It’s sagging flesh is held together by MLM wraps and caked blood from a wine and paint where it painted a bird shitting the logo from their insufferable sorority. Its failing marriage fuels the senseless documentation of mundane occurrences, vomited with unsold makeup into the blue light. It’s death will be celebrated by its abused downline and the friends and family obligated to contribute to its madness for all those years.

It is one of five total butthole gods that exist in your hometown.