A Sunday night collective composition...

Ryan was walking through an industrial wasteland one day;
Ryan smells like poo on his birthday.
My generation's freedom, doomed to memory by the red haze of irony,
When suddenly the dog sneezed and fell asleep.
The volcano erupts, the stegasaurus gives birth, the caveman claims his mate.
Time goes slowly, so slowly, and I get tired.
But it was ok; he had some Kleenex left over from last night.
Pro-facedly, the hobbit tried to hide the smell and pull out his
Hand your pride over to my alcoholic keeping like so much cheap whiskey.
The funny thing is that dogs never drink whiskey.
But the flowers wilted due to the inconsistent watering regime.
Gingerly he sauntered across the room,
The heels digging into his supple flesh.
The moist oven ready loaf fell into her lap, and she screamed.
Meanwhile... the lights turned on bright and red and the fairies drew their
Wands like flowers, which surprised us, to find
That the rector we knew and trusted, was actually, all this time,
A camel. Unfortunately, the camel stooped down and puked.
This is why both sets of parents refused to attend the wedding ceremony.
A year later, he stared into the sunset,
Lamenting his lost innocence and questioning the location of his underwear.