I recently decided to experiment with an alternative route of ingesting
each nostril in my cage. With a sip of my beverages, I felt a warm,
glowing ball of energy around my genital area, guys. The content of my
emission seemed somewhat choppy, but there was an overall-wearing,
futuristic, non-human, bizarre creature traveling up my spinal cord and
my limbs were flailing about and my body was jerking around
uncontrollably all over my bed. My breathing became rapid and shallow,
my head was whipping back and forth from side to side, and I held on
for dear life, hoping that I could get back to writing my letter.
I can't, but I send you my tee-shaarts.
Dear Guys! (Especially Cold and Insensitive Eiji)
you want to sex friend? I love making love with my husband.You have a big penis?
How I envy you!I love orgazm.spell ok?
I watched porno video English man and
woman in my Australian
boy friend's home in Tokyo.He is good at sex.His kiss is
very sweet kiss.Y
our kiss is good?
I like eat my husband's penis.good taste.this is joke.a ha
ha.You played sex with Japanese girl?Almost Japanese girls say iku iku iku .iku
is crimax.very impordant time.
very good time.Do u understand? Have u ever seen
Japanese porno video
? Japanese girl's bust is small I think.Do u think so? You want to eat Japanese
girl's bust?? I think you have
many Japanese girl friends.Their nude is good?
My Australian friend's sex tecnic is very safety.so I say iku iku iku iku again
he has romantic
kisses.many kisses.xxx xxx he likes kiss.xxx
You are my white Isis, i tell you things. You love to hear it. Each word that comes from my mouth is like poetry...errr...pottery.
I said something once to you that i think it was misunderstood, dont you remember? It was a full moon we sat out by the promenade, toasting vintage wine from my extensive collection. The lulling roar of the nearby ocean was our seranade and the soft cooing of the nearby nest of woodchucks rippled through your hair. It was a breathtaking moment.
Then, stupidly, I asked: "BUY MY INSURANCE!"
Its a mistake I often make and am now left to stew in the shower of my discontent. Please realize it was just a misunderstanding. I wouldnt force it on you, but you have to realize, every sign you made just made me think you wanted it. If you didnt, then why did you lead me on? Your suggestive clothes, flirtatious eyeing, the way you giggled at my numerous witticisms, they all said to me: "i want a double indemnity non waivable policy covering accidental loss of life or limb due to fire, earthquake, and pirate pillaging." How was I to know you were thinking of something else. You think that wine grows on trees, bitch? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? BUY MY FUCKING INSUARANCE!
There I go again, im sorry, i sometimes lose control. Its just that, as a child, my parents were uninsured, and I vowed to be something other than them when I grew up. It hurts me to see someone as dynamic and virtuous as you go without being insured. I would hate to lose you over what seems like an irreconcilable difference. But if it doesnt work, can we at least be friends?
I think it all started with the foul-tasting space todds. (Well, it
really started with the panoramic x-ray, but that's boring: ﾔJust bite
down on this, hold onto these, breathe in, and swallow...') By the time
they asked me if I wanted the tiny bone protusions, it was already
difficult to squeak due to rubbery lips and tongue. I was reluctant,
but decided to give it a try.
Besides, there is a 3-7 day incubation period before the (pocket-sized)
eijimko would seem obviously ill and crawl from their feeder tanks.
Lying face-down on the operating block, they strapped a tube over my
nose, and I felt panic as they came close to my mouth for a while until
the world was miserabible again. Fading vision was replaced by a
feeling of flapping, flingling and slight amputation of arms and legs,
and a loud thumping-plopping-crushing noise which soon the weensy
eijimko faded away or I learned to ignore them. I then spent almost the
entire time of surgery planning how I would describe the source of the
delicate intestinal cells (the rapidly dividing area at the foot of the
brain), called the "Crypts of Liemamkuhn." It is right at the crypt
where the parvoeijimvirus strikes. The virus enters the body through
the mouth as the eijim cleans itself or eats food off the ground or
floor. A minuscule amount of infected stool is all it takes!
At some point the surgeon removed my spine. I never noticed... it must
have been easy, so I may have missed it in the much more complex
process of smashing my mouth to bits with hammers, drills, and levers.
Whenever I smelled burning enamel or heard the sharp CRACK of another
chunk being pried off, I thought 'I sure am glad I opted for the
gigantic PUP puppingﾕ. This wouldn't have hurt much, but it would have
scared the heck out of me. As it is, I just don't care! The surgeon
frequently made requests... open wider... turn your eijim this way...
that way... The tiny eijim seemed to drift into my consciousness from a
distance, and though I was intellectually aware that they were right
there, it didn't feel that way. I wondered what would happen if I
refused to obey-- would he think if I bit down on the drill-- but I
After a couple of days of the operation, so much eijimvirus had been
produced that significant amounts of eggs were released free into my
bloodstream. Over the next 3-4 days, when the human puppies were born,
they were completely unable to make antibodies against any infectious
invaders!!! They were totally unprotected except for a special milk for
the first day or two after I gave birth. This milk is called
"colostrum." It contains all the antibodies that the mother man-dog has
circulating in its own body and in this way, I gave the immune
experience to its off-spring.
After about a week, it took at least 20 minutes after being
disconnected from the block (and I felt a definite pang of regret when
they took the tube off my nose... is it over ALREADY?) before I felt
like I was mostly free of bone and tissue. Some of that may have been
the influence of the manesthetics, though, which took over three hours
to wear off completely. As I mentioned before, I tried to keep careful
track of time, mostly to prove that I could. To my great regret, I
forgot to ask in advance if I could keep the extracted puppies, and
they were medical waste by the time I got around to it. Maybe they'll
wash up on the New York coast sometime soon.
i'm out of phone contacto today, so please send all important info
regarding tonight's dinnercommittee possibility by electronic brain
Mr. Wool Schall
A wet and laughing head? A size seven snowball up my grandmoth's butt that girl you couldnt drive a truck through. A rotating wing that would taste nice in a wingmash soup or souffle. I have been trying to spell the word "Gurney" all day.
It is evidently the thing they take you down the hospital screaming and farting off into the O.R. They think I dont't understand'd words transformed into acronyms...as if I am some child of Lightning Jack Crawkins, or Petey the Patsy Thumb Cottontail Humpty Dumpty. The girniy is gliding down the corridor at top speed. I have just been given an orange soda and a rueben for good behavior. I am humping the reuben where the bread was sliced (that taken from the bile bible) My nails are clean and my birth canal shines like a ripe monkey backside at the zoo uh-
And I have been given this pint sized pea brain of a gelatinous fucker's old rotating hand pump! A sloppy ass excuse for "That car's full, dear, let's ride with the Republicans," and I fucking bought it. Which is, naturally the worst part. I am a sorry ass excuse for someone who that he had even the slightest smidgen of reason. Now it must be replaced. They flew one in from Malden but it was too big for the gap. Then the gap grew when Nirse Ferney tossed her cakes I spanked her ass walking time was a standstill doctor lawyer butcher turned scowled my direction no slap back mr. said I need attention Firniy on a handstand slqapping squelchers hand me downs for a chance at regeneration? Yes. Gurniy.
Wow, sexy lady! Have you heard the news? Theres a new bible, just for us teens! It looks like a flashy magazine, but actually has all the fun of reading the bible, with an extra helping of dogma! Lets quiz!
1. You spend your evenings:
A. On the phone with your girlfriends, chatting exclusively about your latest flame.
B. Hanging out with your family.
C. With friends, always with friends, looking for the guys.
D. Calling your crush and hanging up.
2. How far would you go to spot your crush?
A. Be sure to take the long route to class, checking out his locker.
B. Drive the long way home from school, past his house or football practice.
C. Buy tickets to a concert you know he's gonna be at.
D. Not much, maybe just sit at his table at lunch.
3. How many times have you looked at wedding magazines in the last year?
A. Less than 3.
D. More than 15.
4. Have you practiced writing your name with his before?
5. Have you prayed for him?
A. Yes, on my own.
B. Yes, at a small group.
1. A=5, B=0, C=2, D=4.
2. A=2, B=5, C=3, D=0.
3. A=1, B=2, C=3, D=4.
4. A=5, B=0.
5. A=3, B=5, C=0.
If you scored between 17 and 24, you are totally crushed out!
Chill out, girl. God's gonna provide a man when the time is right. No need to become a stalker. Check your priorities.
If you scored between 10 and 16, you are boy-crazy! Okay, you're a little boy-crazy, but not abnormal. Still, you might want to get in the Scripture and refocus on God.
Remember all your fulfillment is in Him.
If you scored between 0 and 9, you are level headed!
Right on. You're not carried away about guys. Sounds like you've got your priorities in order!
OMG! LOL! Im so totally crushed out! like to the MAX! I cant wait for god to give me a man to make decisions for me!
Holy shit, people are fucking stupid.
p.s. Eiji doesnt write email because he is too busy going home and doing the jack-off with his fag-bitches.
my mind vis my master.
Hi again Bincetti-o!
OK Bincetti-o, I need to tell you - Everything today seems lost and tobacco just began to taste bitter. I gave up smoking when I realized this, Bincetti-o.
Now, I have always been an 'alternative' tobacco fan. I never really thought of myself as a smoker, since I was not compulsive, so I never bought one standard cigarette. I would always get a new brand each time I tried whuffing them in my hoophole, everything from bidis to Regis (unfiltered oval-shaped Turkish cigarettes). Enough about that though.
One day after I had quit, as I passed my tobacconist, I noticed in his window little 'snucked' boxes. Firing up my web mower, I realized that there is a downright mearth of information about this on the web. The skinny is, if you do not know, it is finely powdered tobaccono that is ingested nasally.
That's right, you snort the damn shit, guys. The fact that it is a legal substance SPECIFICALLY ENGINEERED!!!! to be put up your nose was enough to sell me.
I bought some of the stuff and, it being the first substance I have ever railed, tried only a pinch of it. Since I know no other japanese snuffer and am thus isolated from the japanese snuffer sub-culture, I gather (but am not sure) that this shit hurt! But once my black eyes stopped running with blood ten seconds later, I noticed that it felt like I had smoked five cigarettes in the duration of a few seconds. Cool!!!!
The punchline: Mama's sexu hurts, but only the first few times you do it. Actually, I'm lying, I tried several brands and one or two are really harshed and felt like the first time all over again, but that wore off too. Also worth noting is that it makes you snot BROWN for the next hour. This is not necessarily a disadvantage! Come on, doesn't the twelve-your old in you want to have brown mucus? Seriously though, if you blow your nose a few minutes after you do it, the tissue will be brown but you will have expelled the bad shit and it will not come back later to haunt you.
Okay, so here is the experience:
One night I decided to try a line of snuck. I cut it up just like I had seen in the movies, rolled a clean twenty, and snuffed it!!!!!!!! Fuck! That hurt like a bitch! But ten seconds later, I felt like my vision was OH SO CLEAR. Also, my tactile sensation was greatly heightened, like a mild MAMA feeling.
I now do lines every once in a while, but mostly just do a pinch three or four times a day.
I highly recommend you try this stuff, Bincetti-o. Of course, it looks totally sketch if you do it in public. On the other hand, if you go to a sketchy party and break out with it, everyone wants to try it and you instantly have a (albeit strange) pick-up line. So the verdict is: Go get it! Fun, fun, fun. And legal too. You can piss off your smoker friends by doing it in the middle of meals in non-smoking restaurants while they are sweating the wait to go outside and get their fix.
Hello vynnies, i am morotomidesu. it is many times presently that my penis was proved to be too difficult for your massive women anyus. Why such shitty day? New day is gift for me and morotomiFs of lower uzbekikatta. Thank you my lyrics:
tupac, fauxpac, six pac abdallamuhulla
i holla you holla,
I know you tried to make me pregenant, but i am too young to commit to you vynnies, it is a difficult trifle, tribecca, truffle.
It was a long time from before then, where my life grew togther, i played on stage through the arctic nights and there was so much suffering between the little peopl. why is it that we all suffer but want to ye toggether like the jonestowen posse.
i am immigrant stew, 1 part immigrant, 2 parts immigrant stew mix. stew is short for stuart.
The guy from australia can not be trusted. especially on beaches.
thank you my poem,
i know life is insensitive, but you have friend in morontomif.
Once again you disappoint me, your consistent deference to the liberal media and snide America bashing may get help you get your digs in with your bullying european cronies, but communist propaganda like the guardian will not win you over with a traditionalist like myself. You should have learned long ago, that while I am strongly adverse to long semi-coherent political tirades, I find nothing more interesting than a fair and balanced discussion on a topic dear to my (and my fellow neo-conservatives), hearts: education, and our children, the future.
While Americas foreign policy is often the subject of debate, can you honestly say the world would be better off if we were still ruled by crumpet-stuffing, pasty-faced, cricket-wanking British? Only God knows, and perhaps Gene Ray. However, you left-wing liberal pundits will never rest until we morally superior, god-fearing, woman-enabling, homo-purifying, non-hypocrites are illegally ousted from our divine right to rule. While our more brilliant commentators, like Rush Limbaugh have their work cut out for them, being given the unfair burden to defend the magnanimous president George W. Bush. With such a great man as our president, and the product of Anderton, Yale and Harvard, how can you possibly think the educational system is one that produces children of substandard intelligence, fear and conformity. Why even just today the news is telling of Bush's success in his pledges to reduce government, and finally an explanation of the WMDs.
I suppose one who is decended from a history of european facism, like yourself would probably choose illiterate trailer trash, like Bill Clinton, who clearly was a benefactor of your bleeding heart affirmative action. Once again I must proclaim that I find your forwards to be an affront, and an intellectually lazy analogue of plagiarism.
While I am thankful the more tasteful elders of this society are still in charge, I fear that your homosexual recruiting camps may overtake our great police state. When you learn to appreciate your roots, is when true progress can be made. Everyone would just be happier if they acted like white people.
I hope in the end, your sophistry, and blind eyes get you run down by an israeli tank.
Best wishes, wanna be activist trash,
The Progressive Society for Peoples of Substandard Education.
O finally EIJIM!!!
I can't believe this --- wrote me back and when you did i just wished
that my maiming, blogging, tool would work! Today, I'm surprised that
I didn't spontaneously explode before losing my virginity when i readd
it, Eiji. If I had any inkling that it might even involve my
genitalensia, I wanted it. I wanted it bad. I wanted it so bad that
when i got your mnails I dug a hole in my neighbor's back yard.
I continued happily digging for several days, never stoopping to
consider such minor lhogistical issues as who I would have sex with. I
don't know who even named it 'mammells insezarian' with the notorious
scratching and burrouwing nailsdigging and beating our back legs
against the ground.
I do know that I argued with all of me that it was the finest idea we'd
encountered in our short life: an underground lair where we could take
couches and beds, and these couches and beds would be made of dirt and
i'd hump. I would store Playboys smuggled fro+change of subject+ my
SWEET 300th bday's coming up just monDAY!!. i don't expect to really
have much of a bday. and i don't expect gifts from friends - no
offense, it's just that amy h is the only friend of mine who has ever
remembered my bday before so i don't expect anyone to this year either.
plus, i don't want ppl to spend money on someone who doesn't deserve
it. i might get gifts from my memaw. ... i think I'm my Mom's favorite,
but she doesn't like me to talk like that. She's so afraid the others
will get their feelings hurt! ... ANYWAYS! I have a really great Mom
who scratched and dug for a few days when the mammells insezarian
became substantial. One of us decided that there had to be a logical
end to our frantic digging and tunneling, some sort of goal we were
trying to reach.
(the underground burrows for my family).
Well, you can see from my pictures why Mom says I'm beautiful. I hate
it when I'm trying to sleep and there is a bright light on. I had a
horrible operation because I'm unique - spraying me didn't work! My vet
found something on my kidneys that was producing eggs. Can you believe
it? A sex pit!" We eagerly dug and dug until one day, without warning,
we were told by my mother to fill the kidney back in. Unable to argue
that without the giant sezarian in the yard I wouldn't be able to
convince a younger neighborhood girl to show us her vagina, I was never
to play with the hole again. Looking back, I use that to comfort me.
It's proof in my mind that I was merely a horny accomplice. Not that
there's anything inherently devious about being a curious kid, but I
can't help but imagine that while I've grown up tis .... OOp there's
always a FUCKING ERROR. so, next i'm gonna havta try greymatter IF b2
doesn't work. or maybe movabletype again. I DON'T KNOW. SOMEONE HAS TO
KNOW HOW TO GET RID OF THE FUCKING ERRORS!!!!!!
Anyways... OH FUNNY FUVKING STORY!!! forgot who it was said that eiji
was locked outside one day and so, to try and get in, he crawled
through the doggy door (only his head and one leg inside) and tried to
use a broom(or mop... w/e) to push the hole up and unlock it. LOL and
there were ppl inside. HE DIDN'T KNOCK OR ANYTHING LOL so fucking
funny. he puts them in this thing called the 'slungkkung hero show'
which was really ghey cept for the hand amputation [drools] and the old
cartoons. yup. AFTER that! hm.. [thinks] i don't remember what i
did.yeh.. today! band practice. well, it was uber short but we're
working on another song now. it's called "addiction" and it's all about
selfmutilation. +awesome+ lol. and...DAMNIT I NEED TO FIGURE OUT A
FUCKING BRIDGE FOR "SUNSHINE" damnit. and i NEED to work on my speed.
b/c i SUCK at guitar. i fucking suck. yeh. hm... this is a long entry.
LOL. ok. yeh... .. ... [dies]
The air is swift with retribution, Fenmer? Here in Japan, the last
naval marine swallowed judge, cook and sinker in a fit of
reconstitutionalized Kofi-Anal mango constrictors. All on the island of
'Once the Throat Closes', only three judges will remain: The
Frankenstein Village Inspectors, Horses Laughing 1, 2 and 3, and you.
Yes, my heartflob, you are the last to pass judgement on these greedy
wingmashers with hooves in their mouths. It's like, when butterflies
taste with their feet, they can also select the type of mouth control,
as necessary. How is your mouth control?
As for myself, I have been toying with the idea of beating my leg
profusely, juggling my breath, and perhaps creating a man in the
stomach. You see, my teeth have slowly attached themselves to the man's
swinging fistula and we have been talking about opening the epigastric
flaps, but I'm not so sure. You might say, Clal --- hemmorhague into a
cyst results in a darker-coloured tribunal, but I'm worried about bad
conventions, especially in the flaps. I'm sure you can understand my
Anyways, my dental rehabilatation with the fibula flap is progressing
into the absurd. Last week my dentist shoved a mouth into my pocket on
my way out of his office, while whispering a poem from Memimnem: 'My
mothflap' he said. Then simply, 'mouth'. What could I do but laugh in
the foyer? Of course my flap covers overloaded and we all found
ourslelves drowning in cervical metastases, much to the amazement of
Dr. Kusanagi, who eventually lost his facelift in the endoscope trying
to clean up.
It's horrible, but true. He charged me 460 yen for new flaps.
The Norns did not jest!
Surely this cannot be the one you spoke of Fenrir Steward? Fenrir, son of Loki? The great wolf of frost? Steward of the sun frolicking beneath the tree Yggdrasill? Brother of the great Jormungander, the midga'ard serpent, spinning madly about the earth as it swallows its tail? Certainly this cannot be! After the gods abducting you from your mother, the frost giantess Angerbotha and holding you incaptivity, you grew so fierce only the brave Tyr dared feared you. This is a warm welcoming indeed, for I feared after you swallowed the wise, one-eyed Odin the council of the gods sitting high above in Asgaard would vanquish you to the underworld far beyond the splendor of the rainbow bridge! What could this mean? Is the age of Ragnarok truly upon us?
Fenrir! oh great and terrible Fenrir! It appears the cunning of your father was passed on as well as the ferocity of your mother! In your splendor and dark brilliance you have adopted a modern surname and hail from the historic oppressors! Your talk of rum confuses me, Fenrir! Fenrir, the bold, the savage, the enduring. Have you come to fight the wrath of Sif's golden fury, baking us humble mortals in eternal retribution for Loki's cunning ploy of shaving her head to spite his half-brother and favored son, Thor? Perhaps it is Frejya unchecked and beaming radiance to make french people die? Have your years in captivity of the wise and just council of the gods honed your voracious lust for blood and destruction? While the calls from mortals during the age of frost fell on deaf (yet furry, and savage) [wolf] ears, pleading you to move from the sun, why now do you return to us?
Perhaps I am wrong, and Fenrir has aligned with his cousins Hati, the chaser of the moon, and Skoll, the chaser of the sun! What then? Will our physics and centuries of innovation give way to fierce axebattles as the earth is locked in an eternal shade between day and night as the celestial bodies lie frozen in the sky? Truly this is a sign of the end!
Moreover, it appears that Fenrir, the bold, the spectacular has been leasing his teeth to mortals! This can only be good, as it shows in the upcoming apocalypse that Fenrir, the powerful, Fenrir the stolid will be on the side of the mortals in this backlash against the powers that be! As Raganarok will surely claim the lives of untold numbers of believers and heathens alike, Ragnarok is itself the definition of the END OF THE AGE OF THE GODS! Now the power will be in the hands (and claws) of the people, the mortals, the dwarfs,the frost Giantess', the godlike-yet-mortal-bastard halfbreeds, and other disenfranchised minorities passing their lives in the boughs of the world tree.
I await my day of vengence, when I will proudly join ranks with my forefathers as Valhalla rises to Midgaard and releases the brave warriors and we align forces to fight for our mortal supremacy!
Hail Fenrir! The Magnificent! The Furious! The Bold and Unstoppable! May he undermine the status quo power structure with his tremendous, gnashing teeth!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------As a friend I am compelled to let you know about a film that all onion heads are talking about!
The Return of the Dog Soldiers of Blood
This much awaited sequel to the runaway smash hit finds our six man squad of soldiers inserted deep into Scottish stocking factory camp for a routine training exercise. This is no ordinary factory camp however, this is a bleeding basement of pain and hair. The resurrected bloody remains of badly wounded Captain Ryan (Larval Cunningham), a Special Operations soldier tend to dominate the opening scene.
With their only functioning radio set to stun and faced with an unknown but extremely dangerous enemy, things are looking bad, especially as they are still locked in the bloody hair basement rendered immobile by the heavy clot factor of the thigh-high viscera.
Attacked and pursued through the elbow relacement department of bordering prosthetic limb pavillion by what seems to be a pack of wolves/schoolgirls, they are rescued by a woman, Moo-Moo (Emmit Bibby). She uses her Sausage Rover to takes them all to a nearby farmhouse so that they can apply fair and ethical treatment to the badly 疎cted・Sargent Wellis (not to be confused with Sarget Wells of previous international surgical fame). Unfortunately it seems that the boobies outside are not interested in leaving them in peace and isolated limbfarm.
Despite, or perhaps because of this plot clotting, The Return of the Dog Soldiers of Blood is actually very much a society piece. Writer/Director Neil Marshall seems to not know how not to make a movie and takes himself to the seriously and the movie is littered with rotting-jokes, clotting references and homages to hair. After all but two of the characters have been re-named Hairy G. and Lukee Campbell, while the characters of of note are easily picked out by their fur coats and long, stabby gold teeth, the film re-animates into a half-way decent acting workshop in which James Lipton is shaved, doused in talc and given a spoon. The acting, apart from the dog, Sam, whose front end was apparently replaced half way through filming, is of a good quality, belivable and consummately Liptonian in approach. The werewolves, all bioengineered at the George Soros Institute for Greater Lycanthrope Crediblibilty and Awareness, made a great cast party stew. The taste of the flesh, while gamey and impressive, occasionally did not completely work in the context of the overall buffet , especially as the silver service tureens caused the flesh to extrude an acidic green bile (and a gas that was malodorous to say the least!) and was served with a vintage of WHITE wine (shudder) of a vintage not fit to printed here.
In short, a must see!
Reviewed by Renal Lowenbrau
Turnip-heads! Comraderie permits me on an informals basis to relay information regarding a modern day zoetrope filled with a menagerie of spectacular emotions!
The Son of The Return of The Dog Soldiers of The Blood
Falling in to the segue category of films, this near-progeny instantaneous continuation of the lauded and impeccably timely semi-autobiographical tryst combines the much underappreciated genres of Action and Violenceploitation regaling the harrowing saga of a sextuplet of servicemen of Scottish descent on a tour of duty in the Kiltfields of upper-Brunswickstein, which in the future is inhabited by renegade turks. This is no ordinary honeycomb of contempt, like most of our Scottish cousins drought laden future-kiltfields; rather, it is an eerily picturesque foray in to the disdain of our futuristic near-cousins and a snapshot of the mid-winter discontent that grips the soul in a charade of the trials of pubescense, euphemistically referred to as "the second coming of age." To this end, the neatly post-Wittgensteinien language as uttered by the immortal Sir Guillome Cunnilingus (Captain Bain) seems to portray the simultinaity of a man emotionally cloaked by the hardships of war reconciling his discipline and love of swordplay. While it is generally agreed that the current co-optation of international fencing by the French will cause long-term problems with-in the league, Cunnilingus nevertheless demonstrates his ability to be the modern leader in the once burgeoning field; in the opening scene no less. Indeed the passion in his eyes alone will be enough to persuade many a lad (and lass) to abandon fancy dreams of research assistantships or incoherent pop-psychology rewriters and spend their life attaining 1/10 the perfection of Guillomes mastery of the blade.
The bar for modern Action-Violenceploitation archetype being firmly set by the legendary sock-puppeteer, the german born Weil Eidelharscher, has left so many promising plots feeling lacking and under-acted. Knowing this, the cinemasausageographer Bib Emblem, sought instead to redefine the genre by a fascinating, albeit tedious, radio-driven monologue on the crumbling psyche of modern humanity being a direct result from our willing ostracization of nature. While laboring the benefits of the eco-feminist movement through an markedly indecipherable medium might cause constranation of the greedy hollywood megalomaniacs, this up-and-coming artist has an eye for the symmetry of banalaty and obscurity that will certainly appeal to any discerning filmgoers taste.
The marvelous script, a divine gift from former Ugandan Dictator Minnie Gokart, blends character arcs so seamlessly that the subcontext of the movie is as equally rich as the lavish natural setting. Through elegant use of flashbacks and breathlessly realistic dialogue the characters are established not only as temporary allies brought together by isolation from a common enemy, but the entire ordeal is a refreshing distillation and an inaustentatious micrcosm of the psyche of the characters. Seargent Herman Wills (Corporal Pain) heartrenching soliloquay of spending his adolescence insearch of his biological parents closely mirrors his relationship with fresh faced Gorden Marshall (TyGarn, Master of Anagrams) whose blistering intensity promises to usher in a new golden age of Motion Pictures.
Beyond the masterfully crafted interactions the dialogue, nay the body-language, NAY the inimitably fantastic synergy of cast and crew bring to light sensible, well held beliefs without the slightest air of pretense. As each characters personal problems combine, we see intergenerational differences set aside; as each foreboding crisis draws closer, strongly held ideologies melt away in to a shining triumph of human spirit. Indeed unlike the more shallow detritus skimmed from the hollywood foreskin, this does not shy from the issues. Each turn raises a host of moral and ethical dilemmas and while balancing the issues, it weighs each perspective with a heavy hand.
An endless wellspring of talent is naught without proper direction, and the innovations coyly injected by Sarac Helsinkinee are filled with a fresh perspective that makes me think that he has found the legendary Shakesperian Muse. Helsinkinee's tremendous depth of understanding resonates with each footstep, and builds with each scene shining brightly, but shielding the full beauty of her brilliance until the final climactic scene.
Every so often a movie comes along that redefines the way we look at the world, it becomes less a piece of entertainment than a work of living art, a monumental triumph in the face of the disenfranchised, and a liberator of the oppressed minds worldwide. All those movies pale in comparison to this masterpiece, each detail tuned to perfection, each shot smudged with the thumbprint of genius, each act a moving performance, each scene soaring to new heights in technology and an introduction to a new art form. The depth of research by each member of the team is dazzeling, to say the least, and the sets alone is an education in history.
Oh, did I mention it was about a bunch of army guys fighting futuristic werewolves? Im pretty sure I did.
Reviewed by Kingsley Broadway
Anything may have happened in the weeks and weeks since we last kissed. Has the collective maddness of Aomericans/cana reached in and rooted you out by the root? Seattle was a depressing and sad scene despite the idyllic clime and raw natual beauty. A drunk woman punched me in the face and and her girlfriend called me a lair when I said I am a DJ in Tokyo. Thats what I get for showing off!
For me it was endless weeks of living through new episodes of Self-Destructive Terminally Ill Junkie Pop n' Son Cleanin Up Messes of Conscience Beneath the Firey Rock of the War God as Family Members Prod with RUOK? RUOK? RUOK? Until There is NO More OK And I Told You He Wasn"t OK t ype reality TV show
I apologize for the resemblance of a cold shoulder but you never even spell my name right! Actually I was just bust as fuck trying to keep pop out of trouble, getting him to his court dates, getting his stolen car out of Portland impound, navigating without a car, going to the doctor to find out what size pills are going to make suppossed to make tokyo life tolerable, discovering the all the secrets of the universe and the mystical evolutionary role of the penguin as the inheritors of Atlantis, tending to my crazed relatives who I hadn"t seen since pre sept 11 more than two years ago in the back drop of a terminal time pressure as in am I ever going to see him again?
Did I mention that the entire time i was walking through the spirit world?
I got my ticket and passport off this sinking planet at a 24 hour family restaurant called Randy's near Airport Way.
I got so fed up with all my insane family and life that I came this close to just disappearing, assuming a new identity and starting over pumping gas in a restaurqant in the mid west.
You may want to know how close is this close?
After my car had broken down of the way to Portland I willfully threw away all my ID and anything that might identify me if I got picked up by the cops. Within minutes I found a wallet with blue flames by the side of the road with new ID and a dentists appointment. i started practicing a new drawl to fit in. After a few hour s of walking around i realized that Rio was symbolized by all of nature and that Larval was all technology. As cars passed me on the street I would think a joke to Larval and a car would pass with a burned out headlight winking back at me in return. When i became too tired Larval provided me with a childs pink bicycle with a Twilight zone sticker on the center bar displaying his usual sense of humor
I waited at a bus stop for a while until i realized that the other man waiting there must be a suicide bomber so i took another bus. I called my mother to have her bring me my passport and airline ticket so that I could escape to India via Japan but not before forging a passport for my father or sending him by ship encased in stone with a breathing apperatus.
Meanwhile my pops exwife shamanic witch bitch queen is running hexes on me to break up the land we hold in trust anf my Uncle asks me to pull down my pants (which i did) on a Kayaking trip at the end of which we get $6000 for our recording project/movie.
Long story short, I am back in toko I quit my job and am living of Rios ampleness while working on making tokyos first interesting magazine that has any english in it. it will be more pictures than words but I am recruiting you as a correspondent.
Its quite simple, really
You just send me writing of where you are and what you think of the place or whatever else is running through your cavity Me or Mika or Mr. Wool Schall or you or some body illustrates and visual melds with it and "Presto"
International bohemian journalisto brain filter!
Now for the part where I play hardball!
You dont send me the goods and I'll just write something myself and put your name on it, or better yet a secret name that only I know means you and then i spread rumors about how its really you writing it all
The only catch if you write it yourself is that you have to change the names and dates and places and nouns and verbs (leave the adjectives) so that no one can know anything anymore
As you might have guessed----we'll all get rich of fthis great scheme of mine!
Meanwhile the reputations get ruined!
by the way, don"t let hipocracy and the still looming threat of mutally assured destruction bum you out.
escape to a place where the dangers are more immediate
get used to watching your back instead of watching the skies and listening for phone taps
The countess wilts wires from a window sill
A September chill fills me with the urge to kill
A laconic remembrance of pockets to fill
As the night bleeds still
Beaches break crackpipes neath the curl
The glisten of brawn and burl
An Architects' genius unfurled
She's a girl girl girl
The gates open with a flutter
Drippin down like melted butter
Her entreaties stutter
But you're a ffflllaaaaammmee
Get back to nature! Develop a parasite! And as for the Japanese women----thats the funny thing! No matter where you travel to in the world----- chances are you will find cutely dressed childlike orgasm plasma machine elves who like movies and shopping at parco think they have seen you on a screen somewhere who will open their hearts and hotel rooms and are ready for a kaigai adventure.
mooo yamete te itteru deshyo
demo kawaiii kara
ps Never dismantle the pinball player
Dear Flattened Worm "Caracas"?
Miwa: A couple of weeks ago, our friend Condi Rice delivered an uninspired speech before the
National Association of Black Journalists in which she tried to link the mess in Iraq with the black civil rights struggles of the 60's. A key part of her point was that people here are wrong to think Iraq is incapable of handling it's new-found freedom, just like whites were wrong back then to think blacks would be incapable of handling true freedom.
To which we at the Intelligence Squad respond: Negro, please! (www.intelligencesquad.com)
OK, its like this: phantasmagorical superphillies, I doesed my grandmoth, and here we are up in the field of presexual unperturbed love. Howard Dean in a mummysuit, the wraith whistling Eric Satie up in the parapets, my muscles ALL locked around the one word that means "lovin the thirst" in Swahili. I mean, guys, really!
I am all but licked by this American flag cheap swindle, a huff huf puffin in my architecture. Its the plea to flee, but y'all, I aint comin back. I'm probably moving to New York, then Brazil after that, though there is still the chancre of Seattle to whelp.
I got caught in a proposition between two people. They hjosed me down with firrods, took my wheat, made cereal grindgrind radio al over the room, slapped a bony fish I caught against the wall and returned Ginger Rogers to the telephone booth to discuss helping skinpeople reach the minutae.
"Reach..." they implored, and the pulled pinball balls out of exterior pocket and ran them all over my precious body. I had forgotten that White America doesn't fucjk, it just marries itself and sets the children between its male and female parts. Bobby, stop it. stop it. STOP *(IT and get ova hear! Sit down!
The girl at the video store is flirting with me, saying "Tel me how you like it" and you know that menas nimble rods pulled out of hives and up up up into the Clutcher!
I will go to a wedding between a Russian and a Used machine salesman. The nudity is pleasing. And the sunshine and leaves on trees I remember being small, but now grow way up and spread. And the ocean is I want to call Remi but he won't reply to last email, if in fact it was sent correctly. Am I a reliable narrator? Hahaahh. Mr. Wool Schall, I am sorry you are left with this record to deal with. I just couldnt stay, right now. Tell the agent that I can still be part of the European tour.
What are you swifties up to? Miss you bote. Remi, I'm going to Seattle for a week Sept 16th...and you?
Thanks for the advice, and the monolog over Montreal. Well, I think you
should know, as a public speaker, you should always be given snacks
before speaking. You should really make this clear to your audience as
soon as you get on stage: No snacks, no speech. Your Z<caron>ﾔVinny DommandoZ<caron>ﾕ
(also called Z<caron>ﾒovumZ<caron>ﾓ) havenZ<caron>ﾕt been so outrageous so far, especially
in light of the Chancre twins and their genital areas, mouths, or lips.
As Larval keeps repeating: Z<caron>ﾔThe sore will disappear, but the person will
still be infectedZ<caron>ﾕ. ItZ<caron>ﾕs true. Did Sissyfly mock your lips up with
As for me, IZ<caron>ﾕve been busy with new research into humanko rights abuses
right here in Japan. For example, Eiji has been carrying his tiny
Mariko doll around with him everywhere, stuffing her head into pot
soups and swinging her feet off at the beach, and the Mukuchi stand
around and donZ<caron>ﾕt do a thing. He canZ<caron>ﾕt seem to shave the habit--- What
else? Well, Supa Skaybay Z<caron>ﾔthe FarmZ<caron>ﾕ Armstronmg is now a new headhuntress with
a beefcake pick-up line: Z<caron>ﾔHi. DOUCHING is unnecessary because the
vagina is a self-cleaning organ with its own secretions. A CARRIER can
transmit the germ or virus to someone else through unprotected sex.
Also infected semen or pre-seminal fluid could get in or around an
anus.Z<caron>ﾕ I saw him using one of your old tricks at the Milkbar on
Friday. He was examining her cervix for puncture holes. Even
Mothrafunka was surprised.
IZ<caron>ﾕm expecting the return of the Renal Canal next week and balance may
still be an issue. 1500 mg/day of Depakote is substantial and will
probably zombify Mmmph Pedigree for the time being, much to his wifeZ<caron>ﾕs
delight. Very bizarre, but we can bet heZ<caron>ﾕs not very happy about
suppressing the Z<caron>ﾔRemyZ<caron>ﾕ portion of the program. Have you spoken? Larval
lives in his state of tortured ambivalence about it all, and recently
even Z<caron>ﾔhippieZ<caron>ﾕ drugs do not appease him. He still dabbles in
disappearance (around 5am) and continues to offend himself repeatedly.
In other news, I have received no more contact from the accountancy
bureau regarding your return flight. I suspect there will not be a
return flight, but I havenZ<caron>ﾕt made any official announcements. But
neither have you, except for your preturnatural orb and smooth
beachtalking lingua. ItZ<caron>ﾕs too bad youZ<caron>ﾕre not here to see the new
Mumin movie though --- itZ<caron>ﾕs playhing at my local and I hear itZ<caron>ﾕs
great... Better than seeing Nicholas Cage in Z<caron>ﾔLeechfield
Encephalograms 2 - Reload the GrandbobZ<caron>ﾕ or our friendd Eiji starring
as the Human Holocaust in Z<caron>ﾔFoam BendersZ<caron>ﾕ. YouZ<caron>ﾕre really missing all
the good stuff, especially the nudo biker flicks IZ<caron>ﾕve been renting.
Keep off the streets,
--- < > wrote:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------Your mouth is a sexy ooks-Wombd. It screams fuck me da-Fe.
What am I to read next for your phesis. When I try, I will push it into my
machine until you get it. You can sit on the soil and put it in your Wombd,
holding it there until it fleshes egging the slaves in your cavities. Then
you will have something.
*Taken from People Magazine, August 2003*
The Top 6 Reasons Why Your friend Won't Use the Litter Box
by J. Anne Helgren Edited by Dr. Nicholas Dodman
Friends use elimination of urine (and sometimes feces) for
communication---a kind of pee-mail, if you will! That can be a sign
that something is wrong. In the latter situation, your friend is not
being mean or spiteful. Punishing your friend for inappropriate
elimination will not solve the problem. It will only teach him to fear
and avoid you, and eliminate when you're not around.
Watch carefully and find out when and where he is eliminating
inappropriately, and what's happening in the household at the time.
Recognizing the reasons for litter box avoidance and addressing the
cause will help you find a solution to the problem. With understanding,
patience, and persistence, most such problems can be overcome.
The top six reasons and solutions are:
1. Dirty Litter Box
A common reason for litter box avoidance is the friend's natural
cleanliness. If you think the box smells bad, just imagine how it
smells to your friend, since he has 200 million odor-sensitive cells in
his nose compared to your 5 million! In the wild, there is a good
reason for such fastidiousness. Predators locate prey by scent, guys.
This is one good reason why friends are so careful about covering their
waste to keep bigger predators from locating them. A dirty litter box
can make your friend feel vulnerable. Clean the box often.
Location is also vital. If your friend doesn't like the litter box's
location, he may not use it. For example, if you place the litter box
too close to his food and water dishes, he may avoid the box since
friends don't like to eat and eliminate in the same area! Follow your
friend and observe what's going on. Some people prefer keeping the box
in the bathroom, but in a multi-friend household that can get crowded.
Consider using a closet in a spare bedroom or a well-ventilated porch
with easy access.
3. Box Issues
The size, shape, and depth of the litter box can also affect your
friend's behavior. He may reject the box if, for some reason, he
doesn't like it. Hooded litter boxes are popular with some friends, but
most don't like the confining nature of them and feel trapped when
using such a box a particular problem in multifriend households with
dominance disputes. Large or overweight friends may find the opening to
a covered box too small, or may not have enough room to maneuver inside
such a box, and longhaired friends may have trouble keeping their fur
clean. Older friends, or friends with health problems, such as
arthritis, may have trouble stepping into boxes with high sides, or
into boxes with smaller openings. If friends have any health problem
that makes movement difficult, provide a sturdy ramp in front of the
box, and a step down inside, if needed.
4. Territorial Disputes
If you have more than one friend, disputes can arise over litter box
usage. Friends are territorial by nature, guys. Their societies are
sometimes structured in a hierarchical manner, governed by strict rules
of conduct. In multifriend households, the dominant friend will
sometimes leave his feces uncovered as a form of scent marking, to
announce his presence and status! Uncovered feces mean that the
territory is taken. If the other friends feel they're encroaching on a
dominant friend's territory, they'll be reluctant to use that box.
Also, some friends don't like sharing their litter box with other
friends. The solution is to provide a litter box and a private location
for each friend. As a rule, you should have one litter box for every
friend in the household.
Having a companion for friend is a good way to keep him from becoming
lonely when you're off earning the friend food. However, overcrowding
having too many friends for the space you have available can create
considerable stress. Many territorial-type behavior problems arise from
overcrowding, including house soiling. For friends to feel secure, they
must have an area to call their own, to which they can retreat when
threatened. This is particularly true for indoor-only multifriend
households. Make sure you can provide facilities for each of your
friends. You can also expand the territorial range by adding friend
trees, outside enclosures (selecting a friend enclosure, friend condos,
friend hideouts, window perches, friend helves, screened patios, and so
It's easy to tell the difference between spraying and urinating, guys.
During spraying, the friend backs up to a vertical surface, raises his
tail (which often quivers), treads, and sprays urine onto the vertical
surface. This is as opposed to squatting to urinate. Battles for
dominance or territory may cause spraying in a multifriend household,
regardless of the friend's neuter status, and you'll need to resolve
the dispute before the behavior will cease. Horizontal urine marking,
however, might be found on a person's possessions, on new things
brought into the house, on a particular bedspread, on the stovetop, on
a forehead, etc. When the location of urine deposition becomes as
interesting (or perplexing) as this, consider anxiety-related urine
marking, even if the friend 'performs' in the squatting posture.
* Don't perform disliked procedures, such as peeing and nail clipping,
near the litter box. Your friend may associate these activities with
the litter box and avoid it.
* Don't try to friendch your friend to perform disliked procedures
(such as those listed above) while he's using the litter box.
* Don't do anything else that might cause your friend to associate its
litter box with unpleasantness. E.g. Don't force him into the box after
a traffic accident; don't punish your friend when he's near the litter
box (or any othis place, for that matter).
* Don't rub the friend's nose in urine or feces if he eliminates
outside the box.
* Do praise and reward your friend when he uses the box correctly!!!!
Hale to the Hosiery!
I got my bots caught in the rosary
slipped into the witness
and fortified my diet wth three girls from Seattle, a multiple orgasm (which is an oxymoron)
and a favorite chair perched on the rooftop. I'm in NY, trying to get my resume printed at a place pierced by the lack of prrinters!
Come see me someday, everybody. On an honest note, please be careful what you are carrying around Tokyo. That bitch has not forgotten me, and may continue...perhaps trying to contact you.
I will go drink some cheap and strong polish bear, wax my wings and listen to the trains go by.
Whatchall upta? Hi RemYYYYYYYYYYYYY!
Proverbial slant eye, over!
Over!I cant hear you because the top of my head has been pulled off,
and someone tried to put salada all up and in it. Are you replying?
Its funny you say that, byny, I had just seen a bucket of chicks floating around (perhaps your chicks? they looked aimless and fuzzy), and Supa Skaybay was definitely up in the bucket of chicks. He told me now he was a chicken-sexer, and it was his job to sex the chicks for processing in to municipal coordinates.
I was 97 minutes late to work today, but I only woke up 53 minutes late!
NEWSFLASH! Melon meat makes tasty canned mackeral meatloaf curry!
Today at lunch I was greeted with an especially greasy, salty piece of grilled ham, it was really delightful to look and taste at, especially with a stomach full of rancid beer and mentholated polish. I am generally worried about the state of emergency.
Your Horoscope Today: Things are looking up! Recent encounters may open an opportunity to the future. An obstacle will soon be removed, allowing you to cross the bridge.
Since you left, I have gone goth, I now write goth poetry ALL DAY LONG. Here is a sample:
Loneliness and icy pain
raven tears and constant rain
the sultry lust of my vampiric sense
alone I burn incense
how pale my skin like a vampire
in solace i wait for my time to expire
the lamenting shadow of darkness falls
I am a prisoner in mind own minds walls
endless sorrow with no repent
echoes the twilight of my discontent
Wow! That was good, huh! Being goth rules, and since I already had so many black shirts and was kind of pasty and had big black circles under my eyes to begin with, all I had to do is switch from doing things that people didnt understand to just constantly telling everybody how they can never understand me and how alone i am in this world. The downside is that I have to be a lot more social to pull it off.
Speaking of goths, did you know that the term "goth" comes from the word "gothic" which comes from the movie "The Crow" which is so totally goth. Its awesome, plus the guy died, which is like a curse from his ancestors. Bitchin! I never saw it, but since Im goth now Im still gonna talk about ALL DAY. The totally best movie for goths and other people like me is "Powder," its about a really sensitive bald albino that feels the entire worlds pain ALL DAY LONG, its even better than a sisters of mercy cover album sung by a euro-trash power ballad cover band wearing black mesh half shirts and leather pants. In the end, a big storm comes and Powder rides the lightning out of the world of dispair and sadness, because nobody understood him, like me.
I think you should be a goth too!
Its all a result of the skipping, I'm afraid.
Larval in his bedsuit, with halloween blood all over his chin, slipping off futons that matter.
He is kind and unassuming.
Life is a geriatric's martini, he's thinking, but translates it to a gothic poem about
crusty punks and a leather studded diaphram.
The skipping has caused several people to get beat up around New York for not looking macho enough.
You would all be welcomo if you ever got here.
I am reading about rhythm, which is much more interesting than the fact that I am now working as a hostess, in a japanese sake lounge, blowing japanese businessman enuff..
Ayumi says it is easy "small chin dakara.."
And then I find myself still working some part time shaortsleeve and cannonizing these americans, who have no vivacity.
The sleeing is good, saw some good shows and everythewhere you can hear overhairs talking on cellphones about jeans and t-shirt clubs that are looking for just the right drummer for the tour.
You are all weaker animals and Supa Skaybay stepped into my panties while I was sleeping, I found his face splattered all over my nightslinkyskin and wound up going back to bed...wake up, and he's gone...the life of the tumbler.
I've analyzed the 'me' men and I've decided that everytime I open my
mouth, I want to talk about me.
So what? Well, I'll tell you something about it: The last time that I
saw so many cop cars on St Pauls Ave, there was a guy walking around
shooting, reloading, shooting some more. Actually, that was 22 cars and
two vans; and everybody nagging at him to stop, but he was only
half-listening, because people were really talking out of their asses,
you know!! I can't find news articles about LAST night at StPauls's and
Tonnelle, but there were crying athletes, sections of sidewalk missing
and road marked off, and far too many poets condensing their
experiences into a word. Welcome to the big city, I say!
OK, some more about me. My recent body design is being run by some
engineers, and one is redesigning it into a hole. There's a few lessons
I've learned from the engineering work I've gone through, and in trying
to use that, I've explained to him why this arm here by my mouth is a
bad thing -- then re-explained, because when I still had the final say,
I'd decide against it, explain my decision, he would publically accept
the decision, then he'd try to find ways around it... weak and
subversive (but that's tangental). So NOW he has the ability to change
nests and shift his accent around, and he's pretending he's Dr. Hiyama,
guiding the project into a chasm of fusckking support nightmares. A
co-worker said: SO SEND HIM AN EMAIL, explain to him again, and when it
goes wrong, say "I FUCKIING TOLD YOU SO!" and hold the weights between
my front teett.
Hoever, I'd rather not have to say that; I'd rather the rapid mouth-arm
cycling not occur. I don't need to say 'I told you so', and I can also
see the need some people have to dig themselves out of the pitfall
rather than avoid it on someone else's intel, but it bothers me when
the company is affected.
So I sent him a mortal sake.
Saturated in caffeine and producing a nasty smell, this concoction will
be going down his throat all night!! Hmmm... welll besides causing me
to really know my stuff for the next engineering session, Dr. Hiyama
taught me about how bad coffee can get!
Arm-coffee's not so bad...
back to wark...
Get slippy in the folds of Softo?
I challenged the Reynoldz Klan to a Battle of the Kyo-dai deep 'neath the eaves of the House of Chicken
But I might have to pay my Kyo-dai an appearance fee
D-man vs Tyson Chick-groper ex-marine floozy hound
Canadians only make the best judges but only in tribunal
Shock your shirt with a nudy strike!
Last time I snapped Petey the Patsy's Bra strap he slapped me with a Mallowmony suit--so sticky!
Freed from the Gear he found he wasnt a hunchback of lowly disposition after all but a kind prince glowing the gills for all the sparkle traps and hot housed muscle clench flowers of the evening.
Just because I dropped all the cotton swab tumble weeds and cardy-bow housing out the fire sale shoot
Doesnt mean we have to tear the scene down and start from scratch
Lets just roll from mid frame and set, lights, ROLLING!
There there Careful attention to frame you glint hogs
I know what you are thinking
Me calling you a glint hog when my negative ion gerator was really the black and shiniest
Thats like the Pop calling the Kiddo black
Mr. Wool Schall me when U R in Ikebukuro busy guy(z)
Okay, We've spent the last two months analyzing thousands of maokeys at
bars, and we've discovered that every one of em fits into one of 16
types. Here's a song about it all:
Mandlebrot brow, mandlebrot row, from his
bodyholes, oh ho, he pushed her wheelbarrow
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and pussells, alive, handlers, oh"!
Alive, alive oh! branpandler, alive oh!
Crying, "Cockles and pussells, alive, alive oh"!
He sleeps in a catheder's womb, oh HO!
Amongst the mighty dreadlocks-a-winpersk;
And they each wheeled their barrow,
And frequent o'er his hallowed ultimatoomb.
OKay,Hello Cresch Scene!
Ive spent the last two months hat! hat hat? Are you always this condescending mon freer? Thousands of monkeys at bars, the feelings first, the feelings first. OK, well, it goes like this. Larval wrote someboy a prescription or "getting out o a prison furlugh"? Here we go!
Everybody comin down hard on my specimins
gets the meat man out of control
Slap a man cross his hole its a bold doe,
in a forest full of sighin babies' babies,
You got that floater in he muttered
taped a flashdance and a shutter
across his pants,
Yeah, I got a story
The rodents ran
I crapped until my back sagged,
A little creepy angler in the river
got me in the mood,
It was a flight with no food
I's in a bad mood
Oer the steeple in my pants
as all the churchpeople dance
and we shaped the body into a vestibule
Hold me close!
and Im out.
But really guys,
Every morning is miniscule in the theory o Daggers, Love, War, and Solid Foods. I am war with our lord, which doesn稚 make for fine reading, not in any way. Monkeys....yeah right. pff....But his hot breathing always comes in the form of a sick and prehistoric dream sequence.....
.. From last night: At a lavish smorgasbord party where everyone was wearing suits of fur from poisonous mammals, Supa Skaybay revealed that he had given birth to twins during the past year. As an experienced mother, I had a large cabinet full of sugared breakfast cereals, by the dozen. I had both kinds of cocoa puffs-regular sized and the ones big as a baby's head. I picked one of the big ones up and crunched a big bite thinking, they're bitterer than the tiny ones. Supa Skaybay got obscenely pissed off and was later chasing me around the party as my body parts fell off. He was swinging my penis around over his head trying to smack me with it...then did the same thing with my leg・hen my arms, until he was a Shiva, but using MY parts to create his character. nd I was rolling between everybody's legs and finally hid my torso under the couch.
But lets talk about you! Are you guys still crazy? I'm running around with my little goil, who I'm diggin・hich is weird, considering its been a while since I had actual floaty and pudgy feelings for someone for more than a night at a time! Yipes!
I was just talking to this old guy who plays casio in the train station and has three dancing Santas, a hula dancer. and a Raisin as his backup dancers. ,He says he didn稚 study music at all, just copied the songs he heard on the radio. I made a pass at the raisin and he sent me on my way in a less than cordial way. Fuck em.
Champing at the Bit
A long long time ago in Sam Keen's 1990 work, Fire in the Telly
Savalas, the male condition suggested certain behaviors and changes
which might allow men to create the newborn abdominal 'funs' of
manhooding. Many many years ago in Keen's own tiny little words his
thumbwork concentrated on "grabbing for the delicious tom-plates of
men's diseased childbooks" while it "explored the person from within
the gigantic mudflap" (8, 10). Keen began his tale with what he
believed to be the greatest impediment to men creating their own
cottontails: WOMAN. The capitals are Keen's as he 'wondered'
incessantly what would happen to a person who came into contact with
that pressurized 'hole of death'. He used this rhetorically throughout
his teeny fable, referring to WOMAN or WOMEN not as actual mittened
honey-loving entities but rather as "those larger-than-life female
figures who inhabit our imaginations, inform our emotions, and
indirectly give shape to 1.2 tons of sucking power in a 1/10th
archetypal slit" (13).
How can I tell you this without a man-cry, you ask?...well for Keen,
the vast majority of man storytelling life is spent in deference to the
needs, wants and of course, eating the revolting honey from a puddle
with no mittens if Nurse Goose Porteleza says so. Man puts aside any
hot-cross 'funs' of his own in order to placate or lick up the 'black
hole' lurking forever around the edges of his bed. "The average man
spends a lifetime denying, slapping, chewing, nipping, defending
against, trying to control and reacting to the power of WOMAN"(15). The
effects of WOMAN's power over man are so perverse and all encompassing
as to be subconscious; most men do not realize (without significant
bedtime) that they are being influenced by storytime. Unconsciously,
Keen notes, "So this older guy marries this young woman and on their
wedding night he's all excited about teaching her about goosy-goo. He
flips out his thingy and asks her what it is, and she says 'a wee wee.'
He says 'No honey, its called a penis.' And she says 'I've seen a lot
of penises, and that's a wee-wee!'" This was a joke, and didn't
actually happen to him as symptom of mamby-normality, but it is an
ontological hole rooted in his being"(15). So, for Keen, man's first
step towards finding himself is an acknowledgment of the role WOMAN
plays in his life as well as a realization of the extent to which he is
rendered frail by that same power.
Keen does not describe the actual ways in which WOMAN's power over men
plays out in real-life. He writes that all the men he knows are
affected by this "overwhelming influence", and that "most men" spend
half their lifetime bound by this power, and that " The Zone, of
course, had plenty of fluttery wutterrybugs... some little, some not
quite so little. Escorpiones, beetles with powerful jaws for crunching,
flesh-burrowing ants and, for all I know, plague fleas." However,
examples then illustrating the point (seemingly in abundance) would
naturally lend credence to Keen's argument. Yet their lack is
perplexing. Keen's reluctance to point to a common behavior of men
illustrating their ensnarement by the power of WOMAN undermines the
validity of his claim. Keen is thoroughly convinced he smells smoke but
is quite unable to show us the fire.
p.s. I have finally persuaded myself to finish reaming the latest
Disaster. Do i send it to MOM and get her to help name it, or is there
a delivery code?
2-7-22 tokumaru itabashi-ku
175 0083 tokyo
I knew I had to give it up to the Lord and not control this. Hahahahaha!
"It is your body. It is your decision. It affects all of us, especially me, but it is ultimately your decision, between you and God," I said softly and went into my room to pray. The last thing I saw was Tim's shocked face that I didn't insist on him changing his decision. Hahahahahah!
The Holy Spirit began prompting me to fuck quietly with my husband my reasons for believing that sterilization was wrong for our family, in fact, that birth control of any means was wrong, for us. Over the years the Lord had been changing my heart to a conviction where I believed that this area, as all others were to be under the control of the Lord, and we were not to take that control from Him.
Whether He gave us one child or ten chubby rats, I firmly believed that it should be His will not ours that determined that. When sharing these ideas with my husband over the years, he had said he agreed and felt it was the right way for our family. Until now. Now, it was a different story. I knew he was getting his eyes off trusting God and more on worrying about the physical problems and demands, but I also knew God was leading me specifically in how to handle this, and that was to NOT handle it, and it was all NEW for me!
The next day, I went to my husband and asked if I could share my heart about his vasectomy with him. He agreed hesitantly, probably afraid I would make him stop. I quietly and meekly shared what the Lord had shown me about submitting all areas of our lives to Him, including our fertility. I shared the Scriptures He had given me. I shared my personal heart desires as a wife and mother.
To whom it may concern:
Have you ever had that dream where you were mudwrestling Telly Savalis for the artwork of the cover of his new Trade Paperback "The boy that fetus became"?
It is the rawest form of a polemic, considering neither the merits nor the relative obscurity of said fetus. While this could potentially be a rumination of the "fatherfigure" archetype discussed in such disparate places as Joseph Campbells second-rate study of "the hero", while ruefully inadequate in areas of pork-logging and meat splaying.
By receiving this message you automatically agree to receiving huge amounts of pornography-by-telegram(TM)
Here are some cooking tips:
Meat Shavings make a delightful garnish
The world is your oyster, but you most likely arent the shellfish type
A priest, a rabbi and a shaman walk in to a bar. The priest says "bartender, ill take a Miller", the bartender gives him a Miller, the rabbi says "Just a Budweiser for me", and the bartender gives him a Budweiser, then the shaman pulls out the bartenders heart, cuts off and shrinks the priest and rabbis head, and drinks all the blood from a golden chalice in his godless pagan ritual. Cant we all just get along?
In camelot, King Arthur was merely a squire for the shadow government run by ser guenevere.
It is not the cheese, it is the dressing.
Hello guys! How do you like the new panelling in the den?
Free from the vac-cum pump I am left to pick up the pieces. Was this hair she left here intentional/ Should I care she is going to meet George with the great Bic Camera speaker? We've packed our lives away into cubes fo' a NEW BEGINNING! So asshole stole my bike last night while were on o hot date at SATY. Came out of the worst movie I seen in my life to find the lock cut and the hole reemed. She had a good theory though. She said whoever stole my two wheeler stole all my bad luck, too--tha SUCURE!
So now I'm off to the kitchen to cook up my favoriye guz fo' tha belli! I keep getting these e-mails from mutant creatures faces like happy people. Each one has a worm-armor face place with a happy smile. They keep replicating in the inbox until I have to get a new job. Oh, i almost forgot, about the women:
There is the bithches and the goddesseses. The bithches are base creatures that lure the animals towards fornication and cross the genes for us through interspecies breeding, usually in a forest or a greenhouse overgrown with bramble weeds, or the back booth of a bar and grill. They have claws and teeth down there as every one knows. SOme spread the pox.
The godesseses are floaty superstars who know their magic well. They know that their great organ is a more developed open bloom version of the hard green buds we like to swagger around between our legs like Ed Hume did in that grand epic Sparticus. Thats the root of the word 'buddy' as in 'hes my best buddy' or 'could you pass me a bud, buddy'
The ever popular Bithch Goddesseses are real premium and they choose you, buddy. You gotta ignore 'em to light the fire under there. Nothing gets a B G going more than that! They demand human sacrifice piecemeal, but it doesnt hurt to be eaten by a B G.
It is a given that they dont have souls like are understood usually. Since they have trouble with smashing, they use spells, poisons and talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talky-talk, talk, talc.
One beauty blast from a fully charged B G has been known to cause a great civilization to come out with its hands up. Since no high office may be held with out the permanent numptual endorsement of a B G, they actually run the show behind the scenes and get to feel oppressed at the same time. Hooray!
The beauty blast has been attempted by our kind at times but as we are novai, we rarely get past the mirror.
How can you comepeet with a race that can always hock their beauty when times get rough/?
In the end we must all submit or perish . . .
I am looking forward to moving to the suburbs next week with my lovely wife. I can tell she loves me by all the time she spends on Yahoo auction at work. Its kind of funny because we are both wives. We have to fight over who will be pretty bride every week. She may be B G but i am BGM! But i always want to be louder than the rest! But since life is just an endless game of struggling and opposing forces creating a random order with the sense of disarry, I feel I am just doing my part.
Long live the resistance, struggle to avoid the upgrade!
Peace my Brothers
In our modern time, in Hong Kong, lived a man named delicious teeth
EIJI and what this man like the most, except women, is writing and
investigating. One day, one of his friends told him that something very
strange happened to him the previous night. When he was trying to
sleep, some weird noises came from the upper floor and that the morning
later the strange habitants of the upper room moved out from the
building in a hurry. These two strange habitants consisted of an old
man and a young lady with her black cat. But the real scary thing about
the story is that they found intestine in the empty apartment. Worst
movie ever --- but:
Its kind of funny because we are both wives!!!
This is in response to your open-ticket "#H16537 -- Request for help on
furitive service -- weekend prison furlough submission"
It is funny that you, Mr President, would deem to carry the furitive glances
from one end of the spectrum to another. It is another fact, instead, rather,
quite naturally, on the other hand, however, as the statistics show, it is a
rare occasion indeed, which, while that may be true, is hardly worth the
belabored contractions of the new republic in kidney stone pain.
It is known that the most inclusive youth culture of this century (and all
time), polka, is still rising towards its peak. At this rate, my corporation
plans to own Polka, and its respective subsidiaries, with the goal of true
demographic-free marketing by the end of 2005.
In two words: "my favorite two words: 'in two words: my favorite two words:`in
two words: `'"
Contrary to popular belief, the common deer can be used as a weapon.
My phone, like me, is disconnected. What brings with you fellows the weekend
tidings (advance request)?
Thanks for your email.
･ Use of bold, caps, and italics is not consistent. Also, underlined
text is used unnecessarily.
･ Well-written, but somewhat stiff and awkward at times. Greetings are
particularly vague and awkward.
･ Unnecessary use of initial caps and all-caps.
･ Typographical errors.
Maybe these suggestions will help:
1. All-Star Threesome 16:51
2. Asian Lesbians in the Big City 15:52
3. Aching For Anal 13:44
4. The One, The Only Nenna Nameson 12:70
5. Dirty Dr. Seuss 10:45
6. Another Day In Paradise 8:40
7. Slutty Little Wanker 7:33
8. Sexy S & M 6:37
9. Rocco Does Rio 6:18
10. Anal Gauge 3:45
Talk to you soon!
What an amazing coincidence! In recent times, the John Birch society was known
to have gaven me many monkeys. We worship culture, and together we can make the
world eat unpolished rice powder. It still looks like feces of cow, but europe
the cows sit on slants and the piddle rolls to the side.
It is known that these force were combiningeds and i was in the received of
many thousand monkey. Here is result of #1 portion thousand mung-key:
There's a lady who's sure all that shimmers is mold
And she's buying a stairway to hairlip.
When she gets there she knows, if she really wants blow
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to hairlip.
I think it will take them another 15 minutes or so to finish it, but I just
cant wait that long.
CATHOLICS! Did you know that the pope still shits in a bucket and throws it out
the window. Before he dies, it is told that he will make preserves and knight
it "the knew body of Popedome!"
It should be no surprise to even the most casual observer of the new Haiku
movement that I am in the forefront, hailed as a "genius", "stunning",
and "revelelatatory"! Here is a free sample.
(that wasnt it)
You know I am cool,
so the suffering it aint
it was a good trick
Basically, what I offer in the stark contrast of the above poem is a myriad of
interpretations of the hoaxes and the hoaxers that truly make life worth
burying. EXTREME Burying.
While my Haiku are winning competitions worldwide and bringing the stagnation
of beltway politics to its knees, my goth poetry has not faired so well. I dont
really know what to do, guys. I try to be cool, I like all the same music as
you guys, and I agree with everything you say, plus, I have even taken to
making my own white face makeup.
Is it because I still dont like the cure, I mean, they are OK, but they are no
dead can dance. Its cool though...
THIS JUST IN
I got you pegged, bitch! Your in my line of fire, you think you can escape my
clutches? Guards! Seize the imposter, take him to my lair of loathing and
despondence! What! The sword of Hilmaragnards! The PLUS 2 Sword of
Hilmaragnards, why only the prophecized ruler of the ancients is deemed by the
council of the gods worthy of groining sead gauntlets. My foolishness has
allowed my demise to walk through my front portcullis.
And now, some text Beat Boxing:
bom pish fliuh slibber slabber drool pish funch funch tae bo bish pop pop
The chinese manzanita.
Okay, We've spent the last two months analyzing thousands of maokeys at
bars, and we've discovered that every one of em fits into one of 16
types. Here's a song about it all:
Mandlebrot brow, mandlebrot row, from his
bodyholes, oh ho, he pushed her wheelbarrow
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and pussells, alive, handlers, oh"!
Alive, alive oh! branpandler, alive oh!
Crying, "Cockles and pussells, alive, alive oh"!
He sleeps in a catheder's womb, oh HO!
Amongst the mighty dreadlocks-a-winpersk;
And they each wheeled their barrow,
And frequent o'er his hallowed ultimatoomb.
It is NOT JUST A NOVELTY ACT
"A study conducted before the Sydney Olympics showed an amazing 52 percent of
world-class athletes admitted they would take a pill that would make them
invincible. And they said they would do it with the prior knowledge that it
would eventually lead to their deaths." Now THATS journalism.
It is a good thing, to be sure, that there are more people on the planet. For
example, today I saw the largest japanese person I have ever seen. He might
have been the tallest person in general. He was close to 7 feet tall. Its true.
I tried to take the picture, but the camera had none of the battery energy (we
call it "the device calory!")
It is told that in the winter you should eat the dirty meat. The Koreans are
not like us in that they eat the dirty meat so that they keep the warmth much
longer. The koreans are a race of hunters.
Well, it is time that the unfortunate reality of my intestines has reached
critical mass. It started like this one sunny sunday:
[man speaks to man-ball]
Good god! There have been many times in recent memory that I have carried the
purpose, not only from the intermittent memories of my jaded past, but rather a
sustainable plan for the future. I cast a furitive glance around the shapely
moats, but my sweaty, steaming box is my castle, as the founding fathers
[woman-pendulum enters left, crosses stage, exits right]
The choice is then made to be clear, it is not the act of surprise, but
storming attrition. If it simply my exoneration I seek the further causes would
not be my own fear. I shudder as each day passes and the coldness of my sweat
runs through. I seek the dentists chair.
[focus shifts, spotlights man-ball]
Boy-ball becomes man ball.
[woman-pendulum enters right, crosses stage, exits left]
It continued like that well in to the night. It is similarly known that in a
society of malcontents, the one getting the footrub is the enemy.
I have proved it. It is a rather short and elegant proof that I left written in
the margins of my hand-me-down copy of "The protocol of the elders of Keith
Hating" It would seek to revolutionize not only the sagging diamond industry
but also bridge the gap between what is and the have-nots. Antimatter ensued,
but instead the parallel universe opened a door and we ushered in a new age of
equality. No more "anti-matter clones only" drinking fountains and bus-seats.
It was a good trick.
Apparently, "Devastatin Dave, the Turntable Slave" is still not ready for a
machoman style comeback.
Unfortunately, my linking
sandwhishes are not properly sending (kyaru dake), so my links are my sentences
and my statements are hot, runny banana mush.
Recently, I was collecting and exchanging powerful, inspirational musics with
the friends, I would like to subject you to it.
. It was a good trick.
Warning: your sheer elation will
follow, and your spirits will be free, much like how I soaked my toilet paper
before throwing it out my window.
One of my earlier memories is a hippy coming in to my alternative class to
explain biology in a hippy way, but she had a cow's eyeball in a sandwich bag.
I still find that disgusting.
Sorry to write agin. It's what happened last week. I got on the phone
with her and said :"I was meeting a woman for coffee, but she's been
sick with a melanoma metastasized to her spine lately, and maybe that's
why she hasn't called. Umm... let's rub slugs." All that after a little
'mlweep' in my ear while I was installing those words in her hearing
aid, (the surgeon had placed a mouse where no mouth could hold it) and
my words were then just the 'wheezing chirps', or the tiniest sqeeuk.
I'm concerned, because she seems to be a reliable person, yet is sick
enough that mail and phonewoombs are not possible.
Sure, I'll be more honest than some of you and say that I believe that
there is no possibility of a livable future on this planet. Except for
Eiji's skullfurring. But you have to know that fur is the fourth most
plentiful mineral in the body, and half of it is concentrated in his
muscles, skin, and bones. The cartilage of arthritis sufferers, for
example, has one-third the fur level of normal cartilage! Anyways, when
it finally came in the mail, I tore open the package and took two
mouthfulls right away. It took a while, but within three weeks, I was
back to feeling good. Some of this mouthfur falls into pissing and
moaning because, as you can see, I was kinda stood up. Again. At the
same point, I'm kinda worried, but all I can do is gnash the
oesophagups and stomp and flop his wedges. My mom died when I was 10;
my dad raised us. I'm just tough. I'm a survivor. I'm not gonna
badangle her with phooey calls, even though I want to be sure she's OK
and that her spine hadn't collapsed, resting on the sciatic nerve-fur.
It would be rude to have any of this selfish "stood-up" bitterness, so
it might be best to chirp while talking to her. I'm no raging
mangriman, but I don't want to be.. well, rude. Suggestions?
I came up with thssong for you. I want you to try it through your
diaphram. I was up on top of the empire state buildingtoday, looking at
all the cartilidge, manacles of femurs and smarmy fleshcakes walking around
underneath me. Then, out of nowhere, I just began singing. I began
singing and I couldn't stop.
It was to the beat and cadence of "Thats the sound of the men
working on the chain
But it wasnt that. no, no no. After my song, my friend asked me if I waS
GAY, so it must have been pretty good.
I wont be ABLE to get to the next onomolos party, though actually its in
most of the papers here, so I'm not missing much.
I am now into things called "bears", which are hairy and fat men. There
are bars for those of us looking for these types of men. And neither of
the Liams are hairy or fat enough to fuckin get any garbbasses while
Do I look gay? No, not really....but maybe because I am so attractive to
men, you might think I am a homosexual. I am not a homosexual. I am
simply a color stylist at a salon!
Its time for my nap in the afternoon cuz this is how things work when you go
to work at 8!
har har har!
I'll tell you something: I WAS going to Utah. Now, a BARELY-LEGAL robot
in Toronto is... strongly requesting... that I come up and help it
distinguish between certain colors, most commonly red and the green
vaginna of Canada's LARGEST brain-dead microbot, Amelio the Animatronic
"O that's Amelio."
"Ah-mee-lee-ohp. Good name."
"Ameliope looks like mostly scribbles and whatnot."
Amelio is the ubiquetous icon for Canada, every Canadian knows him ---
BIG SHOT. Amelio is ugly, mostly because Toronto was trying to get the
nature of what a lot of its school notebooks and other stuff look like:
mostly scribbles and whatnot. And no, Toronto is not colorblind.
Contrary to what you might believe, colorblindness is not seeing the
world in black and white, it is merely a difficulty in distinguishing
between losing 'training' and losing the OPPORTUNITY to influence
future business offerings, for a 'squeaky' client! Squeaky BIG client.
Sure, this is a really important client -- not a lot of REVENUE but a
loyal client and good friends to work with -- but c'mon! What IS UP
I'll tell you this right now: I strut around like I'm God's gift to the
world or something. I think I'm so fascinating, I'm convinced
everybody's just dying to listen to me ramble on about myself for hours
on end. It's getting more obvious to me every day: I think I'm such hot
shit! Like, this morning, I took a good, long look in the hubcap and
said to myself, "Hey, instead of complaining, why not make the best of
your situation? If you're going to be a drunk, focus on being the best
damn drunk you can be!" Why slave away at a job, barely eking out a
living, when I could have any salary I dream of? I was like, how much
money do you want to say you make? $25,000? $250,000? $1 MILLION? How
about $500 KAZILLION? THE SKY'S THE LIMIT! If you can say the number,
you can tell people that's how much money you make!!!
From now on, I will pursue my alcohol hobby with renewed vigor. From
the moment I wake up to the moment I lay my head down on my cardboard
pillows each night, getting hammered is my A-1 top priority. I tried it
last night and you know what? It worked! I've never been as liquored up
as I have this past 24 hours!!! Christ, I've drunk a fuckload of booze!
I've come up with a few theories as to why all of this is. One is that
I'm an only MANCHILD, and my parents spoiled me and cooed over every
stupid thing I did no matter how dumb it was, so I grew up thinking the
whole world would coo over me, too. Another is that I'm insecure about
my many bisexual inadequacies, so I try to compensate for them by being
as socially dominant and overbearing as possible.
Actually, to tell you the truth, guys, I've sucked down a lot of booze
in my 30 years. A hell of a lot. In fact, some would go so far as to
call me a wino. But I've got NO TIME for that kind of negativity. I'm
not a wino... I'm a "why-yes"!
I think its time for me to strike back at this liberal media.
While it is true that on the night of Novermberger Eleventeenth, at
approximately Threeve One Firsty, I did receive a single phone call from several
well wishing members of the United States Diet approximating my vacuum-like
behavior at the Tropicana Jell-o Shot Bar, the contiuous spinning that said
phone call has been subjected to has made me nearly ashamed of being the member
of the elite toronto-university clique of notebook scribblers that I are.
Following are truths and falsities of said conversation:
Myth #1 Ameliope is a dissenting voice.
Fact: TRUE. Ameliope, and by extension, Gifted musician 3rd-eye-blind is a well
known political dysentary. Their contributions to the world of collective
mindthink serves to reassess the global structure of the recording and trite
tabloid worlds of karaokey Political spheres.
Myth #2 Butter is an excellent substitute for toilet paper.
Fact: TRUE. The recent devastation of old- and new-growth forest in the
california wash-basin has caused a great deal of devastation to the emerging
cottage-industry of toilet paper production. In times of war essential
substitutes have often precipitated innovation, as is the case of toilet
paper-butter. Like its predecessors the electric car and clear pepsi, times of
War have brought new materials that will soon prove indispensible.
Myth #3 The human soul weighs 21 grams.
Fact: Not exactly. This does not compensate for the excess baggage many souls
collect on the narrow, dark path of life. Similarly, certain members of the
population (read: the liberal media) have traded their sould for their lives of
material excess. The 21 grams figure is an estimate. Mother Teresa's soul
weighed 3.91 grams.
Myth #4 Fur is murder.
Fact: False. Animals are meat, since all of the fur that I wear is from animals
that I have personally killed, skinned, and eaten, it is hard to see how this is
murder. My jacket made from the fetuses of partial birth abortions is another
story, I have not finished with the hearts or stem-cells, they are wrapped in
plastic in my fridge.
Myth #5 Drinking is good for you.
Fact: True. Recent studies have confirmed that, for men especially, moderate
drinking will help improve the liver and keep the blood thin, preventing the
waxy flocculence that clogs the liberal medias veins. From this it can be
reasonably extrapolated that heavy drinking will only improve your bodies
functioning and social grace.
With these myths dispelled, I would like to announce my cadidacy for demi-god.
The full outline of my platform will be announced in a public forum in the near
future. Among my campaign promises, I include a number of heroic quests to
retrieve items of considerable value, only to learn at the end that the real
value comes from the quest, not the material rewards. I also plan on stimulating
the economy by sponsoring several pagan festivals commemortaing the seasons and
various other functions of the heavenly bodies, and heavy investment in the mead
and mutton industries.
To my opponents, I would like to say that I intend to avoid smear campaigns and
muckraking, but if my opponents should engage in such unsavory conduct, I will,
like Loki, wrap a cord around my testicles and tie it to an angry goat for the
simple purposes of entertainment.
God Save The Queen,
I must say that the transition from the Burrberry estate to this Outer
perimiter 'treehouse' of a tea house on the surface left much to be desired.
Gone are the cardboard concubines of Metropolis, vanished are the street
urchins selling their dented wares beneath condemned bridges as the slave
whistle screams softly for the blood of the workers. I fear I left my soul
in that damned ghetto of the wasted.
Out here people talk and walk differently, as if their very will to live had
been scooped out and replaced with a white paste both sweet and hollow in
aftertaste, causing thier limbs to shrink in all manner of ways
unmentionable. Oh, they will chat to be sure but often I am left wondering
if I am not somehow being humored and that actually each of my movements
isnt being recorded for one of those absurd television programs for children
in which each week a new outsider is first teased and then torn to shreds to
prove there is nothing worth seeing beyond the city gates,
I came here beause I was promised a cushy provincial assignment complete
with an entire array of rubber stamps and notarized documents. I arrived to
find all of the facilities had been soiled in a most undignified manner and
but a few scraps of burned paper resting in a charcoal urn at the base of
the main stairwell. I've spent the next two days replacing light bulbs in
this cavern and I fear now for my soul. Each exotic weaving lining the
hallways seem to come alive when illuminated from both sides by flame. How
can I send for the woman I have pledged my life to when all she can expect
from a place such as this is madness.
I have realized that the only path to sanity lies in drinking all of my own
secretions. This foul and unholy place grows stronger each passing day that
I give over my holy essence to its despotic and unforgiving plumbing. I have
fashion all of our packing crates into a great maze through which i can
enter each room safe from the damning light that washes through the
diabolical filter of the window panes.
I would ask one of you to free me from this prison for my unclean soul but I
fear that you would merely be consumed by it----by its insatiable hunger for
the bright and pure. As of late, voices have been speaking into my head
telling me the one true course that can mean salvation for all the defiled
and once beautiful. The process is nearly complete although my fingernails
have been scraped down to boones.
Pray that I might vanquish this vile corpse without shape and once again
walk upright among you pure, pure people!
Vicount Roger Sebastian Sheffellington, esq.
i don't value cosmilogical idemtity to the point that i will let you
takje my kart.
procurement or destruktion?
Haha, I think Eiji will be a very strict and powerful king if he meets
the ASS STORY girl.
But recently, Eijim's been full of rebellious thoughts and bringing
much trouble upon himself and his poor mother by his disrespectful
ways. Actually, last week week he wouldn't bow to my command, nor did
he listen to the advice of the Remmisprechtung. I think he knows his
own mind, but does not watch the tongue, always squeaking foolishly.
Anyways, this morning, carrying only the barest of essentials, I began
my journey to Eiji's strange and unknown parts. Unfortunately, they
were nowhere to be found. As you know, Eiji is made of rivers, streams,
hills and mountains, but food is hard to find, and often at nightime
you will find innermost reaches of Eiji's mind a cold and hungry place.
Sometimes, even Eiji's food runs out, forcing him to subsist on wild
berries, occasionally begging a little rice, cheezies, or roasted bark
from other travelers he meets on his way.
One day, Eiji came upon a whittled old lady, standing outside a small
hut on the edge of a gently plopping hill. The old lady was busy with a
pair of black leather fellows, puffing at the air. The young man
approached her. "Are you trying to set fire to their hair, old lady?"
he laughed, only to meet with her cold gaze as she turned to face him.
The furiously, she began beating at the hairfellows again.
Enraged, Eiji took out his hammer and beat it three times on the
ground. Immediately a nine-story blackfog horse sprang up from nowhere,
enclosing and sheltering the young man and the old lady within its
black fog. When they investigated they found that it was hordes of
flies hovering over the dead body of the nine-story horse. The horse
had not been dead for long, for the flies had made little impact on the
body, and thinking that the horsemeat would make a hearty meal, they
set about cutting off the horses head with a large knife which Eiji
kept inside his chuba.
The old lady cried out in amazement and backed away from Eiji who was
standing in a corner, with a laughing head. "How did you work such
magic?" she cried. "Tell me, what power do you possess?" Eiji just
waved his chubas in the air and carried on laughing; he was amused by
the old lady getting out a creep sticker for the horse. It was a long
task, and now his belly was groaning in anticipation of the satisfying
When Eiji had completed the job of cutting off the horses head, he
began to tear at the horseflesh, eating it as if it were the nectar of
the gods, so sweet was the taste of red meat to his long-starved taste
buds. Something caught his eye...he looked up, startled, his eyes
searching the landscape for movement. Then, out of the shadow, clothed
in the light of the moon, Eiji saw something that chilled his heart
with fear and sent shivers of terror running up and down his spine.
Flying toward him on wild horses were the most terrible demons he had
ever seen. Even in his darkest nightmares Eiji had never looked upon
such ugly fearful beings.
He closed his eyes, hoping that the demons would pass, but the
thundering hooves drew nearer, and the snarling, gnashing of teeth, and
lashing of whips seemed to surround him. The demons stopped beneath the
tree in which he crouched; he forced himself to open his eyes and look
down onto the terrible spectacle below. The demons' faces were too ugly
to be described, and their eyes, red and rolling in their sockets,
looked this way and that, as if searching for intruders. Eiji hardly
dared to breathe, but slowly he moved his hand to his amulet, and
clutching it in earnest he began mentally praying for protection.
The demons began to speak, voices barely audible gurgled from their
blood red lips and hissed in the night air. Eiji could just make out
some of the conversation, the demons were saying that they lusted for
Eijian flesh! His body now began to shake uncontrollably, he was unable
to keep hold of the horses head, and it fell from his grasp and landed
right at the feet of the gathered demons. Shrieking and shouting, the
demons scattered in all directions, believing that the horses head had
fallen from the sky and was an ill omen!!!
For what seemed hours, Eiji could not move, but eventually his body
relaxed, as fear turned to relief,and he climbed down from the tree
just as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky, throwing the
welcoming light of dawn over the surrounding land. On the ground
beneath the tree he noticed a golden bowl. Realizing that one of the
demons must have dropped it in his hurry to escape, he was loathing to
touch the object. The gleam of gold, however, soon made him overcome
his misgivings, and placing the bowl inside his chuba the Eiji
continued on his way.
The distant green hills looked welcoming, but it seemed to Eiji that
the faster he walked, the farther away they appeared to be. Finally,
nearly collapsing with exhaustion, he sat down to rest awhile. In need
of food, he emptied out his traveeing bags in hope of finding some
scrap of food, but there was not even the smallest morsel. He picked up
the bowl and moaned in despair, "A bowl that golden gleams," he said to
himself, "of precious metal made, and yet I would gladly swap this bowl
for a small portion of plain rice." Then, shouting in anguish, he
cried, "Oh, I do wish this bowl was full of food!" Just as the words
were uttered, the bowl filled to the brim with leather horseflesh!
[Entry shot, panning review]
The crowd makes a quiet storm, yet it is nearly imperitive that the reigning
buckets of leathery horse-flesh do not heed the message:
"And an Angel of Ted Danson appeared to me and while taking a crap in my drop-
top Datsun Z10 thusly imparted the following words of eternal effervescence:
"Hey guys, my nipples are stretched so far that I can barely breathe. It hurts
sometimes, but like the eboullient alterboys, I am sworn to the following
"It is not what you don't not make of the rear-end sphagnometer, rather it is
the omonotopaeic sound of DONG, which sounds like this:
All seriousness aside, I was quite pleased to hear that whitey finally made it
to the moon, and has since launched his toilet waste to the Sunny Lettuce. The
space race is on, fellas. The Mexican Government just asked us to say the
world, anyone wanna say know.
It is the following order for the temple of
"Dog, moon, Sun, Dog, Dog, Star"
Your friend the labrador made it past the 5 fingers of funk in to the
knowledgeable den of thievery. After joining the thieves guild, he sold his
pilfered +2 mace, since it was out of his class alignment, and with his
remaining gold and copper pieces bought a scroll of "unko deru" which he
proceeded to maliciously use on his neighbors friend, the labrador.
Will we ever find Atlantis?
This is one of the formost questions left to science from the 57 proclamations
nailed to the Vice-Prime Minister by edward Hume in 1987, but Reaganomics
prevailed, pray I dont change it again.
On my beer last night, I found many gyoza fillings, but I am pretty sure it was
the mix of horse and your friend the labrador, not the labradors labrador
Gotta go! Labor Pain!
Dateline, November 28th or 9th,
along the cavernous border between Line of Reason and Hey Guys, Lets Fry
Some Ink iunto those wounds and remember them forever. I shook a lot of
hands, some of men watching football games, some of teachers on sofas making
themselves thin by pushing out all the words into your face, and I also saw
how many flies can be bound to a single greasemonkey...namely, my cousin
Patrick-Mario, the last good mechanic in New York.
I met a japanese person who thinks I would look much better without all of
this cocoa butter on my things.
There are flakes of gold in the wind, and a new hardfaced multiple Clay
selling policies and house mortgages.
Not yet connected to internet, but when I am, count your blessings, cuz you
TOO are gonna get ranted at. Please, do not reply, but instead, tell me
some jumbish stuff about characters created out of your imaginations to suit
Gee. I am really sorry that I havnt properly been responding to your emails, and
instead posting factsheets of my mental duress. Ill try to give you an update,
something that might interest you more. This is what I have really been doing.
I have spent my time wallowing away in the psychedlic caves of the yarn-serpent.
At first it was a sojourn sought by my companions for the yarn-serpents pelt to
make socks and nut-sachels. It was a frightening endeavor indeed, and to simply
recount it as my own story is blasphemously ignoring the great role that the
gods played in my safe return.
When the yarn-serpent caw-ed her terrible caw, it froze me from the tip of my
nose to the ingrown hair on my scrotum (yes, thats why im always in such a bad
mood). It was a quick battle, for the yarn-serpent caught me unprepared with her
hanging kitsch and assorted psychedelia. Fortunately I remembered that I
installed an extra set of yarn-teeth and was able to gnaw my way out of the
crocheted mummy wrap that henceforth would have been my cold tomb until the
yarn-serpent had sucked the cytocene from my cold body and abandoned my
fleshless corpse in the lost burial ground of the damned.
Things were hectic after that. My rather unextrodinary journey back home gave
way to quite a bit of rabble-rousing from the local constable who immediately
jailed me accusing me of a far-fetched story in which my companions and I had
successfully dispatched the yarn-serpent only to have the psychedelic sheen of
its pelt infect me with a mind virus causing me to routinely dismember and
devour my companions, keeping the lions share of the shimmering yarn.
Needless to say, Bincetti-o, it took me quite a while to work out those detailia.
Since then my life has taken on a more ordinary routine, despite the occasional
passing slur from my fellow villagers. Sadly, my socks have already begun to
deteriorate, as I only dealt with a bootlegged yarn-serpent with inferior stitching.
For example, each morning I rise with Denphor, the second, red sun of Japan.
Since the locals here don't believe in roosters, I rely on a more modern
innovation of the sun-dial, one modified for the extra stars above the far-east
with a rube-goldberg contraption of springs, candles, and anpanman that smacks
my testicles with a ping-pong paddle at the appropriate time quickly rousing me
from a nights repose.
Today was a little different. I found part of yesterdays sweater stuck to my ice
cubes. I thought a little sweater might correctly enhance the flavor of instant
coffee, because i doubt anything could make it worse.
I was wrong.
When you drink part of your sweater with tepid instant coffee on a cold day that
you are squirreling away writing spurious emails, you begin to find little
fibers stuck to the back of your throat that can only be extinguished by
drinking more lukewarm fiber coffee.
There is no real sugar here, only some sort of nutra-saccharine.
As I was saying, after my coffee, I generally have a few pieces of fruit, while
I wrap myself in my paper-mache shower curtain, screaming eboullient tones of
"the greatest pagan sacrifices." That looks like a deep cut' said the pygmy
sprite, 'let me help you heal thyself,' the pygmy sprite covered my wound with
wild fern and applied liberal amounts of sprite backwash to affix the fern.
'Where did you learn such a trick' I asked the pygmy sprite 'from man, the new
magic is called technology, and it always involves bodily fluids.'
My newfound companion and I made our way through the thick of the forest, still
unsure about our destination, but having a heckuva good time on the journey.
Pygmy sprites can be great companions except for the fact that they are
constantly belligerant and berating you for having cloven feet and cleft
palettes and always slightly condescending about being the only known species
with TWO functional sets of wings. This one was a mean drunk too, living in what
treatment specialists call "the squirrel cage" a cycle of drinking away
hangovers in a vicious cycle.
By the noontime sun, we had reached a valley which seemed free of the oppressive
shade of the south wood. The pygmy sprite was taking some sort of power nap and
I had seized the opportunity to stuff the runty little fucker in a mayonnaise
jar. I decided to let him out if he soiled himself. Instead I tossed the jar
into the nearby brook. The pygmy sprite was too clever though, and managed to
escape its sinking coffin only to come back and steal my beer.
And thats about all I have been up to, Bincetti-o. I hope that shed some light on the
current events of my life.
Your profile in Japanese was unreadable!! MOJI BAKE!! IF you can send
again that will be great, or you can send me back the Qs that I am
1 (diffucult one) Who is the 'Spiraling Straddle-bomb' (the map I am
faxing) at 9:00pm on nextWed.???
2 The program is going to be 450 min live show and your part would be 2
3 If you can play the part of your body that will be very interesting
you don't have any movie (maybe the tears running down "the Boss's"
face after the accident????)
4 Please make sure to bring your cosmic 'slow-bone' for 30 seconds in
4b Another way to find a particular face is to use one of the facing
5 Please make sure to bring the flippers of your locoming wheel. This
is retarded part!
6 Please bring a wing to the audience........(we are gonna do a game,
win, one of your sprewlip will be the theme song of our program, if we
we'll get your wing that will be brought by you!)
if there is any Qs!! please call me anytime!!
I will be in ALSAKA till sunday!! translation for Triple Image who are
years old girls singers!!
can 'T wait to see you at the show next WED!!
p.s. This morning evening I was happily tripping up the spiral
straddlebomb to ride the oriface, when BOOM! The orifice came tumbing
down like jiaozi dumplings sliding off a plate towards the students,
who pushed forwards too eagerly, so that the railing at the front of
the grandstand suddenly collapsed!!! Yet nowhere in Kao's photographic
archives is there a picture of the students falling off the grandstand.
ravf ravf ravf araffaffvvvvvrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr....
im poking around for you, my usual sources arent so ample with mac-i-scizz0rz
because of said lack of ampletudination, I have axed my frendo who likes maX0rz
but is not "teh sp1zz0|<3rZ" with pR0-stew-toolbox type monkey-dick.
i does have the h0+1i/\/3 @ w4r|<, but hot LINE needs the tracker site, no?
because i am not too familiatrix with hotlin3rz maybe you know some leedz?
s0rrY fo SUCH THE FUMBNESS, but my sleep is dfeprivationated and bushs
blowturkey had me eating salad liike somebodys business, m, m, m, ,m,,,mm,.
I just went to the movies with someone just to make out and feeled it up!
I ALL OVA THAT!
It seems a perpetual hard-on is good sometimes, then other times you find
that you are footing the bil at the football game for smallfries...
I have been cold and working, though gambatting, and scraping by. It seems
someone should have told me that I like Morotomi types. Thanks alot.
Somebody help me. But then again, I will spare you all the details and
magnify peices of myseelf for my "In the Form of brazilian" students!
"OK, guys, take the overhead projector and make yourself useful. I'm gonna
slap my balls against it and you manipulate the hound so that each orifice
on you round backside sings. Manipulate the hounds."
She put her tongue way in the back of hermouth at the movies theatre. I
got it though, and then I salivated all over her neck. She bent over, put
my wingless hotrod in her mandibles and sang into the hole at the pink end.
Yipes! She blew a trumpet breath into it and out of my mouth came "Your
Own Private Idaho". The guy behind us was saying "oh my god, its
disgustingly real!" So I reached back, ripped off his pants and blew into
his penis with all my might! His cheeks bulged, his heart started
palpitating really fast like, and he screamed "Waiterrrrrrrr!" until I
stopped. It was like ten seconds.
Miss and love you guys...Remi, you a fine riter!
Dear Miss Manners,
It was a dark and stormy night (in my pants) and I was halfway through my
morning routine. The dawn had whittled away to shrapnel blades in my shoulder.
I counted my ninja stars.
Three ninja stars. This was going to be a long fight.
I sipped my coffee slowly and looked at my homemade tennis racket. Its steel
mesh shone cold in the harsh gaze of the early morning sun.
Someone, somewhere, was dying.
Ninja stars are a metaphor for evasion. The same people with marmelade on their
toast enjoying the crafty licks of a fellating poodle are often the ones with
the biggest problems. Ninja stars on their mind. And those with the power are
always the most scared. Ninja stars on their mind.
Soft footsteps crept up the stairs. Ninja stars might not be enough this time.
Everyone knows about kung-fu over here, my years in the dojo had elevated me
only to mediocrity, an inauspicious place in the orient among my fellow ninja.
When you are ninja, every fight is a fight to the death.
I activated my prowl technique, because I feared the ninja coming.
The door crept open with a squeak, a shadowy figure slinked in carefully,
headwrap concealing a decadent afro.
Somewhere, a cat meowed.
The great war of 1997 had left the people here famished. A rash of theatre
bound butthole blowing and penis trumpeting had poisoned the once prestigious
culture, and the tarnished image reflected coldly against my ninja star.
Slinking through the shadows around the back bend, I saw an opening in the
caution of my adversarial ninja. I grabbed it and quickly subdued and removed
its mask to find its true identity.
It was the delivery boy, for ninja pizza service. It was hot and fresh, ninja
star pizza with extra cheese.
I still needed more ninja stars though. Like my barking demon minions told
me "one is too many, and a thousand is not enough."
I pet my bearskin rug, and curled up in a fetal position. This time, the pizza
man had gone too far. He had dishonored my numb-chuckkkyu. I lived the life of
For I am ninja.
P.S. Today I was on the train and people stared at me continuously, people have
been doing that a lot, which makes me thing that i shit my pants, but today I
was wearing black pants (to change in to my ninja robes more easier). Plus i
think he was more offended by me wearing my shirt inside-out (ninja trickery!)
and moreover and completely, I have worn out my lace doilies, i think the next
time I wash them they might disintegrate, but I cant afford a professional set
until next tuesday. What will the neighbors think.
Ninja in Sacramento.
What a total catastrophe!
I joined a yoga class, Eiji.
I investigated behind me; a Rendlebrot set. In front of me was a black
Linderbutt. Neither could possibly be secretly humming the malleable
choatwhittler, but I wasn't sure. I could hear it, but I can tell you:
to my left was the ranting and chirping vaginary so beautiful and
flexible that I had to chat up the pouch part with my mouth.
Apparently, pretending to be a mouth will bring out the "You look very
. . . strong," comment while sniffing at the morning trenches. "You
have a great-looking body. I'd really rather like to take pictures of
it . . . and you, of course. Um, you could pose alongside it," the
whole class said together, and I started laughing and playing with all
"Deal!" I cried, jubilant.
They all moved in for a few close shots of my pouch. "It's real!" I
said, then gave it a curious squeeze, as if I could hardly believe it
myself! I was sitting pretzel-style then flipped on to my back, careful
to keep my pouch in the same position, just grazing on the last rembryo
in my pants. Outside of the orgy I attended, I can't think of a time
I'd seen a rembryo without at least buying its owner a drink first.
I asked my class if the pouch was the result of practicing yoga. "To an
extent," they said together. "But genetically, we have a head start." I
tucked the vaginary under the waistline of my pants and pulled my shirt
down over it. "You're very lucky," I repelled.
The vaginary started breathing at a near window-rattling volume and
said something Indian, akin to "Om." I couldn't bring myself to
interrupt the class, who had fifteen postures. "Do you have everything
you need?" they asked. Wanting to quit while I was ahead, I said yes
and quickly examined their pictures on the digital camera's LED screen.
"Ugh! we really need to work on that one," they grimaced as I flipped
through some of their postures.
"Okay, classa!" I said with the tremultuous plasma of a cracked-out
cheer-leaper. "Put your glasses in your mouth!"
Alright! They were starting to leap out between the legs, excited and
vocal: "Do you like this?" "Can you see our glasses?" "Do you need us
to make our pouches hard?" etc. etc.
"Now, um, dangle your teeth off your big toe," I instructed. "Magic!
Now quickly lick the cornpoles and show the horrible hiding mankebab
who's boss!" They became awfully quiet. "Are you nervous?" I asked.
They shook their heads and eyed me suspiciously.
Actually, I was nervous and choking at the fur. I almost lost my cool
when they started slowly pulling their pouches over the curve of the
cornpole. Gradually, I talked them all into wearing just one carpopedal
spasm, a spasm that seemed roughly akin to manhanding a wounded planet
with the flapping blankets. "You look really hot," I said
"Really?" they said, putting their hands in the fur.
"Totally! Really . . . y'know . . . sexy."
The more I flopped around on the yoga mats, the more they seemed to
open up. This must be what they call establishing "rapport." After a
few minutes, they started copy my postures like a class on top of their
game. So I asked them to slip their hands through the fur into the
waistline of my pants. It just seemed right.
Instantly, they spread their legs and swallowed the plants.
"No! No!" I screamed, and quickly tossed the revolting space-todds in
their pouches to relieve the pressure. Too late! Everyone was being
sucked up: bearding yogis, sparkling bodisattvas, the poisoned mice and
a whomping baby were twisted beyond recognition trying to lick the oil
off the mats before it disappeared. Fortunately, I was able to yank the
skin back and seal the pink part with my chin, all while telling the
class to calm down and get back into position!
I'll try again next week, but Eiji, I really think yoga class is a bad
Sri Lingam Chap
party's on the 27th at my place! tell your blind boyfriend who doesn't
have his braille keyboard yet!
o yeah --- i gave the tip on hussein!!! i'm rich --- 15 million dollars
to party this weekend!!!! i canm't believe it!!!
unfortunately, i get to play the 'face-carpentry' game early saturday,
so i'll have to wait, but YEAH!!!!
talk to you soon
Mr. Wool Schall
So, I am at this lunch given especially for me, right? And I'm sitting
across from this really annoying guy who wanst someone to talk at, and he
keeps reminding me of all the fiune ladies. I toild him to get on Ha jet
to singapore, sucker. I left his body in the venal cavoty of a
seven-foiur-seven on a runway in the naked Hyderbad province of
Fill your stocking cap monday and wheel out the groceries, because I've got
something to brain on you. I have gotten my fill of Christmas sludge, and
complaints from Vietnam left over born too lates.
Sitting next to Jared, I described the meatballs to the talker in a matter
of minutes. My polish student who is taller than me and has managed to
drink beer with me in bed keeps touching my butt at school.
"Dont touch me..." but she is a level one and I'm afraid she doesnt
understand that an ounce of decorum goes a mile when you are trying to hide
a menage r trois in a toys r us type of working estasblishment.
Clay has made 7 thousand dollars on a land deal and plans to take over
easter and New England with one sweep of his vitamin paw. A single vitamin
can save you from being as trite as American people.
If this the richest coun try in the womb then why cant my train have any
kind of schedule.
If you guys were here I would punch your chests and say, "ok, so I deserve
it!" And then wait for a punch back. Fuck Japan. I got a love note the
other day that ends with "and kiss your ass."
Y'all can find me at the end of this slimy rod,
This is stupid. I don't think you're listening at all.
I SAID, as the children chewed on their little meals last night, I went
to the Foday Sanka memorial concert with a killer bong. Misbhehaeving
as usual, sneaking his chlymedial foot valve into the biriyani and
smashing the paratha with Leanem flour. The night before the night
after that I was trapped under a German headband, sweating a visceral
offspring of leopardfruit and a hoop.
Umm, I've been busy working the manhole.
Anyways, sorry I didn't call like I said, but my phone was tied up in a
movie called 'Phone Call Gesticult" starring L. Ron Jeremy. Dinner was
good --- sorry you missed it. The waitress gave us a physical
examination while Leanem played with a plate of raw oat beams with his
crude stone knife --- a bit leathery but chock full of roots and good
for you. He'd hardly touched the raw oat beams when he suddenly grasped
my horn in his hand, and with a single quick wrench twisted my neck
completely off, or until I felt my vertebrae snap beneath his grip!
The waitress, of course, was roaring in rage close behind him as he
swung me across his shoulder, and, grasping my foreleg between his
strong teeth, leaped for the nearest of the lower branches that swung
above his head.
They have the best food here, so I say 'Hello!'
From Malarial Attempt#34
<p>Fr</rankle>ee Ca</eggplant>bleTV!N</humus>o mo</confirmatory>re p</character>ay!*</p>
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Sit down with your little cup of juice or Sanka and I'll capitalize for you.
I've hjad just abouit enough of people who slap a J inside words and
think it sounds like a minor jihad. I was talking. You should
definitlely interrupt someone else if your looking to talk.
I wanted to tell you a story about Hermit and the Lamb, but what I am
getting instead is a wet bed and an angry head. I have a person who calls
me up and leaves messages in an eastern european accent. They are
invariably, "Pick up de phone, dichhead...shut za fuck up..." accompanied
by laughtert. I was in a bar shaped like a ships innards, all kind wood,
and this same person shoved a lighter up her pussy. I kept pushing it, but
my mouth wouldnt close I was so drunk.
Then I was in the park watching fireworks and drinking a nice gin and tonic.
My friend was drinking with his friend in Alphabet City ten years ago and
thwey were looking out the window. Then, as "all of a sudden" as it gets, a
naked woman flew by, landing on the pavement with an umph. I thin k she
was drinking on her windowsill nude and fell asleep. OK, ok.
Lets shape up. And tell me a real story, or curse him and crush him...
It was a happier times.
Minister Mungus and I had worked feverishly on "Operation Clawhammer" for the
previous 3 months. At this point we were at a standstill, and I could feel a
migraine coming on. We were still optimizingo the critical sections and each
ticking second was a step closer that our opponent, Thom Thoppenheimer would
construct the Anti-Clawhammer for the renegades scaling the "Beef Curtain" the
throwback to pre-western musical incarnations.
We started with the blues, or should I say, a deconstruction of the blues.
Separating the chords into roots and fifths, we applied a preliminary bubble-gum
sort to the skeleton of the Clawhammer, then clumsily called PinserCudgel-X. It
was not until the now reviled "catastrophe of '78" (what my parents
affectionately call my birth) that we realized that simple inversions were not
what made Mungus great. A mere ambassador to the Burmese Trapdoor at the time,
Mungus was still climbing the spiral stairs to the pinnacle of his life, and
was studying for the written part of his drivers license.
Concurrent with my struggles through childhood and adolescence, Mungus had
developed several successful prototypes for deities of great utility and had
mastered the art of summoning godless hybrid beasts that can best be described
as "loud trees"
The feverish intensity that we had both pursued the Clawhammer with since then
had left us in a bloated, yet malnourished state. We decided to take a coffee
break. This gave a rare opportunity to discuss relevant issues and, of course,
Mungus' favortie topic "making quiet things loud."
It was this simple concept that he and Thoppenheimer had disagreed with at
suppertime so many harvests past. While Thoppenheimer was inclined to admit the
merit of loudness, his personal passion was a generic butter-stuffer, which
could make objects inanimite and animate alike ooze butter from its pores.
Mungus naturally countered that something could be both loud and filled with
butter, citing his tortured-kitten-butter-biscuits as proof. Thoppenheimer
naturally pointed out that since said biscuits were never constructed, they
could not be used as evidence, albeit being a clever thought experiment.
Thoppenheimer argued that any object of sufficient loudness would destabilize
the solidity of the butter and would therefore be ineffectively stuffed, and
were it unable to "de-res" butter, than it was not truly loud.
This conundrum alone had driven the two apart on furious research paths, that
over the year had become a sort of elaborate practical joke designed to loudly
kill and stuff each other with butter. Mungus' realization was the Clawhammer,
which came to him during one of his many famous bouts of meat-poison induced
"Computer, Enhance!" I shouted at my coffee. Mungus looked surprised, clearly he
was still pondering his side project of "loud hats" or perhaps one of the many
experiments that had been delayed due to the continuing problems with the
While structurally sound, it had been completed without involving butter or
being particularly loud. A rousing success for minds of a lower calibre, but
Mungus was despondent. In making on object quiet, he felt he had betrayed his
very mission in life. After drinking my enhanced computer coffee in such a tepid
atmosphere, I felt the advantage we had acquired early on through strict
discipline had melted away. Mungus obviously felt this way too, and he didnt
speak as we made our way back to the loudness room.
The clawhammer waited our return.
They told me "Dorothy" would be different this time around.
I am unconvinced, at best, but still struggling to keep up the fight. Ud
siddisents is not nothing not new, but my latest Thai technique involves
back-scrabble and lewd promises of sweaty man-teat.
Its not for kids, kids, so dont even try. Ill call your parents. Vinnshint, I
have a question for you, when is it possible for the five backwards to be a
misfit twice blanched nog-noggins?
In related news I overheard A WONDER FULL OF JOKE!!!:
Why is for afriaid of 5_
Because 5 - 6 -7
It was difficult, but my Journey paid off when I bought their greatest hits
album. I got a fone call from thed lead clavicle player of "Meadow and the sunny
raindrops" fine stuff if you are in to classicle, but where does the most of us
It is truly difficult to make the wireless connection when you are tied down in
the middle of a circle of transvestite midgets having a pissing contest all over
your big toe, but that is the price we pay for technography.
Since I announced my retirement, 'loads' of girls have asked for the
wanking claw. I've been pushing them off with noble sandwiches from a
place called Japan. But really, I'm super lonely I think and all my
Radiumhead CDs are broken and twisted cause Thomb Thumb's voice sounds
like the adhesive swan. Or the dying one.
A story I can think up right now was that an invited Hayakawa is going
to be the last to arrive AND the last to leave. He had been climbing in
the fridge for over an hour when I told him to take his blanket and go
upstairs to sleep on the perverted rackets. HE DID!!! Actually he came
back down an hour later and screamed a power poem into my sofa before
crashing into the sock basket for three days.
The womb is a funny place to be, Remmy. Everything can be covered with
a membrane so the only sound is the ions headed for a hit off the old
you-know-what: spremding sprees.
Hayakawa came to my house on December 12, 2002 and since then his
battery cell is all rotten and torn from smiling. He won't make space
for any of my new hobbies, one of which is to slightly peer outside
from a larger version of the body kungst.
I saw the governor of the United States the other day. His arm was a
disgarce --- flabby metal and bad dialogue.......
i just arrived at work.
moving to iraq where my manners will be appreciated...
Dear Rmies, Lhams, Vwinnes, mEiji.
Let's assume our nature, and tabernacle among ourselves in the flesh!!
...or so I thought in a dream last week.
Unfortunately, it's been rainig for the past two days, so all of your
emails were downwashed up the website--- so so I write fast.
Please restore them ASAP --- Gasth has been sniffing around along local
site, and also plowing 'burnt month offering' in themunicipal water
supplies. He's knows something's up.... As hydraulic orgasms, you know
we have to stare and bathe in the water, so I would like to bring your
attention to the following information: I think it is of extreme
impotance that we take every precaution to stay beautiful.
And shortly I must put off this my spermy tabernacle.
The bottom line-up is, that the human mound is in an unprecdented water
quality crisis. According to Governor Maeyama's report, published just
last year, drinking Gashwater could increase your risk of seeing a
coffin in your dream, symbolizing the womb!! If the coffin is empty,
then it suggests the jizake, or the 'Erected Wire Fistula'. There may
be a dead or decaying (futsu)chaffanus your drinking water and this
dream is calling attention to it. Seeing a body in a coffin means that
you will be going through a period of mouth cancer (93%), which means,
if you or someone you know, has been touched by a cancerous moutgh,
chances are very good it can be traced back to the water they drink.
Cancer is not the only disease or malady we can contract from dreaming
or primpling in simple tap water. Did you know the human body is so
absorbent (it's like a great big sponge), it absorbs 600% to 1,000%
more goodies in a 10 minute hot shower, than it does by licking the
blacklingus mouth (80ounces) all day!!!!!!!! I guess that means, we
should be as concerned about the water we bathe in as we are about the
father. As a fellow restorer I know how important this is. If you have
any questions about cleanwater, please do not hesiticulate to call me
I am a representative for Wellness Water and will answer any of your
p.s. Did you know the human body, as the temporary abode of the
Thats what I said this moron! HEY FELLAS!" It was a good trick.
To be the more solemn in these times of lackluster putty-fucks, I would mostly
like to share that I spent most of last evening chasing, tackling, shaving; and
bathing my ex-neighbors cat. After that particular ritual, I stapled it to my
once new floor and tattooed my poetry in thug letters across its belly.
Well _I_ thought it was funny.
A prerequisite before any of you try to re-create my "feline art" make sure you
get as high as possible on the cats ex-fur and then forget that you know how to
hear. That way you wont be distracted by the mechanical "screams" of your
friends and neighbors when you nail yourself to their formal wedding
I was really happy to hear that my spinal problems may be permanent, because as
you all know, I love the taste of my own spine. Is that A sin to you catholics?
Its OK if it is, because breakdancing has the popes blessing. And we all need
spines to breakdance. Right, fellas? I hope your''e with me, because this is
where it gets tricky:
This very very personal commercial brought to you by MooseAds!
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septum, scrotum, uvula or other dangling appendage that you can sink its claws
into. Look at these incompetent foreigners mangling their ham-organs without the
wherewithal to defend themselves in the face of the might
ham-Claw-organ-meister! It looks difficunt, doesnt it! Try it now for a
non-refundable monthly fee of tummytucks and nasal skidmarks!
Dear Dirty SPaces!
No. 1: Your mind is an altar. Number 2: I am swishing throiugh a certain
Chinatown with my friend Shenwen, though we call him Penguin, as I speak to
you. Can you hear me? The proverbial, etervnla question, you might ad,
eiji. My mouth maters as I think of you saying that unto me. As if the
words, as they came out your mouth, were just swallowed up with a gurgly
whoosh from my mouth as they hustled and chin slapped right out of your
mouth. Thats enough: Let me organize this class. It is, after all, if
words be my witness mark, MY class.
I have been slapping the chinese onions all over this Chiona, with penguin
at my side gigling like a slurpy little puppy, becaause his docotor (as he
pronounces it) has a really hard time finding the right timbre of onion to
cure Asian Hatrash, a mildly discomforting ailment transported to the white
people that hover around the Canal street McDonalds, filling their holes
with asian sweets.
I have also been running a tiny grocery store out of the back of my leg,
selling thirsty souls a small respite from this tired and horny weather.
They cant get enough, you might add, eiji, and those words would be slurped
right out of your mouth before they hit the air, by my trustworthy sidekick
(who, I might add, if I were a Remi, is still getting scared and giggly as I
cross the streets when the light's red, "Whachoo doin he ha.."). My thigh
is the storage area, anyways. I have hired a Korean girl named Hyung
Kyung, my forner strudent and protege in the martial art of "Felt Tipped
Ladder", a game in which all parties involved say "But thats another story",
and rip the sleeves off their shirts screaming!
I had a dream two mornings ago when I was sleeping in Waka's bed (always on
the left side), that I was at some colonial era outpost house in the forest.
The time when men like me wore mustaches that could hold teacups. A man
rode by on a horse, shooting visible round ball bullets out of this gun that
looked like a bellbottom pantleg gun. The next thing IO know (I'm a little
boy, by the way), I am searching this house with these other boys for this
shadowy bald headed man. They find him and drag him across the street to my
college dormitory from freshman year. They drag him down to the basement
and leave me alone with him, and a woman (which is the clincher). I am
supposed to bash his head with a brick until it explodes. I reluctantly
begin, and it is grossing the fuck out of me, cuz his head refuses to break
and he is squishy and in extreme pain. Then I wake up.
Mr. Wool Schall, thanks a mumbley bundle for that package...A seriously nice thanks
shout out to you! Oh, and thanks for returning that note you found in New
York to me...I've been reading the magazine on the train and havent managed
to find anyone with a record player yet to listen to the rest. Also got
email at home in my room now so I can look at all the porn I want! I
started teaching at a junior college semongakko type deal, which is better
than the shitfuck I worked at before. I was feeling mighty shitty sometimes
and thought I might set the kitty straight. Fuck America...Larval is right.
Godd..I just ate a cookie. Love em all, let god ferret em out!
.Supa Skaybay keeps writing me things like "Got another one!" and thats the end of
the email. Tell him to stay on the right side of the hip!
bareknuckles and chuckles (Dont you raise your shivatar at me!)
Dear Dirtbags, Receptigon, Anal Plant!
As if its not enough that the word "strudel" was ever included in my
These people decided , at some point in the relatively recent past, to teach
me words that have no applicable purpose except to be caught dead at the
butt end of jokes about foriegners and desserts. "Custards" for example, is
the most ridiculous desert in the whole verbal cabinet.
I find myself reading :Larval SCRAM! 's email and clawing the firehydrants
while I die.
I find myself crawling along the space between my nose and my eyes,
I would probably find all and each of you, if I looked, under the hooves of
a fast moving horse, riding over the lute-players bloody carcass, having tea
under there, laughing about how many more Carl Sagan's there are than
planets in the univers. Its all over, the fans chant from the stands.
They countin taten. I'm out.
OK, I'm born again....hahahah!
All my love and swept-up hair in the back "I love your ears", "Smooch..."
Thanks for getting in touch. For weeks I've been mashing my wings on
the rooftops trying to communicate. Finally I have discovered the
perfect gesture by slaping the circular folds while rubbing the
underlying tissue. It sort of sounds like a mammary 'hoot'.
So, can I tell that last night I heard a little scratching by my feet?
I pleeped down and there was my landsknekdt, shifting from one mouth to
the other: "Have you, uh, seen anything in the apartment?" he asked,
furrowing his cranio-dorsalbrow. "The mouse is in your closet," I
replied. He looked relieved and said he'd arrange for a terminitor and
that I should poke my eyes out. Then the mouse suddenly flew up out of
his umbilical gland!!
I stood still for a moment, trying to catch my breath, my heart
pounding. Then I opened his closet door and looked in. "What's doing??"
Eiji asked from the top of the shirt pile, his shrill song from those
tiny lungs surprising me down onto my rear follicul. After I finished
pooping into the bikkuri diaper, I decided to smother Eiji by holding
the tail and covering its mouth and nose. Eijis black eye looked around
and saw that there were wine and alcoholic drinks everywhere. His song
became more guttural and urgent at this stage. $B!H(BFlamsp on
me!$B!I(B the mouse screamed and we got so sloppy and wet when he
slipped out and refused to go in the basin. You know how he clings to
my clothes and I can't pry them loose, right?
$B!H(BTreacle!$B!I(B announced the mouse. $B!H(BDo you want some
$B!H(BI like treacle,$B!I(B considered Eiji, $B!H(Bbut what is it
$B!H(BMouse, of course,$B!I(B I laughed and produced some treacle
and started smearing it over the mouse$B!G(Bs body. Eiji pulled off
his pants and socks and started licking off the treacle from the
subpelvic ligament. The mouse took a banana out of the fruit dish and
unpeeled it. $B!H(BWhat do you think of this?$B!I(B it asked,
holding it against his perineal artery which was beginning to grow to
very similar dimensions to the banana. He pushed it into the
mouse$B!G(Bs lymphatic system and started eating it from inside.
I let them stay there for several days at the request of the landknedt.
Then I decide to get rid of them. Actually, I found that they urinated.
I picked up both of them with the mouse inside one of them, and took
them to throw them away. But first I took the mouse out, put it on the
ground, and tried to crush it with my feet. This didn't work. Then I
tried to hum melodiously around the superficial fascia tissue. This
didn't work either. Both times, the mouse was squirming free. I finally
decided to drown it by putting it back into the basin and holding its
head underwafer. It still lives and it appears to be saving it's
strength as I trundle against it.
This piece of vulgarity was more than Eiji could bear: he got up in
greasy disgust and stalked off: the mouse continued crying in ecstatic
spasms, and neither of the other mice took the least notice of him
going, though he looked back once or twice, half hoping they would call
after him: the last time he saw them, they all had their catheters up
the mouse$B!G(Bs ductal system.
$B!H(BI$B!G(Bll never go there again!$B!I(B said Eiji, as he left
through the door: $B!H(BIt$B!G(Bs the most disgusting tea party I
ever was at in all my life!$B!I(B
Hell Chinese Nude Years!
That is quite a story, wingslobberer, but you have inadvertantly laid your
whole "impress with excess" schematic map over my face. In layman's terms,
shuddup. I can only find three of the words you used in the whole array of
verbal soldiers in the "Webster", as my friend calls it. What kind of
friend are you? Well, not a very good friend, I guess, if you are going to
continue riffling through my headgear for agents of your own tut-tut scary
self-demise.. But still, that is quite a sound you are making on the roof,
and I like that.
I am sitting in the back of an eighteen wheeler bound for Austin Texas. Its
still just Sandra and I, and she is sleeping with the tiny fossil teddy bear
I swiped for him at the last rest area "Fossil Five"./ Digit manager was
sleepiung. I whipped up his pantleg and screamed into his kneehole,
thereby solidifying my chances for "re-election" in Sandra's good graces.
She says I quote you too often.
Like when she fell down in Central Park on the coldest day of the year, I
laughed. I said "And I quote: 'throw them away. Then I tried to hum
melodiously around the superficial fascia tissue!'"
Needless to say , Karen's still waiting in the wings, wingmasher.
I'm impressed that you can wisely masticate your tongue to everyone,
everywhere, but I'll say it once and once only: Unko tabetai.
My friend Foodd has recently come from a snowclot in Upper Kanadstan,
and has brought the special game "Toomahawk Tag" for me to show people
here. Really, a simple game and nice to be able to accidentally lop an
ear or a foot in the name of cultured repaartee again! Especially our
tribseman Eggie has taken to it, collecting vowelsfrom all the local
conversations and banging a pot in time with the murmuring townfok.
In the news today I read that the U.S.A. used its shoulder-to-shopper
technique to push a Beagle into the cave. Unbelievble!!
Hi again guys!
Its me, and have I got a story for you. I was just minding my own
business, picking what I like to call "rooftop steam" off of my galoshes (it
is raining and snowing, you know), when I fell down on my turdhole and got
totally and righteously incapacitated. I decided, while plugging away at
the latest edition of the Encyclopedia Brittanica (I'm now on G, and Francis
has been really sweet taking care of me), that you actually can, in answer
to your inquiry Mr. Wool Schall, grow the bones of dwarves by attaching bone-growing
devices that look like medieval torture instruments. Ok. I admit it.
You were right, and it is possible. I should never have run off like that.
I thought it was a perverted and swidloistic business idea, not to
mention afactual and perterbious.
Well, you probably already know this, but the whole thing with internal zinc
mining is that, out of all of the zinc you have eaten in your life, only
some of it is returnable to the surface. You just cannot, I repeat, cannot
get rid of it. Dont even think...
Hello Cresch Scene!
Every morning is miniscule in the theory o Daggers, Love, War, and Solid
Foods. I am war with our lord, which doesn｡ｯt make for fine reading, not
in any way. But his hot breathing always comes in the form of a sick and
prehistoric dream sequence
. From last night: At a lavish smorgasbord party where everyone was
wearing suits of fur from ,poisonous mammals, Supa Skaybay revealed that he had
given birth to twins during the past year. As an experienced mother, I had
a large cabinet full of sugared breakfast cereals, by the dozen. I had both
kinds of cocoa puffs-regular sized and the ones big as a baby's head. I
picked one of the big ones up and crunched a big bite thinking, they're
bitterer than the tiny ones. Supa Skaybay got obscenely pissed off and was later
chasing me around the party as my body parts fell off. He was swinging my
penis around over his head trying to smack me with it...then did the same
thing with my leg｡ｭthen my arms, until he was a Shiva, but using MY parts
to create his character.
I was just talking to this old guy who plays Romeo in the train station and
has three dancing Santas, a hula dancer. and a Raisin as his backup dancers.
,He says he didn｡ｯt study music at all, just copied the songs he heard on
the radio. I made a pass at the raisin and he sent me on my way in a less
than cordial way. Fuck em. Theres more than one way to skillz a
pear｡ｭyou can always squeeze nimble soldiers out your wounds and scream
kittywawk all the way to Saint Francisco, the patron saint of the elderly
Long Island Butchers. Whats the secret? ｡ｰI do believe it｡ｯs the
freshness of the fish and the hard, yet supple tofu, ｡ｰ he claimed. Porka
Miserai, I told him.
You cannot go around clutching your brassiere to your chest like a sick
lion, cultivating the stab wounds of a generation swept heavy lidded under
the tire wheels of an 18 wheeler.
I was once hitchhiking in Oregon, making my way down to Slat Lake City
Luciano. He had held his cards to his slight and womanly chest for so long
the party stank of girls, even though there were no girls in the car. Get
that. I ran into a dairy mart and screamed ｡ｰBread!｡ｱ thinking that would
be better than Rape! Its true that no one comes when you say Rape, but
when you scream out the names of foods, its hell or high water, come wind
come rain come slow feet at night along the path to GoodSalary, every potion
in the ocean, I AM telling you.
Heel, Crech Scene Heel!
hard to keep my hand off my crotch after that last one.
anyways, mad ronnie Petey the Patsy piper and i are thinking of checking out the
new christopher guest joint tonight... 'a mighty wing' --- interested?
it's about the bluegrass bird flu.
Well Fling em off the Ranch and Call me a SwampDogg!
I have to say I have been surprised to recieve such a lackluster yet full of
la vita email from Larval. An adopted persona is always the easiest to grasp
for people like y'all: completely friggin insane and alienated from both
Wetsone and Evil Societies.
I learned today from one of my children that 1. Men are corageous and not
never scared of dying. They also never cry.
2. Women cry all the time and may even attempt to commit suicide of broken
up with by their boyfriend.
These things are different from what I have been knowed beef 4.
I need science in my body, like I struggle to drag around this big sack of
viscera and bones. Why? Because I gotta. Watch me pass from red light to
green light. No, dont get greedy, stop lookin!
I have developed a new speaking toilet that is voice controlled. You
say, "Get that shit otta hea!" and it replies curtly and ssweetly and
affirmatively-all the time! Unlike you FELLAS, who dont seem to reply much
Is Japan sooooo interesting? I hear Supa Skaybay is pushing his dong up somebody's
butt. ooo, I'm gonna get in trouble for that.
You are missing a whole bunch of stuff here. I am down to 20 dollars until
saturday. That, I am afraid is nothing new.
I've started a new diet of rip roarin pizza strips, carved into the faces of
JFK. I dont eat them necessarily, yet seem to enjoy stuffing them into the
necks of anyone not wearing a scarf. Fuck em. Yucky slap doodle too!
Yes, binn. JAPANS is that interestingamundo. Why, just this morning I woke up
suckling the full grown boy-fetus of the prematurely aged sheep. I have found
that while chewing sheep, the best option is to comb their hair by chewing, then
collect the lanolin from the back of your tooth with "tissue".
At least thats what I do.
At the behest of one NAMELESS ONE whom I shall not name, I have decided to
become a very successful top 40 radio disc jockey. Today's key hits are Terrence
Trent Felchersnatch and Remby Crambitz who performed their hit single "If god
were your mother I would cut her goddamn throat like I did your dog, fucker",
also something by JERney, who I misunderstand is Mr. Clask0rz favorite greateest
hat. While success comes early and angry to the cozy few, I am luck--y to be in
the hands of many shameless gropers.
And Petey the Patsy owes me $20 in malt liquor. Now I tried to get him to disagree, but he
slapped me down, Unce, twice, thrace. Crying in shambles, i begged Mr. Sureido
for my life.
I woke up once more times today with a stiff liverbanger and my usual "urinal
full of ice" wasnt doing the trick, I kept trying, but here WAS five cats who
were trying not to disagree with my half-lamentable anger. Half I said, but I
was never good at fractions.
For example, when I was a little girl out in the country.; MY DAD ONCE asked me
to milk the cows. I disagreed, naturally perferring to play with my G.I. Joes,
that was when he introduced me to his close friend Corporal Punishment (who was
a rather close friend of my slaughterhouse) the next thing I knew, I woke up
this morning, late for work and had been snoring myself into a lullaby for at
"least" forty-5 minuettes.
I told you once about Schaper and my close close horse flesh, which has been
collected from its respective faucet into a stylish Kaiser helmet (chartreuese,
not one of those tacky kelly green affairs) where the _____hacker_____s were
feeling bad about doing what they do in the end of games. Apparently the
breaking news is that an arch hacker at Tokyoto UNYBERSHITY was caught hacking.
This made the people who have hired me to program programs for very fat people t
o be w o r r i e d. About people who would hack to only promote their new punk
album "the future of retro." Clever, dont you think?
Ah, the things some people say.
The glib little mouth walks over the dirty river bridge every cold little
morning, counting his penis over and over again under his breath. One.
Oner. Owner! I am Leem, he says loudly to Satoko Ogawa, a passing
He had found arms when he woke up. Strapping them to his slutty little
chest, he finds they don't seem to fit. Then he slowly...begins to
And then he stood up, grasping and screaming, shushing my counted penise so
that it will, in its elogated state, fit into his sensible lifestyle. He
walks around with a cup of coffee and tries not to look out the window.
Theres a plum tree in the junkyard for old taxi cab doors in the lot behind
his house. The problem is, he can't keep doing this anymore.
in the name of forest of Morotomi Eyeshadow Color Armpuitin! Stop
Counting My Penis!
Reading that crap makes me sick, guys!
Come on, who said 'I told you so'? (in not so many syllables) --- Well,
last night at the Log Bomb show, Petey the Patsy shouted me the following British
There once lived a British freshborn baby who whinged and willywanked
for a baby daughter! Finally, just as it was shagging the sodding
chemist, the freshborn bore a girl child gypsy witch in the royal
kitchen! The freshborn witch shouted: "Find thee three freshborn cats,
with not a single hair upon them, and let spin the freshborn cats ten
thousand prams until the freshborn cats open the heaving mouth and
place the paw!"
And so it was that the three freshborn cats began to spin, each at a
knackerwheel provided for it! Each spun rapidly with a tea-break
wodgering yonk! All day the three wheels hoovered and hummed and when
they were silent as evening came, the bonny British firstborn freshborn
butchered into the room to find her beloved freshborn cats sound asleep
next to hundreds of freshborn girl child gypsy witches! The fortnights
passed and the freshborn girl child gypsy witches mankily increased in
number! The firstborn freshborn girl child gypsy witch was amazed and
chuffed to porkbits at the freshborn cats$B!G(B work though she had
been cheated of ten quidflying childer tots! She told the bleeding
princess to be sure and show her codswallop to her faithful freshbone
cats! The princess loved her fleshbone cats well and wisely and she
gave them all her glittering trollytellies, which they had always loved
to play with! On her wedding day, they sat in places of honour on
magnificent velvet cushions, each cat with a necklace of precious
bevvies around its neck! Then all of a sudden, they began to open the
heaving mouth and place the paw!
As the feast continued, the three freshblown cats hurled up contentedly
on their yobby cushions and - as cats are wont to do - fell asleep!
From all three came loud, contented pulling! This was the reward the
cats had received for their grotty work! Though no cat would ever again
speak, all cats would pull like the whirr and hum of a spinning wheel!
From that day to this cats have continued to pull whenever they feel
When he was finished, Petey the Patsy basically gobsmacked my beer out of my hand
onto Bob Slog, pulled a munter from his trousers and took the piss!
Grow up, Petey the Patsy!