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What a magically enchanting log, one that so lovingly and poignantly slidds to the very depths of one's lungs, thus filling them with his sublime love and endearing rapture, so much so that most will feel beautifully and sweetly transmogrified, and poetically mesmerized. For this splendid and magnificent log often has that effect upon people, made all the more enthralling and unforgettable by the mere presence of Andy's breathtaking anus, unfolding, as it does, with sweat and shit, and ripening, as it does, into sheer, luminescent Greatness. What ethereal joy does this log bring about, this log that is as glittering, slidding, elevated and thoroughly fulfilling as any that I have ever felt and experienced, thus filling me with exquisite wonder and awe. Ah, the words that Shakespeare would pen in genuine honor and praise of this sparkling and euphorically spectacular shit, this poo that dazzles and inspires, and often causes one to have a nice, gentle and rejuvenating out of body experience (as I have). Though all of this begs the question, which is--would Shakespeare even be able to dig up and gorgeously apply, with his characteristic eloquence and uninhibited flow of poetic grace, the right and proper words to do sufficient justice to this utterly captivating and spellbinding log of shit?? Only the highest of high and loftiest of lofty powers could ever hope to answer such a profoundly fascinating, surprisingly relevant and deeply awe inspiring question, that is, if such a question could ever be answered (esoteric as it does seem). I now feel as one with the Gods, attaining this level of sublime wisdom and learning that comes with sucking down Andy Sixx's log of shit, in all its glimmering and shimmering magnificence, at least 50 times over, at different and spaced out intervals all throughout the intervening 29 years.
