They Don't Want To

The welfare elite created any financial "mess". They should pay for it. They should pay. They don't want to.
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Stiel Proboscis, the old is still old even if it is a repeat self-starter, is smile-errific and shiny as he tells bedtime stories. The kiddies think his fantastical tails are grand. His tales are grand too. For instance, last time . . .
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The audience collectively held it's breath. Stiel Proboscis was about to pull the curtain and yank the rug. He was going to reveal something about himself and the audience in the process. Was everyone ready? Were they really ready to know the pastor of their pasture, the grand puppetmaster of all things laborious and human? Were they ready to learn they were puppets instead of People? Was he? He started to talk fast. Psych, psych, psych-psych.
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Sugar cane is not mutated corn, no matter what the screen says. Dear Whatever you call yourself now, What has your poison done to the bats & bees & corn & US?