Lady Macbeth's hands were always filthy because she was always putting them where they didn't belong. After trying the spiciest Italian remedies known to her people the good lady decided to buy a puppy to suckle on each of her dirty digits, giving them names like pinky for her pinky puppy and Princess for her other pinky puppy because they were the daintiest. She spent many an enchanting afternoon gallivanting around her kingdom high-fiving the court jester, using her five puppy discount at the local market and giving her servant boys the most roly poly wallop they had ever received in their short malformed lives. And of course there were downsides, but she played them off as fun: new gloves to be buy, interesting new methods for eating a sandwich and elaborate manicures to be had, but sadly her fluffy lumpkins developed a taste for imagined blood and took off on an all to real rampage, dragging their lady along for the ride. "Oh what fun!" she garbled, her mouth stuffed full of dirt as though something could have grown from it.



Sometimes it's hard being so sensitive- like when you see some guy get rocked in the nuts by a football or something small or pointy enough to really get in there- and he didn't even see it coming. He was eating a sandwich while talking on the phone; only managing to wave an x in front of his crotch before crumpling to the ground, sandwich bite held mid-mouth like like a barnacle- and you. You are having a shadenfreudegasm. Where did his manhood go? Compose yourself.

In the abdominal pocket
clipped and quivering
like a frightened doe
I hope.