Random gibberasions of a mad man,
Who takes his cattle out at midnight,
To slaughter them for his friends.
His friends visit him at one,
So he better hurry and finish,
Do not want to keep them waiting.
They meet this man and shake his hand,
But not his own hand,
But the hand of his dead wife.
They do not squirm at its touch,
For it is their way,
And an honor to meet the past.
He exchanges his product,
He gets the merchandise they sell,
And then he heads home.
But he never gets home before they strike out,
Angry over how he cut horizontally not vertically.
They zap him in the ass.
He runs to the blue men for help,
But they do not help our hero,
They refer him to another organization.
And these are the words written,
Written on his white padded wall.
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