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Her evening with the ex and enslaves.

They sit for hours, masticating their doe-nuts and kaf__, chewing their cuds. It has been theorized that they make their seeds from doe-nuts, and they must have them to breed. No one cares enough about Smokeys to find out, however. Anyway.....

When I was unfairly caught, the Smokeys cheat, they always win, anyway, I had to go to the Baldjudge Cave, where they do unspeakable things to Poon Tangs, Egroegs, and even Silkeons, though they very rarely catch a Silkeon. Poon Tangs are like Herpes, anyone can catch them, and Poon Tangs often do.

I was very frightened, but as always, very brave. My beautiful shimmering crimson pelage blinded the evil giant black-furred Baldjudge, and my intelligent green eyes watched every twitch of his hammer shaped claws. He roared and growled at me, and vociferated with sforzando, "Th eth ird tim e ca ught u s pee ding. U do 8 ho ursof com mun ityse rvice."

To protect the Egroeg, who could be hurt by a Baldjudge, I disguised myself as a SkankHo. These lowly creatures are covered in a ragged orange skin, which usually looks as ill fitting as a Tennessee football fan's dentures: In fact, SkankHos probably ARE UT fans... anyway, I used my chameleon abilities so that I could escape the Baldjudge.

For reasons known only to the Great God Bear Sabin, Smokeys crave aluminum cans and beer bottles. Perhaps since they live in giant aluminum cans, they spawn in them, and their progeny are spread by the tornadoes that are attracted to the penis-shaped cans. No one knows; No one cares; but they are always happy when SkankHos find the cans and bottles along paths in the jungle.

I pretended to hunt for cans along the path, while actually cleverly hiding from the burning rays of the Green Sun; it causes tanlines. Silkeons avoid tanlines, just as we circumlocute lesser creatures so they can't understand us. The Smokey, as non-blinking as the scaly lizard he resembled, bellowed, "He yRedHe ad.Get urbutt back towo rk."

It is best not to taunt a sun-struck Smokey, even when his roar is aoristic.

After about six score years in the Green Sun at an ambient temperature of 45 degrees Celsius, the Smokey looked away long enough for me to flick my parched tongue into a watering hole for a desideratum of moisture to avoid imminent dehydration and like, death. On the verge of unconsciousness, I heard the Smokey communicating in a tristful manner with one of his vast heard. "Y epthe Silkeon do n'tdos hit.S he'sbe en si ttingby thewa ter ingcanf oranh our."

Other SkankHos foraged for bottles and cans as well; some of them resembled Poon Tangi, some Egroegs, but all were mutilated with the multihued salmon colors native to Boeotian Thebes. Many had cancerous growths of large dark sacs which seemed to be filled with junk which they vacuumed up from the ground near the pathways. Why ever they did this mysterious act, they seemed eager, or at least willing, to do it. I was not.

As the second sun sank, the Smokey's small brain lost focus. He seemed to be so engrossed in his shiny pile of metal cans that he no longer managed to imprison us slaves, and so we all shed our skins in palingenesis and scattered away like the feculent scuz from a Baldjudge's lips as he roars.

When I returned to my mountain home, a trip much worsened by having to travel as slowly as a Smokey, I found a PoonTangus Aureofungus captured by a small ipodus brain sucker. These parasites run their proboscises into the sides of a Poon Tang's head, and suck their brains out. The ipodi are very small, as there is not much of a meal in a Poon Tang's brain.

I do, however, have a kind heart towards these pitiful creatures, for though they have small brains they are always, and I mean like always, ready to mate.

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