Here is a Meeble with a counter-point:



"Hey! You think those pheromones grow on trees? You think they just fall out of the sky?

No! I have to squeeze out every drop from my Meeble glands of gargantuan grossness, brother. Squeeze it into that sad sack instead of a hot mamma Meeble.

My hands are tired! My grossness gland is tired! I think I've got hang-claw...Assistant, time to engage in some hand-to-gland combat and help me out with this vile task!"



Thank you for both your input and...your output, Mr. Meeble. I feel both more informed and a bit sick, now.