by MK Ultra

Today denotes the beginning of an era.  Shawn Mole's renowned e-mail column (by crack whores and circus freaks alike!) FWD: To the Trash is now online and will be updated regularly, according to how much time I have and to what degree I'm pissed off with Shawn during the posting period.  As content editor of FWD, I have been proud to work with Shawn and his amazing talent and wit during the past two years and am honored to have been his friend for the past five years, although I don't always admit to being associated with him in public.  FWD will be updated frequently, so check back often.  First to be posted will be classic columns, the ones most of you either may not remember or are attempting to forget.

DISCLAIMER:  This column should never be read.  Ever.  The author and editors take no responsibility for the disgust, mental scarring, or projectile vomiting that may result from reading our product.

Life's a bitch, and then you cry into your turnip juice...
September 13, 1999

<SEE ALL THE WHITE SPACE SO IGNORANT FOLK NOTICE
THE IMPORTANCE OF THE RULE BELOW? >


E-MAIL COURTESY: DO NOT HIT "REPLY ALL"!  If you want to contact me send e-mail to <[email protected]>

            The other people on this list that don't care what YOU have to say (like they care what I have to say?) THANK YOU!


< And that is a generally good rule to live by.  Hitting the "REPLY ALL" button labels you as a graceless cow.  If you don't know when you're supposed to use it, then don't use it all!  THANK YOU.>



DISCLAIMER 1.2 MILES  -->

PREEMPTIVE DISCLAIMER -->

Do you know those "scary" disclaimers that "the man" puts on video tapes to scare you into never doing anything but watching the tape, and the real purpose is just to scare you into not copying the tape so that everybody has to BUY A COPY and that way the producer can have a wet bar in his private jet?  THIS ISN'T ONE OF THOSE.

OR, do you know of those f*cking software disclaimer/warranty things that absolves programmers of all responsibility if your computer just doesn't turn on one day and you lose your job or fail out of college and become a drunken hobo wandering the streets accosting lampposts and Golden Retrievers because they look like Bill Gates?  This isn't one of those.  (Though wouldn't that be funny?)

As a matter of fact, this isn't even one of those disclaimers like on coffee cups.  (Who in the world puts a disclaimer on a coffee cup?  Any day now fruits and vegetables are going to come with big tags that talk --- (Nobody can read anymore, people complain that it takes time, and it makes their heads hurt and then they mix medication because they don't read the label and that is how addiction starts.  WHAT?) --- about how it's nobody's fault if this apple renders you blind or this banana is a little squishy.  "It's not our fault if while carrying this fruit and/or vegetable you squeeze it too hard and it's juice splatters all over the floor and you slip and fall and land on your genitals.  We are not responsible for flatulence caused by attached fruit/vegetable that inhibits your success at/in date/interview/business meeting/social outing.")

No, this isn't any one of those disclaimers.  This is a real disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER *--->  (This way, I promise!)

IF YOU READ THIS, IT'S YOUR OWN DAMN FAULT!  I TAKE NO RESPONSIBILITY!  IF YOU ARE OFFENDED / SHOCKED / APPALLED / MADE TO PROJECTILE VOMIT ETC., I DIDN'T CAUSE IT!  READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! DO NOT READ IF YOU MAY BE OFFENDED AT ALL.

If you have already thought of possibly being capable of becoming at any point in time offended THEN READ NO FURTHER.  Author claims no responsibility for distribution or the reading of this document.  DO NOT READ AT ALL!

...  (Three wise men, Moe, Larry and Curly.  They've been dead awhile, haven't they?) 
(No one likes Shemp.)

Hey there Cats and Kittens.  It looks like my little sabbatical is over.  Now, a lot of you have asked what I do on my little sabbaticals, so I decided that I would tell you.  Mostly to give me something to write about. K?

SABBATICAL ITINERARY:

10:00 AM I start everyday I'm on sabbatical the same way, with a tribute to the Slovakian gods of peanuts.  I slather myself with olive oil and roll on the ground chanting about Hillary Clinton's Senatorial run and how it is the rise of celebrity politics.  (Pauly Shore for PRESIDENT!)
    *Helpful TIP:  Olive Oil exfoliates!

11:37 AM I go out and deface public buildings with turnips (cruelty free), protesting the waste of materials with so many disposable products.  (For the sake of Styrofoam Trees everywhere, start using plastic cups people!  Do you think Styrofoam grows on trees?)

11:48 AM Get arrested.  (Unfortunately no one ever video tapes me being beaten, except for that one time that the guy who had a camera beat me with it and I managed to turn the camera on with that little bone in the side of my cheek.  That really kind of hurt.)

12:18 PM Eat leftover turnips in holding cell.  Police laugh while I try to convince the pay phone to take my debit card by slicing it into little pieces and feeding it into the Quarter slot.  Then they beat me some more.

01:47 PM My Lawyer arrives with the documentation proving I am still crazy, and that the police should quit arresting me.  They drop charges, sick of the smell of turnips.

02:36 PM I go home and stand in the bathroom and look in the mirror and tell myself that I am a nice person.

02:48 PM I cry.

03:15 PM Still Crying.

04:45 PM Sleep.

05:48 PM "Private time" with underwear ads in newspaper.

05:49 PM Put newspaper in recycling box.  (Sad but true time increments!)

06:00 PM Open up my mail and find out that Gillian Anderson has managed to bump back the restraining order by an extra 100 yards.

06:01 PM More crying.

06:12 PM Complain about how at this rate I will have to leave the continent in February.  VALENTINES DAY!

06:13 PM Crying.

07:30 PM Turnips for dinner!  I drink a lot of water.  I am thirsty from crying.

08:00 PM Watch tapes of old Ally McBeal episodes and complain that I can't be that thin and cute because of my bone structure.  Am I fat?

10:00 PM Neighbors call and tell me to quit making monkey sounds.  I tell them "AIIIEEEE, CODLEY UOIT FUKKKEDY-DOO! AIIEEEEE, YEAH!"

11:00 PM Realize that I should write another FWD column, sit in front of computer staring blankly for three to four hours.  Realize that I can just say I'm on an extended sabbatical.  Victory glass of turnip juice.

3:00 AM Go to sleep naked in pile of Gillian Anderson Photos.

...  (Still dead, eh?  Well, we have turnip juice!)


Now you know.  And, as we all know, knowing isn't half the battle.  People that know a whole lot get shot just as easily as people that don't.  The guy that said knowing was half the battle was a math teacher trying to get his students to pay attention and no amount of yummy turnip juice could convince them that Calculus wasn't incantations to call up the devil.

Then the students killed the teacher.  This was in __Kansas__.  Didn't you hear about it?

(If you don't know what happened in KANSAS then this part will be an awkward transition.  But, I happen to think that my audience is smart enough to know, and if you don't know then someone you know will be able to tell you that teaching Evolution is no longer required in Kansas as part of the Biology program in High School.  So they can teach creationism now.)

Creationism my ass.  You know what gets me about Creationists?  They are convinced, CONVINCED, that they can use scientific fact to discount evolution and the microwave and whatever else Satan thought up.  I got news for you all, SCIENCE WAS MADE UP TO DISPROVE RELIGION.  It's true, it's the church of the secular whose own language can not be used against it.  So, CREATIONISTS, listen up!  Here is your new game plan (~trust me~) :

Get the scientist guys to PROVE evolution with the bible.  It's perfect.  As a matter of fact, it's such a good plan I should be made Pope, immediately.  Spare no expense in getting me to Vatican City and kicking ole' Johnny off of his throne thing.  And I want the hat.  Oh, how I want the hat.

Those of you that are offended by that last paragraph, I told you not to read on, didn't I?  See, you didn't believe me, and NOW you're going to send me angry e-mail about how I am all wrong and I don't get it and it's all my fault.

This is why we have disclaimers, really it is.  Everyone wants to get offended and yell and sue people. Suing people is good for two things only 1> holding elected officials political prisoner 2> suing corporate American and taking away their stupid wet bars. 

(all right, I admit it, I want a wet bar, too.)

Did I just bring this nonsense around full circle again.  OH.  And I didn't even mean to, you see how that happens?  Here I am, ranting away, and it's ALL RELATED.  (Sort of.)

ANYWAY: THE MESSAGE OF THE DAY: Be tolerant people.  That way I don't have to read all this legal poopy when I buy turnips.  And don't be stupid.

That way I don't have to pay three extra cents for hot coffee (or get cold coffee) to cover the coffee vending malpractice insurance.

AND NOW FOR THE ENGLISH STUDENTS:

You ever notice how the most random line is selected to be meaningful and they talk about symbolism and stuff and how that line is great, and everyone who's not an ENGLISH Ph.D. doesn't get it?  Well, when I am famous I want to really confuse some poor undergrad, so here we go, my big important closing words:


PURPLE MONKEYS CRAWLING ON THE RED BANANA GAVE JODY CEASER A BAD TIME AS HE WALKED ALONG THE DESERT OF THE SHORE UNDER THE HOT RED AND YELLOW SUN OF NIGHT TIME IN THE DISTANT LAND OF S;LDKHFGPEOWAIH;LKASNDGV;KUHSGDFA THAT PROVIDED HIM WITH GREAT KNOWLEDGE ON THE SUBJECT OF SPLEENS AND MONOPOLY PIECES, SPECIFICALLY THE LITTLE DOGGY PIECE THAT EVERYONE WANTS TO PLAY WITH BUT NO MAN OR WOMAN OR PURPLE MONKEY CAN TRULY POSSESS AS ONE POSSESSES THE SOUL OF THE RED BANANA UNDER THE BLUE MOON BY THE GREEN SEA OF RUBIES.

That should keep you busy.  (It's only one sentence, so it must mean a lot!)



Till I get drug into the street and shot full of little holes that will bleed a lot:

I love you all my children of the dusky afternoon!


SPREAD MY WORD!  It's my own pathetic bid at immortality!

--- me, myself, and that guy in the closet.


Many thinks: Kitten Cat, and also Winky (whose job it is to tell me how to fix the formatting!)

Check out the FWD Archives!

Horrible Mass Mail
Vital Signs
Abridged Biography
I Voted for the Furbies
Billions and Billions
The Saga Begins
What's in a Name?
The midgets made me
The "Real" World

FWD is a satire, intended only for entertainment purposes.  The author and editors have no hostile feelings for any persons or organizations, living or dead, existing or disbanded, mentioned or not mentioned in this column.