165 lines
8.0 KiB
Plaintext
165 lines
8.0 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #614
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "The Smart, the Wooden,
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 and the Ugly"
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888 888 888 888 888 "
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Kniht & Uberfizzgig [5/6/99]
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Once Upon a time there was an ugly young girl who repulsed her
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kingdom so much that they locked her in a two tone Buick Sedan. She spent
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her days organizing the glove compartment and listening to Barry Manilow
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over the plush seventies eight-track quadraphonic hi-fi.
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Griselda had been tormented for years by her evil wicked stepladder,
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who had paraded Griselda's hideousness throughout the city one bright
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afternoon.
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The entire town had drawn back in horror as they looked upon her
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and proceeded to throw items from their fresh harvest of veggies and
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assorted woodland creatures. Chipmunks slapped Griselda in the face until
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she begged her wicked stepladder to take her away from the horrid scene of
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flinging raccoons and squirrel parts. The two made a pact that the wicked
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stepladder wouldn't let Griselda out of imprisonment until a cure was found
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for her disgusting appearance.
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Meanwhile in Paris…a young Rousseau walked into the Instuit
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Politechnique and slipped on an enormous raspberry slushy. As he lay on
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the ground covered in iciness, he thought to himself of taking a vacation.
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He would go out into France and discover the perfect desert: one which
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could be eaten without disturbing the aesthetics of the streets of Paris,
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preventing personal injury and contributing to greater liberty in the
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social contract. He lay on the ground and wished to hide himself as an
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Enlightenment jogger stopped near him, pointing and laughing.
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And then Rousseau had an epiphany and uttered his famous phrase, "If
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a paralytic man wills himself to move and an active man does not, they will
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both remain where they are!"
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Back in the Buick, Griselda was chiming along with Barry, "Oh Mandy,
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you came and you gave without taking!"
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She looked into her wide mirror and uttered, "Rearview mirror,
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rearview mirror dangling from the ceiling, who's the one who can look at me
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without their stomach reeling?"
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"Ahhhh…this might come as quite a blow, but it is truly Jean Jaques
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Rousseau!"
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Suddenly the wicked stepladder was laughing and as Griselda turned
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she heard her cackle, "That Frenchman will never make it here! I'll have
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his head on the Buick as a hood ornament before he gets to you!"
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Griselda turned away, tears pouring from her sickening eyes, "Oh,
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and all I've ever wanted was someone who understood the complexities of the
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new secular humanism!! Whatever will I do?!"
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The wicked stepladder screamed, "You will never know the wonder of
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the Social Contract! Only I can transmogrify!" And away she flew to the
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Sargasso Sea.
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Rousseau had been hurriedly tossing odds and ends into a travel bag:
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some humanist theories, a couple of one liners, and a pair of tights. He
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threw the bag over his shoulder and rushed downstairs to his official
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authorized Juicomatic with optional wide slot for bagels. He grabbed the
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last of his goodies and tossed the Juicomatic into his bag. As he stepped
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out the door, the sun was beginning to rise. He got on his horse,
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Gunslinger, and as the faint sound of the Bonanza Theme played in the
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background, he headed west to parts unknown.
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An Enlightenment Burger World employee stopped to point and laugh,
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"Nice tights, baby!"
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Meanwhile, the wicked stepladder had been hovering over a
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fisherman's boat, "The S.S. Minnow". Inside she asked for directions as to
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where she would find Jean Jacques Rousseau, and a nice young man by the
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name of Gilligan, pointer her to the correct path.
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As the wicked stepladder approached her destination she heard men
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speaking in sporadic French.
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"Ahh…heh, heh, oui….ahhh oui. J'aime la poisson Monsieur Jacques!"
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"Jacques," thought the wicked stepladder, "Rousseau is at sea!" And she
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plunged down into the center of the boat among stunned Frenchman wielding
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nothing but quick wit, video cameras and a shark cage.
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"Excusez-moi! What ees thees ladder doing here?" Shouted the
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director. "Pip! Move zat stupeed theeeng. Eeets blocking zee shot!"
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Pip foolishly approached the stepladder with nothing but his wee
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French hands. The wicked stepladder sat motionless, knowing the naiveté of
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the French. Just as Pip reached for the first rung, the stepladder shouted
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"Ayyyeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!". And she transformed, springing to her full eight
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and a half feet of piney wood.
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They fell one by one. Pip took a mouthful of splinters and careened
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over the starboard side. The director yowled as he found an enormous scar
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on his ass that read, "Binford". The two cameramen were hurled into the
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air and straight down the mouth of a humpback whale wearing a bumper
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sticker that read, "SAVE ME".
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"Now it is time for you Rousseau!" screeched the wicked stepladder
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as she approached the diver. She grabbed him and threw him into the shark
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cage, suspending him over the plank. "Here you will spend your final hours
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Rousseau!"
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"What eez it you are talking? I am Cousteau! Zee famous
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Oceanographer, I am not thees person Rousseau!"
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"Curses," thought the wicked stepladder as the cage dropped into the
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Sargasso, "foiled again!"
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Rousseau entered the small town of Seedy Gulch, and moseyed over to
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the saloon to get himself a beverage after his long long journey. As he
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neared the door and slowed, he saw a poster with a picture of Griselda
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smack dab in the middle. The caption read, "REWARD, $500. TO ANYONE WHO
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CAN MAKE THIS GIRL LOOK PRETTIER THAN A NEW SET OF SNOW TIRES."
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"Hmmmm…this might take my fancy tights," thought Rousseau as he
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pulled the long purple beauties from his sack. "But first, whiskey."
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He pushed through the door and the piano player stopped as all the
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patrons turned to face the purple tighted stranger as he stood, silhouetted
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by the noon sun. "I need something strong. I'm a gonna fix that girlie
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y'all got locked up in that fancy schmancy Buick."
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The bartender turned a skeptical eye to Rousseau, "You ain't from
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'round these parts, is ya?"
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"Nope. I ain't."
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An Italian gentleman stood from his stool, "I'm gonna' fix that
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girlie and get the reward money."
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"And just who might you be Mr. Fancy Italian Leather Pantaloons?"
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"Why, I'm Nicolo Machiavelli, they calls me The Prince. I'm the
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fastest gun this side of Constantinople. I've got theories coming out of
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my ears."
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Just then Rousseau pulled his Juicomatic from his bag. "Eat
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carrots, Italian boy!" And he shot a slew of shredded vegetables onto the
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distraught face of Machiavelli.
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"Noooooo! You'll pay for this someday Frenchie!" Machiavelli fell
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to the floor. "Anybody else want some of my moves?"
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Everyone stared at the ground.
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Later that evening Rousseau staggered to the Buick in his super sexy
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tights.
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"Oh Rousseau! I thought my wicked stepladder had killed you!"
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As Rousseau slid in the backseat the town sighed. Nobody really
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knows what happened that night. All they saw were the windows fogging up
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and the sounds of Barry Manilow, "Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…".
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And then the car sputtered into gear and the townspeople saw by the morning
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light, a beautiful blonde giggling from the passenger seat, and a purple
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tighted stranger smiling as he drove the car into the sunrise.
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[ (c) !HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #614, WRITTEN BY KNIHT & UBERFIZZGIG, 5/6/99 ]
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