What on Earth could be better than a Blimfighed?

Icertainly asked the small, blue-skinned space gnome when he’d passed me the dang thing. And now, here I am, stuck with a Blimfighed and nowhere to go.

You’d like one too, huh? Your very own Blimfighed to send you on nights of ecstasy when even your conscience forgets it has a conscience—not to mention all your pleasure synapses are 300% sensitized and ready to blow at the merest breeze.

Blimfighed, Blimfighed, Blimfighed. What the hell am I going to do with this useless peice of plastic?

I mean, who wants night after night of degenerate hedonism. Nothing but pure and simple overindulgence in the things that aren’t good for us.

You’ll what? You’ll take it? Three thousand galactic credits? God bless you man, I just can’t take it any more. Take it home now, hide it. Don’t let anyone know you’re the only one on the planet with a true Blimfighed.
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Has he gone? Yes? Good.

Blimfighed, Blimfighed. What the hell will I do with…