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Cletus Mugtosis (wif hep frum Ed_Z)
11/20/01
1:37:05 PM
152.163.213.56
So ah figgerd thet ah warn't a-gonna knows fo' sho'nuff eff'n th' snake wif th' transmitter on mah haid was tryin' t'kill me o' proteck me. ah knowed thet ah had t'git it off of me somehow. ah reasoned thet I'd jest git drunk an' try usin' a screwdrivah o' some so't of prong t'dislodge it. I'd been trippin' fo' a couple of days an' felt like shit, but ah c'dn't approach a tax like this hyar wifout gittin' a few six packs into mah system fust. ah'sbled down th' block t'this li'l, dark dive of a neighbo'hood pub an' took a seat at th' end of a line of about five varmints at th' bar. Mah stomach was mighty sour an' I'd been havin' them burps all day thet tasted like houn'dog farts. Th' distress in mah stomach was quickly movin' south. ah let loose one of them hot, moist farts thet smells of rotten eggs o' su'phur tingid wif apricots. Th' cloud diffused down th' bar one patron at a time, an' they quickly moved t't'other ind of th' bar almost aginst their will an' unable t'articulate their visible protess fo' fear o' inhalin' some vestige of th' lethal cloud, cuss it all t' tarnation. Th' bartenner removed their six packs wifout promppin' as eff'n t'say they were no longer fit fo' hoomin cornsumpshun af'er havin' been tainted by mah billerin' billiousness. ah warn't fully aware of mah indiscreshun at fust an' thunk perhaps ah sh'd join t'others at th' end of th' bar. ah knowed thet ah was somehow a part of their complaint, but ah was rather preoccupied at th' moment. ah o'dered t'other bourbon, as enny fool kin plainly see. "Not today", said th' bartenner wif tangible distaste. This hyar was a man who had see much thet'd turn a weaker stomach, an' he was obviously at th' limits of his tolerance. He corntinued, "Yo' kin come back when yo' feel better, o' not at all, ah reckon. Yo' need t'getcherse'f t'a vet an' haf whutevah it is thet crawled up yer ass an' died lop outta thar. Yo' ain't right, fella! Fry mah hide!" ah reckanized thet ah w'd git no he'p hyar. ah quietly made mah apologies an' returned t'th' grey gloom of th' November Texas dusk. Shet mah mouth! Thet's how ah got eighty-sixed fum a bar fo' passin' gas.
ANTI POPEYE X FAN CLUB
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