"Plaster of Paris, Texas"
* 1 cup of melted apostrophe
* 4 medium-sized tumors (in situ)
* 1/2 qt. of agave-flavored martyrdom
* One dozen peeled-and-paroled white-collar criminals (non-prostate)
* 2 hands other than those currently lambasting the fondue
* 1 tbsp. of towel-dried hysteria
* 6 disciples of Jethro Tull (preferably balding)
* 1/4 carafe of woven chianti
* 2 references from the New Testament defending post-grad fellatio
Pre-heat the kiln to 491-degrees. Savor the squalor
of Millions of Dying Protozoans. Then, discontinue
all subscriptions to get-rich-little tabloids before
the pumpkin evolves into supper, minus the suggestive glances.
(Repeat: minus the suggestive glances...)
Wait 5 minutes and tenderize the road-rage with
weapons exposed and matrimonial. Retrieve the acrobats
from the steam-circle, then, with everyone's audacity,
castrate the ambition of peasants with copious amounts
of lethargy and paprika.
Hold fast the motion of anorexia, and when the cake has cooled,
impersonate a therapist with penny-loafers and a desk-drawer
filled with airplane-bottles of Old Yeller.
Chill the obsidian. Awake, like a junky.
Voila. Not only do you have an abundance of minarets
to satisfy the hoi polloi, but you'll also have enough
breathing room atop the steeple to continue the year-long
tradition of incorporating Keynesian economics
into the collective solar plexus of several thousand
air-traffic controllers, undeniably pinko-commies
who are already overpaid and spoiled by their inability
to quell their ejaculatory departures.
Death to the Sauce Pan. Arrive like caramelization.
(serves 4 to Lithuania)
Contributed by: Capt. Molehair
Subject: Re: I don't understand
1. Never achieved 'lather' while bathing, have ya? <pause> Have ya!?
2. Life is too short for rehearsals, kid.
Stick with sandboxes and early morning traffic.
3. Um...if God's an Oldsmobile,
we don't have an Irishman's chance in rehab...
4. All of the Hmong (shall inherit the aluminum)
5. The key to understanding is simply convincing yerself
that the door is actually a crushed velvet pigeon...
and if you ain't a spy for the Screendoor Brigade,
my guess is that you were never willing to jeopardize
the lust you suffer for everyone wearing 'edible pleather'.
6. T-Bone Dukakis & Snow Pea Lorraine: The Clapper Reunion
10. [YOUR FACE HERE]
11. This is where I often curse myself (and all accompanying HI-FI)
12. "The baker's dead, the queen beats bishop,
and chivalry gets shot with morphine..."
has dirty jackets, inc.