“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
Thursday, December 09, 2004
One Hundred Thousand Times The Force of Gravity
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
About Me, Not You
- The Chief
- 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.
1 comment:
Guess what puckered after imagining your delightful comment.
Post a Comment