The whiskey had caused SEVERE anal leakage, and it felt good running down his leg, but alas he couldn't reach the toilet roll. So instead of that, he emptied his gumboot and grabbed the cat who had a sneaky glance at Hitcher's exposed rear end wobbling jauntily down the path which led to a well concealed still. This still had been in his family for generations, originally belonging to his numerically challenged associate Jim.Cox. Jim had lived in Hokonui for a number of years and was well known for the quality his moonshine. People came from all around but had no idea of his secret ingredient or how to count.This posed a particularly challenging conundrum for those who liked moonshine but had problems with nasal hair and stray cats altering it's taste. Jim Beam had searched for hours to find his detachable moustache hair fernangler stirrup which had fallen unnoticed into his wife's underwear which by now had created a rash that Jim recognised as vaguely familiar from his time inside the small box with holes in it. "Don't scratch it Jim!" yelled McCoy as Spock reached for his quantum physics and neo-nazi text books which were trapped beneath his dead gay lover. "I'll check Uranus for Klingons", Spock muttered, enigmatically as he grabbed McCoy's large bore, high powered furry pink sequin encrusted leather chaps that reeked like one of Hitcher's posts on grammar. Then Spocks love child conceived
" It appears that the website has become alive. This happens to computers and robots sometimes. Am I scared of a stupid computer? Please. The computer should be scared of me."
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