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Zork is being overrun by such as bandits with large bits of weaponry!

One thing that is not funny is being hit with a club that is improvised from basically a large piece of driftwood. If you are hit in the head with this club you will say many cuss words and maybe you will be shipped on a White Person Slave boat to China, where the white person is hated something fierce. Also on this boat is Richard Lewis and a large vat of cocktail sauce.

Sweet mother of bloodhound!!!

See, it has been a goodly long time since I sat down and wrote some bidness that made you folks realize just how wonky my sad blasted little brain is. So now that I am among America's fine unemployed forces, I thought that I would spend a little time giving you the what for on the five dollar fiction.

First on the agenda is that rap music is hell of popular right now. It is basically rock vs. rap in a battle for what is going to be the new mass-produced junky crap. Sometimes you have folks come out such as Limp Bizkit wherein Fred Durst is the stupidest man that has ever lived in the history of the world and also they try to sort of straddle the line there on the rap/rock. Mostly this fails horribly and it usually sounds like if you were just kicking a cow in the udders all day and the sound it would make when you were finished. How about if we just make things either rap or rock and if we could try to do one or the other in a sort of talented fashion?

Speaking of Finnished there are some great bands out of Sweden and the like right now up to and including The Hives and The Mumps and The Measles and The Shingles and The Herpes and The God Awful Flesh Melting Ebolas, I am not including the more well known Swedish garage rock bands such as Please Shut Up You Bricklaying Quadriped Whores or Why Won't Someone Please Tell You All As A Country That You Are Talentless And Just Awful. The latter is one of my personal faves. There is one Swedish band that I really do enjoy, however, and that is Blindside. Blindside is awesome because they rock. They are also space aliens and listening to their music will warp your mind, just like Toto (let's face it that band is whacked). So now perhaps you understand why I am like the Kool-Aid guy wherein I bust through your wall and insist that you drink of me.

Something else that I've been trying very hard to raise awareness of is this new disease that people are acquiring that has the following symptoms:
1) Rich (basically I'm saying that you are a wealthy individual)
2) Pretty much you're a complete ass-eyed crotchivore
This is an awful condition and I'm pretty sure we can weed it out by just selectively punching some people in their teeth and eyeballs. Also you could serve them some raw calamari which they would then vomit everywhere, causing them to lose their social status and become that old homeless bumlipped sad-factory that is always begging you for change at the bus station. Just slap his fingerless-gloved hand away and tell him, "Not today, Maximillian Buttersworthington!!!" Maybe you could just give him a quarter every once in a while, I guess.

I wish I could spend more time rolling in lots of Kentucky bluegrass (obviously I would wear my eyeglasses).

I am tired, not anemic. Send me penicillin and I will cradle its warmth.

There are only four adults in the world who have not had an orgasm. Wait. One of them died.

Don't have seven babies with your next door neighbor whose name you are unsure of.

One of the most important things of all time is stodgiest.

I have a puppy and his name is Whey. Curds died of canine malaria (which probably does not exist).

If I had a million dollars, I would have people line up to come into my bedroom with pleas for money, and when they came in, I would invariably force them to sit and listen to Meatloaf's "I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)" while I stare at them. They would then be asked to leave. People would be allowed to come back if they wanted to.

I heard that Mr. Ed was really a zebra and that he could do white magic such as healing your terrible cold sores.

somethinghasgoneterriblywronghereplease call my doctor
(he will be the one dressed in naked and holding ninety-three paintbrushes)