A Dedication to the Person I Call My Moiflail
DON'T SAY ANTHER GODDAMN WORD. UP UNTIL NOW, I'VE BEEN POLITE. IF YOU SAY ANYTHING ELSE - ONE WORD - I WILL JULIENNE MYSELF. AND WHEN MY TAINTED SPUD SPIRIT FINDS ITS DESTINATION, I WILL CHOKE THE MASTER OF THAT DARK PLACE. FROM MY GREASY THRONE I WILL LASH TOGETHER A MACHINE OF ROOT AND STARCH, AND FUELED BY MY HATRED FOR YOU THIS FRIED ENGINE WILL SEAR A HOLE BETWEEN THIS WORLD AND THAT ONE.
WHEN IT BEGINS, YOU WILL HEAR THE SOUND OF MY BRETHREN FRYING - AS THOUGH FROM A GREAT OIL BATH. A SMOKING ORB OF GREASE WILL GROW ABOVE YOUR BED, AND FROM IT WILL EMERGE A THOUSAND STARVING FAT PEOPLE. AS I SLIP THROUGH THE WIDENING MAW IN MY NEW GLORIOUS FORM, YOU WILL CATCH ONLY A WHIFF OF MY MOUTH-WATERING SCENT BEFORE YOU ARE INCINERATED. THEN, AS TEARS OF BUBBLING OIL STREAM DOWN MY FACE, MY DELICIOUS WORK WLL BEGIN.
AND THEN I WILL RAISE ONE OF MY SIX MASSIVE TUBERS, AND I WILL READY THE BASKET THAT WILL FRY THE EARTH.
