Mastodon Chit Chat

Its time to talk, fellas.

2011-09-08T03:26:00.002-04:00

In an era where nostalgia reigns supreme, there is a sublime artifice in the extant -- _the_ extant -- of our meaning.

You follow, right? There couldn't be an intermittent heartflob, a pointless dissection of what ants do for fun.

Of a desperate unwelcome visitor overstaying their welcome.

That has been the continuum, of course, every second some little girl in kindergarten is quoting you verbatim, coincidentally, and its not even interesting when she says it.

Its an easy callous to roost and chew on: once-contemporary admirations have aged into styrofoam shrines chipped and moldy; New generations punch their way to the same pitfalls in unrelenting waves; your past is set and your future is bridled; most of your 24 hours are accountable to something else.

Giraffes we, chopable necks comfortably grazing.

And what of affability?

2010-09-01T01:38:00.002-04:00

It might be the easiest pretense to live with, but hardest to maintain. I think we should take a classical look at this phenomena throughout history. In the early days, there was little need for affability, since everyone just had a club and fought each other for pine nuts covered in caveman mayonnaise.

A bitter stew indeed, this affability. In his manic letters to the press before he died, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle prophetically explained the importance of affabilities cousin: amiability.

"
In these, my last, of Sir, I must impart the invicibility of amiability. Just as we, mortal humans catch our wang in the proverbial single-pant zipper, I think the problem is that I am simply about to die. That is why I always have one amiabilee sidekick.
"

His death rattle shook the house.

Hoistening the Marrow!

2009-01-26T01:33:00.002-05:00

Its a difficult plane to plow, fellows.

I set it this way: I woke up recently, in the banks of some garden, hosted by a group of beneveolent man-eating plants. We sat, had tea and discussed the economy of man-eating plants. While not entirely sentient, they still manage to sway a good argument. They stand tall as a man, and have teeth of thorns, their laughter is like hisses, and their hisses laughter. Its all the same, they may as well be snakes. There is not a reason that they find, other than, of course tea.

Tea lets them know that they are still proper gentleman, man-eating plants or no. While they dont wear storks or dignify most answers with anything other than gnashing thorns, you can be sure that these are the plants to be around.

And thats where I have been, lately, suckling thorns. Apparently there is good value to it. Values and propositions always meet, apparently. So of course we all end up swimming in thorns.

They, apparently, think I would benefit from "Water Horse of the Deep". Maybe its my online identity, maybe its my professed love of horses. And my well-publicized hatred of the same horses. Is it? IS IT?!?

Mungrunchers at lifespeed.

2008-12-21T12:01:00.005-05:00

Your update is complete. I am a fucking menu.

First Prime: A weel in Cleveland!
Second Prime: 2 weels in Cleveland!

Here's the deal: we're still here. At some point I think an ad agency decided that we should all still be here, and we were like: "cool". It could be like that, or at least in a slightly more coherent sense.

Y'know, because you see movies like the matrix and stuff are like "yeah, i could totally be a computer programmed dream." Pretty sure those guys got it right.

And there are some nomads, somewhere who used to herd sheep and ideologically believed they were their nihilist prophets property. The surrounding government put fences around their livestock, and showed the men airplanes. Things will never be the same.

And past that, there are formal introductions: like "Hello," and "Hello,". And this is still accepted, even in todays multicultural rage.

Boys, I'm not asking for a kaleidoscope. not buried sentences or patient raconteur. Just building a rapport. With an 'e'. But you should have already known that. "If we see the progress bar, in our goggles, of our liv-"

"Damnit, Jensen! I'm an attorney, not a raconteur. Are there any other options?"

Of course there were options. Jensen had only been out of the attorney army for 12 days. There he had subsisted for what seemed like years on spoonfuls of wallpaper paste and chili powder. Attorney armies were tough in this day and age.

I sensed movement above my head and to my right!

2008-12-16T12:16:00.005-05:00

I am reminded of cliff divers in Acapulco!

I feel the lurch in my own stomach as if I were falling and realize that I am actually watching myself sitting in a surgery at 2:00 am with drool on my chin and a hissing Nitrous mask in my lap.

I am a little embarrassed by the setting and sweet sludge of drugs involved; it seems like something which should have happened out in the middle of the dessert after fasting for a week and eating Peyote and people on 'Peyote'. Sometimes I think these visions find us, despite all our efforts in surgery.

Kremlin, please don't try this at home. Experienced driver on closed miasma.

Actually, I have wasted many years of precious life-death using a variety of drugs responsibly. My advice is to stick to the carnivorous plants and be careful with them. I'm very grateful for the insights gained, but cannot close without quoting Henri Michaud:

Hey everyone!
O! I have nothing to brag about: Small! Small!
And if one were to hold me,
One would make of me what one wished.

Tinticture of Dickcheese.

2008-12-13T02:27:00.009-05:00

Lets Haiku Time!

I need advisors,
Its "to eat or not to eat"
The brains of sparrow

Look! The homeless man
Todays blanket, tomorrows dinner
To mans best friend (dog)

Hateful documents?
I am afraid so, good sir.
Until the arraignment!

Jesus, only the
biggest heartflob in the world.
I mean you, vincent.

Its a civil war.

2008-12-08T01:15:00.005-05:00

Its in the news and papers everywhere, people. This country is being plagued by dissidents. The world doesnt seem to want to take notice, they care that the airport is back open. The germans are happy, in their ugly ways of the veins of the sex-trade opened again. The ideals being paraded around, puritanical, mostly, but I think I see the real truth.

The factions have broken all over, there aren't many who aren't rearing up for the conflict. The north siders have built their army on the backs of pygmy elephants struggling through the jungles, saddled with decorative spears, and cheap taiwanese speakers blasting the interminable bland techno that developing countries love. The factions are built to defend their own jungles, starved of all but the most basic staples of their diet: sugar, ginger, and rancid liquor.

The puritanical beliefs keep them away from that, but the liquor gives the elephants courage. They stamp the bottles with pictures of elephants, everything is a goddamn elephant out here. The paths through, that havn't been stomped with craggy cement blocks or sprayed with toxic pesticides, which threaten to melt the gaudy accouterments, and rebranded electronics, the real jungles hide the mounting factions.

The mountains buried by the smoke of industry, people too concerned with growth and survival than to take the arrogance that they should preserve it. This is more camouflage.

To the south I hear there are other factions, the islands overrun with fat Britons, swilling the same cheap elephant liquor with a nicer label. Folklore tells thats what make their noses grow. Cultural pomposity leaving their shirts off, arrogant, white flab roasting under peanut oil in the sun. Circled with crops of dead sandfleas, choking bite by bite the toxic white rumps.

The factions leave them be, and in fact are almost unnoticed. Mulim frogmen, wrapped in linen with scuba gear pass calmly through the waters unbeknownst to the Britons, snoring through their big fucked up teeth, mumbling about white pudding.

Indeed, the political strife in the center. The airports, was just political theatre, pawns in a war to never be described. The techno elephants, the muslim frogmen, drawing closer together, but never crossing the main paths. To keep the tranquility, to keep both sides funded quietly, to keep both ends sustained, oxygen tanks full and elephants drunk. How else could it be.

Im in the city. A large one, up at the north end. I havn't seen elephants. There is a tourist trap nearby where I can pay to watch them fuck. I havn't taken up that offer yet. The city is bustling as always, chock full of peasant women too busy working to try to be pretty, the men too busy catcalling the white people to hustle to waste on the women.

In the city they dont know about the war, what the war to be is. The people who write the papers tell me its political theatre. The yellow jackets, and the red jackets, who all scream the same words, but want different things. Its probably not that.

The future, the past is all war, war and resources. War only makes sense when there is money to be made. There is no money in drunk elephants, no oil in scuba muslims. We pine, and bitch about the inconvenience, cast a worried eye to the endless charades.

"At least we don't have these problems in South Africa".

The charades moved on, but threatened to cut the only real resource. The corpulent westerners, who drink down the elephant poison.

It might just be under my feet. Or scurrying around in the walls in front of me. I couldn't tell anymore. Cities are all the same in the end. Washed up gentrified restaurants selling the safe parts of animals. Always an odd linger of farts in the air.

The great american cities all smell like farts, too. I can't think of one that doesnt. The europeans were built on their own shit, damn near wiped them out. A civilization has arrived when they can hold hands and say "our cities smell of farts, the equal of Paris or New York".

Farts are still a better smell than gunpowder and blood. Leave that to the jungles, to the mountains, the mosquitos and elephants. The man made ponds skimming with floating fish. The paths carved by solvents from the coke huts.

You can hear development, can tell when it draws closer. Its the same repetitive techno beat wherever you go. Cheap to make, inoffensive, but equally terrible. A lure to westerners, out for a good time with no taste, but lots of resources.

You wont hear the elephants until its too late.

Stranded with the oriental mind.

2008-12-07T01:34:00.004-05:00

I read a book recently. It was by a halfrican-canadian.
It was about success.
It was supposed to tell me how I could be a success.
Instead it told me I wasnt.
That I wouldnt be.
But that it wasn't my fault.
It was the year I was born. Maybe even the day.
It had pages of stories, of koreans who would rather crash airplanes and send hundreds of people to the hell of burning wreckage than be slapped by their bosses.
It told me of robber barons and modern capitalists, and they all had the same birthday, of Jewish lawyers from public schools who overtook the nords.

They all had the same birthday.

He said orientals had better numbers and could count quicker. That they could hold more numbers in their heads, that rice paddys made them good at math.

The chinese worked harder because they had to. It was the oriental mind.

Occidentalism is my plague. I dont have a laundry, or a small grocery to stake a claim. I dont have the right birthday. I dont have the oriental mind. I couldn't level a rice paddy. I can't wake before dawn.

The great oriental mind. The suncrunchers. The jew-laywers and white monks in the birthday club, merrily toasting each others good fortune. The oriental mind will soon overtake them. They have no artifices, no need for dialog, simply a lifetime of backbreaking servitude to the sunken marshes of rice.

The nords lost, didn't they? Tall men with cold blue eyes and starchy suits. Lined row-upon row, whiter than their teeth. The nords have the wrong calendar, the wrong birthdate. They organized, standing in pyramids on each others shoulders, building scaffolds of nord, short-cropped hair tousled by the wind.

The nords stood strong with each other: a human crystal, walls of aryan blood lashed together for the benefit of nords. They crumbled, they fell, succumbing to the oriental mind. Helplessly twisting, their woolen suits tearing, strong bones crushed to meal.

Maybe the world was better off.

Orientals can't all do math. At least not the ones I know. They all count in english, too.

The lawyers, the Jewish ones, I hear live in New York. I dont know any of them. They didnt crumble the nords, they stayed well away, they built their human monuments low to the ground, and out of the way of the nord towers. They held hands and shed law, weeping, bleeding pages of what they could grab. I am told that they too were occidental.

Who owns the world, these days? The ones who make the television sets. In the orient, there are paper doll factories, stuffed to the gills with orientals making entertaining pirouhettes, stuffing them in the televisions to be shipped to us.

My occidental blood is diluted, I am a mongrel, ethnically and culturally. I have been exposed, as I suspect you have, to the oriental mind. I have built it as a lattice in my mind, unravaged, built as twisted vines from my slow counting brain.

And it always lingers. The nords never asked me to stand on their shoulders, the jews never asked me to weep the law. The orientals sell me their overstock from their quick-counting over-farmed paddys. I gladly give it to them. My complacence will never built a nordic human tower.

I have never wanted to be a lawyer. I have never wanted to wake up and farm three hundred sixty days a year.

The halfrican-canadian had more stories, but they weren't about me. They weren't uplifting, they weren't about me or anyone like me.

We are all mongrels, we have the wrong birthdates. We, and the others like myself simply stumble drunkenly between the shoulder standers, the suncrunchers and the weeping lawyers.

We buy our rice and bury it with water and drink the rotten juice.

Until the halfrican told me, i had no idea my birthdate was wrong.

Now i know, but don't care.

He is an editor, really. A lovely job where you take other peoples ideas and give them pretty words. Its an effective job, thats how they wrote the bible.

There was a point to his musings, his well trimmed anecdotes, which all seemed to universally point to something. Vague pleasant whispers of unattainable sweetness: hope, change, access, opportunity. That self-made men come from a culture of success, and also had the right birthdate.

He ignores the crumbling nords, the jewish pornographers, the orientals covered in flaming jellied gasoline burned and buried under their paddys, as quick with math in death as in life.

Left behind is the club with the right birthday, but stilted minds, the whiskey laced vagrants who lie idly between the structures, senses too dulled to bother with the images drawn around them.

The ones who work their whole lives to be mediocre at living.

I got the book at the airport. It was better than the in-flight movie.

And the food.

Tinker Tailor, Dick

2008-11-25T21:55:00.003-05:00

Golem hatred punk, let's move outside the ice cream solids.

I believe you have been optimized, doped for poop and left out of tigh-time to regret your strength.

Don't regret it o hey.

Bulb the sofa, lewd armchair radior destroy the particulars

I don;'t care :(

This is just something cared for, something sacred and knife junk rodeo baby

I cable carred your face?

No cream on my steam.

No weight lifter peppered with and oxygen belt and saved until the rape of humanity became my

fuzziest dice.

No what?

Who believes you?

God believes you and can;'t stand the fact that you above all else have swollen up

to the size of a creotene monument to the poopific bobisha of extremee and unintelligeably tight knowledge.

I don;'t even know which bank or which vashon island to call you from.

I called a slick onion out of the dark

and what happened you ask?

Well, tiny whats' his face left the podium.

Tiny whats the skeleton and I once saw my hand giving a handjob.

NIGHTBULB, LIGHTBULB, GORE

2008-06-10T22:36:00.004-04:00

Dear Forest McDonald,

It has indeed been a long year since the husks fell off the corn.

Nightrogen timebomb might say I asked for it, but is a sweater really and truly the kind of sweater you can see yourself wearing? I often ask myself.

Surely there are better things to wear.

I ran out of fire at the barbeque yesterday? I guess barbegue, is a better name for it. Let's see...

Muddled cracked and disheveled.

2007-06-26T22:53:00.000-04:00

Hello friends, I have been away tristing the horses for perpetual mastery lately, and have been letting my negligence get the best of me. Were I more prodigious with my alms, I could dispatch each of these putative teasings with the weight of each feathered hair.

This is really neither here nor there. Between the endless festoons of bewilderment, engendered mostly by the hair-lipped and snoutless children pushed wall-to-wall against each other in desparate futility; while the clenchant bouts fiercely through aneurysms and feeds off each labored breath; where weekly fears gnaw at harrowed childhood memories.

This is not that thing. Bishop and rook they took a walk into advokatskya class, into which bartender he said: 4 I will not cherish house fact not it was single token in limelight it said it did make or not it last Tuesday.

We are here instead => from each of the fly's thousand eyes focused on the coagulating blood drying in a pool from the hanging chartreuse gallows. Expeditiously, the fly flew 1.64 meters up, and then to the left, cherishing its glances wayward like a fat sack of stew hanging from the chartreuse gallows. This fly flain florth fluth flaying philanderous chartreuse gallows the.

Electric, babies. This thinking is electric. This is marketing. This is oreo fucking cookies. This is reality.

My Proverberbial Filth

2007-03-24T06:49:00.000-04:00

Can I get you a hankerchief? I cried and cried when I found out you weren't going to attend the Sobetsukai. Sure, yes, a hankerchief, please. This doesn't mean I've been avoiding you on purpose, it's simply the room is filled with Olypian wrestlers at the moment and they're after the full-nelson. As I type, only a half-nelson has been achieved, and I bang on with one finger for your pleasure.
Anyways, besides this, I'm reaching the threshold. It's obviously moving into spring and I have done so many embarrasing things that I don't know even where to start apologizing. First, I told the lady down at the laudromat she was a Molting. Weird thing is, I felt bad about calling her an Oar, even though she is Creak, but not so bad about the fat part. Am I too sensitive? Well reason for it was perhaps a misunderstanding - I had put my clothes in dryer number 6E and gone off to pick up a cable for my toilet. When I got back, a couple of hours later, someone had taken my clothes and put them BACK in the washing machine, and they were covered in laundry soap. Well, the person who had put her clothes in 6A after me was obviously to blame, so I waited until they returned. In comes a very fat lady, blah blah blah on the phone 'anyo hamseeda' and so on. I see her go for 6A, and lo and behold, not there! Ho ho, who's laughing now - she's all 'ei ei ei' on the phone and wondering what happened to her clothes, checking other dryers, etc. Well, I come up behind her and say in perfect French, 'Je suis desolais, mais tes vetements, ils sont dans ma bouche, parce que tu es une Koreane gourmande!!!'. I take the clothes out, with all the teeth marks and put them in the basket.

WHAT CLOSET NIGHTSHADE? Puffed.

2007-02-24T00:08:00.000-05:00

It bent me over its knee, fellas. It micro urgently puffed from the soil. I rotated my tarzan equipment and floated through each hour like a foam. I knew what it was called but I called it Repulse. I called it eyewear. I felt that you guys have something going on that I can sometimes imagine. I ran around the park, tusking the dogs. My dog wrestled a squirrel to the ground. My dog was a freak with white eyes, tiny specks of black in them! I got up close to him. Then I yelled into those eye places. Hello! I yelled. From down deep in those eyes, I heard a faint voice. I think it said what.

Revenge: Its whats for Dinner!

2007-01-28T17:34:00.000-05:00

He's life is meaningess.
He has a a time-limited life.
so, he enjoy his spare life time.
making a video, and watching a reaction from other people.

2007-01-01T19:39:00.000-05:00

The shiny Foott Elastic

2007-01-01T18:16:00.000-05:00

Hey and Harp on this!

newyear!

Ground Zero is beautiful today!

I swaer it has been rumpled in the chambers, swearing and sweating through molecules of confabulated retardo jets. It desn't even make a baby! So how could it sing.

This morning I am SURE you woke up, sprayed around the kistchen for an hour or so, then moused your way back into bed to enjoy the fumes under cover? I know the weight of my smell Utami because it locks its shins together and hates the taste of water. Why would I ever come back for you? I'll tell you why. My knife.

When I woke up I moved and felt my ocular tick turn, and then it went south, and then it came back. I knew it was frothing but how many chamber candwiches does a man with a cane have to retract? I retract every statement I ever made. Can I? Yes, I can, Otamar.

My nose has become softer than usual in this form letter of a vacationspray. I knew my hair was wrong when one man came up to me and glistened my chin with his doo rag. So short I didnt even see him while looking at the ground zero.

I limped through breakfast today and saw my body break into tiny portions divvied up on the plates of any kind of frigid sodafountain my emotions could find. Betrayed by emotions?

No, more like a waitress with a bum leg who gives too much of herself in the spraycanister. I know. There is so much to give...if everybody gives, then everybody will have something.

But I dont want something, I want my stuff!

Alloted Fecund Thwang Wort!

2006-12-08T02:22:00.000-05:00

Check out my blue coat!

Its hard livin here in the manger, what with the plaigarism charges. I cant keep hypnotic with my "lightspeak" but the outcome is still the same: cows fucking moo. It never stopped me, though, from moving foward with my plans. As the quite wise Nausbert once said: "Insignificant details are the rocks of our dreams tied around our collective corpulently belching throat, drowning in a sea of horsefat set ablaze by a million harrowed flog-dutchers."

Indeed.

There are more terrible things in the world than drabbery, but still it is something to be parished. While stalking hearty nuncicals may bring a canist smile to a once already bount of high esteem, our understanding of precocious surroundings alienates the lucidity shared by me and the commoners. Truly it is ours to behold.

If indeed the wretchid serif were one to falsely collaborate on nuances yet unspoken betwixt schallop and schallon, surely our bearances would unduly bequeth us nards?

Furthermore, what became my Reno pittance was little more than a personal sabotage, I was able to share a few details:
"It walked into the room, floculently.

-"

And then it was sin.

From Where Are the Runts

2006-11-02T17:13:00.000-05:00

Fro what are the runts to break out of the mantlepiece? Is it fair? Who said there would be an oiven in which to make love like a turkey in the oven? Is that fair? I would promote a rash.

I would lay down and find tissue paper to hide under. I might even rearrange my hair and promote world fitness by a pop pop whizz, the fishing pole falling into the water, pulling in the fisherman, and then just going ahead and pulling the shore he's standing on in too. I might arrange things that way. I might. I honestly might.

Today is dustbuster day, so I'm vacuuming up some old ways of doing things and making them much more of a weird process of kissing all the hands of gentlemen in the world. Let me kiss your hands? Let me rub my belly along your knees until you say yeah yeah, thats more than I can handle, lets do it.

Braille-heart

2006-10-26T03:17:00.000-04:00

The advantage between a cake decorator and a facade in the latest in mouse research. 1/2 cup of spongy cervical gear with the load patterns into your Facade, Proximinal Jowel, and Mom Factory (or worse, a flat tire), then keep it struggling underwater with the academics. But you don't just have the same problems as me... YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.

Cranky in Human Capoteville

2006-10-22T13:43:00.000-04:00

Dear Shalimar...otamar lambquest...nishi nishermo, where are you? Did you fly off into the electric baloon salesman's smile? the ink? I will leave you a Tomaz Salamun poem for your troubles.

Feast

By the way of all spheres,
on steep rocks overgrown with segments of color,
covered with chalk that children have broken,
we watch fragments
that keep rising,
compressed as if under the weight of water,
their slow takeoff: a signpost,
white curtains raised.

There is no hardship in breathing
precisely here, in this circle,
no hardship in breathing,
and also onward, ahead, it seems
as if balance is built in, unbreakable;
each time widening caves,
widening and narrowing,
like the activity of an unknown (unimaginable)
respiratory system, magnified under a microscope.

Invalid are nostalgia, night, melancholy,
laughter falling as snow,
everything parallel, everything there that can be
reached from here, all “the way” in between.

We are watching the reactions to this condition,
slowly, step by step, the outer leaves of the artichoke
float away.
We can imprint optional memories of notions.

There was a circle.
There was one just because we could not
use it.

Whatever the notion, they are all concentrically
disposed, far and near.
A freckle that was once an elevator
is a priori a ray, secured by intangibility.
Initiation is incredibly slow work,
similar to the turning of summer, winter, and stars.

Is this about how we have eaten?
Did we make a meal each time?

Enough so that in the process a tiny crack is left
and everything regenerates incredibly fast, and therefore now is.

You who keep a diary of growth and victims,
look!
Maybe many of them can read it,
light falls around,
only here of course nothing falls, it gets out.
The center, the source of energy watched by us
during this procedure, is empty. The cosmos makes the locus vanish,
eats it up. Energy, not consciousness, jumps across, (is)
in the negative. Therefore everything is in something,
what roughly, because of a notion, can be described
as a grain of sand, all space the remainder,
like dust after sawing wood.

On one cubic micron there are endless
galaxies, and each this enormous
space, nights, moons, suns, with constellations
that confound us, compressing our membrane.
The intergalactic and, of course, these
‘injected’ communications, too, are only oppression.

Along this window, in this window
there are innumerable other civilizations,
innumerable other cosmological systems.
Thus suffering does not matter,
layers do.
This is what I show here.

Best Nest (Next Nest)

2006-10-17T20:16:00.000-04:00

In this nest are the plans. They've been torn up but are better for it. They must be followed. I have managed to decipher the following from them:

Eschatology or scatolo. Sand in the diaper or staple my p[iper to the waiting room inside my multi-chambered bear. The bear? Yes, that old ursa bear brown and cinammon, crunching its way through the mountainside, roughage people, berries, and the ooooweeeee of certain unmentioable hiking fanatics (Larry). Eat the lawmaker. And you are my brothers.

Take my bag away cuz here I'm going to stay, with the rest of the plants. This here Mastrchomp beareatenursachompkid has decided it would be best if lawyers decided the fate of each of our sibflings. I dont really care, but it would be nice to find someone to take care of my brothers and their weightlifting retardation scales. And you are my brothers.

Who labelled whitey white rice white? Who labelled me a bag thrown from the forementioned tree, and hate guy, and slave robber, and mating chamber for thirsty soy sauce eggs. People. Lawyers. The only thing worse than a lawyer joke is smiling ones way through a jury ordeal by pleading Bear! Handlebear, mandlebear!, my brothers.

Reashination!

2006-10-12T04:03:00.000-04:00

Its time to foreclose on our lastest venture: Goodwill. People! Say it with me: Goodwill! Long have the days passed when we would wish our brother on the street goodwill, the passions of the long-dejected plebians stewing in their remorselessly sown fertilization of their own malcontent. In ideal times, these good folk would walk shoulder to shoulder with our beasts, opening gates, bantering and other priceless vocations. And yet, there was one thing we shared: Goodwill.

And Erstwhile Melthorse

2006-10-09T13:13:00.000-04:00

The Barista finger I marvinned out of the way has come back and taken over my busy busy me lifestlye. Sitting with you in that exotic museum cafe on that rainy day in Tokyo. First the hammock chairs, then the girl who despised us for being "ice creamu" lickers of the highest magnitude. Lets get ourselves involved in the grapes for a while, sandwich bob.

I wished we'd had more time on the playout, to rib cotton jumpsuits and crable the sizzling witness to the Elongated Clay penis? The pictures are fantastic. I in a radar flavored jumpsuit, slabs of monk meat souffled with a cranapple cooling pie. Felled trees playing the Gray Snyder horse head and horsehappy values and erstwhile melthorse.

A swaying trees? A Gu Cheng mightmouse on the New Zealand railroad kick finger. The damage has been done, no less. I moved my kids out into old time bobs hatemachine, and then my muscle flew out and sandiched a raisin bran commercial? Gu Cheng my ass?

How was the rave out in woodland? Are you a day trader? A headdress hunter? 34 hours in the middle of a spycake? Oh wo begone solid food blanket, here is a poem I am working on....

IT REVOLVES AROUND THE TIRED GUMS LIKE A HANDGRENADE, ROSARIO!

2006-09-23T00:11:00.000-04:00

Posing as the mightmare of Overdrive, the weightlessness in a dolls bottom, it became easier to breathe. I'm not going to look up a new kind of disease, suss out its parts, and then pulverize it into a Robert Burns somnambulist radio show. Hardly. Nestled in my favorite tv show socks are the cameras.

The cameras that make weightlessness in a Robert Bruns style ascot.
Picture me screaming "Its not great the way a heart goes bad when its filled up with this American way!" Picture me above some family member of yours, running my mouth off, spitting all over that little character as i speak, then making love to them.

Picture a knife in the heart of a gallon of soup. Then talk to me. Then, talk to me.

Carbukle Praries Ride!

2006-09-21T05:25:00.000-04:00

Hwllo!
I made new friends tonte! We were to make frends with the apollo, but instead we make waylay and try to argue new friends to courtship!

Not much more for us to realize we needed help; if only prarie manager and associated drinkingbuddy could assist us, we would to lose the nervouz. Bt, to swallow the ashtray mouth and try for forgiveness the banter-slap anguish and aching smart-hole.

Still, are we to be blamed for the snake-handlers, the boor-ish slovonites, nor the putemishly shaped brow of the esquimauex. Raather should we be the forebear, the provincial truth-shaper, the cacique malaysian? If anything, I think our apathy is our badge of laquadyciKalitty, something the "square community" would love to shut down.

Dijnoscars died because they lost favor of fashion.

I AM AN OUTLAW, YOU ARE MY GRANDPA, SHUT UP, I HAVE FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS BURIED UNDERNEATH THE CORNER OF MY HOUSE.

peace,
Otamar.

Umbillically through its beckoning door--Come Awn!

2006-09-17T23:47:00.000-04:00

Uncomfortable lemon rack, I am up to my tits in swiss cheese. It ain't that difficult to imagine possible worlds out of this. Picture David Lewis, as seen above, high in the loom of gmy face with a nightgown stashed away in his lung? Did you? Well, then you're one step ahead of the daily diary of "off you go when we need you most," vehicles. Nightly. A bride of blondinstein. Nothing more to say her except that there is no "our father" prayer left in me. Dear "our father" ...I don't get it. Our father, of the spritely vesicles, let corn flakes change thy name.

A Frenzy of Heathen Lamb-Racking!

2006-08-22T13:57:00.001-04:00

Hey-Ho!
Just when you thought everything was safe in the Harlems of the Third Reich, they provide you this: a wincing soup. Ever unfolding, never brilliant or closer to the truth, but optimism from even the amputees. Ahem... he is concerned. The consternation of your presidents is a false and ravished eyeball. I will make soup.
Hardly the time for a workout, but when do you have time? There is an underbelly to this world, cramped and singed. The last of the penguin kings concluded by being NOT impressed. There is no time --- we have moved houses, so to speak, completely off the map. I wish I could give you an instance where you were fair and wise and unflappable in the heat, but you are melting I'm afraid. It's approximately 78 degrees in America right now. There's an open call for hamburger beauty pageants. There's an incredible line of flaky-skinned delinquents waiting to offend the lineup underground. So vulgur! Stole my seat too!

Macrocosm We Dead

2006-07-24T20:39:00.000-04:00

Rhyme Wire, Steven. I said it to him, and he let out a virus of giant weevol proportions. He sais thanks for the coyotes, Canada. You should have seen him. A burden? No, more like a sweet September morning filled with poo and shewolves. I believe you, mastodon, I said. And...oddlydoddlydity enogh, I did.

I am a motherfucking moose!

2006-07-24T00:57:00.000-04:00

I visit-ed wholsaler this week to see about new "Moose-suits" and was instead engaged in endearing man-hunt with two part fold:

Part the One: To be carried in clarity throughout my reception.
Part the Second: Shotgun and Screamed "Get The Fuck Out!".

As man-hunt share to me, I give goat pleasing. Moose being that I am, I abstained from constitutionals for at least the recent fortnight. This was good. Good.

Now, in the future, I would appreciate if you, moose, moose hater, and elk were cock-ring! I think.

Moose and moose hater share bold cargo. Cargo, not quite but instead it should be known that beige-chan has made many inroads with the rural lebonese. To quote a poem:

In times of concrete,
each man is steel,
so we march,
the drum beat louder and louder.
It goes: Boom, ch, boop boop, ch.

I stay back now as angry skinhead with nunchuck start keep ballowing and I keep my own sessions the xsame. Now, in time past, I would share to the "GLOWING" and also the "CHAFFING", never mind.

Thank you for your time, I am excited about this opportunity and look forward to meeting you in person.

Sincerely,
Otis Nixon.

Rifle through Sandwich flakes

2006-06-05T17:45:00.000-04:00

A dummy gene or thirteen manuevers out of a star? Labels on mercurial hotrods or heartthrobs? Firmam? Fireman? Levitation through golden sunsets will cure your exchanges between hovering demons and strangels on the other shoulder. Why not, on the other shoulder.

A firteen or a firtree? Legs or leggos? Papal people or stapled sneakers with weevol? You might say enough questions. I say remuffed stetsons...right back at you.

These days its kind of hot here, but more cool than anything else. Firteen is something to be said. Guys, it is definitely time to remember me. Remember me for a minute, says forest 5 envelope. The code is obrscht or ubrsting.

orbot asys lpease! Don't make me repeat that because held down vowels make shirtsleeves pop out of funniest home videos as something random, vegetal, and otherworldly. Bright.

Tortoise tail or Globular ten-dolar wings. Rifle through sandwich flakes.

Ruffled Tuxedo for the Masses!

2006-05-02T04:30:00.000-04:00

Hey Turk,
I know, I have had some troubles in the past. YOu shouldnt hold me to its thoug. My though it this: you lend me tractor, I give you work. Communist call me 'means of production' I call you'boss'!!!!!

So get this; I spent my time locally screaming at terrible fish dream and insect parade! The ants were taking on the bomblast, and I was there for each of the seconds! It is a time to feel i Think, not just time for loud hapening and scaring the old people. If I tried to hard before it was becaus e i was trieding to make a differince in community. Community parlor lately, we haul out old men to shine. We put them on silver pot to watch them shit and shine useless bald heads with our spitrag. Our newspaper callit " COlumn to SHIN#!" But sometimes i still have problems with close comforts of the "creature."

Lead-a-bisqwik to the hortoculture and couldnt make it dance. Still its not the offense of my sycophantia, BUT more my escapist mentla. I tries, again, but it is too much effort. It is to long. This was most embracing beacuse I wanted to impress my new "angry friend" but they are liked it too much and said 'Ganni, you K-Zeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee', which is not what i wanted to hear this sunday.

I was climbing down my local dog and cared enough to send a postcard, here is your postcard:

"Hello, I am climbing down a dog. It was musty at first, but now I am near the hind-quarters, and it is more dry-mangy smell. This dog is missing hair and I think it bites ankles. The whether is pleasent here, but the claw seeks hind-quarter. Soon each monkey twist anger fight if and only if vernacular pain."

Oh, hello again! I wanted to tell you that I have many new hobbies (to passing the time!). My first new hobbitsus be buying immigrant childrens bronzed shoes and melting them into hardcore rapper fronts. My second hobby is insulin shots. My third new hobby is my "Cartwheels for the Blind" program, where I introduce blind people to cartwheels. In these days, people think no one cares about the elderly, but what about nursing homes and food stamps? I dont get that shit!

But this is all just a cover for the real issues. Everything you see, everything you hear, is just a bomardment by a corporate sponsored media, that tries to control every aspect of your life. They play to your materialistic instinct by using colors like red, yellow. They exploit your moral sensibility by telling you of dolphin weddings and sloth sodomy. You just sit there like an autistic sponge absorbed in your own pettiness. That is truly the plot of the Wretching Flu Platypus.

I guess I just wasnt ready to be so famous.

Uncontrollable motorhomes, everyone...

2006-04-29T03:52:00.000-04:00

Hey all,
It's been awhile and I wish I could explain. The sad truth is that my blog sugar level is dangerously low, leaving me with Norwegian canoine fever and a reverse diarrhoea headache... I can hradly see the keybaoad. Actaually, this is the fifth time I 've tried writing to you guys, knowing you are really my main disease freedom fighters of my body. Whenever there is an infections and I scrame into the blackness, you guys always seem happy to get suiteed up and lead my infection-fighting army of the body to protect me from falling sick.

With your infections, another thing that's been hard for me is the virtual takeover of the cell.

My dirty cell-partner is the one who invites vermin, disease and sings. He cannot be tolerated. Our mouths are too precious to let a Viking put the crud or roaches.

The diseases are actually hiding under the skin!

Necrotizing fasciitis, better known as flesh-eating disease, blames death on the jail's negligence. It turns out that a girlfriend of the jail, who was serving desserts at the jail, died from flesh-eating disease a month later, shortly after her concert signing, where she sang 'Nana Moussecurry is Ghost' and 'Papa Wimbleton do not Eat Us'. As she sang, her mouth ate from the inside and a thousand songs were swallowed in an instant. The Vikings led the parade of vermin at her funeral, each with their own grimace or sneer, where they each placed an awkward flower in her mouth.

I am not going back to work!

2006-04-25T12:35:00.000-04:00

happy feathers day everyone.
i woke up this morning and saw that my head is an asian worm hole. basically, i was reading all this physics research and thought 'this is totally rad' --- i can asian time travel in my head. not just 'pop pop pop' around in my own experiences, but i can actually touch the future asian men or jog with the vietnamese dinosaurs. i'm sick now. i actually have the asian bird flutes that i picked up in laos and cambodia, but still i think this asian time travel stuff will totally work if you can refract everybody for a minute. i mean, really, who says we're not all empty particles hurtling through space like ordinary household devices, such as televisions and smoke alarms? have you ever thought about how our planet keeps warm? i woke up sweating again!

Old Goose Cooks

2006-04-08T19:20:00.000-04:00

About 25 years ago, I was in an apartment, and next door, they put on the radio, so I struck the wall with my fist, but they did not put the radio down. I took a tool and banged until I made a hole through the wall. It was like a comedy movie.
Klaus Kinski

Faster! Can't you see there is someone behind us? Why do you go so slow? Just go!
Klaus Kinski

Fun? There is no fun.
Klaus Kinski

He looked at me like I am crazy.
Klaus Kinski

Herzog is a less big asshole than the others.
Klaus Kinski

I am like a wild animal who is behind bars. I need air! I need space!
Klaus Kinski

I am not the Jesus of the official church tolerated by those in power. I am not your superstar.
Klaus Kinski

I am your fairy tale. Your dream. Your wishes and desires, and I am your thirst and your hunger and your food and your drink.
Klaus Kinski

I could be with a woman in a bed, for weeks even, and it would seem to me like three seconds. Or 300 years.
Klaus Kinski

I didn't think anything. I just was Aguirre. You remember yourself in the 16th Century.
Klaus Kinski

I have to shoot without any breaks. I yell at Herzog and hit him. I have to fight for every sequence. I wish Herzog would catch the plague, more than ever.
Klaus Kinski

I knew there were, in myself, the souls of millions of people who lived centuries ago; not just people but animals, plants, the elements, things, even, matter. All of these exist in me.
Klaus Kinski

I took a taxi, and this guy had a radio on. How can somebody all day long hear this? He must be already deaf. I don't know what.
Klaus Kinski

I was walking through the streets of Paris. I started crying, because I could look at a man, a woman, a dog, anything, and receive it-there was no difference between physical and psychological.
Klaus Kinski

It is the Nobel Prize I want. It's worth $400,000.
Klaus Kinski

Once, I took a taxi. I hate those limousines. They stink and their drivers have been driving dead people to the cemeteries.
Klaus Kinski

One should judge a man mainly from his depravities. Virtues can be faked. Depravities

Sometimes my heart hurts so much, I beat it with my fists. I try to run. But you cannot run from this. It waits for you. Even when you think you have escaped it, it is there.
Klaus Kinski

The dimensions of my feelings are too violent.
Klaus Kinski

The people from Ghana are friendly and peaceful. Herzog knew how to use them for his purpose. I knew his criminal and enslaving methods since Peru, where he always went for the most helpless. I called him Adolf Hitler.
Klaus Kinski

The truth is, I can never die. For I will be in everything and see you in everything and watch over you. I am your reaction in the water of a mountain lake.
Klaus Kinski

They hammer, they hammer; it is unbearable. That is why you have to go away. They hammer everywhere! They hammer in your brain! Hell, these idiots, they come with their hammer, where people are sitting, to hammer!
Klaus Kinski

They think you can dump all this and be an actor. Then they say, Good job. Do you say, Good job to an earthquake?
Klaus Kinski

Those assholes! Do you ask a car crash for another take? Do you ask a volcano for another take? Do you ask the storm for another take?
Klaus Kinski

We will go to the ocean. You will drive. You must go on the road. Now, just go! GO!
Klaus Kinski

Where a beast would have claws, I was born with talent.
Klaus Kinski

Why are you cluttering up your article? This has nothing to do with what we have been talking about.
Klaus Kinski

Why did all that happen to me? Why was I not a bird on the ocean? Instead of this?
Klaus Kinski

You are trying to make me sound like an American average citizen.
Klaus Kinski

You have much room. Let him pass. I can't bear this, to have people stick on other cars' ass. Why won't they pass? It is unbearable. Stop.
Klaus Kinski

There's No Turning Mack

2006-04-08T00:49:00.000-04:00

Hello again sandwich flakes.

The time to become a heavenly body is more close than even you think. Don't try to shave the world, just let your elliptical hotrod unit untie the garbage and flatten each holding coughing until rodent sized Leeamurs pop under the hood. 1.

Two ways to lick the nature valve.
One is to think of it as a shark would,
covering the eyes at the last mi nute
and scanning the inside of your childhood
when licking, having to stand grey tippytail
to reach up to the tube.

Two. Have someone come and appraise you.
He will measure the boards, take glances and
rub fingers along ledges even you didn't put in,
and then sit down at the wobbly
butcher block table you have cleared for the occasion
with a "Well. The good news first.
The place has been well taken care of,
so you can sell it.
Unfortunately, the inside is somewhat rotten.
I'm afraid that if it had been any other age up until now,
the place's mood ring would have made it
uninhabitable, Lets just say, if it were a person,
it would have found itself in snow was crystalline spermatazoas!"

Crass Embelleshment

2006-03-24T04:14:00.000-05:00

Its a hard time being stuck in a coniption glove. The commercials are too loud.

That American Dream

2006-03-01T02:26:00.000-05:00

America is so hot . . . I can hardly hold myself. It's been grand since I move here and learn driving and chat. I extra like the pull tab lady at the Wooly Blanket tavern here in good Americn town. She is always breaking up hairface men's brawling with her super plaid knockers of American size. I have been reading the town journalism Car and Boat Swapper part with 'boys seeking wet engines' and decide on SST lady with new tailpipe for only $3995.

But I cried because my letter from home cousin says his hands stuck in jobs and canno feed and wash in the right tradition because TV is sick. Not everywhere happy like America alright, buddy? He said the girl I loved as a boy to tie her leg to neck and then climb a lizard bush now just crazy for breathing and dont like busy rules about cleaning and traditional lip zippers.

So forget that back walking lady and get excited for the Most American Horse Contest we have every year in 'the littlest best town in biggest best Country' in America. Sloppy Reginald, the pig mayor poopys on a square with the baby picture of the horse owner and then the picture baby has to drink their birthweight in shiny beer tat is no beer at all but good for clean the tailpipes and then strapped to the horse and sent to Fallujah to cheer troops.

I love every smell here especially after this grand old party. I hope every one at home can be just like me someday. So dont cry for me okay, buddy?

Let me teach you of owl.

2006-02-24T03:26:00.000-05:00

Its a problem, I admit. It started as a simple hobby, but quickly became an obsession. I tried hard to disavow subnunctual references, but now I am hopeless. Strapped I am, to a leather bear chair of my own unmoral fecundity. Its not that I am a bad person, I just find myself in situations beyond my control. I feel that I am sometimes trapped in situations where i MUST add value to an unecessary product.

I have an obsession, an issue, that I must discuss. It can be devastating and disturbing. It wrecks innocent nests and people alike. It is not me, though, and I cannot help my poor decision making thanks to mother K. It grips and sears, I spend hours thinking "why am I just sitting in this chair doing nothing when I could be sitting in this chair incapable of anything?"

But that is not my problem. That might be the solution. Neither is my own proclivity for stealing tiny dogs from the purses of modern urban elderly ladies.

My problem is more difficult, more than my tendency to scream 'weasel!' in the local authentic Malaysian Karaoke bar. Deeper even than my love for voyeuristic tapes of midgets having illicit relations with the last existing automat machines at the preservation societies 'useless American shit' graveyard. Deeper than my love of text messaging.

My problem, unfortunately is undefinable: it starts from my morning sickness caused by my late nights screaming at Edsel. My afternoons are worse. In the evening, I usually retire to the yert for an extended session of Qluetixoxaxoctl.

Its more than that though. I have tried; God have I tried to break the pattern, the system. But you know, that the system is, in fact, a joke. I have dreads now. They express my individuality. Also I take hormones to lactate so I can breastfeed the neighborhood dogs.

Occasionally I take a shit in my living room, just to teach a lesson to the carpet. Motherfucker, that shit pisses me off. So does my new invention: AidsAgotchi! . AidsAgotchi! is a virtual pet that you buy as a crack baby and have to raise it and watch it defy expectations as it remains alert and witty through even the most boring school lectures while the fetal alcohol syndrome kids ride their BigWheels in the wall so they can catch the wrong angle and smash their balls in on the drinking fountain spigot and feel a real emotion once in their clouded, inebrieated lives. AidsAgotchi! has 20 levels of entertainment until the final boss, which has nothing to do with your virtual pets life and everything to do with a secret stabbing needle that gives you AIDS.

I expect it to be very popular in Eurasia. Thats something that pisses me off.

But its probably not my problem. I think thats something to take up with the electrical engineers union.

Wag the SnatchSnot!

2006-02-14T03:00:00.000-05:00

A pome;;


tONTO Badgeslut deerfarce
how we lust the knife elbow
we teach you art lesson
your ass becomes cement.

Haiku!

And from there I let it go. Not because I am not the sentimal sort. I am. Somtimes I vreya t flag for appreciation. They told me I was in some kind of coma. So I told them to fuck off. I thought. My thoughts grew to cracks on the walls and those cracks grew worms. Its hard to convince others of your functionality when stricken play-dough worms are squirming pirouhettes around your stepnieces braids.

I thought I recovered. I though I was breathing until they shoved a rubber tube down my throat and told me I couldnt move enough to live. I laighed until I spewed coagulated streams of chick noodle soup out my brain.

Another Carnival Hello

2006-02-13T21:45:00.000-05:00

Can you get these steaming children off of me? I'm parading my sweaty goods and I'll tell you, there's nothing scientific about it. Actually, I found a totally undiscovered region last week, and I'll tell you this: it's a boy.
Yes, that's right --- for inquiring minds, I tripped upon the expandable flesharrow of unperterbed membranes and it spoke:

'Carnival Hello! Tongues have lacerated themselves on my plot of green bigalow since the beginnings of time! We are sworn by the Mastodon Men to replace our collective wigwams with the lake of meat! Everyone relax --- I have a boobygun.'

After speaking, it's mouth moved to and fro in a friendly masticating gesture suggesting a Georgian greeting. In celebration, we all climbed down off of the statue of Fyodor Yamanishiko, spraying the revoltionary scent on the underside of the pavillion, or bladdern.

I'm not suggesting the Oriental uprising will favour the children, but they're small over here, and we're armed with soap for any crummy backtalk. I say, we're sick to death of the insipid puppets, fleeing with their hairy backsides to the wind! We need more and better relaxants! My electronic dictionary's broken, how can I raise the Byzantine armies?!?

Aha! I have troundled upon the loathsome guts of old world progress --- it's a capsized boat with two of you and three of me. We are a water wheel spinning in dysentry! Cancel my subscription to Carnival Sluts International --- I'm standing in sludge!

If I Were You (Multiple Resin Marks Not Lial) Marsh

2006-02-11T12:35:00.000-05:00

The ropeswing has swung out over the proverbial marsh.
I wanted this to be different so I made the marshland all mashed up like potato.
I found a waitress to take care of my burns.
I made a nightgown out of the potato roots growing from your potato.
Here is a picture of my uncle Faisal.
A sexy waitress swung out over the marsh, R.
Two blast it knights are scooping the real T of Sallyfornia.

My barbituate nightgown is peppered with tiny marshes.
My nightshirt is sweaty tonight with the news of a Marsh.
More later aboiut the marsh.
Hey, I was like woah.
Here is a picture of human marsh and mellow.
I didn't mean for this to be an apology, waitress.
My nightgown is festering and I got to take it off.
The ropeswing swung my nightgown out over the marsh.
My nightgown was empty!

Jesus would fucking slap you!

2006-02-03T00:39:00.000-05:00

When to Seek Help

On rare occasions, children's masturbation habits may be an indicator of other problems. Parents should consult their children's health care provider if:

*Children's masturbation interferes with their social interactions.

*Techniques to eliminate public masturbation have failed.

*Parents have any concerns about their children's well being.

*Parents feel that their children are possibly not masturbating, but scratching or rubbing the genital area because of discomfort. It may be possible that such children have an infection or a rash.

*Masturbation is constant.

A Creepy Hello from Horseranch #38

2006-01-16T20:24:00.000-05:00

Listen up you Sopping Hammerbombs:
I can barely hold back my Spin Toss anymore --- THIS IS exciting!!!!
First off, I am totally RIPPED dudes!!!!! This year I started with a Blizzard Suplex in the kitchen with my neighbour's dog ---- I've completely FLIPPED MY LID!!!!! Check out my 3/4 Nelson Neckbreaker and Russian Airplane Ankle Lock!!!! Ouch, huh? How's that, SUCKAS?
Seriously though, New Year's Resolution? I'm getting PUMPED!!! No more shit-wiping bear hugs, brothass!!!! I even woke up this morning choking in my own Belly2Back Double Headscissor Hammerlock!!! I do this shit in my sleep!
Howabout this: Last week, go to check out King fucking Kong and behind me some dude munchin' popcorn and making stupid streching noises when the monkey's going berserk --- I FLIP!!!!! I turn around and grab his eyelids in a Mexican Arm Drag, pull him up over the seats and give him a taste of my Top Rope Human Neck Breaker while he's choking on a bunch of kernels from his FamilyBucket!! Haha!! If that wasn't enough, I finished him off with a Crossface Doomsday Device just when King Kong dives off the building to kill the girl!!! Happy New Year, SUCKA!!!!!
I'm doing pushups right now writing this, dudes!! You'd better get ready for my Oklahoma Throat Remover after I finish up!!!! I'm getting PUMPED!!!!

Help yourself to my cattle feed!

2006-01-09T22:57:00.000-05:00

This true storuy: I bought five cattle feed from Basquesh on last 'Three Summersday'. I say Basquich:' Basquich, please not are the "buying" of foolscap on leaf for my family starves'. Basquich, natural, say: 'HumbleFarmerFold, natural you are the "receiving" most fines #1 barter good away from me'. So I give to the Basquich five alpreets and a small goat. Basquich give facekick.

Well; story start hear: Basquich stand town center scramed: 'HAHAHHAUHAHAHA I AM BASQUICH WITH SMALL GOAAT!;' So natural felt the 'cheat'.

My father alwasy say: 'Eck marshno flef al-ishnun bar Krab et el mamnkoing, mas et am sranD ten phud jall el ankung.' which mean 'He who bite burglers tortois feels soar beak on shrimp largo. ' This was taken in heart. So, returned at dirt clay and cololecteds 'Viper' thinks.

Nightwards, Basquich dranks. 5 hours 23 minutes, I sit in dumpser, but Basquich drunks to walking past. Vaclav (I) rites near. Say: 'Basiqchu (bad word) to goat I am the "receive" cheat!'. Basquich, dranks, fall under.

Vaclav give pain Basquich. Nail [finger] through nostral, plus shoulder kick. Basquich cry. More also basquich 'recive' 5.08cmx10.16 centimeters too. Basquich laugh. Vaclav introduce family relic 'bricknife' to Basquich lower-back-tummy. Basquich return goated!

Today, goat give Vaclav pregnant. Vaclav not girl! Hahahahahaha!

2006-01-08T02:15:00.000-05:00

There's nothing wrong with me, I'd like to say. Not a thing. The show has been cancelled and manuevers take things way out of proportion, but there' snothing a hundred dollar bottle of glue won't fix. Dog gone. The fat lies I told myself have finally become true. I am so excited to show you guys my skeches and the way a wound read ressses. A thousand mile stair?

Peppercorn has gone misfit all over my smokey burger hut. I could manipulate the miles and hard-to-believe I'm not there. I'm not. The facilitator's finger bent wide ways and multiple cane marks were seen at the Gomez Zemog. The flame begets honorific begets the flame.

I pulled muscular teeth out of my head and rad stuff made my weaknesses feel like great pardons from the President! Escape the Picasso, you might say.. Or, the Thomaso. Say the name. Exxhibit scalpel through skeleton and your primordial dog will bark. I told someone "I am just a membrane right now" And I meant it!

Crawlspaces Anonymouse

2006-01-05T02:21:00.000-05:00

O! Hotpepper and Damejan, howabout stacking your scrampon lids yea-high? Feel good? OK. I know I get heaps of fan mail, but here's a mightily grandanddied one:

Dear Crawlspaces Anonymouse,
My girlfriend last month came down with the case of disappearing act. The following day I woke up with a tongue firmly glued in my mouth. I locked myself in the trunk with proteins and have lasted 29 days with the help of the teeming hordes of microbes in my saliva.

It's now the trouble starts brewing when mouths dry out. I will stage a coup.

So far, with my coup, 159 healthy humans have refrained from brushing their teeth for four weeks. Tongues are sore and fissured, we are down to our last crackers , and our children are breeding grounds for yeast. I am able to write my last words on the parchment along the periphery of the skull of my drying neighbour. In a spit-depleted world, speaking and swallowing are challenges, eating a cracker is the height of recklessness and you wake up with a tongue glued to your mouth.

DAY 33:We are holed up with a 51-y-old woman who is now undergoing whole-body scanning, we have revealed intense cavities in the head. The patient disclosed that she had not washed her hair because she had obtained a new hairstyle between the treatment and the scan. This represents radioactive physiologic accumulation at the patient’s scalp, which reveals microbes.

DAY 43: I am dizzy from eatintg parchment. I drink the medecines and ink.

DAY 64: This is my last entry --- the coup was a failure and 146 are dead from physiologic accumulation in the pancreas. The mice are singing;the microphone is covererd in feces.

Yours truly,
Dispirited in Denver

My Domain Name Is CodeMouth Carpenter

2006-01-01T20:16:00.000-05:00

My domAIN has hopped into the new year like about a trai n wreck and sysyphus,

Hey guys--whats up? The shirtsleeve tightened over this miniscule christmas season. How have all of the mcrodots been? I birthed a canal that birthed a canal through which several motorized soldier units scampered into ther world. My work is about various births.

What do you do, they ask. I am concerned with various interludes into which things are born. A nightmare about the landlord poking my face with his pencil. A landlord falling down the stairs drunk all over the place and the next day his microdot gets him out of the hospital.

I have a new microdot, and she's in this picorialk session somewhere.

A shortleeve was a really good giflet, C. Thatnks. The new yera has already cold marked my cock pistolla. I haven't even seen this far yet--like how could I be here.

Anyway, my list of things to do is like this:

I just pissed in your orange juice!

2005-12-22T04:35:00.000-05:00

Look folks, its not like I havn't tried. I just spent another late night watching my most pedestrian vomit porn, and wondered: hwy do I have to pay for this shit?

I mean really, we are all adults here, and I shouldnt be ashamed of discussing these things that we all do, but while I watched that nubuke, I seriously wondered: are we the only wons who watch the store?

Of course I wondered this while my libertarian effigy was 'chokcokkin' and spewing bile across my genitals. This, I though must shurely be what I am 'into'. I washed a little more and was less disgusted by our mercombant 'apathy rave' you and your little mamas are shaking; I understamp.

But seriously, fold. I have acid in my stomach and no amount of your fire alarms can me something. I try to make do by buying cases of sudafed and boiling them in to 'christmas chicken sandwhick'.

Its what we do in amweicca, not how we do it.

The Elven Handshake Beauregard

2005-12-21T06:23:00.000-05:00

Well, with all of the carless and doglessness on strike here in this:

Hey guys!

Long time no see. Have you changed? I've changed. I put a baseball cap
on my skull and didnt recognize myself. I have to tell you I'm not
surprised. Thats what I do. Everybody has a necklace and
earrings with their own names on them. So I got some too. I am shining
my ball with spit and just waiting. I keep it in my gloved paw and run
around the backyard screaming jumpkick, then I door a rool and sing
californ-i A all over these people. They told me not to speak at dinner
because my Rubicon was sticking out. oh well.

I hope you're all enjoying yourselves. I am not m,oving anwhere. I'm
just going to stay here until I die. Thanks. 1. Get on the bus at Lao Pie
and hike up to Shing Dao Pang. A local friendly villager named Fing Dao
Pringl will take your bags and set you up in a nightmarishly beautifiglle
girl's choir longhouse. Can it sustain itself? Yes. I have thunk meat
all over my plate, so why not?

2. There will be a ropeswing to take you over to the other side of Gao Ping
Staple canyon, where you will rondeevu with some Islraeli guys just out of
the army. They may seem scrawny, but they can bake a mean Mossad, so keep
your legs inb the pickup while eating. I am NOT writing all this! I can
barely believe you guys need directions to make an apple cake. You have
been away too long and its affecting your sliver of anity.

I have been preoccupied with _______mark. Say anything with mark after it
and you are guaranteed a successful opium den experience with some swiss.
I fell into the push mark and slid over a ""apemark. ok, ok. Maybe it only
works when you're running arouind.

3. The choirlonghopuse will need to be carried on your backs and then its
off to the orchard!

Grab lots of big aples and bake them in a 300 degree ovum :)

Ahoy, ship me whiskers ye shivery mudskippers!

2005-12-12T00:55:00.000-05:00

Crane yer peepers o'er here, saltyipped barnacle weeds! I'm erking for a tale to tattle.

Me mornin yank was a manhandlers reel, it was! I've got thee case of oyster stone plooped from me urethren bilge rat, laddies. I cain't ascertain wherebouts from which me itchins are creepin, but methinks it twas a rare invitation by a gargling beauty to dip inside her urchins. Yawp, alas she weren't 100 percent chum free...

Gargh! Me loins were screechin with a bellyflop anchoring and ye olde gullflap was shiny slick with 'er dogfish flavour!

Last grope me pulled was a larva toot from the swashbucked perineum, haha... Insides those hormone walls there lurks a bilge-sucking lugnut me dearies! If ye can floss the fat out, we'll splice the mainbrace and I can lend a man to yer poop deck, ladies!

Song from a Salmon to a Bird.

2005-12-04T15:20:00.000-05:00

Carnival Patrol meets Carnivorous Hole!

2005-11-28T22:22:00.000-05:00

Hello Weltlings!
I've got a slimebomb for you: I expect the last race down to the sausage factory was a good one --- I'm here to tell you it may be your last.

Can I welcome you to the crabs family? Let me just say a certain pincered specimen has been branching out to Davidian proportions in lieu of carnal retreat (a la swarthy-monge), reaching far-reaching hellos here and there on that grimy urethrren floor.

Should I place the hand? Where did your hips go, fatso? Recently, we're officially mad at the worldwide girlfriend coalition for not sucking the spinach and keeping below 230 pounds as promised after the last crushing.

Ho! Have I crawled all over your lardo politesse? All I can say is this: You are an unpardonable whoosh of sissies, tromping in the the stench of girlhood.

I've being keeping out of the story bowl as of late. You might have formed your own Russian pinealopinions with late night television cooking shows, but hardly a feat, greylords! I can crush a mouse! I can salt the very last earthbound mussel! My hands are a relish of Polish sauces that your dreams must wank up over! The slow insertion into the oesophagus is no laughing matter... It's demoralising! Try an energy gel! I can defeat you in several mouthfuls of water.

Coast to coast? Where will you hide? Last race to the sausage factory!!

Patients Launch Bad Blood Suit

2005-11-28T21:18:00.000-05:00

"Now shalt thou go home, and let dig up thy husband, and take his head and bring it to the blood-suit, and say to him thus, that that head would not have weighed with others the taking up of the blood-suit after him, if need there had been thereof."

Candy said she wotted not where these things were coming to in the end, but she saw well enough that they spared her neither labour nor heartburn. "Yet even this will I undergo," said she, "if thereby the lot of my foes be made heavier by way of wet and bloody suit."

Thereafter she fared home, and went in about this business as she was taught in all wise;

Arnkel said that he had said before whereto his mind was given to the suit.

Therewithal Thorgerd drew from under her cloak the head of Vigfus, and spake: "Here is now a head," said she, "that would not have tugged on from taking up the suit for thee, if there had been need thereof."

Arnkel started back thereat, and thrust her from him, and said: "Go," says he, "and say so much to the kin of Vigfus, that henceforward they waver not more in their help against Snorri the Priest, than I shall in the leading of the suit; but so my mind tells me that, however the case goes, they shall lay land under foot or ever I do. But I see that these thy doings are by Vermund's counsel; but no need will he have for egg-suits."

Fetid Plasticene Fistfuck Antelope!

2005-11-26T16:51:00.000-05:00

(Figure A: Retching Facist Cumstained Skidmark.)

Scrotal phlegm backwash soup. Extra resistant windpipe shears. Fangmasher, maw-clawer, ethicor: the guarteed ethics remover.
Quartered shankshift creampie face-stabbing fencepost badger beaver. Rancid skunktwat cantelope-slicer crass mouthbreathing geriophile chigger-breeding causticism. Relenquent varicose veins shunting the umelated tungsten steeled businessweasels.

(Figure B: Skewered Cuntlip Ballsmash Felchfest.)

Hormuncular jabber-jawing MSG-addict crotchpost. Sanguine puddenpelters suckling the bladed teat of the half-million dead-leemer bankrupt-auction. Agency. Acid-burn massage croquet ballmallet asinine tepid bellicose trashsucker. Seething pantysniffers muck chew cokburn. Washout, fuck your cow in the brain with a five ton asshammer shitsucker.

Allow me to introduce you to my fellow Hamhocks!:

2005-11-20T21:50:00.000-05:00

While it is a well known fact that drunk asparia are the most likely to cause tears in the intestinal area during 'Shaloqua' births, the most fundamental facts are overlooken:

The pig are not in the scape.

Thee wife are not on the house.

Mittens.

It is this file point that makes it scarf everworthly: If mittens are themselves some cosmological sentient being, then how is it that we are all standing? Why, if the 'mitten' do have this power, do they not char and destroy the molesting hands of we humans? It must be more snuff-n-loc, surely, but sad that these discussions persist into the early 21st century.

I would also like to take this opportunity to reply to the rash of steam-burnings perpetrated on me by local children wearing said mittens. Often, I hear a knock at the door, and answer it, only to be greeted by a gang of pint-sized hoodlems who quickly overpower me and hold my face over a traveling bunsen burner and a small pot of water for a most uncofortable time, but my lungs have never felt so fresh!

Exercise the cheeks immediately!!!!

2005-11-10T21:59:00.000-05:00

Sorry, answers so soon, but I just hardly obtained your mail about what is important to know about the bedside manner. So I want to use extreme care to avoid spilling or splashing the acid solution? It can destroy pajama and burn the eyes and mouthes. Lastr night I started and wear splash-proof goggles and protective clothing (gloves and aprons). The face shield is necessary.

So recently the girlfreind can weigh 30 to 60 lb (about 14 to 27 kg) so I do safe lifting and carrying procedures to prevent back injury.

What do I do if I splash the battery acid in her eyes and mouth?

1) Remove ice-skates immediately.
2) Flush immediately the eye(s) contaminated with cleaned up water.
3) Avoid the direct contact into the unaffected eye or onto the mouth.

O yes, first aiders, hello! I also have rinse off the girlfreind well before removing them. Then rinse the apron to remove the battery acid that have contaminated them. Last one I inspect for defective liver, corrosion of the thyroids, cracked spigula or glolutus, loose hold-downs and deformed or loose lobes. When treating the thyroid condition we discover the explosive hydrogen mixture in her leg, unfortunelly. This morning, while laying on her tummy, she was bringing both legs up under her and try and dig in with her feet. Closer inspection reveals the smaller hydrogen tumor congealed by the bedside!

Please exercise further the checks above for bedside maintainence.

Sincerely,
The Dutch Glove

Welcome to the whole unfathomable army of snakesmanship juice!

2005-11-10T02:28:00.000-05:00

Hey dude, I hopr the rest of the party wrnt nice. Sorry i couldnt return the favor I went to the techhno party that was m,y other option to say howdy and a happy new year to some fine folks. Unfrtunatly all the women at your party were better looking. I'd like to have the opportunity to introduce myself to the back of your bosses knees someday! Anyhoo spent all night gyrating to crazy lazer gun disco grrooves found myself in a very red bar somewhere dancing with a girl called Iffanny (!). Last night I dreamt I was playing "the Evolution game" with my sister in my Grandmothers living room. It involved rolling a dice to determine how many generations forward we could evolve. Once rolled a sucession of evolutionary step creatures would morph fronm the carpet which we would then use as stepping stones. Some of them were a little unpleasant, mostly insectile and spindly. A real beauty was a cross between a spider and a lobster, with a succession of poisonous spines instead of eyes, a pink carapace and old mans rotted hair. Somehow it got loose from the board and crawled over my grans face! (with hilarious and unforseen consequences!) Hows the sunrrof? Speaking of evolutionary steps to dust incandesent perfection, thats a nice route to take ne?
Probabvly the best.

Terrible Void Ottoko wa Ya! Kimochee warui!

2005-10-29T22:14:00.000-04:00

Dear Flabby,

I cannot TELL you how often I have thought of the 'feeling virus' being embedded into both Japanese and Korean couture. The yellow flies buzz round my horrible void male as he whistles near
the
window. The rain is humming and singing to me about Barthday
paerty!
Was it all it was "cracked" uip "to be"? The labels on all things
have to
go. Went to an old peoples party and sat in the corner, watching
the books
on the shelves.

And to make things much worse, last week, My "Horrible Voido ottoko"
had his
child in the elevator during the blackout! It was wonderful!
Sit5ting indian style, like a fuckin swami, the kid rolled up his
cuffs,
right up to the crotch, and a little weak puff of flesh scurried
out....making its way under the elevator carpet and and and
then....kept
going under our feet! It was making this "jerbal jerbal jerbal," sound as
it danced. Throwing us right up into the air. It was like a bouncy
blowup
room at a carnival, except for me and my "Terrible Voido Ottoko|"
were
laughing so hard! Not because of the bouncing but because "Isn't it
funny,"
he gurgled between jiggly laughter," how something like this could
happen to
even moi!"

If that were where the story ended it would simply be funny! But
nooo! The
lights went out all over town, I had one of these "Edible Old Males"
turn on
me when we climbed down the wire to the building's lobby, where I
had eaten
an Anjelica Huston at the aeropuerto a few days earlier! (BUT THATS
ANOTHER
STORY) On the way to Puerta Vallarta it seems hustling doublers
presed too
hard on the volume UP(!) for the movie, and all the power went out
from
Ottowa to Queberque proper!

And then , while shaving my testicles (never try it!), I fought off
two of
my own "Boorish void males" in a spanish restaurant bathroom. The
tongue on
my right shoe got caught in the cuff of my pants and all of my
"celebrity
void ottokos" got caught in my pantlegs, ballooning my waist size to
a 44
men.

"Che pasa?" the proprieter asked. And this is the situation I'm in
now. Any ideas"? What should I tell him?

Hey everybody, what about some inconsistent slices of sirloin?!???

2005-10-28T03:35:00.000-04:00

Alright, my forever-laboured communication has been unforgivably spotty, but I'll have to blame it on the enormous toomb placed in the gaping maw that was my face last week.
Finally, after reading and re-reading your correspondence, I have decided that this isn't true comradership at all. Your antiparticipation word gams are no better than overspead translation machines on optimal obscure setting. By theway I went on a drinking binge with your lifeless cardboard cutouts last Tuesday. I got drunken caresses from all of you and then burned your throbbing effigies to a crisp.
Nothing burns like life, my frienmds, and when life has finally been burned away, and the barren pedestrian strains of your bleak future are revealed for what they are, and you'll remove your face and place a tomb in the maw too.
Can you sing with me?

'O, the broken empty sighs! Entomb my face with the maw!'

I've seen a mask is born colorblind. I fell off the gurney. The plumpest are the rarest. Sign my booby, my friends, sign me and burn me...

O, and write back soon!

Attention Travelers!

2005-10-22T00:34:00.000-04:00

Now, Im not one to cry mysteria, but I think things have gotta change. First off, I was in the mad streets of Luxbourg, when the policeman goosed me and said I shouldnt have been wearing bark. Thats not a complliment in Dacron, where I know the bark well. We movewd on, unconspicuous of the many dry parks they try to pass off as 'Consumerist Welfare'. Again, thats not at all what I am about.

I am truly about the proper marketing of a product that you not only need, but never knew you wanted. Its like this: Imagine you really need a shower, not only do you smell, but you are covered in spray paint residue and are still swilling from a bottle of mint flavored ammonia. You need a plan, or all the learnin you've picked up will go to waste. You need a CRABuddBY. Its a CRABBY BUDDY in one. He's the one who will tell you 'hey man, that latex paint may coat your stomach like Pepto Bismol, but its way more expensive.' and other shit to ruin your awesome plans.

I mean, I find it really startling that I ccant just walk into a restaurant and look at the menu without being reminded that I am not one of them. I suppose its because I refuse to wear their earpices, which seem cumbsome at best, to an advanced Claviphonophile as myself. Be sure its in my newsletter. I also mentioned it at my most recent bridge club (i clubbed the fuck out of south!). These things are useless though, once you have seen the light of viable market products.

Life is funny like that. Once day you are scraping the callouses off your enormous big toe with a filthy cracked fingernail, and the next day you buy some nail cutters and a pumice. It can happen just like that, people. Mark my word.

Technorati Tags: poodles, fire, chowder, ephemerids, washing jazz, platypus

Snowfuelled poopchute #16

2005-10-19T01:20:00.000-04:00

Dear Sally

I was horrofied by what came down the pip[e last night. I sat down by
the window and took a large huff off the of the carbon monoxide pipe I had
installed in my kitchen. I was thinking about slapping Tuetons. I was
sitting there reading the choose your own adventure story, slApping
fritos into my mouth, when-who could have known!)-a little baby came down
the pipe.

I almost fel over when I felt the little foot poking through ther rusty
metal, dangling into my mouth. It grazed my teeth with its toenail. The
rest of it came out and the thing had the bals to just sit there, creaming
in my mouth, like a nervous skull. I was gagging and sobbing and it only
laughed. I tried to spit it back into the pipe but it wouldn't fit. It
had already grown too big to fit, after feedding off of my saliva.

Now my wife wont talk to me, forget about sex. I am without hope, Sally?

-David

Retrogade Vaginisis

2005-10-13T20:36:00.000-04:00

You may not be surprised to know that there are many other women like you out there!
The first clue to making your weekend enjoyable lies in beer. what you say about having to perform and look as though you are enjoying it when you aren't sounds really difficult. But, whose going to know? What a pressure to put on yourself!! Tell your partner what you are going through, as I doubt very much that he wants you to feel pressurised in place there. Nobody can relax anyway so try some beer and experience their bodies under pressure.
You used the word explore too, which implies that this isn't a performance piece, it's a finding out. If you then pretend, who will you find out?
You may find that the position that works for you is the only one that touches the revealed parts that need to be touched. Most women orgasm not so very much at all, and certainly not with a partner.
As well as exploring thngs that may or may not please you, you can spend time really focussing on what he likes, and that will take pressure off you as well. As with any bleeding, I cannot tell you what is going on! Any unexplained or irregular bleeding needs medical assessment. There could be a polyp, a blood vessel near the surface, a skin tag, or you could be a bit too rough with your dildo, and other possibilities too.
The weekend won't be all bodies, will it? Will you go for walks and talk about the things that matter to each of you, as well as sex!
I hope it goes well. And train your vagina to relax without the use of beer.

You would look even more sexier with a Striking Biscuit!

2005-10-13T06:25:00.000-04:00

Hi again.

Our blog d'internetto is now revered amid the biscuit fans everywhere.

It is the unmistakable vote. So then I am beginning the thinking that our blog d'internetto has superiority inscribed all over it!

By the way, this morning I could interface directly with the biscuits. They were hard-pressing to believe I am Captain Analstar instead of a prestigious replica... Sorry little fellers, I man the biscuit.

"Make us believe we are 'hearing' the Captain ordering the mouth to open" , they said.

"How?" I said.

Our webllog have superiority inscribed ALL OVER THEM!!!!!

So they were immediately aware that something felt off.

They turned to the excited: "You should have the greatest webblog! Purchase our extensive collection of watches! Lack of stomach banding! Personal storage area!"

We are excited! "You must have the webblog larger! Personal warehouse!"

Peridontal Season Again?

2005-10-11T05:29:00.000-04:00

Japan's conservatism swarms the womb, people; if I was a younger man, rammed with such limitations, I might have real issues!

Hmmph. Americans, the many women seem to like constant sex: different sanitation, moving around furniture, orthodontal devices, etc. Around the finger, it's about focusing on a specific spot once the momentum is achieved, but getting there requires almost as much scripting and imagination as the Swarm Dance.

In China, the swarming Americans are perverted, wrong. Indeed, it's not a case of "tried it, it's not fun", it seems dirty to even look. Of course are very traditional types, very conservative. But for some women I have climbed into contact with, it seems everything else is aberrant.

The Swarm Dance is not the only thing in the world! It is NOT the key to a relationship! Women I have dated intimately know that I don't need several hours of incessant drunken shouting as a statement of affection; indeed, I'm not very aggressive that way. Sunrise reflected off her second body during peridontal season, smooth even of little molars, talking through the nose and deep things couples discuss, it's very sexy. Very intimate. Doesn't require phenomenal amounts of sit-ups, push-ups, sunbeds and self-inflicted othodontal surgery to get her into peak condition.

Anyways, the dentist in me questions the wisdom of limiting oneself to a limited repetoire of activity: both to focusing on a single squirt of love and affliction, or limiting the domain to a releasable closure to open and close the first and second body portions of my girlfriend. BUT I do respect and admire the problem too --- I'll never be in that situation!

In this light, I respect the limitations that women often act under, and I don't need that, but at the same point, they might like these other activities. Maybe once that apple is bitten it's hard to forget the sweet taste, so they avoid the Swarm Dance.

Sub Miraculous Pubic Stage

2005-10-08T14:53:00.000-04:00

Yes, well, ok, that brings me to realize that I should
take advantage of this time to explain one of my
designs, called the sub miraculous pubic stage. The
SMPC was developed for the army so that they could
never get their hands on it, and with goood reason as
you will see. The unit is small enough to fit in your
pocket, but it will never be in there. WHy? Because it
will always find its way out of any box or drawer, and
into your girlfriend, fuck buddy, or pretty polly. The
SMPC, finds its way into every squirl hole it comes
across, and since it is enables you to play amplified
guitar into your hole of choice, via a crackin 70's
tube amp with dials starting at 11 built into the head
of a dildo, you can spend a lot more time in the
garage, and still have someone make warm food for you.

As the good californian facists say, "Enjoy!"

Charitable Mold Focii!

2005-10-07T23:25:00.000-04:00

It was a rats night for me. Fisrt, I lost my job as associate lutegaart in Philobia. It was a hard focus to maintain. First: my obligations did not cease, even with a promiscuous lout like the SharkBeetle. Secondwise, my post-modernism is apparently not acceptable at strangers funerals.

These realizations gave me a deciduous toothache, it split from the cap of my anterior prime to the tip of my swollen tongue. Just a constant ache, I suppose I was used to it. Sports fan asked me if I was concerned, I promptly replied (No! Sports Fan! My primetongueache is no concern to...you.). The se resu lts came as quite a surprise to al l of us. I then accidentally fired the gun in front of my class explaining to the cchildren th at I was t h e o n l y o n e qualified to shoot guns into the floor.

Thats mostly what I think now, that this toothcake across time carries a certain banality! Recently, when asked what was the most delicious way to enjoy french pastry with knife and fork, I replied 'slowly and with fur glued on, now that has the texture of a rat!'!(!)

Can you find my aching periodontistic disdain in the following fun picture$+

I have, like so many before us, learned so much from my teeth. Teeth are made of calcium, which c o me s from cows teathts. Most of the sponsored goats in the third world are stuffed with cow milk at midnight by undercover enforcers. This is a widely documented fact.

Good Night, Mr. Murrow.

Remix Moi? Package of Creme?

2005-10-06T18:20:00.000-04:00

Hello, my sons,

Enough werewolfdom, talk of extreme shades, the virus bottled up inside jar of phleg[m.

There is more to life than a wiglet pushed under the bar without her wig and...even staplers have wings sometimes.

I have found a way to describe the stars, and I'll never tell it to you.

The junsui innocent chambers of flesh have harps for each of you, the wind is a liar, the face buried in puddl[e is just mi[ki rorke, an ember in gods furnace.

A carbuncle [is found.

The wind is what, oh, nothign[ but a drunken liar!

Twilight will take your confessions and deliver them to Heemroid Fetrol, the diary of stars embryos.

The Russian beat the 37 year oild man but his eye bled.

The people who watch you are built exactly so that they look like they arent watching you...

Mikkkey Rourke is Sin! OJisan! Ojisan, I am a winter with no Snow, a flagrant violation of the sex between two peoplke looking for just a quick huffpuff!

Havw fun, but dont be leery,

Wang of a Storm Narrowly Avoids Wang of a Country!

2005-10-05T02:09:00.000-04:00

Really, did you think that I threw boiling water across your frozen windshield as some kind of practical joke? I mean, sure, it was funny when it cracked, but I was really trying to help this time. I didnt mean to cause you any real 'life-pain' as measured by several new metrics. I was trying to be charitable, a good samaritan. How could I know that you absolutely needed to see out the windshield after I had broken it. Of course you didnt appreciate the sandbags I covered your car in. I thought it would give you good traction. I mean, how many times can I say 'I'm sorry' and actually mean it?

I am in no way trying to paint myself as a black sheep in this case, merely a deep ecologist with a fetish for better traction!

Right into the Horrible Void.

2005-09-30T01:16:00.000-04:00

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!

2005-09-28T03:53:00.000-04:00

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

2005-09-27T23:58:00.000-04:00

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!

2005-09-27T01:34:00.000-04:00

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

2005-09-24T13:52:00.000-04:00

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)

2005-09-21T00:54:00.000-04:00

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

2005-09-19T21:07:00.001-04:00

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!

2005-09-18T10:55:00.000-04:00

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

2005-09-17T13:10:00.000-04:00

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

2005-09-16T20:42:00.000-04:00

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

2005-09-16T20:33:00.001-04:00

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.

2005-09-16T20:26:00.000-04:00

dribblychin

2005-09-16T20:01:00.000-04:00

just a washing horse

ee

2005-09-16T19:49:00.000-04:00

eetone