Aye, 'Tis a mound, but there's not a sign of Ginger.
Ginger a'plenty, but it seems like dry terrain. Mayhaps there she blows when libation flows.
Ethel? Cold Ethel?
Once our sacred Ginger Mound makes water, you'll all wish you were an otter.
There is naught worse than this,
to be drowned in ginger piss.
>BACK ME UP ASSHOLES
>Everyone here should vow to go out and cut down at least one flock camera tonight.
Move on, Fed. That's not who we are. We don't need our shotgun barrels shortened either.