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Good Day, All!
Now! To the marshmallows! In the previous email detailing
the habits of time-travelling goat-haters, we enlightened you all to the fact that during one segment of the escapade, God
created a new planet, inhabited by sentient marshmallows that are in every way superior to us not so superior cocaine-snorting
goat-cheese eating immigrants from some sort of nasty place in the area with the bits and the stuff with the dangling things........
Yeah.....
Anyway!... These marshmallows have the ability to implode
into their anal sphincter by a complex combination of dancing and making funny noises like 'nip-nip-nip-nanggggg WOOBLE aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
fropish-nastble-ghit! nip-nip-nip-nanggggg...' etc. And thus travel through time and space. These highly evolved time-travelling
hot beverage confectionaries have been doing this for millennia. In fact, these time-travelling marshmallows have been spying
on humanity, observing us, and learning our secrets of goat hating and the production of many other assorted goat products.
Yes, that's UDDERLY correct (sorry about that, I have to have some sort of mention about SOMETHING related to goats).
Have you ever thought you heard movement in the shrubbery
below your window, and when you went to check, there was nothing but a faint waft of moccacino or a hint of melting sucrose?
You originally considered yourself insane... Well, most of you are BUT, it's A-Ok, fellow oppressed goat meat junkies. There's
nothing whatsoever to worry or get anxious about. It was simply a walking marshmallow that has the ability to travel through
time and space, spying on you, whilst you were taking a shower. I'm sure you all feel better in the knowledge that the potential
paedophile watching you sing in the nuddy is nothing other than a super-intelligent coffee digestible. Why have the marshmallows
been doing such a thing? Is it some perverted fascination for watching female members of the human race undress and soap themselves
up and down? Do the marshmallows do it for nothing other than a sick, twisted thrill? Surely not. The marshmallows watch diligently
as humanity showers its collective self, because of one thing. The lavatory. Thats right, they yearn for that white porcelain
holy chair that some nights turns brown on the inside from too much curry! The saviour of those you cant quite hold on the
extra half hour or find a roaming goat! The only contraption you wish to hug after a night on the town and a few empty rum
bottles. You see, upon the home planet of these evolved marshmallow ambassadors, there is no such thing as a toilet. Indeed,
if a marshmallow is willing to take a dump, they have no single place whatsoever to do it in; due to this, they prevent it
from coming forth and soon explode from anal tension. One such case is that of our REAL sun, this glowing orb one may see
in the sky during a particularly bright, sweaty-armpit day is not a giant mass of burning gases, soon to expand and engulf
us and the other first 4 planets of our solar system; it is however the rotting corpse of a great sweet and mushy sugary delight
named, Donkisperm-SmelsLyk Kaandi. This saccharine existence foresaw the downfall of his race in a blazed of poopie coloured
hot chocolate, caused by their ever tightening bowels exploding and discharging it contents over and area similar to the size
of Horatio Wanksalots buttocks. He understood without the availability of the toilet all recipes for goat cheeses would be
lost into a forgotten time. Making a drastic decision, Doncisperm set forth to steal every toilet present on earth and return
them to his planet. However, Uggo the time-travelling three-toed sloth had unintentionally placed a hot steamer in the vicinity
of Doncisperms dancing platform. The pink and white fluffy dessert stepped upon the great mound of brownish excretion and
tumbled to his doom, as his soft edible cranium collided with a passing goat. This caused Doncisperm to become disorientated
and consequently travel to the point in space where our sun now lies; he remained there for many thousands of years, until
a small piece of LINT made him sneeze and give birth to a giant astroid that rebounded much like a rubber bouncing ball, off
the earth and back into Doncisperm. Due to Doncisperms ever increasing bowel pressure and the giant chunky phlegm-like asteroid,
the enormous sweetened confectionary exploded into a blaze of glucose fuelled flame, and *thus* become our sun.
Due to the fact the Doncisperm failed, the marshmallow race
has been dwindling dramatically due to their inability to release the pressure of pipe Number 2. Thus, the last of the marshmallow
race, their anal sphincters overflowing with strawberries-and-cream tasting faeces, agreed upon creating a space-travelling
spacecraft to ensure that their race did not end up like their failed hero and all explode from bowel spasms. The crème-de-la-crème
was chosen from the surviving members of the marshmallow race, and after constructing the spacecraft; they set forth from
the planet Khamelzshit-TaystsLyk-Oatmeal, to find a planet that held developed plumbing. Unfortunately, the spacecraft broke
down half way across the galaxy, and the marshmallows had to be content in making their toilet stop on Earth. This is why
there happens to be a large, super-intelligent dessert peering in at you through the bathroom curtains. The fact of the matter
is, to reduce it to layman's terms, these enormous drink accompaniments resembling the Pilsbury Dough Boy are waiting for
you to get out of the fucking shower, so that they can relax and take a nice, civilized crack at your toilet. The least you
could do is pass the unfortunate beggars some three-ply toilet paper, and close the door behind yourself until they're finished.
If anyone comes home and barges in on the prevalent fact that there happens to be a marshmallow sitting on your crapper reading
a newspaper, tell that person to give the giant candy some privacy. Follow Willy Wonka's example, and remember, if you allow
marshmallows to occupy your bathroom, you will acquire a rather sweet smell of strawberries-and-cream that will permeate the
room all year.
Composed by Diamond Crotch and Cursed to Eat Adorable Kittens
as they wear two different sets of contact lenses, rubs their faces in cocaine and wear large pink bunny rabbit suits to entertain
a hoard of 70s dressed goats.
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