Good "Bob" Almighty! I just returned from the Slack vacation of all

time. I'm not shitting you boys, (and Rev. Mutha Michelle) if you'd

have had to deal with all the Slack I've had in the last five days,

you would have to be tied down on sharpened razor blades infected with

herpes just to come back down. Fortunately I have an incredible

tolerance for Slack, and I'm still able to function, though I must

admit that my coochie-pop is a'quivver with sheer joy...I still have

six more days before I'm scheduled at the restaurant!

It seems as though many of us get Slack through music. Same here. My

weakness...clever lyrics and beautiful voices. I admit it, I get a

little stiffy when three or more voices combine in complicated harmony

and NO ONE goes offkey. My nips are hard just thinking about it. So,

guess who fell into a bucket of Slack in Kentucky? Oh you clever

devils, you figured out that it was I. There's this place called

"Ear-ecstacy" in Louisville...dear "Bob" they have an entire fucking

ROOM devoted to INDEPENDANT LABELS!!! I left there $83 poorer, but I

got shit that's impossible to find in Oklahoma...The Fugs, Uncle

Bonzai...and amazing, but true...JOE NEWMAN! I admit to buying

"Gunther Packs a Stiffy" from a store instead of getting it from Joe

directly, but I needed the immediate gratification, and it just

encourages them to keep offering his stuff.

While in Louisville, I went to the races...Churchill Downs is amazing!

Get this...my husband's old college roommate is now in the horse biz,

the fucker fell into a vat of Slack. So, thanks to Tom, we sat

sippin' mint juleps in a private box, while I bet the races solely on

the basis of how SubGenius the names associated with it were. I only

made one rule, never bet on a horse with pink colors. I bet on every

race but two and left with more than I came with. While I was trying

to decide the last race a man walked past me, smoking a pipe. He

pinched my ass! I was a little shocked but he was gone before I could

say anything...then I looked down at my program. My thumb was on the

name "Born to Lead"...I knew it was a sign; my butt was still glowing

from the pinch. I bet the horse, gave Tom my ticket, and we left the

track. Tom brought home my winnings later. We'll not discuss it here

for tax purposes. Praise "Bob!"

Now...I demand that you tell me how much you missed me!

p.s. If the guy who runs IGLOO in Louisville is a lurker here...you

can kill yourself now for missing the chance to meet me in the flesh.

I hope your employees recover...they were nice boys.

***

Reverend Mutha Tarla Star of the Little Sisters of the Perpetually

Juicy; a Proud jism schism of the Church of the SubGenius.

Worshipping Juicy Retardo and "Connie" Dobbs since 1986.