Draper Dildo

Since it can't be stapled down, Donald Draper throws trojan starterghost – aka afterbirth – afoul of the unphysical doll. Menstruation retards beauty in crude home videos. We're sharing everything nailed – composite retro prosthetics, petrified fu manchu, greasy finger marks. Taking a shit at work half asleep restricts movement of the ass-face's evergreen lead head, as if the end of the stepladder Draper falls off of, numbed raking windows, in the nightmare intro, casually and eerily suddenly only halfway puckers, but further jet-propelling dream-sequences ... An exotic dildo impersonates a stiff mechanism of some sort, which doesn't have a face. Mothman shrink-wraps moth dust then romances it, moth dandruff, farming the shit until it short-circuits. Dust most easily falling off of halloween plants, in confusing reflections, and off of anything else I, Betty Bumfuck, can humanly think of. The Mogwai has to be moved around a lot before slotting in, but Wilhelm-screams like a girl, which is hot? I suppose? Teases him (and me?) like double-sided adhesive tape, vacant waffle, bulb cramp, diarrhea puddles in teethmarks, a toxin.