Peep it, ass hats. J. Dogg Bo Shagg heard your shrieking 999, and an ambulance with the steering wheel on the right side is on its way to run over your shrubs and gurney your fat fucking ass to the foot of my throne. But I won't be sitting in it 'cuz I prefer the ratty plaid couch at Trey Trey's. He's got an Xbox 360 and a sweet-ass collection of chrome-plated assault shotguns. While you're waiting for me to get home, help yourself to anything in the fridge, but stick to the side full of blood samples and unprepped taxidermy fixin's. You can pinch my road squirrel, but I'll beat you to death with your own ass if you touch my fat free strawberry yogurt. And when I stumble in the door covered in hot fudge and ostrich feathers, you better immediately drop trous 'cuz your treatment requires me to throw a hubcap and a leaking car battery up your pooper from across the room. And the only reason I didn't call it a puckered cock magnet instead of a pooper is 'cuz your motherfucking inbred breach baby is in the next room gnawing on a lamp cord. God damn, you make me sick. Now let's fuck.