The cat was hungry. My cruel landlord was stingy on food for the cat. The pellets had run out, and it was yet another day until he could use his seniors discount at Food Barn to get a bag. Still, the cat howled. It ran between your legs when you climb the stairs. I was determined to convert the cat to Buddhism. How could a vicious swamp critter like a cat take to the practice?
There are terrible pictures coming out of Huntingdon Beach, California. A horrible disaster has happened. I choked on my lunch, and sprayed carrot juice out of my nose. Now that I have recovered I could only ask others if they could do something, anything, to help save the planet. The planet is dying. THE PLANET IS DYING.
There is nothing you can do. You are doomed. Your next mug of Vodka is your last. Your rotting corpse will stain your leather sofa, even as your house pets feast upon your flesh.
Your one hope, dim, far away, is that a telemarketer will call to solicit funds for a rescue attempt. Please ring, telephone! You have your credit cards ready.
I have issued a Directive to the Fenris Badwulf Telemarketing School of Excellence to unleash the full force of Hungry Sales Wolves upon the planet Earth. Only your money, in my hands, can save the planet.
Give me your money.
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.
