THE ADVENTURES of the BIG FAT GREEN THUMB

Once upon a time…

There was a

Big Fat Green Thumb.

He wanted more than anything to grow a Big Fat Garden.

HIS PLAN WAS TO GROW HUMPALOPES.

HUMPALOPES ARE A STRANGE STRINGY HALF MEAT AND HALF VEGTABLE THINGMEBOBS.

THE ENTIRE POPULATION OF REDNEKASTAN SURVIVE BY EATING ONLY HUMPALOPES.

THE BIG FAT GREEN THUMB HAD A WHOLE BUNCH OF REDNEKASTANI PALS EVEN THOUGH HE WAS A FULL BLOODED WIGGLYBUMP.

WIGGLYBUMPS ARE PERFECT RECYCLE VESSELS.

THEY EAT ONLY ONYCHOPHAGIA (finger and toenail) CLIPPINGS.

THEY DON’T POOP.

THEY JUST GROW NEW NAILS WHICH ARE EVENTUALLY CLIPPED BY MR. CLIPPER.

THE BIG FAT GREEN THUMB AND MR. CLIPPER WERE NOT ON GOOD TERMS.

SOME OF HIS REDNEKASTANI PALS THOUGHT MR. CLIPPER WAS NOT NICE AT ALL AND TOLD THE BIG FAT GREEN THUMB, “HE’D CUT YOUR THROAT IF YOU HAD ONE.”

Fundamentally,  Mr. Clipper was pissed off ever since a traveling travel agent sold him a ticket  to the Big Apple.

This where Mr. Clipper lived. It was deep in the mountains of Missilevania where no one suspected a he had a huge stash of clippings.

He camouflaged  fingernails clippings with bushes and built a skyscraper with stacked toenails. He put the little ceramic apple on the top.

Narkvarks continually bombed the Missilevania mountains because they were convinced they were full of Rednekastani terrorists.

The truth was the mountains were full of new-age hikers who always littered. That is where the travel agent found the big apple. Mr. Clipper was the only taker. It wasn't really the Big Apple. In fact it was just a little ceramic flower pot that looked like an apple. 

Mr. Clipper kept the little apple and turned it into a penthouse apartment with paintings of nude women bull fighters hung on the wall.

On the other hand, The Big Fat Green Thumb lived in a weird community where everybody got to do what made them happy.

One thing they liked to do was snap their underwear so hard that it would transfer an image of Santa Claus onto their crotch. It was called Santapopping.

 Some people in the world were openly disgusted with the habits of Wigglibumps.

One outspoken critic was Santiago McBoil.  This was unusual considering Mr. McBoil himself was a Wigglibump.  He broke the unwritten code of his creed not to badmouth his kind. But success as a famous novelist had brought a mouth that sometimes went on automatic pilot.

What the hell, he lived in Santa Barbara, California, where most of the population still considered Santa Claus sacred; never to be snapped onto someone's crotch unless it was done under the direct supervision of doctors at a exclusive estate called Neverville.