Paper mache siamese twin.
Paper mache Kanye West is my siamese twin.
Paper mache, post-sex-change Kanye West gives birth to baby me (my head in a baby bonnet, emerging from a hole in his paper mache crotch).
Paper mache, post-sex-change Kanye West gives birth to baby me beneath an illuminated paper mache Aurora Borealis. Maybe a wise paper mache Eskimo medicine man stands nearby.
A wise paper mache Eskimo medicine man performs highly risky conjoined twin separation surgery on me and siamese twin paper mache Kanye West.
Newly separated paper mache siamese twin Kanye West, drunk with his newfound freedom, makes out with wise paper mache eskimo medicine man on a secluded beach getaway. I am dressed as a paparazzi, hiding in some nearby sea grass, snapping photos of the whole sordid affair.
Paper mache Kanye West, paper mache eskimo medicine man and I lie down on the beach and arrange ourselves in the shape of a pi symbol. A birds-eye satellite photo is taken of the arrangement. The photo is re-rendered as an engraving in gold. The gold engraving is placed in an airtight container on a space probe presumably destined for an inter-stellar civilization existing several million light years in the future.
In a parallel paper mache universe exactly like our own, except that everything is actually made of paper mache, the real Kanye West can't think of a Halloween costume, so he brainstorms about ornate costumes he can make with skin and bones (which are the crafting supplies of his world). Our space capsule (containing the gold engraving) from the un-paper mache world crashes through the atmosphere and lands gently at his feet.
