|The Story||The Authors|
"Idaho" mumbled Oskgar absently.
"huh?" said the man. He was sweating profusely. Large oily globules of perspiration rolling from his shining bald skull down into the cracks of fat of fat scrunched up beneath his chin by the tight collar of his dark suit. A too tight dark wool suit in July at that. Large soaked spots under the arm pits.
"The French Fries are always fresh in Idaho." offered Oskgar by way of explanation. The large man decided it best not to continue on that vein.
The large man spoke in a heavy Eastern European accent. "Meestir Tickles requires uff you to put dis briffcase to you for to seff keepink." He thrust it across the desk.Oskgar, still contemplating the beauty of a well scrubbed Yukon Gold, reached across to open it. Immediately the big man's hammy fists crashed down on over Oskgar's liver spots. "Ah, Ah, Ah, Curiousity is what kaput the cat, my frent. You stash. You no peek. Capeche?"
At which point, a dental floss salesman rushed inside, screaming at the top of
his lungs, " There is no logic in love, do you not see the signs?, up thy nose
ye snort a dove, tread lightly upon the lines!"
|"Ah, fuck it," murmured his best friend, soothingly. "Let's go to Disneyland, okay?"|
|"Never!" she cried, her cheeks flushed, her bosom heaving. "Never will I submit to such an indignity! You do insult me, knave, minion, son of a serpent!"|
|He knew of course that that was one of the worst things to say to Peter as he thought that there were no rabbits there.|
"Why the hell, Disney land?" he replied "We've got an entire jumbo jet albeit
slightly charred." He passed a massive hand over the burnt relics of seats.
"Besides," he added a touch foolishly, "There's no good babes at Disneyland."
His best friend muttered
"Not so loud!" and they both turned to see Athena, Greek goddess of wisdom standing my by them. If they had read their history books they would have known that she was not in favour of women exploiting themselves. She had almost closed down 'Playgreek', but settled herself by setting fire to their general manager.
(time warp - pause story)
In a not so distant parallel universe called Mots, the superhero Flatman hears a cry for help. He recognizes the voice of Lanark, the reincarnated soul of his departed ward and trusted sidekick "Sphincter boy". Flatman, realizing that Lanark is vastly outnumbered, knows just what to do. He quickly drops trou, aims his buttocks, and releases an atomic blast that permeates the Public tandem turning all cretins, morons and stooges into the creative, talented writers (and spellers, let's not forget that) they wannabe...or else they all burn in a fiery hell.
In this universe, the latest craze in art is called explosiam where the artist
consumes massive amounts of butane gas and ignites himself on a canvas.
There was one man who consumed so much Butane, that when he ignited himself he
blew himself from Mars to Venus. When he got there, he thought he had died and
gone to heaven because it is a true fact that all people who live in Venus, are
women. This caused a great deal of problems because, his secret success got out
and all the other men from Mars, used his notes to establish the exact dosage
which he consumated and all decided to join him.
The moral of this story is, when you hatch a plan to be constantly surrounded and worshiped by members of the opposite sex, make sure you burn your notes first.
|Of course the Venusians had to live in Venus rather than on it because the burning gases on the surface of the planet would consume them instantly. This would also explain why no one knew they were there until now. (But what I really want to know is how you consumate a dosage of butane!) Anyway, the foolish and horny Martians were all captured and made to be pool boys for the Venusian women. They spent their lives cleaning subvenusian swimming pools and bringing mai-tais and pina coladas to their mistresses while the women secretly plotted to invaid the Earth all the while wearing revealing string bikinis just to torture their martian slaves.|