Having recently engaged JD in a battle of wills, I staggered along the road to now in search of my 'masterpiece'. Numerous genres wearing mind-bending attire (with silicone engorged parts, leering at me from ill-fitting underwares) jetéd out from the shadows offering me leaflets that extolled the virtues and/or immoralities of their consumption. Brushing them aside with my bulbous beard, I cut west along a dreary sub-alley lined with next year's avant-garde photography. As I passed a rather stout yet limber rodent collecting acid rain from the shoes of dead hippies, I noticed a door looming in the gloom (oh please dude!...ok. sorry about that) near my left elbow. Above the door a large, blue, animatronic index finger beckoned, curling its form at 91 BPS, above which a pink neon sign glared: I announced the phrase, 'my brussels are oily' through the speakhole and the door swung open. As I stepped through the threshold I was confronted by Rae Elbow, who then swiftly offered me a temporal tangerine. Obviously, I ate the thing, an act to which Rae replied,
"welcome, enjoy your trip..." < this is a clickable link - it begins the adventure