Okay, Dwight... back 'er up real slow, then go ahead an' hit them hydraulics an' dump the whole load right here next tuh th' fence. That'll do 'er right there, Dwight. Thanks. POOMF! Whut kind'a fertilizer is this, Boss? It don't smell like th' regular manure we been usin'. Ain't fertilizer... it's cocoa powder. I'm makin' up a mess'a white mousse-filled chocolate boxes as a treat for you boys. Those sound real purty. All us hired hands shore do like them fancy dee-zurts'a yours.
This is absurd. It's past 3 a.m. and I still don't feel the least bit sleepy yet. SCREEEAGHK!! Apparently neither does that dog-sized spider creature with a talking goat's head that I lock down in the basement earlier.