Miss K, I love you. This to honour your faith in me... To my biotic dysmorp confines, I counterpart all your unreported cases, into the shallow graves of their own soiled espistemol. I must lose myself in you, as you said, and this digging is the only way I can divide as you require. See how I attend you, Miss. Please see how I time my bank of defective images, whose frequency describes the flawlessness of your rituals. Miss, your symptoms are my 15 minutes of fame.
And so it went on, it was a good time and the town found plenty to eat in the nights, things like gas stations bloated with fuel, wooden shacks full of bombs and embittered loners, mobile homes circled around lakes and the occasional family car. And the humans? Well they would run into the deserts and desolate spaces as the town fed upon their habitats and transport, invariably the humans starved, dehydrated and shrivelled in the widening expanses of withoutness.
Over the years the town grew strong and festered comfortably into a metropolis with tall fangs that pierced the sky and drew down aircraft into its void of delirium to be emptied of flesh and sucked at for their plastics, metals and combustible dope, that gave the now vampire metropolis such a high!
A drum roll building to a crescendo. The victims head flies from the basket (being taken away) containing it and reattaches to the torso. The victim reformed stands up arms aloft and rejoices. He makes to walk away but his leg falls off. He picks up the errant leg, placing it under his arm and hops nobly off.
“Hops Nubly off! Don’t you mean wanked?”
“Eer no, nobly’s not a persons name.”
“My great uncle’s name was Nubly, Nubly Winkparsons.”
Angrily and at the end of a tether. “WAITER.” (they seem to be sat in a restaurant discussing the sketch.)
“Have you ever heard of someone called Nubly? Of the name Nubly?”
“Why yes my niece is a Nubly, Nubly Felchvicar.”
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