Bedtime Story

I certainly seem to be setting the world on fire with my magnificent
posts lately. That's OK. I know someone is reading. My little stat-
counter told me. Go ahead...don't comment. I know you're out
there. And since nobody has an opinion, I am going to do as I
darn well please! So la dee dah! I'm dipping into the keyword
well again to write you a little bedtime story. Sweet dreams.

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Once upon a time there was an old lady who lived in a Mansion.
For confidentiality purposes, we shall call her Hillbilly Mom.
One day, Hillbilly Mom went to the cupboard to get her poor
dog some ice poopies. She had to hurry, because she was
expecting guests to show up any minute, wanting to real live see
hannah montanas boobs. HM was planning to throw in a lesson
in sentence structure for them for free. She was hoping none of
the guests were planning to poop out organs while at the Mansion.
She viewed that as a bit abnormal, if not downright painful, right
on par with crying out diamonds. Besides, she already had a piano
at her mom's house, and had no use for an organ.

The guests arrived in their egyptian spaceships, shouting for a
dominos pizza crew training book 1 edition 2 answer sheet. One
of the cheating pizza cookers looked at the other and asked,
what makes old people smell old? HM morphed into a hoppin
mad hillbilly when another one looked at her and said, p.u. you
stink, what does p.u. you stink mean? Talk soon turned to
glade plug-in and allergies, and g strings for 16 year olds.
HM tried to distract them with some recreational histinex use
and it burned my nose gin, but a sissified guy in panties called
her mom yellow panties and asked her to pose for an ugly
hillbilly photo.

Sensing that this was not working, and in a hurry to get back to
laying around the shanty, HM told her guests a few inbreeding
stories, fed them some expired ranch dressing, gave them each
an achy breaky heart poster with a thank you letter for chaperoning
a dance, and made some hillbilly funny faces.

The sissified guy in panties was heard to exclaim, i'm afraid of the flu
shot! And the hillbilly mom! I don't wanna be the meat in a hillbilly
sandwich! He goaded his peers into singing the words to the song
every party has a pooper. He realized the meaning to the bad
translation: visitor uninvited worn out their welcome. As they climbed
into a hillbilly jeep for a ride to populars restaurant hendersonville
north caro, they heard Hillbilly Mom goiter retching on the porch of
the Mansion. Snapping a quick photo which he would later entitle
picture of an old hillbilly lady singing, the sissified guy coughed up
hard, and shouted, "We really didn't mean to put sand in your craw.
Let me tell you the one eye middle of forehead hillbilly joke."

Hillbilly Mom loaded up her coon guns and assault rifles sk47 and
blew them to smithereens.

The moral of this story is: don't mess with hillbillies.

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Nighty night. Don't let the bedbugs bite. Or the scalp bubble bug
untold stories er thingies.