2019-10-29 at 2:25 AM UTC
Harold was a burly man whose fleece was white as frozen cumrags. He had a lot of actual frozen cumrags, but they had bear cum. The family dog, Bear, was missing after attacking a group of Boy Scouts who had wandered into the basement where a sharp series of barks revealed an exotic sex ring orchestrated by none other than Mr. Snackass, the local town shaman. Not only was he the last person anybody would suspect, he was the first person nobody suspected.
Harold left in his olive green Ford F150 to search for Bear, who he suspected hadn't gone far. The scent of cum led Harold immediately to the nearby graveyard. Fog had settled over the entirety of the boneyard, and the nightshade fairies were articulating a macabre, inaudible harmony synonymous with the cries of puppies squished beneath a boot.
Harold stepped foot upon the mangled pups, and ventured towards the coven of sprites hypnotized. His mind swam with thoughts of sugar plums, although he preferred sugar free plums. Suddenly, a peculiar cackle echoed through the empty cemetery. A hand with no body attached to it slowly walked down the path towards Harold. He shouted, "BEGONE, HAND! AWAY FROM ME!!" But the hand did not waver, now darting forward faster than ever towards his throbbing palm. "Harold, seriously, please." His
