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

1 comment:

The Chief 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.