post-mortem erection due to embalming
to the christian hooker folk singer relentlessly singing folk-songs in my head:
SHUT UP!
I'M JUST TRYING TO GET SOME FECKING FLIPPITY SLEEP!
i don't think the quills like me. they are perforating my brain like so many cheap drugstore-bought pens. with that said, i want some soup and my blankies.