Tyrone's mother was Michael Jackson's ½ step-cousin & looked just like LaToya, ½ like Rebbie & ¼ like Janet. She had musical, as well as architectural, talent. Her thumbs were made for strumming banjos and her legs were dreams come true. Her ******* *** was prettier than our cold moon was when Neil Armstrong sat on it. She had wilderness ******* that no bra dare tame & a heart of pure gold that leaked. Tyrone's little ½ bro' Myrone (he was a ½ bro' because of dwarfism) was no perfect stranger to militarized police action. Full prisons equal excellent policing. Everyone was down with that. Myrone couldn't reach the ****** with any part of himself without Tyrone's gentle-lifting action. Now Myrone was eye-to-eye with the porcelain receptacle. "Well?" Tyrone asked. "Well what?" Myrone replied. "I can't hold you up for long," Tyrone declared. "True," Myrone opined, "and I can't take a dump from this trajectory too good neither."