Wait! Is that a fat lady I hear? Clearing her fat, fatty, fat-fat throat? Getting ready to sing, most fattily indeed?
No. NO! It isn’t! Not yet, buster man! This ballgame ain’t been called! Bite your damn tongue.
MALLAHNDS! MALLAHANDS! MALLAHANDS!
Excuse me, please. I do get so worked up.
MALLAHANDS!
Anyhoo—let me tell you something. It was amazing—electrifying! Transformative!—being so close to The Man that is Mallahands last night at his chic, sexy Election Night Party. He's as sweet as pickle pie! As cute as a bug’s button! As articulate as a Baldwin! As charismatic as some really charismatic thing! And up close and personal, he proved almost every little word I’ve ever said about him. Look! LOOK!
Mmmm. Soft, soft, Mallahands! Point us to that future! POINT!

More, more, MORE, after the jump.
Whoops…he did it again…

Toot-toot!

Also, he sucks the brains of the living.

I never really mentioned that before, but we all suspected as much. Didn't we.
MALLAHANDS! MALLAHANDS! MALLAHANDS…
(All photos by the ilustrious Miss Kelly O.)
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