The Godfather

I got an email from the Godfather himself:

From the stretched out sphincter of Ass-happy Anthony's anus arose an audacious -- albeit atrocious -- assemblage: an amazing artwork.  Call it an eel, a snake, a walking stick... scratch that. Call it the Godfather. It was actually the initial poop that perpetuated this priceless pooping proposition that pulls participants to ponder the possibilities of the depths of the porcelain ocean.  

Damnit, Anthony, gotta stop you here. Enough alliteration.  This was the first poop that passed through the cellular airwaves and started the deucing duels.  Well created, Ass-Happy Anthony.  Took you long enough to resend it to me.


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