Lorax Shot In The Thorax
DAMASCUS, Syria—
At the far end of Damascus where blood rivers run red and the streets are all filled with remains of the dead, once lived the Lorax.
The Lorax was peaceful, performing his trade. From truffula trees woven baskets he made.
Life had been quiet until one Arab Spring, when violence and chaos a revolution did bring. The streets that were lined with fig trees and palms now were all filled with bullets and bombs.
The Whos down in Whoville were crying ‘Boo-hoo,’ for Assad had used sarin and gassed their whole crew. They waited on help for a red line had been crossed, but help never showed and the Lorax felt lost. He knew Whoville was the next holocaust.
The Lorax, he knew he must flee this place. “I must go at once, Quickly, make haste.”
He ran to his friend, the Cat in the Hat, and begged him to come before their town was bombed flat.
"We could flee to the east to the Islamic State," said the Cat in the Hat making the Lorax irate.
"No, fuck those guys and their whole caliphate. I'd …
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