It's the end of the life-tunnel it seems for a miniature tenderflesh named Tim from Horseapple, a small town out near Nardsville.
Friends and relatives have gathered for Small-Faced Tim's "death feast" where he was able to choose all of his favorite treats to enjoy one last time.
"My Dippy says I'm going to Darkville so he let me pick out my favorite sugartuts. I choose a Choco-Horkus, a Groak, a Bapple Cider Fuckus, and a Rigumtort Slophouse. For desert we're having Plowdog Chili-Hunger and Boon-Chunk Rungers."
-Small-Faced Tim
Small-Faced Tim came down with a terrible case of Boondoggler's Frown last Barch when he grumpled into a patch of Friar Friar Fucks. Small-Faced Tim is just a littleman so his immune system wasn't able to fight off the terrible blow of poison bullshit that came from the plant. According to Nadshrinker Medical Journal, there is no known cure for Boondoggler's Frown at this time. Most white-jacket wearing medical doctors call it a "stupid idiot's disease" and don't like to "fuck around with it."
Small-Faced Tim's Dippy made some comment's on his son's sugar chowdown:
"My son Small-Faced Tim loves sweet sugar. I bought him a Rustler Cap like the real pistolboys used to wear. We've been trying to tell him that Darkville is a great place for littleboys and there are lots of nicemen there to make him feel like a strongarm."
-Regular-Faced Fenton Corkscrew
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