I'd like my horror half mild, half stout, please - a slightly overweight pacifist with fangs will do fine. Also, kindly insert one of those adorable little pink umbrellas and an onion on a stick. Where is up to you.
Squirrelshades is wearing a grape (or perhaps the grape is wearing Squirrelshades... It's hard to tell from this distance), brass lederhosen, rocket-propelled clogs and an egg-proof puce and ecru corset, cut daringly low to reveal a tantalising hint of pseudopod and to allow his cupola mounted machinegun a full field of fire. Accessories (wallpaper pig-faced bascinet covered with week-old bacon lardons, Febreze and Grover Cleveland) model's own. Sensational!
Following up on this, I'm afraid we're too late, as this leaked excerpt from the screenplay of the upcoming super-collosso blockbuster, 50 Slaad of Gary, Indiana proves:
Spoiler:
Pamela, supine and immobilised, moaned softly. Owing to budgetary constraints, Mr Gurgle had been unable to truss her to a four-poster bed with silken ties and had instead blu-taked her to an ironing board, but the effect was just the same. His glacial blue eyes bored her Editor: Bored into her, you moron! FS: Oh., and a cruel smile animated his rugged, masculine features as he gazed hungrily at her, the clinging PVC Thomas the Tank Engine onesie he wore outlining every contour of his superb body.
"You've been a very naughty girl, haven't you, Pamela?", he purred. "And do you know what happens to naughty girls?"
Pammy felt an ecstatic terror arise within her, thrilling her every nerve, writhing and twisting and filling her like a noodle made of honeyed fire, up, down, forwards, backwards, port, starboard. She ran a pink tongue along her moist, full, tempting, lips, hardly daring to speak.
"Are... Are you going to starch my moo, Master?"
"Ha ha! No! Only good girls get their moos starched. No indeed - you're going to lie there, and we're both going to play F.A.T.A.L"