Josh calls out for aid, "FEEDIN' TIME!"
Chantal races to his side on all fours like a bear freshly roused from slumber with gutlust.
Looking Zombie Frank Sinatra dead in his dead eyes, Josh unzips his pants and pulls out his modestly average penis. Already rock solid from the sight of Chantal's voluminous size, he retrieves a vile from his trench coat pocket. An uncontrollable laughter takes him as he uncorks the tube and lays a line of cocaine on his uncut Ashkenazi cock.
"Now you will know your second-death." He beams.
Chantal instinctively grinds her nose along the beastmaster's member, just as Tony Hawk would 50/50 a handicap ramp handrail. Her eyes bulge, nostrils flair... it's feeding time.
Before Josh could finish spilling his watery load upon the ground Sinatra was no more.
As the duo walked away, Josh bit into a bell pepper with a crisp, tactile crunch.
"C'mon 'Tal, les get yuns to the ER."
FIN