Take a whiff of this pumpkin pie missile of destruction. Your Thanksgiving is pretty much gone and subject to the inkling of keys of black Silestone, fresh mozzarella and pain. Make me a deal I can’t balance a pair of rusty scissors on. It’s like the end of color and a return to a ghost town of black and white corpses with McDoubles on their minds.
Decaying horses mutate the biggest deal since pistol whipping. Take a new look at what life’s handed you and make some decisions you’ve been putting off. Sounds like a crack whore’s horoscope on the cusp of self-destruction. Taking notes? Stuff the pencil of licorice and blood into a savory cup of smiles and gomers. She promises it’ll take the edge off of your helter skelter life and put some focus on Tim. Don’t eat that Lunchable.