two foot long plastic candy canes hide in ambush over your head. barber pole stripes
in lucky charm secondary colors
lick lips, plot to stir you up like a tornado lamp
. but you gotta ask for it, pull and chew on the end til its all damp with head juice
, and then it clogs and crusts over immediately, pluggd up in hypus interruptus.
stories of 200-pacs devoured by vanloads of ravers are told in hushed tones to gaggles of the little paper straw versions.
accept no substitoots.
singular: "pixy stik."