touchy-feely uncle of shared visualizations

The President’s daughter couldn’t handle the semi-automatic and shot a sink.

The associate professor-slash-cannibal cooked and fed the pedophiliac cricket

coach to the boy courting his lesbian daughter. The snakes took the submarine

before they traveled by the plane or the train; they bite well under pressure.

The Bangladeshi gentlemen were too tall for the crematorium. The boy hid the

brass knuckles in the toilet and washed his hands of the blood. The wallaby had

a cow yelling at the cow to push the button to return to Earth. A retired wrestler

named Ox gave a cooking lesson to the documentarian, while a wrestler named

Tito sat in a chair in his wife’s hair salon and lamented that he and his friend

Ricky Steamboat never got to be the villains. The key to the fake tears at the

Shakespeare competition was Vicks VapoRub. The psychologist dropped his

black-and-white television into a lake for the benefit of his children’s nutrition;

his wife found solace on the treadmill. The town drunkard knew whiskey and

Iowa, not his name or the nature of his crime. A ceramic, single-serving supper

bowl called a ramekin held the Brooklyn girl captive in her dead grandmother’s

apartment on the Upper West Side. The teller didn’t mind being robbed by a guy

wearing a Condoleezza Rice mask. The ringmaster told his 688 followers to tear

off the duct tape and set themselves free. The scorekeeper dried his hands on the

neighbor’s wife’s pantyhose, explained why he ate Aboriginal newborns to spare

them absentee fathers, and ran his fingers around the rim of the crystal goblet.

Krampus went skiing. Ben Affleck doesn’t care about the fucking donkey.