"Hello, hello. Today I've been enjoying the pleasures of nettles."Salad Fingers said petting a twig of nettles. His hand had bumpy red sores on his 3 green long fingers. He walked a bit through the forest and came across a baby carriage. Though this he did not know.
"Oh, what is this rather queer looking contraption?? You can be called..uh..Nettle Carrier."He stated and placed the twig of nettles into the carrier.
"There you go."He cooed to the nettles. Salad Fingers strolled off through the forest to his house pushing the nettle carrier home.
From within the forest the angry BBQer named Harry*** looked upon the scene of nettle loving and he growled out of his disgusting mouth, connected to his misshapen head and his right eye bulged to an enormous shocking state. He ran after Salad Fingers. Finding a dark cabin in an opening he roared and charged. Harry*** peeked inside through the broken window.
Salad Fingers sat in his dark cabin in the corner without his shirt on. He had the nettles in his hand and he brought it up to his exposed nipple and rubbed. He let out a squeal of pleasure. His irritated nipple turned red instantly and a drop of milk squeezed out.
"Oh, It seems nettles have made the milk drop out from inside my teat."He exlaimed.
Harry*** yelled furiously and his right eye bulged even more red veins spidering his orb. He banged his head, for he had no arms, against the door hard.
Inside Salad Fingers petted the nettles once more.
"The nettles make me think happy times."He sighed and his memories led to a time where he sat with his friend under a hairdryer. "Oh, bubble trumps!"He giggled.
Harry*** had beaten his forhead raw and he died outside the door.
Salad Fingers opened the door and discovered Harry***'s corpse.
"Oh, hello. You've picked a rather late hour to be visiting me. Have you got a name?" Salad Fingers greeted. Harry*** did not move or talk. "I think you're called Milford Cubicle. Why don't you come in. You can have a sit down and rest those weary legs."
Harry*** did not move or talk. "I can give you a hand if you are feeling fatigued." Salad Fingers grabbed onto one of Harry***'s legs and pulled him inside. Harry*** left a trail of blood on the ground from the huge chunk beaten in his head.
Salad Fingers placed Harry*** on a hook protruding from the wall.
"Milford Cubicle, is that comfortable?" He asked. Harry*** did not move or talk. Salad Fingers played his flute a wonderful cheerful jig. "I say, would you like a warm glass of milk Milford Cubicle?"