pipes are your friends

...Here's a skull now; this noder has lain in the gel
three and twenty days.

Whose was it?

A whoreson mad noder's it was: whose do you think it was?

Nay, I know not.

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a' poured a
flood of assmilk on the New Writeups once. This same skull,
sir, was lamer's skull, the thing's self-proclaimed jester.

This?

E'en that.

Let me see.

Takes the skull

Alas, poor lamer! I knew he'd node fellatio: a fellow
of infantile jest, of most excremental fancy: he hath
bored me to my back a thousand times; and still, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! my borg gummed at
it. Here hung those lips that I'd have kicked I know
not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs?
your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the catbox on a roar?
Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
COCK!