Don't blame me, I voted for the Furbies!
March 18, 1999

Go ahead and delete the following letter, you won't mind and neither will I.  You will feel better about yourself if you don't read it anyway.
       
But, if you do read on, I am not responsible for anything.  You subjected your feeble mind to it by yourself, of your own free will.  Failure to understand this will result in your brain being turned into lumpy apple gravy.  Ewww.
        Please forward all complaints to someone besides me.  I appreciate that a lot.

        Read on, those with strong wills and literacy skills!

Receiving this e-mail is confirmation of the fact that YOU ACKNOWLEDGE that I am not responsible for its effect on you, and that you realize the content is unbearably horrible and contains profanity, sex, violence and bad stuff.

       
If you are the NSA, CIA, or Secret Service, leave me alone!  Quit calling me, breathing heavily, and hanging up!  I can't take it anymore!   .   .   .


        To whom it may concern ---

           
That's right boys and girls.  I have decided to start to write a digital column on whatever I feel like.  Basically, I have done this because many of my friends came back from college, and had actually acquired the necessary capabilities to accomplish linear thought.
       
That sh*t has to stop.  No friends of mine will be burdened with rational cognitive abilities as long as I am around.  (I like mustard and ketchup good.)
       
Besides, I figure that as long as so many other sick f*cks can reach the masses, I might as well add my voice to the constant streaming medley of orange-colored poppy cock we all have to put up with.
       
Think of me as the voice of reason.

       
Besides, the Internet makes it so friggin' EASY.  I can reach all of you in under a minute, at no cost to me.  So, why not use this great appliance before me to reach all of you, and disease your frustrated little minds?  The FCC can't stop me, the Federal Government can't get me, and various international organizations are more worried about the rising cost of coffee and Furbies.  {Never the two should meet.  Never.  Trust me.  Really.  Don't feed the Furby coffee.  Really.)
       
Feel powerless in my grasp. 
         (Or I will feed the Furbies Coffee.)

       
I'm sure that my ability to reach so many is a sign of impending apocalypse.  As a matter of fact, it says so in my manifesto.  Which, as we all know, was sent to me via angry gophers beating on my roof in Morse code.  The gophers can't be wrong.
      
And, as further proof that the end is drawing near, I give you Y2K.

Now, before you throw your hands up in the air and scream, "Enough! I will buy the damn magic beans and nylon jump rope to hang myself with!" I want you to know that I have been personally assured by Al Gore (inventor of all things technological) that my computer will rise up like a zombie and eat my flesh. This is almost as dangerous as that Furby/Coffee thing you keep hearing about on the news. Back on the subject, Al Gore will lead the computer/zombie things himself, because they will see him as their leader.

        The only way to avoid this is to swear allegiance to Al Gore, and vote Democratic in the 2000 elections.

        To avoid this, and other problems, I am selling my special Y2K survival kit.  For only $19.95 it includes:
        1> A Gun.
Don't fool yourself kids, having food isn't the big deal.  If I have a gun, I will take your food.  And eat it.  Then I will eat you, before the computers get a chance.  And the Furbies.
        2> Bullets.
         Duh.
        3> Kevlar body suit and helmet.
This way, you don't have to shoot first, as long as you shoot more.
        4> Suit deodorizing.
Just because it's the end of the world, doesn't mean you have to smell bad.

Yes, just send me, personally, $19.95 or your credit card and wait.  I'm certain I will get it to you, before or after your computer attacks.

        ...

But really.  The sure sign that the world is going to end in 2000 is the political candidates.  Have you ~SEEN~ the rosy little tots lined up to be president?
       
First of all, Dan Quayle.  My question is, can't this guy take a F*CKING HINT?  He's like the smelly guy at the party eating onion dip, belching, and talking about his bladder infection.  HE NEEDS TO GO HOME!  And stay there, until his skin clears up, the smell goes away, and he develops conversational skills that reach beyond his own physiological condition.
       
Pat Buchanan.  Same deal as Dan Quayle, though he's not as stupid.  But, even more offensive.  He's not just _ALL OF THE ABOVE_ he switches off from his bladder infection to racial jokes.  And jokes about menstruation.  Get a clue, Pat.
       
Al Gore.  Well, he's got that whole zombie army from Windows-Hell thing going for him.  Maybe that will work.  Otherwise, this guy has wrinkled like a prune and is following one hell of an act as it is.
       
[NOTE: I am not going to tell any Clinton Jokes.  At all.  Ever.  It's too easy.  Notice I didn't tell any jokes about Quayle not being able to spell.  Truth be told, I only like jokes that I haven't already heard, so I don't re-tell horrible sh*t unless it's really funny.  Clinton isn't funny.  It is sad.  So sad.]
       
Libby Dole.  Okay, a serious contender perhaps.  But, what is with Bob?  The man has finally snapped like an over worked cigar.  (This metaphor won't get any better, if you were wondering.)
       
Really, when you snap a cigar it sort of crinkles and unfolds, getting slowly and surely unraveled, and then all of a sudden a whole bunch of sh*t that you never wanted to think about pours out.  Like this ED stuff.  If the man is impotent, it's none of my business, he should just take a lesson from Bill and get out the old cigar.  I shouldn't have to deal with the fact that Libby can't give a good hand job.

        Okay.

I have single handedly (DAMN! a double pun!) managed to sink (DAMN! again) the Dole bid for presidency.  None of you, or anyone else for that matter, will be able to go into a voting booth and pull the trigger thinking about Libby and Bob . . .

        Gassy Elephant on a hot windless day in a small room! (there's an expletive for the kids!)
        I'm Blind!
        But, I can keep typing ANYWAY!

And, so, Bush Jr. will win the campaign.  I don't think this is right, and I hope we find out that George has been smoking crack and shooting heroin at the National Zoo, and then dancing naked (no pictures, please) and wiggling his weenie at the Donkeys.  All in an attempt to make a point about flaming liberals of course.

        ~Now in my Seinfeld bit~

You ever wonder why liberals and gays are flaming?  You never hear about other extreme things in terms of fire.  Can you imagine:

        "Damn, that's a burnt martini!"
        "What a flaming Cabbage!"
        "That's an inferno of a garden hose."
        "I have never seen such a flambayin' (I don't think flambayin' is a word) little orange duck."

        ...

        The world is gonna end.

        The Furbies are storming all the Starbucks now.

That's bad news for those of you planning on finding out how the X-Files ends.  But, I am sure that you will all cope.

And, part of that coping is reading this little (Little?  I think the Declaration of Independence was shorter, and better written) slice of digital toxic sewage.

        Memorize it.

Send me money and nude photos if you like, but realize that I will show no favoritism when I begin the random executions.  The manifesto doesn't allow for it, and, as we all know, the manifesto never lies.

        - 5

        (Yes, the mysterious "S" or the number "5".  You decide.)

SPECIAL THANKS: The Secret JANE, my inspiration.  And, of course, my editor, the marvelous MK ULTRA. (Forward all complaints to her.  Not me.  No, not me.  Ever.)