199 lines
12 KiB
Plaintext
199 lines
12 KiB
Plaintext
$$$$$$$$$$$
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$$$$$$$$$$$ hogz of entropy #257
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$$$$$P $$$$ $$$$ moo, oink, up your butt.
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$$$$P $$$$ x$$$$
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$$$P $$$$ xP$$$$ d$$$$$$$$$$$.
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$$$. $$$$xP $$$$ $$$$$$' >$$$$
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$$$$$$$$$. $$$$P $$$$ 4$$$$$. .$$$$'
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$$$$'`4$$$b. $$$$ $$$$ 4$$$$$$$$$P'
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$$$$b 4$$$$b. $$$$$$$$$$$ 4$$$< %%
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$$$$$b 4$$$$$x $$$$$$$$$$$ 4$$$$$$$$$ %%
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>> "Serious Art A La T.S. Eliot" <<
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by -> Zaff & Soybean
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------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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ONCE UPON A TIME (GOOD START), in the land pre-malls and pre-ska and pre-gap
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and pre-suburbs (i try, and i have no idea where this is going) (it will be
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lovely, go on) there was a rather sizable community of strongly opinionated,
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revolution-instigating plastic animals.
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[HAHHAAH KATIE!@! (can i help?)] [HAHAHAH I AM SO SILLY (please do!)]
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(nononoonon that was WEIRD!@!) (ooooh why WEIRD?) (in that i was just
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looking at godel and kissinger hoping they could be in the story.)
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(PSYCHIC NEXUS) (YES!@!) (HELP@!) (oh, yes, errr....)
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the animals lived in self-sufficient communes, and supported themselves
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bartering grain products with a nearby community of bush babies. the animals
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were growing increasingly odd looking and finding their children increasibly
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deformed and diseased, as they had been living in this communal manner for
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many generations now and interbreeding ran rampant. they would trade
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couscous for marble contact paper in an ever-increasing cycle of pleasant but
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futile activity.
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(tee hee. ron, let's make this a really bad neti, neti piece. it
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would fill the quota.)
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yes but sometimes the in-breeding produced truly fine specimens, who governed
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over the others.
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(YES!@! i was about to suggest that katie!@! let's include comments
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such as that, too. :) differently pucntuated of course so as to not
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make me look so silly.)
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two such specimens come to mind. despite the generic appearance of the
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majority of the population.
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(yes, let's keep the silliness to a BARE MINIMUM :) )
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(hahaha...yes. this is Serious Art a la ts eliot.)
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these two truly fine specimens came to the forefront of the political and
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socioeconomic platforms of the commune.
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(that should be a subtitle for this)
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so anyway one of these specimens was a large neon pink monkey with an
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enlightened grin affixed to his face. he was pre-ordained by a greater
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plastic god to be the finest of mathematicians and logical plastic monkeys.
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(we are far too young and clever!@)
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(we are!@!)
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he was called "godel" because of his blue eyes. he was looked upon with
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adoration by the entire population of the commune, save one member: walter,
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the usually reasonable plastic walrus. walter the walrus, he was called.
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walter was usually reasonable but had a fear of the colour pink, due to
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having been attacked in his youth by young foppish ruffians from the couts of
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louis quinze.
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(oh dear)
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the other was a small plastic tiger, a gift from the benevolent goddess
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Flying Bread to the beleagured commune. the small plastic tiger, though not
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a tiger of physical prowess, was the finest statestiger to ever work in a
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controlled socialist commune. he was named kissinger, because when asked
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where he was during important meetings, he would always reply "i was kissing
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'er" kissinger, dirty whore tiger that he was, had grand political
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aspirations.
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written on the gate to teh entrance of the commune was "zen makes me poop"
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poop being the main fertilizer used in the communal farm. they fed the
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earth, and in turn, the earth helped to feed them. but the earth, one day,
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grew tired of eating SHIT all the time and said to kissinger "if you do not
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feed me something good, such as steak or lox, i will stop feeding you,
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asswipe."
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kissinger tried to reason with the earth, reminding The Goddess that steak
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and lox were hard to come by without Her cooperation. there was a single zen
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monk, kissinger's best friend, who was a plastic canary yellow kitten that
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would only say "i have become death destroyer of worlds" the kitten was
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named spot. the bane of the commune was the plastic dancing coke can, who
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incessantly shrieked to the fleeing masses, "THIS IS FUCKING ABSURD!!@ THIS
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MONK IS A PLASTIC CANARY YELLOW KITTEN!@!@!" sadly, one day godel ate the
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coke can, mistaking it for one of the small human children he usually feasted
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upon, and the coke can was neverheard form again. a festive chaos ensued as
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the news spread, something like the human Mardi Gras, but with fewer beads
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and more fur. but the earth said "oh, you think it is so EASY having fruits
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and vegetables spring out of your ass? let's see you try it fur boy" so
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kissinger did. he did not poo for weeks at a stretch. instead inserting
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more foreign articles INTO his anus. and for awhile all was well, as it
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frankly made him even more popular with the ladies.
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(NO FARTING IN MY STORY)
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the ladies loved to eat the fruits of his anus, which pleasured all parties
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immensely. the town hoodlums often labeled his back with signs reading
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"ORGANIC PRODUCE," but kissinger reminded himself that it was now considered
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smooth to be a traveling produce market and smiled to himself, and had lots
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of sex. soon all the commune was inserting plants inot their anuses, to also
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be smooth. and the goddess stared down in wide horror from her palace in the
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sky. procreation was at an all-time commune high, and the plastic animal
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offspring grew increasingly similar in appearance and increasingly diseased
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in both mind and body. The Goddess was jealous, as esoteric beings do not
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have an anus in which to grow vegetables. some of the beings produced were
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not even recognizable anymore, just amorphous hunks of brightly coloured
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plastic. and they were grossly diseased. many of them went on to be estate
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lawyers. The Goddess realized that to be of any assistance to these offensive
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creations, she would need to make a journey to the collective farm. then she
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realized how much bitterness such a trip could cause among narrators, and
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decided instead to go on a long vacation. "BOO" called the plastic
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collective. she went to sri lanka where she remains to this day, basking in
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the sun among the purest aryan race in the world. ironic in that the purest
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aryans are quite dark of skin, hair, and eyes. a fascinating irony indeed.
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one that keeps one of our glorious narrators awake at night. the other
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narrator is kept awake by other thoughts than oddly hued aryans. incidentally,
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the other narrator also gets a great deal less sleep than the aryan-fixated
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narrator. which is reflected in his irritable and prickly moods.
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meanwhile, kissinger was slowly going mad. the jalapenos were beginning to
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cause rectal irritation and the lilacs he had planted in his mouth were
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causing oddd psycho-cheimcal reactions. by now godel had left the colony, to
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start an investment bank just down the road. it was pink. yes and plastic.
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yes, and amiable. the investment bank was amiable? yes, an amiable bank.
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walter the walrus refused to invest with godel. it smiled. fine. it is
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an amiable smiling bank. the numerous commune investors demand no less.
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in the absence of godel, the clever kissinger was able to gain more and more
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political power. generally in the corrupt administrations in charge of food
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distribution in the collective.
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the people began to leave the commune to obtain good jobs in small satellite
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communities *just outside* the communes.
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(PINK PLASTIC TREES)
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they still relied on the fabulous organic produce and close community they
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had matured with. the former commune members still liked to visit communes,
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on week ends. the commune night life was better than would be expected of
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socialists. and they continued to watch the 4 AM agricultural reports on the
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local commune news station. and would usually talk a lot about their old
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days in the communes, but slowly began to take up golf and buy cars. as
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kissinger made orgies compulsory. kissinger was a dirty, naughty tiger, but
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good at his job. kissinger proved that "moral" and "politically powerful"
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did not necessarily coincide in an administration. a lesson that has been
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learned well by all those who have held office since.
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some of their children said "let's play punk music, with horns in it!" they
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derived inspiration from the island of fuzzy creatures called "jamaica." the
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vibrations were IRIE and plastic. they began to "skank" frequently.
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somehow, volvo's were invented. small plastic ones. kissinger accepted a
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new mantra, communicated to him by the canary yellow monk: "ska makes me
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poop." this caused civil unrest among the young plastic creatures, formerly
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of the commune. the young creatures called themselves "the youth irate" and
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shrieked into the early hours of the morning.
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meanwhile the earth, fed a diet of lobster and shrimp, began to itch to go
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off to college and major in business. the wharton administrators were not
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sure what to think of such an applicant, and whether dorm space would be
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ample to comfortably house this promising young creature. he filed a
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discrimination law suit against them which is still pending to this day. the
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earth, of course, was still full of shit and lacked the finances to fund a
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proper suit. but this did not stop the aclu from filing suit on his behalf.
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a happy plastic monkey named pez proudly stood up for the earth and for The
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Goddess. pez was immediately decapitated by kissinger's henchman hutchence,
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the smiling hopping raspberry. kissinger shrieked LET'S SEE YOUR GODDESS
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HELP YOU NOW MOTHERFUCKERS!@! and so they all watched the indian ocean with
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wide eyes and intent stares hoping that soon, their Goddess would be rushing
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to their assistance. they watched and watched and watched and watched and
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watched. but she was having high tea with the aryans. they watched more.
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the tamil tigers had been watching intently, as well. and they continued
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watching.
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(the cuter narrator with the habit of playing with her jeans could
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advance the plot or bring us near an end now, if she wanted to.)
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and suddenly, with no warning and lack of foreshadowing in the plot lines the
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tamil tigers leapt from the shadows and promptly devoured The Goddess's soul.
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(wait. we said earlier she was still there, to this day.)
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(oh.)
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(sillyface.)
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(sigh!)
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(although she could be there, only soul-less.)
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(yes, she is now a large stone carving of some sort. a tourist
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attraction.)
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(yes, two pieces of flying toast.)
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(like in cambodia, i believe. yes.)
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and when she died, all the young gobs of plastic began to say "goddess is
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dead and no one cares!" an eternal eclipse of the sun, moon, and all other
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earthly satellites ensued. kissinger giggled and licked on some minor staff
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members.
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(didn't you think my goddes is dead line was terribly witty?)
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(yes, that was very nice!)
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godel continued growing fat off of high risk junk bonds he issued.
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(you are far too young and clever! things will never change!)
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(no no, you!)
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walter the walrus attempted to assault godel, given his new advantage. a
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grey walrus blends better into a dark world than a neon pink monkey.
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regardless of physical agility. but in the end, walter and godel became fast
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friends, though walter continued to lead the youths in emotional
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anti-kissinger and godel rallies, just for show. the canary coloured kitten
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continued to shriek "i am death destroyer of worlds" and the population of
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the formerly-close commune believed the kitten, refusing to heed the rumors
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of the death of The Goddess. but nobody cared anymore, as they all had cable
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television and swatch watches. the kitten died alone, and so did all of
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them. the end.
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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* (c) HoE publications. HoE #257 -- written by Zaff & Soybean -- 8/16/98 *
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