Come here, my dry little pet. Let me... moisturize you.

�

Chapter of the First
MASSTER MISTER, COME QUACK! TYPOS ABUND!

Ah, yes. The merry days of yester-year, as if such a thing could be extrapolated from sandwich formations found in the garage. Where, she said, could such things be discovered if not within the confines of a closed system moving toward entropy? Dada consists of yellow american cheese, I responded. A blunt refusal followed concerning the consistency of dada. I had the manifestation of my nuits during puberty, were the words that fell unto the multi stained pillow tree. Hovering above the grass inside the barn was a mouse, jumping upon horse stalks as if to say, the green beans shall have none of my betamorphial meat pies! Havana! Just as the tea cups clink together in the basket, so too shall we lift our spirits! Fried onions dance the dance of our forefathers; I feel like chicken tonight! Came the whispered scream, Don't lift your spirits, shoplift your spirits! Free wine! It was framed, was the screamed whisper. Be a frog, be a tulip, you can do it all on a sofa made of corn beans. Have I yet to mention the magic of the sacred bagels, she asked of them. Only on Tuesday could such a proposal be validated such as parking. Dance, Hulio. George would have wanted it that way. I am the reincarnation of George, she whispered in fear of her mother-in-law. How could such a ghastly oversight have been made in our records? You say you were never even born? How odd, yet I am still puzzled as to the state of ecstacy; it cannot be found on this map. Would you care to elaborate upon your discovery of the chicken fried fox gloves? A muttered reply, I would graciously do so if not for the miscommunication between the two parties involved in the tao jones industrial complex scandal. Industrially complex, I say. Wormwood yet? Hush dear, mother said. But I would so enjoy some Wormwood. May I? Hush dear. Don't make me rip the beaver from your throat and perform acts of sodomy upon your skull. Can I soak you in hamburger grease, pour ketchup on your face and make you eat pickles? Why not? Don't you like pickles? Pickles make me feel special.

WELCOME TO THE REGION OF SPORK, TOM. CARE TO DANCE?

I could have swore that I was attempting to mock this style of music, he said politely. Bewildered she spoke in tongues, tripping over some of the longer ones. Where oh where is my handbook on Boolean geometry? Oh, here it is, right under the OH MY GOD, BARNEY'S DEAD! Who's Barney, she wondered. Barney was a cat, he told. And he was dead. What did you do about it? she asked. I cried and turned him into fertilizer. Now he makes the flowers grow AND THAT'S BEAUTIFUL. Care for some sympathy cheese? I like cheese. Cheese makes me feel special. No, I would not eat sympathy cheese in a box or with a fox. Go away, git. Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear, but that never stopped the pixies from towing away his car at night. Perhaps most perplexing is the lack of grovington hydratic equation applications for the //c, whatever that may or may not be, which depends on what mood it happens to be in at the time. Can I sprinkle you with Gary dust now? Oh I think I can. I like hills. They make me feel special. Do you dance also? Do the hustle if you're sure. Just a thought before I go; if Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair, would he still be Fuzzy Wuzzy, or would we be more apt to use the word apt in a phrase for the live viewing audience to describe the shaven critter before the cameras?

Chapter of the Second
THE SKY WHISPERED, HI OO LAC, AND I DRIPPED TO SLEEP

Verily, quite reasonable they seemed as I went about my business, not stopping to crunch on the flour I found in the basement. Having a jumped sandle wood furnace delivered for three to a somewhere place between the stars in her eyes as she looked deep into mine and drowned in the sparkle-sparkle, sweet prickly orange, the pungent boom that she found. Bye the bye as we sleep, has anyone noticed the complete lack of chimeras in this fantasy world? I want a pound and a half of chipped ham and can I get some smelling salts for my friend here? She likes to nap but we can take care of that, can't we, Rodrigus? Denim on my thighs, lactose on my shirt, what's a girl to do? Vanity is what the bepuzzled falcon questioned when she came near. How is it to be such as a breeder, with fingers in your hair? Can it be that the universe is but a cheesy sculpture with no more abscesses that a rainbowed unicorn dancing on my ingrown toenail? She said, you should get that looked at, she said.

CLOSURE, SHE SAID, AND HE STEPPED CLOSER; CONFLICT FOLLOWED

I want to teach the world to sing, but I can't quite get this tune out of my head. Who is this Stacey Q and why won't the grasshoppers fly with me to the land beyond the rainbowed horse? I would so appreciate some assistance in matters concerning my sanity. Silly willy, she scolded. That's not a threat, it's an advertisement. How dreary to be somebody, the frog told me, but I could not hear over the others croaking madly away. Papped-cell death, I said of the cushioned batteries. Oh, yeah, that's a mighty fine cup of joe, I told her. She said, You should try the Kevin some time, she said. Ever and after, chasing ducks as they squeel their childish delight. Where was that damn holy rose anyway? Just in case the circus never finds the freeway, can we keep the small man? I like the way he dances and he's so good with the kids, John. Please excuse the lack of nouns in the following sentence. Get to milking! You've never seen Jupiter, she asked in amazement as she reached up and plucked the moon from the window shelf. Here, have some peppered cheese and onion rings. Daddy made them himself. Can I get a closer look at that pencil. I suspect it has written something aweful. How could you tell, she asked. The paper narc'ed on it. And they all regressed into slow-witted milk drinkers, even though they couldn't figure out how to put the quarter in the cow.

UBIQUITOUS CHEESE-MEN REIGN, SAYETH THE UNBRIDLED CUFFLINKS!

�

�

�

This has been Memoirs of Lord Chuffer, Minister of Fetish. Brought to you by The Sequal Production Company 222: Gotta Spork that Cheese, Man! And by The Under Core.

�

"I went through eighteen years of alienation and suffering at the hands of my cruel peers for this?"

�