I wonder if I'm some sort of shamistic prophety type.
Them there medicine men consume various smokes and vapours in order to induce Gitche Manitou and various legions of spirits.
Well, I have found that the consumption of spirits invokes much the same in me! Last night, for instance, following a triplicity of Jacques and The Purple Combo, a psychonaut tripping out became I!
Forget Derek's Sam... who rises from the dead in the guise of spirit guide? Only Steve Bloody Irwin!
COMPLETE with manta-ray attachment!
Unfortunately, he didn't reveal any other worldly mysteriis or prophesize this Wednesdays lotto numbers.
Probably because he was accompanied by Snow White and Velma, who'se cleary fed up with mooning after Shaggy, so she's off on some lezza escape with birds with a penchant for the shorter statured fella!.
Should've introduced her to the Sapphic Siren in Season in striped and suspenders! Then again, she wasn't interested in short dumpy cartoon characters, only hot alternative girlies. Poor ole Red Lori getting propositioned for tongue tennis (she should count her lucky stars the little tart wasn't after a bit of lawn tennis!).
I do hope she didn't get rhohypnol'd and lesbo-raped in the lavs by Mistress Big with her huge strap...* - she did just suddenly vanish without trace...
Good job too - I'd be rather worried if she had vanished with Trace for dykey doings in the bogs.
Nyah nyah nyah!
* STRAPPY TOP, OF COURSE! WHY, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, YOU GREAT PERV???
