I cant be the only one who sees this corpse flower and feels like Frankenstein is about to cum alive in my pants. Im sitting here wondering if ole Mr. Wilson was really just a freak in the sheets who loved a little old fashioned pegging when he wasnt getting Asprin loads shot down his throat via a slingshot and a skilled sniper with baseball cards on his spokes. Fill my cup with a fresh helping of beans and let me watch this corpse flower by the fireside underneath the train tracks with a vagabond and Id be a happy man with a spank bank as full as Jane and Micheal's dad in the cinematic adventure known as Mary Poppins. Now, pish posh. We have some other things to attend to. Cant be spending all day with our minds in the gutter can we?