From: [email protected]
Subject: Nurse Jones on the ozone layer
Date: 24 Feb 92 15:32:37 GMT
From Nurse Jones,
Now that wizvax is back up I have no idea how far behind I am on my
mail. I sent out a bunch of notes to people and then discovered that
they may have ended up on the floor at methuen.ma.us.
Anyway, I want to thank Carole Ashmore for a contributing
significantly to the deterioration both of western literature and the
global environment. And, um, vice verse. I had to expend nearly an
entire can of freon getting a tablespoon of black cherry yoghurt out
of my keyboard after that line from J. Alfred himself:
> I grow bold, I grow bold > I shall wear my latex condoms rolled....
Oooooooh. So if you're missing any ozone next summer, blame Carole.
I, for one, will never be able to look my high-school anthology in the
face again.
But it was worth it. I bow to the master. Mistress.
Besides, what with this freon trick and all, I'm getting pretty good
at repairing my computer. I installed some memory chips all by myself
last week. Maybe I'll start my own company. I'll call it:
Midwestern Computers.
They may be slow, but
they never go down.
Darcy rang a loud bell with me when he said that being seduced into a
submissive role is what a bottom wants. That's absolutely true of me.
And it's just because I like all the attention that I get that way.
Pathetic. Still: why would anyone EVER want to be a top?
And NightFly wrote a lovely post cheering and clapping in response to
my two-piece (it should have been two-part) article about all the fun
and excitement Anita and I had a few weeks ago. Thanks, *wink!*
NightFly *wink!*.
Then there were a bunch of cheerful comments on my own nearly-
succesful attempt to bring poetry to it's knees. I seem to have missed
poetry and hit western civilization by accident: I apologize to Robert
W. Service, Dangerous Dan McGrew, and the entire city of San Francisco
and everyone that has lived there since 1906. And to all woodwind
musicians (especially bassoonists) (bassooners?), hispanic
prostitutes, the state of Alaska and any eskimos or members of the gay
community that may have read my doggerel. And to the entire canine
world for calling it doggerel...
Is there anyone I *don't* need to apologize to? I'm beginning to feel
like Andrew Dice Clay.... Ewwww.
I know: Harlan! I DON'T apologize to Harlan! Who, BTW, Harry actually
remembers as having attended his Valdosta party. Harry calls him the
"sofa crevice fondler." The nanocerebral (look it up, Harlan) little
fungus.
And someone actually wanted to know if women masturbate. The answer is
yes, although a man, on occasion, can be a quite servicable
substitute.... (that was a joke post, right? He already *knew* that
women never ever masturbate, even before STella explained things to
him. Didn't he? Except in California. They masturbate in California.
They'll do anything in California. Indiana. *That's* where they never
masturbate.)
Well, midwesterners may not be sophisticated enough to actually
masturbate, but things are improving. At least I never lived in a
house that had wheels on it, and I no longer consider Moon Pies and
beef jerky to be two of the major food groups. Plus I haven't done
irreparable damage to the art of haiku. Yet. Give me time.
Nurse Jones,
Driving right over
the steps of the eight-fold path
in a four by four.
On to the next posting
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