Tell the Truth or Meet Me By the Lakehouse After the Church Picnic:
and don’t eat the brown JELL-O or any of the mayonnaise dishes after dark
an alternative explanation for late onset lactose intolerance in deep sea snorkeling nuclear submarine wreck salvage divers, based on a series of Haiku palindromes found tattooed on juvenile Megascolides australis), a rare species found in just five locations. According to the Encyclopedia of Endangered Species, individuals reliably reach 6.6ft (2m) long, with a diameter of 4cm. http://www.bbc.com/earth/story/20161104-five-freaky-things-about-earthworms)
as told to Bill Purkins
This is for
All the Lonely People in America, England & our boys and girls and assorted pick-your-own-gender stationed overseas who are tuning in on various devices, disarmed, underarm and/or radio free Willie…
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last US edition, 19f99
some of this material may have previously appeared on toilet walls in vegetable dye based inks using completely different words in dead cursive languages using a shitty font, WTF?
Our story begins with Father McKenzie spraying the inside of Groucho Nosed Grim Reaper masks with a 2% Sodium-Pentothal saline rinse infused with medical grade marijuana THC and a Patchouli-Vinaigrette honey mustard Jock Itch poultice fragrance…
“Hola, Isabel, como estas?” said the Padre to the habit forming middle aged aged nun in training wannabe.
“Pretty bueno, Papasito,” she shouted back. “My annulment gonna come through before Christmas Eve? I could use the tax break this year big time, you know I followed through and reported all my gambling winnings this year…”
“Well, ‘Despite recent indications that Mexico has nurtured a new, more modern view of the United States, perceptions of the United States as power-hungry, hypocritical, and anti-Mexican still inform the public discourse,’ quoth the not so festive divorcee nun to be sanctuary seeker… Or so I read suggested by the nut jobs at
JOURNAL ARTICLE, Mexican Images of the United States, Stephen, D. Morris, Mexican Studies / Estudios Mexican Vol. 16, No. 1 (Winter, 2000) pp. 105-139 (35 pages) Published By: University of California Press https://doi.org/10.2307/1052123
“I’m impressed,” said the Mad Max haired aged cleric, bowing slightly.
“You fell asleep again,” she bitched. “Not for nothing, but I feel like a used Dr Seuss Star Bellied Sneetch with a twice removed asteroid tattoo scar on my left ass cheek that still shows a faint shadow image of an UP THE ESTABLISHMENT hairy fist recruiting poster with prison ink My Little Pony stick figure poses on the knuckles, and I have to wear a greasy oven mitt over it when I take my kid to the clinic so I don’t get busted blaming me for the Indian Burns under his armpits. 3 weeks and they still haven’t gone away. The poor kid can’t even wear a tank top to his gang initiation next weekend unless I write a note and slip his Thugmaster a 20 or at least yank him off and me with my bursitis acting up in my good wrist,” she exclaimed, punctuating that by spitting out a thick spurt of RED-MAN juice which doused a prayer candle, starting up a sputtering wicked death dance.