes all got caught on the thorns or you heroically cast aside your outerwear in a horrendously misplaced sense of pride. You prefer the latter explanation. But now you're butt-ass-naked and you're on a pathway and there's a group of confused elderly women in front of you making inappropriate comments about your "vulgarity" and eyeing your junk with the "don't get near him, he looks like a rapist" look. They want you, but they can't have you. With an awkward erection and a slight relaxation of the bowels, you decide that a dress would do wonders to bring out the color of your cold, dead eyes. After screaming "Don't look at me!" you fall in an epileptic seizure to lure them over. Only one is fooled, and sooner than later, her dress is inexplicably somehow yours. It's go time.
Booking it down the gravelly road, you knock down as many of the elderly Russian spies as you can. They can't stop you! You're the chosen one! You tumble indignantly down a hill. Nobody saw that. Now you've got a rock. Why a rock? Shit, you're losing focus, drop the rock on your feet. Feel the pain. Oh so sweet. Gargling madly like the lunatic you are, you notice that that rock looks just like your wife's face. Or her left boob. Why'd she leave you? You remember you got caught crossdressing with the dog. Damn dog. Just had to walk around howling in pain 'cause you kicked it in the nuts.
You decide to tuck your head between your legs and roll awkwardly down the rest of the hill, all the while wiggling in frustration when you stop at an unpleasant angle as your slow, unsteady progress periodically halts. Regardless, after some time has passed, you glance over your eerily exposed nuts as you roll onwards and see the gleam of city lights poking through your pubes. You're almost there!
You've somehow broken through the border of town and, ignoring the frightened and bewildered cries to halt coming from all angles, you've made a wild dash into the city. Following your absurdly comical entrance, you imagine you have the power to blend into your surroundings and mistakenly bet your well-being on the idea that your brick camouflage is second to none. Only twenty minutes later do you realize that you are instead actively rolling around in the trash convulsing painfully as you ask a spectating family of rats where your EZ Bake Oven has gone.
With a sudden pang of clarity you spring to your feet, but quickly fall back into your wildly impossible dementia and howl for Norton's blood. After dodging through the back streets and rebuffing the leering gazes of the neighborhood children, you've made it back to your house. Kicking down the sheet metal doorway of your cardboard shack, you bellow into the slimy depths that lo, you have come! Your dog's Cheshire face melts into the walls and laughing mouths cover the ceiling. In a sudden passion of unprovoked fury, you randomly beat on the only good support pillar of your hobo hut and everything comes tumbling down. With nothing but the putrid smell of rotting hobo flesh and the feel of your semen-stained dress to accompany you, your senses ache with the realization that you've got some serious issues, but you dismiss these as the whimsical restraints of a modern society and fall into a fitful and suffocated slumber.
You wake up in a sterile police interrogation room with a hardy-looking "Officer Tom Hardass" staring gluttonously at you from the other end of the table. Oh the sweet caress of prison. The vaguely clean beds and the somewhat abusive companionship! And food! No more dead hobo meat for you! "You're being accused of grand theft auto, insurance fraud, killing pigeons around town, robbery, assault of the elderly, homicide of a homeless man, cannibalism, destruction of public property, and the unabashed public rape of a man you kept calling 'Fuckwad Norton' during a televised charity event in the park" babbled the officer incoherently. "I...I honestly don't know where to start..."
Uh-oh, awkward boner time.
You got Norton good. DAMN good. That'll pay him back twenty times over. You flash back and remember the fearful quivering of his lower lip as you socked him in the face during elementary school for...wait, you were the one that hit him? What was it for again? Something about how you...microwaved his hamster? Or something...Wow, that was totally your bad. What the hell's wrong with you?
As you proceed to scream in enlightenment without uttering a single word of explanation, the interrogator calls in backup to help handle your obvious insanity. You somehow manage to vomit from your mouth and explode feces from your anus simultaneously before the cops pin you down in a disgusting revelry of refuse. Your horror and fear is momentarily interrupted by a calm feeling of respect for these brave men until one of them yells something in Chinese and tazes you in the nuts. Your life sucks.
The shock of this most heinous of cruel acts has put your already shambled mind over the edge and your body reacts in kind. As you convulse on the floor with the impending shadow of Death looming over your oh-so-damaged head (and genitalia), you shudder and release the entirety of your bowels. Everywhere. What a way to go out, Mr. Awesome Man! Kick ass!
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