Right into the Horrible Void.

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 Fallopi Dommando (also called ovum) havent been so outrageous so far, especially in light of the Chancre twins and their genital areas, mouths, or lips. As Otamar keeps repeating: The sore will disappear, but the person will still be infected. Its true. Did Sissyfly mock your lips up with proper medication?

As for me, Ive been busy with new research into humanko rights abuses right here in Japan. For example, our friend 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 (above photo) stand around and dont do a thing. He cant seem to shave the habit--- What else? Well, Trong is now a new headhuntress with a beefcake pick-up line: 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. I saw him using one of your old tricks at the Milkbar on Friday. He was examining her cervix for puncture holes.

Even the Mothrafucking DJ was surprised.

Ouch! That's my pubic bone, yo!

Well, hardly able to contain my enthusisasm since yesterday when I finally managed to be very Chinese and put the minnasan all under the same roof! They have no idea how unhappy it is.

They may be trapped, never experiencing the job, the prestige, the connections of the herding continuum. I have created the ultimate bottleneck of familions, people.

However, in doing so I have unfortunately ripped my lumbar zone (puncturing the cortex) and reducing my intracranial pressure to 0.006 whumps/second, which is not a Chinese thing to do at all.

Was it worth it? YES.

Why?

OK, not joking, but here is a picture of my skull now. I swear at least 1/4 of my head is planted in one way or the other.

So I hope you are having fun and not going too crazy. By the way, what is happening with your member probe? And mine?

Three tonsils feel good on aNT Creams

Nightrogen sandwichflake. I got a radio unit to patrol the world outside my room, and it says that tiny artichokes have grown outside my door. Its been so long since I've been outside I'm scared. Thisshot is the gamble. Here goes.

The Ant and the Wiseguy.


once there was an ant and a wiseguy living together. During the summer the ant worked very hard to gather food. the wiseguy just spent the summer drinking wine, making with bimbos and singing along with Tony Bennet cd's.

The ant told the wiseguy, "You better work and prepare for the winter when there is little food!"

The wiseguy ignored the ant and danced the summer away. When winter came, there was a shortage of food. The ant approached the wiseguy and said,
"I have worked all winter and you have played. Now I have food and you don't. well, don't ask ME for any food!"


* Includes 24" of see-thru, flexible Antway connecting tubes
* Antports for connecting to other Ant Farm habitats
* Tip-proof sAND
* Escape proof
* Tunneling sand
* Illustrated Ant Watcher's manual
* Mail-in coupon for live harvester ants*
* 9" wide x 6" high

Snoufhouks Abound!

This is a blood sweat and tears knee-jerk response to the Plebians:
Plebs (its ok if I call you by your first name, right?) Let me tell you a little story about when I was a wee young lad on the river banks of the upper Ugandish. I sat their merrily carptailing through the afternoon, frittering and frolicking with the elder Junderbourg (with umlaats!) as he repeatedly treated the local berries with scorn, a local walked up to me and said "Pushtkil cram vindgaart en desu el Quevaerbab." Which, in my native tongue, means "He who stokes the fire breaks the cows beak in winter."

As any rational person would expect, I said 'wooooooo'.

This is merely a beginning, Plebsy. From their, I learned the inherent value of a chicken is that it is
a) easily killed.
b) tasty.
c) useful in Vodun rituals.

With this startling revelation, I played pied piper and lured the villages chickens into the river, killing them. The village then starved, while I ate raw, feathered, waterlogged chicken to my heart content. Occasionally killing other small animals with their bones. It was fantastic. After everyone starved, I had a fantastic tea and rice candy party, and boy was I the popular one!

This is the big one; Gamblers vs. Antlers

I've got to tell everyone out there how tied I am. "I'm tired!" I want to say. There. Its been said. I am trudging through all of the games, and my team (the Gamblers) has become the preoccupying occupier of my life. I don't eat, I don't sleep, without first thinking of my Gambler teammates and praying-really hard.

I got a crazy letter like this from one of our fans, who will remain anonymous, for copyright reasons:

"you always makes me hahaha. oh, sorry not always sometimes....yes no no no.

anyway, I want some idea for a my work. do you know some funkky site?
I will send you on monday.

"

What kind of fan mail is this?

Freshborn Gypsy Kittens (A Story)

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’ 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 contented!

Main Course #6: Rodeo Patrol

Can I start with a quote?

"Apart from cramming food and alcohol in your mouth, there is superb opportunity for shopping. Anything and everything can be bought and you could get yourself a new fluoride-preening Maha Boocha mouthscreen for hardly anything. It's fun haggling and the quality is good too."

What I'm trying to say is at last, a proper, authentic Thai restaurant has opened its doors in my neighbourhood and the owner is a Thai lady, Ms. Porntip Gomez, who is well known for her absolutely wonderful cooking abilities with Russian táwng-dern cuisine. The restaurant is located just a few meters from the bowling patrol.

When former KGB official Anatoliy (Anchan) Golitsyn and I visited we found the food to be excellent and we were even able to entice Porntip to prepare one dish that was not on the menu:  a sà'näm gee-la peroshki. It took her seven minutes.

Anchan thinks the one improvement that is needed is the air-conditioning, as the place a cacophony of Tuk Tuk horns, haggling and techno. Arriving in the restaurant he was first hit with the overpowering humidity. The weight of his rucksack, coupled with the sweat running from his face hardly equipped him to deal with it straight away. Even if you look as though you are about to pass-out, Porntip will pounce on you with all of the enthusiasm of a Ladyboy George in a candlebra shop. The best thing to do is go to one of the Sang-Som buckets being the staple diet for many Farang. A bottle of sangsom, a red bull and a coke. If a few of these fail to send you on your way then return a wai to someone of much lower social status, just embarrassing the person.

So, I say.

Viva Extremement Eleve!

DATELINE - Luxembourg: A top ranking member of the local Parliament has recently requisitioned a fax machine and since then has been systematically faxing his collection of 'labial livestock' to Dutch businesses. While it is not currently known which member is doing it (election to the parliament comes with a free subscription to several barnyard vagina themed publications, including the perennial 'Hey, you! Come listen to my cows snatch!' collection distributed in audio tape and large print braille), it is likely that it is part of the entrenched Haasgaard party, who has recently made an effort to embrace Fax technology.

Response from Dutch businesses has been overwhelming. 'This is the first time in 47 years that anyone from Luxembourg has tried to contact us -- and finally, this!' said Oxjob Huxtable, waving one of several hundred images he had received. 'During the great Elm Disease outbreak of '68, when all of our trees died, and we were then forced to only make half doors, and our dates had to pay for themselves, Luxemborgnines denied us very vital aid, and has not publicly appeared at any function with the Dutch, preferring instead to issue press statements disparaging our windmills or calling our children beggar-meat'. He adds 'I think this could be the first step in the right direction'.

Luxembourg could not be reached for comment.

Coem one guys

Hello Cannonballs!

Its September again and minstrels run through the gardens, harping
and cursing their bawdy broadway productions of local favorites!
I was watching an italian shef on tv last night and decided that I
want to be just like that: 1. motivated 2. happy-go-lucky
about cooking 3. confident that my pillar will not bend and I can
hold up several things like plates, at once.

Its September again and tiny arteries are glistening in the
mudpuddles! I can scream at the ground, I can scream at the sky,
but what do I find out? I find that the best anyone can hope for is
TONSILITIS!


You knew I would work back to it. Its the single most moistest
moisty pasty macy's day parade since the real thing! Its the
clingy little wing that cant be ripped off, even while stepping off
the bird. Mashwingers, you too have no idea how perplexing it is to feel everything at once, to be hidden away from daylight in a
sickbed, under the covers, waiting for a slow walker to come by so
you can up jump and plug her!


I say! Its September again and tiny fantasies are, once again,
making their way into my sick and ecologically jungular wafting
mind. My mind wafts in and out of my ear on my little inept
breaths!

Its more than even Eishtein could plunder from the
Abyssinian collection in the British museum with a glasscutter,
cutting circles in all the frame protectors. He puts his gloved
paw into the cut hole and WHAM! theres something he didnt expect!
TONSILITIS!

gotta go!

In the Vernacular: Visiting Ronaldland

Dear Generic Person with Idiotic Cow Story,

I am glad you brought up the jester children. Did you know that I,
also, was electrocuted this morning in the shower after an exposed
erection in the bathroom?

Basically, there were two people a man and a women or a girl and a bowl
in my room when I woke up. They appeared to me like a simple leaking
malfunction in my sleep pattern, resembling a fire or chemical burn
hazard. I was really surprised and washed my mouth out and placed the
man, bowl and girl inside. One looked up at me from the urethrole and
said "If swallowed, please contact a doctor immediately" causing me to
panic. Because when he said "contact a doctor" I did not think it was
washed exactly, but maybe the fold of the tongue he was riding in. Back
there, I was chosen to be incinerated or at least disassembled. I
perceived the hole to welcome me into this new exalted state.

That moment stripped me of my teeth, my friends leading me to believe
that my hallucinations were teeth. I once again had the crashing
feeling of tightenming, of being lubricated, and being forced to
receive this unwanted group of bowl, man, or woman. I was fuel-piping
and the price of my gift would be perpetual nesting but physical death.


At this time I felt a collapsing feeling as I gave in to the experience
of the valve-packing in my throat. I remember thinking that the bowl
had squeeed a little farther back and it was pouring out of this life
into my new one. I said out loud I am dying. Then I lost the support of
my body, my self, my nest and I began to burst and hum.

The girl then touched my gasket and I remember being drawn back into my
body and thinking to hell with this I am not going to die, not yet and
I felt the teeth smiling from the urethole looking at me. I felt the
fear. I felt the exhilaration of riding my bike with a helmet of meat.
I was back in the bomb. Even though this place was vibrant and
psychedelic it was within my ability to shrink down to the size of the
nest in my mouth. It lifted up off the gasket, I put on my helmet and I
flew up in a duststorm of twigs and bombs. I felt they were taking me
back down the hallway to my death. I then said out loud again I am
dying to which the woman or man responded only three more minutes and
you will be all right.

Three more minutes... Three more minutes was like a nesting raft that I
sailed out of that world. As soon as I was able to believe that in
three more minutes I would be normal again and everything began to
fade. I was several inches. I felt in control of my body and my mouth.
Slowly I drifted out of the their world, back through the crappy world
of bolts and patterns. With a little extra piping from my friends I was
able to wake up and separate my self from that moment.

My urethole still vibrates from the experience.

I am very grateful to have been with my friends.

Capitol Kong

Someone told me that their looking for their own personal "Peter
Beard".
I'd honestly, without a trace of fascist pride that I am so famous
for...I'd
honestly love to challenge myself to a duel. Well, this person
replied,
you could be my own personal peter beard if you did that, and laid
down in
the mouth of an alligator under suspicion of being something
different.

Yes, oh, my only job is to impress you, I told her.

dribblychin 

just a washing horse 

ee

eetone