"...to procure a hasty tip-of-middle-finger transplant."

Spillejobb i helga - uten fingertupp. Huden er rett og slett borte. Gone. Bam! Gone, baby - freakin' evaporated like a dingy stinkin' mudpuddle. One day y-you see your reflection in it and the next day it's a, it's a... it's a damn oil spot on your cracked driveway, staring back at you, mocking you, blah blah blah, knowing the perverted truths that rot in the pit of your soul.

...men plekter er for pyser. Rock on!