135 lines
6.6 KiB
Plaintext
135 lines
6.6 KiB
Plaintext
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$$$$$$$$$$$
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$$$$$$$$$$$ hogz of entropy #167
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$$$$$P $$$$ $$$$ moo, oink, up your butt.
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$$$$P $$$$ x$$$$
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$$$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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>> "Hippo Crackers" <<
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by -> Trilobyte
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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you don't understand, i can't pick you up anymore. my back is going
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out, i'm an old man, and my flesh is falling apart. if you want a smile on
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your face, it's time that you go out and buy some flowers next to the
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mcdonalds and maybe pick yourself up some gourds while you're at it. i just
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can't live with your flatulence, your farting about with life and your
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pathetic territorial arguments with your mother. you need to get past that.
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it's about time you started smoking cigars and ignore the hatred given to
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you by jeremy. he's a fucking bastard and only wants you for your soup.
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damn, you make good soup, and i want to eat it all the time. will
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you marry me? understandably, you are a busy woman, and i don't want to
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intrude on your marriage. but it's my duty, and i believe that you want to
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do the same. or noodles.
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xavier suggests that you heed my warnings. beware the ides of march,
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as he said.
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if everyone has a gift, jumping to conclusions is mine, i suppose,
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since i believe you love me. you can't have it, and i wish i didn't. but i
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do. just like my shoes -- even if they smell horrendous, i have to put up
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with them because they haven't fallen apart yet so i can't warrant getting
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new shoes. not until people like you start complaining about it will i go
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out and buy new shoes. they're black.
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you're not black. i know someone's who's black. she's a girl and
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she's black and she goes to my school. there's a couple of people like
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that. they write short songs and then beg for forgiveness from people with
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large mohawks. mixing eggs into my hair is not my forte, but then again, it
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is not yours either, so i don't need to talk about it.
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you remind me of igneous rock. when you are warm, you meld into the
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spaces around you and flow as liquid. but once you have cooled down, you
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are hard and rough.
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i've never seen you warm. should i light you on fire? xavier wants
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me to light you on fire.
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"haha," xavier says.
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xavier has a fucking stupid name. xavier. sounds like some sort of
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king name or something. you know in school when you are learning the
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alphabet and they always say fucking "xylophone" for the letter x because
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the rest of the words are not pronouncable? well, they should say "xavier".
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xavier is a dumb enough fucking word.
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i don't actually know anybody named xavier. now i will talk about
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his desire to not be spoken about.
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he is a rather shy fellow with a pale round face and dark black hair.
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he is very thin and five foot four. if you punched him in the abdomen, he
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would double over and probably become deceased. he has asthma and wants to
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be a woman someday (though he doesn't know it).
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once he looked for a secret shopping center and missed out; the sale
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was over; the roof caved in. they say it was due to poor drainage on the
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roof. water gathered up there like a miniature lake and then, one day, when
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all kinds of people were in the store, the water came crashing through the
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roof. that's pretty dumb. why didn't it wait until xavier was there?
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everything else does. it's like he's a magnet for disasters. if i knew
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him, i would speak of the time that he was playing guitar with a trampoline
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and it fell over and molested him.
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no, it didn't molest him.
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it
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umm
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did something else to him; and then he called for his mommy and she
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was wearing a teddy and ran out into the studio in their yard and pooped on
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him and then he ran away and has lots of problems.
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poor xavier.
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xavier kind of rhymes with saviour, you know. and really, you are my
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saviour. did i mention that i love you? you and all of the flaming whale
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oil that go along with it. why not warn people about water? if they're
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going to spray it at you, they should yell at you first, so you don't get
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bruised and then fall over and blush about the water and it's cooooOoOOld so
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you get chicken pox.
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undeniably, you are NOT made of paper, and i know, because you didn't
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tear when i ripped you. you must be... cardboard or fiberboard or
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something, and you fucking suck. you were made by a paper factory? what
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the hell is wrong with you?
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i am going to have your children, and i am going to give them food
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and lovin' so that they grow up to be well-centered individuals who don't
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follow trends and manage to pay attention to the little things in life and
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squat bugs that buzz around their eyeballs. that is, if they have eyeballs.
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yeah, genetic deficiencies. i had one once. they said that it gave
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me a disease or something and then you came along and i forgot about it.
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but now that you're gone, i remember -- i want to buy you flowers, you got
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me over all of that shit that i was going through. and even though your
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breasts aren't as big as you want them to be, they're big enough to be
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yours, and you are big enough to be mine. so come on over here and smite my
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potato. repeat yourself over and over until you can't bleed any longer, and
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then suck your innards dry and work on that project you've been meaning to
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put off for years now.
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picture this: german men cutting the wires to piped-in audio in
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american hotels.
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it could be you -- it could be anyone. it could be german men.
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wearing suits; or hats -- pants, hemp. jingles run through my mind, it's a
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sign of being american and playing the organ -- i can't help but open up
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your timecapsule to investigate the fruits of your diapers. deep, deep, run
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run run run run. run run run, run from those who are chasing you, because
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you just taken some shite and you feel alright
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neeeeever fun
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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* (c) HoE publications. HoE #167 -- written by Trilobyte -- 12/26/97 *
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