GROWS LONG WHEN DIPPED IN KOOL AID

lip drooping, in resignation meets with its own jug-necked

Kool Aid/claw-held

for Pinocchio's crude, sticky nose to no longer
blow MS Paint like a crow's voice, lost in used 
panties courtesy of KFC - his sister's, in tandem, 
presumably, with flurries of obscurity - a 
cleaning cutlery with dental floss montage 
conveying despair as infectious as skinning a mime

the turd bobbing up and down on the airwaves 

and the DJ's hot cup of coffee that caught it
emblazoned (the turd, in Garamond) with the lie: 
“the perfect person moreover cares about 
the plastic trees and moldy treasure chest in 
their aquarium”