Bury me not on the lone prairie—instead, dismember me and inter the parts in several different prairies in order to deter mad prairie scientist Dr. Vaquerostein from constructing an abominable undead cowboy from my remains.

[Colfax McLiverneck 352]

Bury me not on the lone prairie—instead, dismember me and inter the parts in several different prairies in order to deter mad prairie scientist Dr. Vaquerostein from constructing an abominable undead cowboy from my remains.

[Pure Guava 325]

I'd like to option this screenplay post-haste, how does 170 cans of creamed corn sound? What's that? Oh a real haggle-boy, eh? O.K. I like your moxie, Cornfax. This biz needs more straight shooters like you. Now let me straight shooting you this: Last offer. 300 creamy cans, producer credit, flapslap on the ribs (professional, supervised) and 2.5 cornpoints on the back end.... Say yes or get the cornfuck out of my offhusk

[Colfax McLiverneck 352]

As the largest purveyor of international creamed corn futures with clients from Macau to Lagos, Toronto to Ascuncion, I have no need for your pittance of an offer. Take your "guava" (whatever that is) and insert it into your cornhole. JK give it to ME NOWWW NOM NOM NOM I want to rub it on my brittle old nipples 

 

[Pure Guava 325]

First things first the Guava you speak of is on a vacation of the mind and has brought in the brain in a jar of a curious ol' specter he once cleaned nipples from baby bottles for, 1,000 a day or he got the boot. He lasted one hour but the ol man made enough of an impression on him that the Pure Guava auto-reply bot can do enough of an impression of him that nothing could go wrong and it will be short and funny not long and weird. OK then:

 

Brittle old nipples, eh? You didn't mention the age nor the....condition of your milk nozzles....Oh yes, that is exactly what I said "milk nozzles". Yes, on purpose. Milk nozzles is of course not medically accurate due to your gender but now we play a little game called Ponder this Powder Puddle:

Question: Would they would be milk nozzles if Mother Nature wasn't such a cruel unforgiving hag that sought it fit to deny half of the human race their rightful place as owners of the white gold, the liquid silver, the life-giving platinum?

Answer: Shut up boy the grown up is talking: Yes I speak of the milk of mankind: boobie drip drops slurpy slurp.....pardon my drool pool, when the vitamin fortified baby grower, the pale oil burning in man's guts for millennia straightening his back and his as well as his...ahem....desire to pillage every village, to plunder moist crevices and become thunder, hoist nemesis into the tear-filled canyon of that stingy salt water succubus, Oh Ye gods, why place me upon yonder man milk-denier planet? Why see to it that the birthed me carried with it an accursed flappity dappity, the existence of which is my expired plates on the milk truck of life! And Mother Nature the no-nonsense man hater who drops a kilo of what appears to be cocaine to the judge, sending me to a life sentence of having a milk-free chest like some barbaric heathen barrister get his curly wig kicks from boiled oil enemas on a jaywalker EGADS MAN my imagination frightens me....calm down, me, the British Buffalo Bill is from ages too long ago for the memory echo to bubble to the surface on occasions other than your memory palace...OF HORRORS. Dearest milk Lords in the sky,  let me pay a fee, let me feel the knife's steel redemption, let me live backwards until I shimmy up sweet momma's sweet Virginia hidey-hole and let me and my blade friend, Ol' Slingsalot  rearrange me until I'm sane

You see boy, I'm dead set on getting my man chest flowing with a white gusher strike so immense my 74 years of begging deaf gods for a way to tap into the holy milk core no matter their cost physical or spiritual you can have my soul you can my soul's glow I need to borrow your nipplers if I can be so blunt, I have a lead that has me smelling that water tower of calcium juice in my sleep, I'm close I tells ya, closer than any man alive or dead has come to turning his desert teets into a white oasis. You seem confused. Let me see the noppy napple slaps you spoke of earlier, if they are as brittle and old enough to pass as a 5 star on my 5 star rating system I'll change my will before my sponge is fully squeezed. If you are just sweet talking a poor old dying milkman? Then may you be cursed to spend eternity with your lips glued on a zombie cow's fecal and bacteria sewage spurts as that toxic sludge squirts into baby dead you's half-shredded yuck lip while all the other calves next to you get Kate Upton clones for all their milk desires and all their dick milk desires once they come of age and you'll have to sit there with your impartial lips sealed to your rot cow momma so as to not miss a putrid drop of your 24/7 meal in a dead tube

 

 I will not rest until mah-mah-mah-maaaahllllkkky milllllllllkkkkkjummmmmmmsss MILK Ah yes, It seems I have flooded this office with my energetic saliva shower due to the conversation being that white soup I want to shove into where I poop-centric, you see, I have a visceral reaction that Pavlov himself would cross out due to the outlier status of my off-the-chartski-supercharged as fuck state when milk, mommy's milk, mind you, gooooosssshhhhh guuuuuuusssshhhh oh my, feeling a bit faint after that one, now where was I? Yo-you-ou best not be drinking or thinking milk from any other source than female human. Period. Milky atoms crossing my lips from a source of Nuts and beasts of the field? EGAD sinner, next you'll tell me incest porn is a mainstream hit rather than the impossible to find, backroom kill a stranger to secure the password, travel 3 months on a dusty dicked donkey to find some gold nugget swallowing master of ceremonies eager to vacuum your hard earned purse but stingy as a dead Santa Claus to let us get our hands on the present we came for to cum for. A horror show meant for freaks and billionaires back in the old times That is surprising, huh. ....cow milk? More like: How milk?   Almond milk? Allwrong Milk is what I say. Coconut milk? NoMoNut, kilt, because I'll castrate ya and make you wear a skirt to show off your new scar parts. Cashew Milk? Bash you, Quick is my answer to that inquiry. I think I'm dying of dehydration brought on by squirting out a drool pool's worth of excite-spit when milk is in my thoughts which is every 2 minutes. Bury me in a vat of breast milk and you can drive the Bentley of your choice home. I now lay down for one more tormented EARTH slumber but when I wake I shall be in utero and I swear if I see a dongle dangler down below, there isn't a hog's Meade in heaven or earth that could stop me from strangling my fetus face until I get another spin on the crystal wheel to a new belly hole home and I'll keep ropin' and mopin' until the chromosomes are of a pattern that allows me to drip my dreams from my head beams to my lips, what a trip!

 

I could go on for hours because of my hate for mimicry of man's mammalian moisture miracle knows no bounds but you know what does have bounds? My hydration levels, they seem to have passed into an area lacking enough to bring about my demise quick enough where there is only one course of action, Jack's son. 

[Colfax McLiverneck 352]

Nonsensical effluvium, complete lacking in corn. You should never have fired your editor simply for enforcing Oxford Comma Protocol.