The Caboodle's reign of terror on the fragile soil of our psyche has reached the limit of the population's tolerance. Something must be constroodled.
Slowly the shiny shinyness of their appealing clasp mechanism has drawn victims in to its grasp against their will, so that before a problem was diagnosed it has become irreveraboodled.
Each little compartment, just waiting to be filled with the necessities of a girls' night out in the neatly organized fashion of a fascist-communist dictator (who smokes and kills babies and also smokes around babies who he or she doesn't kill) is a portal to the awe-inspiring dimension of caboodledom.
Something must be constroodled.
I urge you fellow citizen, don't be wooed by the plethora of personalized colors and styles, follow your heart and resist the tempoodle.
Or else we'll all be destroodled.
current mood: confoodled
