In a dining roomful of goblins, consume the treasures of your sanity. There's a bee, drinking chairman's sweat, under funny fur hat, those last drops of moisture in the pool of threats, playing hard to get.
Work with orcs, bred to smell, feeding frogs in a brand new well, wishing hell would become the very new brand of deodorant. Smell a demon in a shell, open mouth would yell, fill it up with jam or gel. Wear a suit to sell stock on a market, get some jam instead, spread it on your bed, nose that sheet, jump in that pit and go to sleep.
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