Twirly tots full of taters and dogshit

The stink of great beasts had been as oppressive as the heat itself, and the accompanying humidity served to magnify the impact of both on all concerned. Dehydration headaches were in direct competition with vomiting fits for the Symptom of the Day, both brought on by the lurking monsters, who were at times the community's worst enemy, and at others the source of their greatest wealth. Whether in pursuit or seeking shelter, there could be no escape from the clinging stench they carried, which dispelled any pretense of making a stealthy approach just as effectively as their size. When at long last the snows came and brought down their reign, the smaller creatures of the world discovered that flowers were not only beautiful to look at, but also offered a pleasant scent that would no longer be sublimated to the heretofore dominant odors, which soon melted away with the ice. This discovery rivals the dawn of fire-making and the application of wheel as a pivotal step toward a human society worth living in. So you should be glad that there aren't dinosaurs anymore, because they were huge and fucking stank worse than the birdhouse at the zoo. Think about it.

If monkeys make music, who wins?

The part that really hurts is when you say that I've got no goddamn right asking about it. Apart from the illogic underlying it, this statement brings into play a variety of questions relating to the granting of natural rights, human rights, lite-brites, and ear-mites wearing their Speedo trunks too tights. I daresay, absent a good lawyer and a stitch of clothes between us, you've done some damage to your standing with such a claim, though it'd be foolish to say that you couldn't recover by changing tactics and opting for the "magnanimous concession" approach. This would fit in with a long tradition of hot/cold strategies that not only make the world go around, but keep many a wayward sailor off the street during the Pinching Hours. Having observed the contortions of your decision-making process over this five-hour period, though, I'd wager a nut or two that none of this calm counsel will do any goddamn good, and that the secret history of your goddamn goat-head tattoo will remain unre-goddamn-solved. Goddamn it. Not like He ever listens to me, but goddamn it, anyway. We may as well tell the horse he can come back in now.

Outworked, outplayed, and outstained

Take the eraser out of that pencil and erase all of the awful things you've ever done when nobody was looking. Break the pencil over your knee and throw it into the fire so no one can go behind you and write back in all the nasty deeds of your life. Enjoy the lie you have become, and when confronted with unwelcome reminders of the horrors that once defined you, strangle them with quickness and high cruelty. This is the way to Immaculate Enlightenment - the only way - and anyone who would deny it aloud is two words away from snuffing you out like a candle.