It was just wound around his fly buttons -- no damage. He quietly goes to the bar and whispers, ANOTHER GALLON OF RED BREAST, PLEASE!!!

Outside, Ferd the Flatulent Horse is insidiously casting his spell, which creeps under doors, through keyholes, and slinks through any unplugged hole like a Maine Coon Cat. Even the smoke from the chimneys begin to back up, driven down by a heavier vapor.