Twas the Night Before... - Omphuss

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

I am very pleased with the outcome of this assignment. I have parodied the parody by simply copying the original poem in its entirety. In doing so, I am turning the whole concept of parody on its head. In one deft stroke, I have made a revolutionary statement and "kept it clean". If you fail to appreciate and/or acknowledge my genius, go fuck yourself.

"Merry Christmas, everybody!"

Note: Please imagine this last bit, my personal holiday greeting, said in the voice and manner of a cherubic retard. It is really touching that way, as long as you don't go so far as to make the retard a real drooler or give them a cleft palate. It gets creepy when you overlay the wonderful holiday sentiment with the sound of the wind whistling through the natural gap where their hard palate should be.

I wish I had not thought of that. I am haunted by the image.

Jesus...now I have given the little freak a pubscent moustache of which he is unnaturally proud.

Ah, Jimminy, now I have grown this little fucker up in my mind to 22 and he is working late in a pool hall because he has no where else to go and he is sucking on a bar bottle of Old Milwaukee, and it is splattering down his chin because even after 20 something years, drinking from a bottle is hard for him, so hard he really shouldn't try. It is a blessing that the really big girl in the corner is willing to call herself his girlfriend and that she bought them matching Santa hats. She is thinking about how hard she is going to blow him later. Ah, Christmas is beautiful.

Damn...he peed himself.

Twas the Night Before Christmas Challenge

By Christmas Eve, you are to write a parody of the traditional Night Before Christmas.  Try and keep it clean boys....

Twas the Night in DC- Woodpecker

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through DC,
Not a politician was cooperating, not Hatch or Pelosi.
The Democrats were fighting and not always real fair,
In hopes all Americans would have universal health care.

The pundits were nestled all snug in their beds,
Who’ll win this new battle, the blues or the reds?
Michele Obama in her kerchief and Barack in his cap
Had just settled America for a long 4 year nap.

When out on the South Lawn while Biden worked on his tan,
Barack proclaimed to all who’d hear, “Change? Yes we can!”
Away to the cameras, every reporter had the urge,
We’re now focusing on Afghanistan; it’s time for a surge.

Glenn Beck on the TV for the viewers of Fox News Channel,
Gave the lustre of The Tea Party to an angry progressive panel.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But 8 of our past Presidents, the ghosts of yester year.

Now Washington, Now Adams, Now Jefferson and Hayes
On FDR, On Woodrow, On Lincoln and JFK.
To our monuments! To our legacy! To the constitution we wrote,
We’ll protect our borders and we don’t need a moat.

And then in a twinkling through the darkness and din,
Appeared another great man, his name was Ben Franklin.
Down the chimney he arrived, he came with a bound,
There was hope on the way; he’d turn this country around.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
The Democrats didn’t like him, the Republicans went berzerk.
And then in a flash, with a laugh that was hearty,
He proclaimed his first law, no more political parties.

He wrote this new law with a pen that was feather,
We’ll end all of this fighting and instead work together.
Over the next few days they cancelled all programs pending,
They agreed to do what was right and reduce government spending.

It took a bit of time, but on Christmas Eve they were done,
They had all got along, and some even had fun.
Taxes were now lower and our troops back on US soil,
Ben’s job was now finished, he’d put an end to the turmoil.

He sprang to his feet, threw the old budget in the trash,
Collected all of the Presidents and vanished in a flash.
But I heard him exclaim, before they disappeared from my sight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!

Sick Love - Omphuss

Why Tori Amos Would Be an Ideal Girlfriend

Here are some of the pros and cons to having Tori Amos as your girlfriend.

Pro: No matter what you did, whatever the last guy did it was worse and she would have written a song about that prick.

Con: The break-up would be all dramatic and then you would be the prick and she would write a song about you.

Pro: After the break-up, Tori Amos would, without fail, write a song about you. Her lawyers would make sure that it wasn't so bad and that you could not be specifically identified but every time she made that face at the end of her latest "men are douchebags and my daddy tried to see me naked" song, you would know that she was making that face at you. It would be better than getting to smack her right after she finished singing her latest "men are douchebags..." song.

Con: She could have an enormous, firey bush. I mean enormous, something that would embarrass a Russian peasant.

Pro: Come on, Tori Amos is such a headcase that you know she tore out all of her pubic hair while Lindsay Lohan was still trying to become a Mousekateer.

Con: She may have kept that pubic hair.

Pro: You could probably sell her pubic hair to a fat woman who owns all of Tori's European releases. Sell it for a lot and don't ask what the fat lady intends to do with it. Nobody needs to know about a Tori Amos merkin.

Pro: She would buy you all sorts of gifts.

Con: The gifts would suck, like a really, really nice dream catcher or her hymen suspended in pure grain alcohol.

Pro: You could probably sell those gifts, along with her pubic hair, to her fattest fan and buy a 60 inch flat panel television or an ATV.

Con: If you ever made a sex tape with Tori Amos and that sex tape "accidentally" found its way to the open market, Tori Amos has that sort of skin that gets really angry during sex and people would inevitably think, "Oh my god, he punched her in the pussy while they were having sex."

Pro: People would think that you had puncher her in the pussy...regularly.

Con: The police or a judge might think you had punched her in the pussy and that never bodes well during the sentencing phase.

Pro: You could easily pretend that you were sexing up Kerri from Mythbusters.

Con: Somehow, Grant from Mythbusters would definitely come into play in the fantasy and it would be the Grant before he got his teeth fixed. It could also be Jamie and you would be forced to think, "What the hell is in his moustache?"

Pro: I think Tori Amos' dad was some sort of minister. You could wear a roman collar to bed and it would definitely get weird, in a good way.

Con: You might have to go to church when you visited her parents.

Pro: Church might make her hot. She is a headcase.

Con: All your friends would always be like, "Dude, you had sex with Tori Amos."

Pro: What the hell did they ever do with their dicks? You banged Tori Amos.

Sick Love- Woodpecker

The assigment from Omphuss is to write a one page meditation on sick love.  I struggled in a major way with this one and here's how it turned out. 

January 10th


Dear Diary:

I met the greatest guy today at my dad’s office. Tall, dark, and handsome doesn’t do him justice. We chatted for a few minutes, went out for coffee, and literally talked for hours. At the end he asked me out for this Friday. He seems like such a great guy!!! I didn’t tell him I was the boss’ daughter. I don’t want him to get freaked out.

January 14th

Dear Diary:

The date with Charlie was amazing!! He is so sweet and funny and quite the gentleman. I’m not used to having a guy open doors for me and pull out chairs. I had the most incredible time in the world. We laughed and laughed and talked until 2 am. He walked me to the door and gave me a soft kiss good night. I don’t want to jinx it, but I think he might be the one.

January 23rd

Dear Diary:

First time sex with Charlie!! He was so great. He was gentle and caring and so in tune to what my needs were. Afterward I just laid in his arms and fell asleep. I could not ask for a more amazing man.

January 28th

Dear Diary:

Introduced Charlie to my friends. They all love him and think we are a great match. We had great laughs. Carol and Judy think we look a lot alike. Weird ,but we did all agree that our children would certainly be beautiful. I know I shouldn’t be talking kids yet, but I just can’t help it.

February 4th

Dear Diary:

Sex with Charlie has become an adventure. I feel so comfortable with him that I’m willing to open myself up and try anything. I’ve discovered that Charlie definitely has a kinky side to him and we’ve been experimenting with toys and some of his fetishes. Normally I’d be a little freaked out, but I think he’s the one.

On another note, spoke to dad today and he’s got some exciting news for me. Not sure what it is, but maybe I’ll tell him about Charlie when we have dinner next week.

February 8th

Dear Diary:

Sex last night with Charlie was a little weird. He asked me to pee on him while he had an orgasm. I agreed and he seemed to really enjoy it. I’m not sure about it, but my desire to keep him happy and interested outweighs any of my fears.

February 13th

Dear Diary:

Went to my dad’s office to meet him for dinner and overheard my dad and Charlie yelling at each other. Not sure what it was about, but I wasn’t about to tell Dad about him over dinner. Not gonna tell Charlie about Dad either. Good thing I changed my mind, because Dad’s news was a real shocker. Apparently he had a one night stand a few months before he started dating mom and has a son!! You’d think I’d be angry, or upset, but actually I just can’t wait to meet him. Two new and important men in my life in the last month!! I’m the luckiest woman on earth.

February 20th

Dear Diary:

I would have never thought that a Golden Shower would be tame, but it was compared with last night. I’m too embarrassed to even write what happened. Dinner with Dad in a couple of nights. I get to meet my newly discovered step brother!! I’m going to invite Charlie to come with me.

February 21st

Dear Diary:

I’m a little disappointed Charlie can’t come to dinner tomorrow night. He says he already has plans but I feel he’s hiding something. Maybe it’s because I refused to let him, well you know, last night. Maybe he’s no longer interested.

February 22nd

Dear Diary:

Much to my surprise Charlie did show up for dinner tonight with Dad. And much to my even bigger surprise, Charlie is my brother.

February 25th

Dear Diary:

I had sex with Charlie today. I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. I just needed one more time before I broke it off. I was surprised he said yes and the closeness we shared will stay with me forever. I don’t know what the future brings, but I sure can’t wait for the next family get together!!

Limerick Challenge

Based on a growing amount of actrimony to our fellow scribe "Michaels Mom", our next challenge is to write a limerick describing his ultimate demise.  He'll be known as "Buck" in the limerick.

Woodpecker
I knew a young wrITer named “Buck”
Whose prose routinely contained "Fuck",
Though his night terrors remained,
And his bed sheets dream stained,
He was ultimately killed by a truck.

Omphuss - Take One

One story of a writer named "Buck"
Suggests he was hit by a truck
That isn't quite it
He was having a shit
The man shared Elvis' luck

Omphuss - Take Two

There was a poor writer named Buck
On the can he ran out of luck
His mitts he employed
To his bits overjoyed
And died dreaming of sheep he could fuck

Omphuss - Take Three

There was a fella named Buck
Who died from the Jame Gumm tuck
He rammed his ham and eggs
Down between his legs
And panicked when they got stuck

Woodpecker- Part Deux

There was a little pecker named Buck
The bottom he never did fuck
But on each of those rides
He banged the hell outta the sides
Never worrying once about getting stuck.

Michael's Mom

Buck wanted to fuck this hot stripper
He made sure he was her best tipper
When she finally agreed
To ride him like a steed
It was just too much for his ticker

Woodpecker- Number 3

Buck referred to his pecker as Ticker
Twas about as big as a sticker
With a stripper hot as hell
Ticker went and hid in his shell
Buck ended up having to lick her.

Assignment 2:

Write a 12 paragraph story, each paragraph being written in rotation by another writer until the story is complete. Essentially, 4 paragraphs per writer. No defined topic, play it where you find it.

Paragraph 1: Omphuss

"If you lead, I won'n follow. If you follow, I won'n lead. If you lead, I won'n holler but if you holler I won'n go." There was just no shutting this long-toothed old man up. Drunks. Worse yet was the kicking: no warning, two-legged donkey kicks to the driver's seat that bucked Bill Carpenter forward and snapped his neck so his teeth clicked fit to shatter. Bill Carpenter considered the stun gun at least half dozen times but the old man would just piss himself and who wants to clean that up?

Paragraph 2: Michael's Mom

The drunk leans forward, pressing his forehead against the cold metal grate that separates him from the two officers. "Tha names Reno," the drunk slurs, addressing the ponytail in the passenger seat. His breath reeks of the sweet vinegary smell of malt liquor. "But you can call me..." Vicky fiercly spins around in her seat, shooting him a seething glare. "Sit the fuck back and shut your fucking mouth before I have my partner pull over so I can split your goddamned skull!"
The drunk slides back into his seat. After a few seconds, Vicky turns her attention to Bill. "So what exactly do you mean that we should stop fucking?"

Paragraph 3:  Woodpecker

"We should just stop altogether.  With each other, with everyone.  I was reading an article about some brain wave researchers in Sweden who've proven that your capacity to learn increases by 3000% when your mind stops focusing on sex."
Vicky pauses for a moment and begins to speak, but Bill cuts her off.  "No seriously, think about it for a second.  How much of your day is spent wrapped around sex?  Thinking about it, having it, or in our case covering it up.  It's almost a full time job.  Apparently these guys have figured out that sexual thought actually dulls the brain and puts you in a temporary state of suspended animation!"
"Suspended animation?  Bill, are you listening to yourself?  Were you listening to Pink Floyd again?"
Bill continued to ramble on but Vicky's gaze and attention had begun to focus elsewhere.

Paragraph 4: Omphuss

No more wrassling the bear? No more peekaboo pistol? No more Sloppy-Sloppy? No more Greasy Mammoth? No more Pitching Machine, Angry Penguin, none of the The Dolomites? The clubs are out? The harness and the cuffs? No more bone on bone action? What about "self defense" courses? That is crazy talk. How the hell is she supposed to face each day? How the hell is she supposed to stare across the breakfast nook at that milk sop husband? She was dying and all the dirty work was living. This will not do at all. Bill is going to have a change of heart right quick and she doesn't care if it comes to blows.

Paragraph 5: Michael's Mom

It's never a good sign when Vicky goes silent. Bill looks in the rearview mirror to check on Reno, who appears to have passed out, his head slumped out in front, his hair swaying like seaweed with every turn and bump of the police cruiser. Bill turns to look at Vicky, not knowing quite what to say. She's staring out the window, watching the street lights stream by. The police radio breaks the silence. ksht "We've got a 10-11 at the corner of Edwards and Post. Please advise to 10-40 when approaching the scene." ksht Vicky turns to look at him with a bewildered expression. "A 10-11 is an 'animal problem' and a 10-40 means to approach with no lights or siren. What the fuck?" Not exactly the break Bill was looking for, but he'll take it. He grabs the CB. ksht "This is car 716, we're 10-76'n to Edwards and Post. We're on this." ksht

Paragraph 6: Woodpecker

They roll up to the location to find four other cruisers aleady on site and a collection of officers huddling around a makeshift command post.  The sargent in charge explains the location has been under surveillance for weeks as a prime location in the local cock fighting scene.  They didn't plan on making a bust tonight, but decided to move in after they were informed the gang had been tipped off to the surveillance.  After a short debrief the officers move into the building and up the stairs in pairs of two. They don't expect a lot of trouble, but their training tells them to be on high alert, so their guns are drawn.  Vicky and Bill are stationed alone at a choke point at the bottom of the stairs to reel in anyone trying to run away from the bust.  They hear yelling and rustling above them and Bill begins to stiffen in anticipation.  Vicky spins in front of Bill and exclaims, "I'm fucking pregnant."  All she gets back is a look of confusion and depsair from Bill so she says again, "Bill, did you hear me?  I'm pregnant and the baby is yours."  Before Bill could respond, a stray perp explodes down the stairs and Vicky lunges out to stop him.  She catches the man with a forearm to the chest and pins him against the wall.  In all of the commotion Vicky didn't even notice she had also dislodged a .35 mm gun the man was carrying in the back of his pants.  The gun had flown right to Bill's feet.  Bill picked up the gun and walked over to where Vicky was yelling at the man to shut his fucking pie hole before she reached down his throat and pulled his pecker out of his mouth.  Just as she was about to read the man his rights, Bill raised the gun and put three shots into the back of Vicky's head.

Paragraph 7 - Omphuss

Everything was quiet and turning very slowly. He had all the time in the world and all he could ask himself was, "where did this little hump get a gun so cleverly disguised as a camera?" He turned to the little hump as if to ask him that very question but the hump's mind was elsewhere. He was looking down at Vicky like he had found his kids' cat dead at the end of the driveway and knew somebody was going to have to tell them. Bill shifted the awkward camera/gun to his left hand and drew his 9 mm, a normal looking gun, and shot the little hump in the eye. Baby, my nut. When the boys came flying down the stairs at the sound of gunshots, they found Bill standing over the little hump, waving the camera gun, screaming "You should of taken a picture! You should of taken a picture."

Paragraph 8 - Michael's Mom

What tha fuck just happened? What tha fuck! Had this Bill guy just blown tha fuckin head of that lady cop he was fuckin? It must have been an accident. A mistake cuz of tha fight she was in. No! It wasn't no mistake. He walked up slow - shot her more than once - in tha back of tha fuckin head!! Then he blew that little fucker's brains on tha wall. Put a gun in his hand. Made it look like he shot tha lady cop - just like on cop shows. What tha fuck! Reno was desperately trying to piece together what he had just seen, but the alcohol was making it impossible. On top of that he was a dumb shit. He had always been better at drinking, than thinking. He knew he had to come up with something fast though, because when that cop came back to the car, he was sure to notice that he parked right in plain sight of the whole thing.

Paragraph 9 - Woodpecker

“Cut, cut, cut!!!” the Director screamed. “This whole scene is wrong. This whole movie is wrong. Who wrote this damn thing? A 35 mm gun? What happened to a little thing called fact checking? “ Directing a low budget Indie film was never easy, but this one was a joke. Henri couldn’t get over the dialog. He knew it was a gamble taking on a project from HSH Screenwriters. They were known for their edgy storyline and thought provoking take on everyday life, but this script seemed as if it was written by three totally different people. And the acting was simply terrible. The Studio had only given them $3 million for the picture, so the casting process was less than successful. Ira Sinton, who played Vicky, was one of those “where are they now?” child stars who had dropped out of sight after 20 years of drug addiction, family issues, and one go around with soft core porn. Travis Smith, also known as Bill, was a moderately successful country singer looking to break into the movie business. Henri didn’t even know who Reno was; he was literally a drunk they hired off the streets. What had happened to Henri’s promising life and career? He couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen and his thoughts traveled back to that fateful day when everything had changed.

Paragraph 10 - Omphuss

Bill turned slowly and saw the crazy across the street. A wild-eyed fuck with a heavy beard and streamers tied to his black-framed glasses was screaming "Cut, cut, cut!" and scissoring his arms to end the scene. Wouldn't it be nice if we could scream "Cut!" and end the scene? Wouldn't it be fine to walk away from every stinking pile of shit you made? The dead stand up and shake off the dust and meet later for drinks. It doesn't work that way. You are stuck with every decision that you ever made. Looking at the piss pant looney across the street...you just can't walk away. Nobody was calling this fucker of an evening off. Vicky and the hump were dead and the cops coming down the stairs weren't retards. The angles were all wrong. Vicky's blood and brain were sprayed all over the hump. There was no talking his way out of that. The angles were all wrong. Oh Josephine, life is a cunt and bad decisions last as long as you let them. Bill put his 9 mm in his mouth. Never let them say he tried to walk away from his mess.

Paragraph 11 - Michael's Mom

Getting the gun into his mouth is tougher than he expected. He knows that if he just points it straight in that there was a chance that he will blow a hole in the back of his neck, but survive. He needs to be sure on this. He positions the gun so that the muzzle is touching the roof of his mouth. His lower jaw burns as it is forced down to make room for the heavy Sig Sauer. Drool runs down his chin as he sees his old partner Steve Willits running down the stairs with his gun drawn. Bill pulls the trigger and within a split second the hollow point round pierces his hard palate and mushrooms, decimating his nasal bone and severing his optical nerves before it reaches his brain. His temporal and frontal lobes are turned into pulled pork as the bullet exits the top of his skull in a burst of wet, red confetti. He folds to the ground like a marionette.

Paragraph 12- Woodpecker

And that, kids, is what happens when you have sex outside of marriage.

Assignment 1

The first assignment for this triad was to write a two paragraph story which must include the following elements: A hockey stick, The phrase “I don’t even own a chicken!”, A man with a red hat, The following words must appear in the story: Book, Thai Food, concoction, bogus, Byron Nelson, Mexican Jumping Beans, An alligator, A box of old National Geographic magazines, A gallon of water, A blackberry, 10minutes late, and the US flag.  The following 3 stories are the result of that assignment.

The Interview

There really was no point in the man telling me not to count my chickens before they hatch. At this point, I don’t even own a chicken. But that’s what these bogus fancy folks with their alligator shoes tell you when they really have nothing better to say. Could he possibly get any more predictable or cliché? I know who this guy is. He’s the type that looks at his blackberry when he speaks instead of looking at you. His only knowledge of hockey sticks is a spike in sales at the end of a quarter. He is the same pathetic schmuck who as kid would search through a box of old National Geographic magazines to find the issue with the tribe of topless African women. If I didn’t need the job so badly I would have told the man with a red hat to screw himself.

It was an odd interview, to say the least, but the candidate pool was down just down to two. I was there and the other guy was 10 minutes late. In my book, that means the job should be mine, but according to Mr. Red Hat, these things can’t be rushed. He was actually going to ask us questions at the same time and have us answer in debate style. It’s amazing what you’ll put yourself through when you have no other way to feed the little mouths waiting for you at home. My own mouth was parched and I must have already gone through a gallon of water waiting for my competitor to arrive. Mr. Red Hat’s office was eclectic. The US Flag was prominently displayed next to his desk. Red Hat was a WWII vet and had the pleasure of meeting Byron Nelson over Thai food after his record breaking 18 win year in 1945. Red Hat looked very nervous and fidgeted in his chair like a Mexican jumping bean. What the hell was he so nervous about? I was the one who needed the money. He slid open the drawer, pulled out some sort of liquid concoction, and thanked me for my generous donation. With speed that didn’t seem possible for him to possess, he placed a rag over my nose and the scalpel came into view just as my eyes began to lose focus.

Liar

"In 1931, an unemployed mechanic, named Byron Unger Nelson, attacked Herbert Hoover in the Oval Office. The would-be assassin lunged at the President, screaming 'I don't even own a chicken!' Unger was restrained by Treasury agents before he could harm Hoover. The tear in this letter marks exactly spot where his knife fell." This is some of my best stuff, manufactured on the fly and falling on deaf ears. This rube in a red feed-store cap looks like he’s been pole-axed with a hockey stick. A real mouth breather, his brain is 10 minutes behind on this field trip. There is no fun in this. It’s like out-boxing a retard on ice skates. He leans in for a good look at the document in the case and nods knowingly, the flag on his cap waving like Old Glory run up over the open plains of unrelenting dumb.

Docent and tour guide at the National Archives! The money sucks, the polyester jacket sucks, the standing sucks, the ignorant, unwashed masses on holiday suck but I shaved, cut my hair, bought a box of National Geographic Magazines for a dollar, studied up and took the job. I drink a gallon of indignity piss a day. Only telling truly outrageous lies to the American public makes it worthwhile. On my first day, I found myself telling a crowd of blue-hairs that William Howard Taft's cabinet used a Thai girl named Bette, food, preferably blackberry cobbler, laced with a laudanum concoction and a handful of Mexican jumping beans to distract the President any time a decision was called for. I had them like an alligator, or is it a crocodile, rolling them over and over and over in the deep water. I found a calling and here I stay.