Thousand: Eight Hundred Twenty-One

It’s, um, here on the bottle, it says, For Mild Megalomania. Break stick under nose. If symptoms persist and so on. Let me see that. Hmf. How much they rip you off for this junk? Would you like to read a public service announcement? Does it involve the selling of dwarves? Let me see, um, no, no in fact, it doesn’t. Does it involve the flaying of owls? Owls? Does it involve the eruption of pus? I take it, you’d rather not. I’d rather be hung by a rope liquorice over a boiling vat of strawberry syrup. With whipped cream