Oh, now and again, I think about it. I think about writing a single

sentence diatribe filled with forbidden imagery, and fury. But the

truth is; I'm just too fuckin' lazy to work outside my own style.


I could, for entertainment value, and the opportunity to stretch as a

writer, not only split an infinitive to the point of rendering it

unrecognizable; but describe with loving glee how I entered a cemetary

at midnight after drinking several dozen syphyllitic Chinese whores

under the table and broom-fucked them until their pussies bled from

the splinters and repeated hammering at the cervix. I could tell you

how I left these pathetic creatures, lying unconscious in their own

vital juices for the later dismemberment and consumption by alien

space creatures who enjoy fucking their food first, because their

gastric juices are contained in their reproductive organs. I could

further describe my night's entertainment as I dug up several fresh

graves, dragged the partially rotting but thankfully rigid corpses

into a gay bar where I pretended that we'd just come from a really

boring party and my friends were bored "stiff" so that I could have a

cool drink in a dim bar and listen to europunkretroseventies disco and

watch them buttfuck the corpses til they fell apart. But that would be

futile...it's just not ME. I never kiss and tell.


The truth is, I'm just a mellow soul, and I find my greatest Slack

when I'm alone. I'd LIKE to be good and pissed off most of the time.

As scary as I am when I AM pissed off, it might get me somewhere if I

could pull it off continuously. But how pissed off can you be when

your morning consists of throwing small sticks to a grass seed and dew

covered puppy between sips of good coffee after early morning frop?

How much angry ranting can you do when you're surrounded by blue sky

and the sound of birds? I'm only a Yeti, when things are going good, I

take advantage.


I apologize if I take up too much of your bandwidth with my silly

observations of life as I know it, but SOMEBODY has to interject the

Rewardian point of view around here once in a while. I think of myself

as the yin to Sterno's yang (BTW Sterno, how IS your yang?), and I'm

not going to change until you beat me unconscious. Unfortunately,

enough of you have my real address to do just that. Stay away, I'm

armed...and the Sister's would eat you alive.


Now, I have some organic oatmeal to eat, another bowl of frop to

smoke, and some bodies to bury. You all have a nice day, or kill me.





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.