You Lost That Slugging Feelin'
Harry Leonard Mollusk was a slug of simple routine.
He would awaken every night at around 8:30 PM, crawl from his nest of elaborate rooting and begin to feed on worn, tired plants that usually lay on the outskirts of the modest garden he and his Gastropod homies were briefly inhabiting.
In his small and insignificant existence, the larger possibilities of life, the universe and everything were of little concern to him. They would cross his tiny mind from time to time though he usually ignored them in the name of the day-to-day (as modest slugs do). Thus, it followed, that the concepts of alternate dimensions and colorful horses were but an improbable phantasmagoria as far as ole Leonard Mollusk the Harry saw things, or, indeed, refused to see things.
No, there were much more important matters to deal with. Namely, what the fuck was he going to do about his slowly dissolving body?
"AYEURAYEURHAYEUUUUURHH--AHHHHHHH!" The cursed rays of sunlight beat down upon his soft, repugnant foot, his moist flesh sizzling and shrinking under the relentless heat.
"MORRISSEEYYY, HELP ME, I'M FUCKING MELTING!", His tender flesh peeled away as he attempted to move, sticking to the coarse asphalt, chafing and chipping at his mobility. Soon enough, his outerskin began to unpeel completely, sliding off of him like a coat of hot wax.
"Oh... Oh... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWNOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!"
