Thursday, December 09, 2004

One Hundred Thousand Times The Force of Gravity

“So nothing gets clogged...evah.”

Dear Mr. Dyson,

Please never ever invent a suppository.

I like my rectum to create just the right amount of pressure before I relieve myself in a sitting that lasts long enough to enjoy a brief flip through a nearby magazine.

And I’m afraid my anus, although quite magnificent, just can’t keep up with that kind of centrifugal force.

Warm Regards,
Chief

2 comments:

Wyatt Junker said...

I think you've intuited something here. About Mr. Dyson, that is. I bet he was actually thinking about the anus when he invented his little 'device'.

Perhaps big Dice has the tear rings around his shpinc to prove it.

Chief Wannahockaloogy said...

Guess what puckered after imagining your delightful comment.

About Me, Not You

I was christened Wannahockaloogy by our tribal leader. He was a bitter old man with throat cancer who believed that, to truly hock a loogie, one must not retrieve the phlegm from the throat, but from the soul. His weakened, delirious state made it easy for me to overthrow him and seize control. Now, I am the chief and I have internet access. Beware, delirious smoking populace. Beware.