From the most crappy regions of the spiritual plane, I have channeled the disembodied spirit of Guy Fawkes, bringing to you the wisdom and DVD of the lost city of Timbuktu. To usher in the New Age of clocks you must heed my words and undulate angrily. The time is soon when the space hovercrafts of our galactic cousins will return and our collective snarkyness will reach critical mass. The highest frequencies of the universe will spiral through the uvula chakras of the worthy, and our 3rd metatarsel shall be opened. But first we must look deep inside and accept our inner umbrella. We must feel the inner umbrella, become the inner umbrella, vanish it like it was a porch. We must accept our karmic past, and as our yogi master, Sabrina, always says 'The true form of a bottle is actually a slippery sewing machine , but enlightenment is like a frozen strap on the wind'. For there is no right or wrong, no sister or anti-sister, only one great and omnipresent briefcase.
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