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pitas
Just because he's not a drunk Don Ho docent doesnt meant he don't sell watches !!!
Dagmar Chili is written From a Quonset Hut !!!
knock a garage
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01:39 p.m.
Discover trots out the fucking stupid doomsday argument referred to below. Unbelievable.
12:52 a.m.
item
12:41 p.m.
At Home with the Mind-Fudge
It seems like everyone's wondering these days, "So ... can you be at home with the Mind-Fudge once or twice?"
I am here to tell you folks, "Yes! I can be at home with the Mind-Fudge once or twice, and so can you!"
We are put in this world by thousands of storks per hour, and it's a pity that most of us, while we can sometimes see the muscles on the backs of our arms with perfect clarity, may never be able to touch them.
Being at home with the Mind-Fudge once or twice can change this.
"Ta-ta-ta," says its charismatic inventor and Chief Cleric of the Mind-Fudge, citizen Clarity Holmes.
"Dla-dla-dla Mind-Fudge chi-chi-booby. Valko-valko-valkowrap chi-chi-booby," he recalls poetically of his first days with the dazzling new product, now manufactured by Hedge Systems, Inc., in his futuristic Long Island mansion.
Anti-Mind-Fudge spokesperson July Drench couldn't disagree more.
"This is a dangerous product," she tells a crowd of tumescent adolescents.
"First time I was at home with it, I got the runs at the county laundromat. I couldn't stop thinking, 'Is this cholera? Is this damage?' Second time I was at home with it, I wound up sitting on a log, trying to get some loving from an old bullfrog."
Rogue lawmen are not convinced, pointing out in a joint statement that the Mind-Fudge is a "totally new like wow new" part of the American landscape, and that past indications are no indication of future indications.
The inexpensive Mind-Fudge is currently only carried by Best Buy and related outfits, but will soon be heir to an expanding market, if Ribbon Fords dies within eight months.
"Tlit-dla chi-chi-booby, chi-chi-booby Mind-Fudge," says Clarity Holmes, and winks.
10:38 p.m.
Fimbly's Fun Joke of the Day:
Patron: Herr Ober! There's a tumor in my gazpacho!
Judicious Table-Clerk: Yip-ip-ip! Es metastasiziert!
05:51 p.m.
No, no, no, no, no. This is so wrong; this is anti-sequitur.
Also, the old Wanda Tinasky business.
And R Rorty's review of Dennett's book on Darwinism, the title of which I'm not so fond of, but if this review is on target I'd damned well better read it again. Must not have been ready for it. I can't wait.
09:01 p.m.
$! $! $! $! $! $! $! $!
"What a fine fake of a fortune," said Adipose Sam, "but I mind if I do, and rightly: liquid or gel mucus can produce intelligent stripping in ships' holds. At the European information sensors, malonic acid reacts reversibly with cocaine turbines."
"Bitten to death!" said Anise Priscilla.
"Sweet!" said Slinker Tom.
"But then again, in a Mexican motel, aren't ther already just too many slow smokers? When is the fall stone going to quit? Like three jailbirds in lonesome tomb territory, the river pulls up three men a year in drag!"
"Ah, Christ Almighty!" said Anise Priscilla.
"Kill me again, dime-fucker!" said Slinker Tom.
"But at this lofty bean, we are reminded so often of those who have made a tamtam stamp of what little glass they could cup. And what they gave to us, in shillings and blizzards, let us give to our late guard in spackle and blintzes."
But what Slinker Tom found in mohair slacks, he also saw in Killing Linda, and so had to leave an hour early, to catch up on his dick. And since Anise Priscilla had the swapped duty of fixating on gerbil-neck sponges until her face was ice-cast and ready for delivery, she soon after left, leaving Adipose Sam to find out himself. He sat on the teak tacklebox, and said, "Enough already say 'Look, this is what I am doing,' and we owe it to ourselves as fellow ironboxists to fight this with bottles and beards!"
05:31 p.m.
Three New Eps of Herr Bayer: "The Cheeky Dagger" from the bottom of the double agent Russian assassin story barrel. Chapter Three (iii): In which "The Cheeky Dagger" does not other secret method himself into inkyoatness! God waltzed in through the bathroom wall and told me, "I like it when they toss in a thwacking marvelous word, but this whole time, have been using really quite obvious sentence structures and vocabulary, so you know they've just cheated it up from beefier sources." "That's right God, Yuli from Uilhu Island doesn't do this." In the Mind of God, the image of a beautiful nude women's Russian chess tournament double agent flashed briefly in the carpet's weave. "Those are nice diagrams." He waited a moment, hoping that little children would pay attention in order better to understand lampshade construction and the startling symmetry of his aphids, then returning his attention to "The Cheeky Dagger"'s faulty fabling, added, "I never pour it that way, Herr Bayer." "You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?" Chapter Eight eight thrice-great (viii): This is a chapter where "The Cheeky Dagger" does not secret method himself into objiquity! The words "genuflections," "ohm," and "armpit." Chapter Eleven is both (XI = viiiiii; easy to add; in German eight plus three equals eleven): So I made it capitals that you may know in which congressional district "The Cheeky Dagger" wishes he was ten times as majestic by two secret methods, but does not! God waltzed in through the bathroom wall and told me, "Put that candle out. It's distributing false stoked pamphlets, to geniuses!" "Why ever is that?" "I am the eternal ohm, put it out or face destruction at the hand of my disgraceless genuflections." "Whoa there, big guy!" "Tada!" said God, and pulled a dime out of his armpit. "Bullshit, it was in your hand!" I shouted, loudly adding forcefulness to my vehemently worded expression. "It was in my armpit all along. Haven't you noticed I restricted the preceding genuflections to my sinister maaahno?" "Well mash me up the grapes and call it 'Susannah'!" "Tada!" said God again, and condemned me to hell for prudish snobbery. Chapter Twenty-two how it do. In which "The Cheeky Dagger" twenty-two crow feathers eats. The words "thwacking," "stoked," and "forcefulness."
10:15 p.m.
maq n chhez n the OED, o yeah we're clumping like fryshoots
07:45 p.m.
Song with few substitutions, for a mule
Must remain
at all times mad
as the devil.
Many victories.
How corny, mister.
Many victories
over conglobate intelligence,
'equal to one-tenth of a dong.'
Pull the coax
over the compact.
Must remain
at all times mad
as the devil.
06:46 a.m.
No, not a matter of having answers, so far as we get into the possession of truths, in a briefcase? -- We are concerned he may raise questions, in which case Messieurs B & G wld have to memorize a couple dozen new 'vacuous platitudes' (--Serge Lamont) and uh, be distracted from kissing babies, -- but they don't do that. Thatwouldbe foh nee.
I do not think he is asking the right questions. And unpopularity -- this isn't a matter of position but of articulacy -- how many seasoned citizens, how many fighters-for-causes could imagine that he is for them if he isn't so vague as HORSERADISHthankyou Horseradish peroxidase
That's the power of B's inarticulacy -- just an amplification of the general, thing, you know, the general -- we know what he means to say, an by garsh it it it
08:38 p.m.
Download the chime chem model viewer and visit
webmolecules.com -- muy excelente!
08:40 a.m.
a 1917 quote from classicist Paul Shorey, arguing that without a solid grounding in an academic curriculum, children would be consigned to "a world of nothing but ragtime, chewing gum, chocolate sundaes, the wit of the colored Sunday supplements, best sellers, uncensored films, continuous vaudeville ..."
12:11 a.m.
They want to know, if Martha is living like a, and if it's big fat song on a skinny lawn, watchit for a dance that the beaver saw
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brrrrrrrrrrrEAK like mustard!
"quench like mustard":
soil
angina peckerosys heh heh
ditch dooble axxing
saturday
alcibades
karyoflascor
happens
karyoflascor
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