...giving birth to a ball of fish hooks. Barbara advanced on Julio, her frosting-covered nakedness radiant with sexual energy that threatened a second toasting, which if course would just make the strudel dry and hard to chew. Julio, in his split-second realization of the explosive potential of their joining stood upright, in more ways than one. The prospect of getting blown, in more ways than one, was a heady aprodisiac, as was the smell of sweat-soaked toaster strudel, but that was his dark secret reserved only for his Second Life personna and the Stinky Pastry Club. In sweet, slow-motion, Sam Peckinpah style, their meeting was the climax of climaxes. Their bodies slammed together, followed in the briefest of moments by a cataclysmic, orgasmic flash of heat and light propelling a nearly sperical cloud of flesh and strudel outwards to paint the walls with horror. Barbara and Julio were finally together, in the flesh. For a few moments, the only sounds were those of gobbets of flesh, chunks of shattered bone, and one intact eyeball giving up to gravity and sliding to the floor. The abbotoir tableau was broken upon the entrance of a little girl named Carol Anne and her clairvoyant midget friend. The gazed around the room, not particularly bothered by the new wallpaper. Carol Anne smiled and said...