I was in a grunge band called Infinite Chain of Parasitic Elephants. We owned about 200 pairs of torn jeans, our instruments, and nothing else.

Oh wait I figured it out. If the hosts get smaller the lower you go, that means that eventually the hosts would be so small that there could be only one. And now I'm torn between saying: "and it's your penis, Tiny Tim." Or: "and it's my dick so everybody needs to get off it."

Could also speculate that Occam's Razor would point to the likelihood of the smaller things actually being on the "top" and our perspective being flipped, because it's unlikely that a single tiny penis, yours or mine either one, could support the mass of existence.

But then again, you did nail my mother last night- and she's so fat, when you got her off she came chocolate syrup.

You guys fell in love, though, you and my mom - but she's so fat, that when y'all did so, you broke it.

You gashed your arm on the shards of it and started gushing blood; she cut her leg and got gravy all over the sheets.

I thought she stole your shoes, because she left the house that I live in the basement of in high heels- but when I picked her up from the vet's office after that whole ordeal, she was wearing thong sandals.

By the way- I'm billing you for the cleaning of my bed, the kitchen, the hot tub, Lake Michigan, and also the crane rentals to and from the hospital.

She said she'd like to see you again tho.