Revel in the greatness of the Rightest's temtation filled revelation.

The Revelation of a Rightest

What the hell is going on? I am not the same creamy salsa that I once was. I feel splattered like the dust on a foul wind of aregano and raw liver onion with sausage parfee and a little bit of cream corn sauce. I want to be a runner in the national marathon of free loving bits of carrots in a warm winters fireplace of zesty loving sauce ash. I can't feel the legs of my own chair. I feel that my bemused anxiousness has become quite uneruption like, in the wake of my overload on bread like substances. I really did like the way Sugar Bear treated me when I went to visit the Golden Crisp factory. I felt like a set man. He gave me ear-plugs. And a hair net. I'm like a spy now. I can go anywhere I want and I won't be detected. Not with my trusty ear-plugs and my hair net. And the second set of earplugs I took from the bin when he wasn't looking. The ones I deemed nose-plugs. Yes. I will fit right in with this disquise. Now, who to look at first. I don't want to spoil the surprise yet. I want the news to be slow but hasty. I want the beta testers of the luxory I provide to be intranced in my loving nature of raw pork and beans. I know the loving bananas haven't gotten their hold on them yet. I will have my vengence. My lowly beta testers will have their sauce-and-toupeet loving from that refrigirator. Stop hampering my lust. You know you like it. I am not here to be toyed with. We are all but one silly clown in this great circus of parfet mules and luxurious camels and the turban of good will and fortune smiles upon the semi-pathalogical neo-nazi society that projects its paste on the hethen-baptismal region of Sudan. Stop that bickering. You know you like it. My sausage has been beat. Thank you.

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