I prayed to big Mo' the other day and he has agreed to help me see off Jelly. Now, with Mohammed on my side, I can finally help it die, after all it must want to… look at the state of it. It's fatness frequently gets in the way of it's everyday activities such as washing, standing, walking, moving and the such.The only thing it doesn't seem to affect is it's eating. It's never-ending feasting on sugar and fat, like a giant lard-fuelled parasite gorging and gurgling, like some kind of Uncle Buck on whiz, must be bad for it's health. Constantly puffing on billions of fags, or 'hell darts' as I like to call them, must also be causing it some breathing difficulties. Perhaps by encouraging it to start puffing woodbines, or 'hell daggers' as I like to call them, it will help to cripple it's colossal, lard-coated oil box for a heart. Just imagine what a box of 'hell swords' could do to it.
Thinking more plainly about it, I could even trip it up. Gravity would drag it down so fast that it might explode or split at the sides if it fell down the stairs… or directly onto it's derby. What a thunderous, but amusing blang-splosh that would make, and it would all be in the name of big Mo; which makes it okay, apparently.
'Hell Swords' are Cigars by the way.
Please Mohammed, make it die.
