I joined one of them computer cults the other day. We all got down on our knees and prayed to a commodore 64 with a tape drive. It WILL rise again, this I promise you. Why does the lord insist on smearing the masses with his holy fecal matter? This is one of the wretched mysteries that the great comic book "the bible" doesn't talk about. I personally feel that it's the work of them sneaky foreign types. No class at all. Disgusts you to see it. I have a prediction for 1997 that I'd like to share with you. Tattoos and piercings will be out. Amputation will be the "in" thing among America's youth. You'll be hearing a lot of telephone conversations like the following: - Bobby, yo dude, I got my nose pierced today. Rad, huh. Bert: - That's lame-o, you mofo. I got my nose REMOVED two days ago. And the chicks dig it! I am the HELLBEAST! If you value your soul more than a handful of S&H green stamps, quit out of your browser now and help jesus rid the web of evil perverters of all that is sacred. But you will never defeat me, as long as there is a single photo of Pamela Lee Anderson that can be downloaded. Ha Ha Hah Ha - Satan. I've been chewing the same piece of beef for the last nine months. Must be some kind of record, I think. Some people say that I masticate too much. To hell with them I say! I was relaxing on the couch last weekend when I decided to contemplate my navel, like those monks do. Thought I'd try to gain some insight into the world, you know. After about five minutes, I got dreadfully bored, so I decided to contemplate the navels that I keep in a box under my bed. Those I found a lot more interesting. After conferring with the top surgeons in the business, I've decided to have my heart replaced with a small salad with Russian dressing. Questions? Hi kids! I'd really like to meet your mother and tell her the bad things you've done. I know what your thinking... how do I know the dirty little things that you do when you're by yourself? I don't know, but my imagination is pretty darn good, heh heh heh... never thought anyone would try to do such a thing with one of God's own creatures. That's just not proper. And what's the hot mustard for? That's terrible... doesn't it burn? I was having a little trouble finding my keys the other day. I looked and looked. They could not be found. Then they turned up right where I left them, in the left ventricle of a small boy who lives down the street. I've got a funny feeling between my legs. I'm not laughing, though. Nope, this feeling doesn't make me laugh. It is quite another sound that escapes my mouth uncontrollably. I'll let you all get together and decide what the sound is. OK, I'll give you a hint. It's guttural, heh heh heh. When I get the blues, I find that it's a great comfort to find people who are having similar problems and kill them. Where are you, you dirty, filthy chimps? I know you're hiding around here someplace. You think you can hide from me, but eventually you'll be found. A chimp can't help making "eeep... eeep" sounds after a while and then you will be found and you naughty chimps will get your comeuppance. This is a promise. Stop mocking me, you chimps! I was walking down the street when whom should I meet but Tom Wopat. Yes, THAT Tom Wopat from the Dukes of Hazard. As is my custom, I tackled him and stole his shoes. I've got quite a collection. Carol Channin's shoes have the worst smell you can imagine. Like she was wearing bedroom slippers made out of giant cloves of rancid garlic. But she wasn't. Those shoes I can do without. With the right kind of equipment and food coloring you can turn your favorite breakfast cereal into something that looks like roadkill. I think everyone, at one time or other has wanted to eat the remains of some possum that has been flattened by a semi. Curiosity, perhaps? Or the hunter instinct kicking in. It's free too. Don't forget that. Never pass up a free hot meal I say. Hey! Any freaky underage girls out there? Wanna party? Would you mind calling me Mitch? Turn-ons: quiet walks on the beach and doing the nasty on top of precious national documents. Turn-offs: when my eyes start to bleed. Ooof! Mitch. I got a nosebleed the other day and I decided that it was just my body's way of telling me that I had too much blood. So I let it flow onto my shirt and then onto my plate and then onto my grilled cheese sandwich. Please send me your excess bodily fluids for my collection. THANK YOU. Here's an important tip for all you kids out there. Action figures and dolls do NOT, I repeat, do NOT make very good dildos. You see, the manufacturers didn't have that kind of activity in mind when they created these toys and well, there's nothing more embarrassing than to have to go to a doctor to have barbie's head removed from your rectum. Listen. Sometimes things get rough on the ol' doctor and he needs that extra ooomph to get himself going. So I want you to send me your monkeys. I don't care if they're large or small, dark or light. Just so I can put all of them into a confined space and record the sounds of them tearing each other apart. Then I'll use the recording for my answering machine message. Har har har. Eeep! I think that giving of yourself is the greatest gift of all. So, in the spirit of the season, I have arranged to have my internal organs mailed to the people I love. I've got something special to give you as a token of my admiration. It's your sexual organs in a pretty box, wrapped up in a bow. I took your organs when you were sleeping and tattooed the face of Eddie Cantor on them. What was wrong? Did I do a bad thing? Yes, I'm back from vacation. Took a lot of doing to convince the natives that Americans are crude and disgusting. Nothing like human sacrifice to clear up a person's doubts. I had a wonderful sandwich full of beans and fish and eggs and cheese and small children and oatmeal and blueberries and vodka and a car. It was good yum yum. Please help me. Everyone needs help now and then. I need help out of my pants. I looked down at my right arm and all I had was a bloody stump. I started to feel woozy and then I realized that I had stuck my hand into a jar of raspberry jam again. Amistake that anyone could make. Boy, do I hate it when my jam gets bloody. I was just minding my own business on the train yesterday, when a young woman sat down next to me wearing a bear costume. Enough to make me want to jump out of my own skin and teach her the latin hustle, if you know what I'm referring to. Well, I thought that I'd died and gone to Heaven, that's the God honest truth. How did I know it was a woman, if she was wearing a costume? The scent, my good friend, the scent. One good whiff and I knew she was in heat. I was just about to make a leap at her, when I realized that this may all be a hallucination (a reoccuring malady). So I hesitated and the train came to a halt at the next stop. She got up to go and at the door she turned to me and said: "Only YOU can prevent forest fires." Sometimes life can be unbearable. Ho HO! An injection of bulbocapnine into the back brain will induce instant orgasm followed by a fatal case of rectal constriction requiring an apple corer or some sort of similar device. Most of my learned colleagues (nameless assholes) tend to disagree with my methods. But like I always say, "son cosas de la vida." No one ever cured a cancer by biting out a foul-smelling tumor, like I did. I had just taken a really good shit when I had this sudden urge to emasculate myself with a fork. You know, just repeatedly jab myself over and over. Only then might these terrible urges stop and maybe. just maybe, I'd get on the news. "Hi Oprah! Yes it hurt, it hurt a lot. You can't imagine the pain." I know you're behind me, Mr. Shadow. You sick fuckface. I need you like a hole in my head. I'll show you. I'll only go outside at noon... or I'll attach an elaborate system of lights to my body. Then we'll see. Let the sun shine in I say. Ha HA! I smell a smelly smell and it's coming from you. I don't like smelly smells like yours. You need to bathe. A lot. I just thought you'd like to know that. You know I like you. You seem like a kind person who would never want to hurt small children. Not the type to take a whole boy scout troop hostage. Nope not you. I mean it. Don't call me a liar or I'll kill you. When the grapes are ripe I want to hurt the elves. Yes, the elves need the hurt. They know that without the hurt they cannot breathe the clean air. They suck in the air as I beat them and it cleanses their souls. Does me a world of good as well. I get to feed the snake that holds my heart in its grasp. Not a bad trade, really, good air for snake feed. I go out and get that Purina Snake Chow. Mighty tasty.