I do not own anything... and sorry for the random pervertedness. It's weird and perverted (and you have been warned).

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Longshanks was wearing a tutu. He always wanted to die looking very sexy. But he didn't know that this attire was positively nauseating. Longshanks didn't care. Then he started dancing to the cha-cha-cha, and his tutu fell off.

Longshanks was in the loo for the last time in his life. He really had to go. So he sat on the chamber pot and dropped a load. And one of his turds looked like William Wallace's head.

Longshanks was on his deathbed. He wished Hamish would get in it, and maybe his son too. Longshanks liked threesomes. A lot. He was a threesome fiend back in the day. He used to sleep with everything that moved, and even some things that didn't.

Longshanks was about to kick the bucket. He wanted to know what it felt like to kick a literal bucket, so he soiled himself and called upon the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for salvation. The turtles didn't hear Longshanks. He cried. Evil turtles.

Longshanks saw an army recruiter hiding in his wardrobe. The army recruiter introduced himself as Joan. It turned him on and reminded him that the Verizon guy was still locked in a Pizza Hut bathroom somewhere in Michigan.

Longshanks began to cough up blood, Spam, and ladies named Bill. It hurt like hell. Longshanks wanted his mummy. He remembered how his mummy always used to try to gouge his eyes out with cougar pelts every Wednesday at precisely 3:01 AM. Longshanks had a suspicion that there were unwanted chickens residing in his armpits.

Longshanks died not long after. He wanted the afterlife to be fun. Maybe full of old men in drag, maybe a chance to watch his son kiss other men behind Isabella's back. Longshanks decided that he would like the afterlife simply because there was a fascist monster tapping him on the shoulder, claiming to be Napoleon Dynamite.