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Mr. Cory Sinsour Mortidor could never set his iris-soul on his youngest son Jork Jr., namly ‘June’ as pertaining to the grim and ill-welcomed presence of the late Mr. Jork Succler Mortidor Sr. (his appearance also jabbed the spheresockets of Mr. Cory) who for eons lay rotting in a parlous living grave sand-castled out of a dimly lit 3rd story sickbed, a room stenching of vomit-drenched rags and uncleaned diapers, reeking of his Grandson’s uncanny resemblance to the feverish neurosis of the oldman installment which functioning as a medical statue for the hands of shaking pissy students to take notes on has taken on cyber mythological relevance via ancient memology c. 2028. Jork having inherited the rare extreme osteoporosis his Grandfather had succumbed to, genetically hopscotching generations, leaving Mr. Cory with little to no side-effect mutations (save a bald spot on his face), exhibited a fateful misfortune so ugly and eyesore, so deepfried, so dank, its absolute catego