Borax bleach kills mice and chickletts dead. Don't ape, pipe or cash with Coronet paper plate users. Orville, the name you trust. It's the land before time forgot.

The depths of the earth broke open, releasing the waters of the deep, sweeping a wall of ocean across the electricity machine of humankind. It steamed, it seeped, it spewed radiation into the air, glucked grainey globs on the farms, stained the houses and saturated the suchi. But man discovered the egg, his neighbors and the flame of the candle.

After pushing B14 ,Stortch Pandoon kicked the juker in 'Jack's by the Tracks Lounge' in West Newton, Pa. on Cristmas Eve 1961. "Good-bye My Fancy", by Stinch and the Stained came up. Stortch asked Pat to turn up the volume, a request with which she had come to harbor disdain. "My tits for someone to not ask me for something.", she would often say. B14. I guess we shouldn't push that button.

Enter the 'Who Qweefed on the Holiday?' contest below. Winners will be announced at a later date.

I think it was the christmas tree.

The loam was sinuous with blood stains. So I went in there and sinned. Like everyone else, I had heard of the legend of Sasha Bobby and his Swiss Army Enema Bag with its listed 57 uses ."Both professional and amateur usage." is allegedly written in the accompanying brochure. Sasha Bobby..., he had an enema bag. Who knew?

Stoon Palipz took a hard pull on his Scotch and water. He was trying to find some comfort from the bottle and forget about that Christmas night in 1989. The snow was doing the big flake thing then, all dancing around the street lights like small ships in a storm out at sea. He stared into the morass of imitators of stars against the street lights. Stoon waxed all philosophical as 'Whore Masters in Space' starring John Agar was screened on WIIC. "I can still remember that night in Venice when I held Topo Gigio for ransom.", he said to his fifth wife Gladys. "My dreams need me more than I need my dreams.", she responded. " Now go to sleep."

Twinbags Colombo courted the elegant Jackie Molasses in hopes of sailing the ocean blue on the Pinto Marie to find the rumored homeland of the Spicey People.

What the Lino Says Back to Me at 3:00 AM

Overheard at Shemmie’s aka (There's Something in Your Bluebird)

Spee Ungle swore to me that he overheard elements of a conversation that would titillate and amuse. I was annoyed by the globs of sweat on his forehead as he informed, “I slept like a dog last night.”

He hoisted his pilsner to his lips as I provided a rejoinder. “You’re saying that you were sleeping all lonesome and afraid with a relentless hard-on. Cryssakes, Spee. I can remember when your words could still talk, and now you’ve come to this. It’s' log', not 'dog', you fuck. By the way, some passersby were heard saying things about you and the corsair.”

Spee pulled up some spine and opined with his breath and his lips and his pieces-of-corn teeth. All too close and rubbing up against he said,

“The corsair and the whispering mad-house effect, and then they tell ya that ya gotta go. She never thought. She never remembered my time in the whispering place. For the love of all that is holy, my mind allots too much time to itself. No thinking is better. Heart is better. Life will always chase itself like the puppy and her tail.”

I pulled hard into my toasted cheese on wheat and considered casket linings for the rich