Bilbo is sitting on his living room floor wearing only a pair of old bikini underpants. Cerulean blue.

He's got a jar that looks like it used to have pickles in it, maybe dill pickles, probably Vlassic brand. There are not pickles in it anymore, though. Now it's totally filled with his own excrement. He unscrews the cap and takes a long breath of the fumes before tightening the lid once more and leaning back with wide eyes.

"Goooooooooooooooooood DAMN that's good jenkem! Holy shit, that's my best batch yet. Here's the secret recipe, y'all. A box of Frosted Flakes. Two gallons of skim milk that are exactly four days past their expiration date. One hearty durian. Eat all of these and wait a day without any sort of deuce dropping, then seal the deal by garnishing with the semen or vaginal extract of your choice. I went with Trish, the overweight crackhead from down the street. She let me lick that stank puss for an hour straight while my guts bubbled, and then I took a nap. When I woke up I was ready to brew this bad boy. I've never gotten more fucked up from my own feces than I am right this moment. This is literally holy shit. I would name this shit pope if I hadn't been repeatedly and unfairly removed from the Catholic Church. I might even just burn some colored incense out of my chimney right now to name this jug of poo His Holiness Fat Goddamn Turd the Second. The first one died in a schism."

Bilbo looks around and then unscrews the cap again. His toes curl when he inhales but that could obviously be because of his muscular dystrophy.

"Jesus. Anyway. I have a problem with my Warfare match. First of all, I never agreed to fight Nic Gage Cannon on Savage. He didn't beat me either, I slipped and fell because there wasn't a proper ramp in place as required by law. My lawyers have already drafted a fantastic summons on that one. Pain and suffering? Check. Emotional distress? Check. Inability to perform sexually? Not a chance, I left a healthy puddle on Trish's gunt when we were done. Gunt is the combination of the word gut and the word cunt, by the way It's the FUPA or fat upper pussy area. The front-butt. Anyway that pile of spermatozoa was teeming with healthy swimmers. We Blumpkinzes are actually extremely adept swimmers. It comes from having partially webbed appendages and also a blowhole. Where were we? Right. Warfare. Greggo is cool, but I need to let you in on a secret. That man's scrotum is not wet. It's Kalahari dry. He has razor bumbs on that scrote. It's legally defined as a desert because of how little precip there is annually. I bet if you dunked Greggo's beanbag into a glass of water, ten seconds and one slurping sound later you'd have a totally bone dry piece of crystal glassware and a set of balls weeping with happiness over finally being allowed near water like it was some sort of kidnapping victim. My balls on the other hand get waterboarded every single day. They are the moistest nads anywhere in the country. These genitals are so wet you can hear the ocean if you shake them up and put them against your ear. Try it. I did it right before turning on this camcorder. You can check the vid on my Clips4Sale page."

Bilbo's legs writhe like a serpent body and he is carried across the floor by some bizarre cripple-legged undulation. His sins contract like a concertina. It's fucking WEIRD but it could just be the jenkem.

"So yeah. Greggo's cool but his balls are arid. You know who's not cool? The Wizard. I grew up watching Mister Wizard. You are no Mister Wizard. Did you know Mister Wizard literally bombed Nazis? I'm going to shit on the Wizard in his honor. After I shit on him I'm going to get fucking high as fuck off the fumes and then probably take a nap in the corner, so it's totally possible that I don't end up winning this match. That's fine, because the Wizard will have gotten shat on, which is what this was all really about. It's gonna be bad, too. I've eaten nothing but peanuts and hot sauce all day. Can't wait."

Bilbo passes out and spills the jar.

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