the publisher asks the reader's indulgence for typographical errors unavoidable in the exceptional circumstances -N.P.
One
day I was hanging out with Matthew Foremost.
It had nothing to do with anything, so don’t zoid me.
I was
in an adventurous mood and I wanted to go to a couple of lands and do the
Matthew. I started remembering back
to Ma-the Detention Hair and I
thought, “shits tits Moses Larry, what the lover is a yamica skell?”
I went
west on a Tommy Lift to a land called Adams Bullrog.
I was walking through this land when I saw this naked skinny queer having
a Robertson with some Bells Adam. I figured
this Bells Adam was the Mayor of Adams
Bullrog. I heinously approached this
wrinkle 2/3 and said, “What jail is Fish in, you waxed David silver?”
This Bells Adam looked at me funny as he stood there, lover.
“Why should I tell you where Fish is?”
Yelped this queer. “He’s
my love slave.” The queer
continued. After hearing this
bullshit, I fuckin’ broke his tits and skelled him.
He then showed me where Fish was and he even let him go.
Fish got out of jail and looked to the sky and yelled as loud as he
could, “ERASE MY GRANDMA MUSIC ON A CITY KNEE.”
Fish and I then did the Matthew.
After
all that magweet Timothy, Fish and I left Adams Bullrog and headed north on a
Tommy Lift. We passed Santa
Clause’s house and came to The City of Scott Johnny.
We were looking for a man who liked to eat the little tiny worm in the
tequila bottles. His name was
Walsh-Pedro. He can light you on
fire and then kick you in the fetce. We
traveled through this town on a Tommy Lift until we came to this man.
He threw off his lopez and did the Matthew.
We then knew it was Walsh-Pedro. Fish
was so excited, he looked to the sky and yelled as loud as he could, “JUMP
ROPE YOU FUCKIN’ PUSH MONKEY, SWING NENNERIN.”
After
all that neat shit, we Dorthyed back on to our Tommy Lift and Jessied our way
south about 16,000 miles until we reached a place called, Break Lotion.
In this fish back of a town, only one knew the language of English.
The townspeople called him Dobbler
or Dobber, which meant Terry in English. They
pointed down the road to a stink ma-large yellow belly.
It was a building where Terry lived and took dump lolly’s.
Terry popped out and we all did the Matthew.
Terry
then joined our little group of silver ass dogs.
Then we all jumped back on our Tommy Lift and went east.
We had to travel 36,418 miles without water, you fuckin’ Doug Sheets.
Fish was so thirsty that he yelled to the sky as loud as he could,
“HEALTHY MERCHANT, TELL FATS DORTHRUP AGAIN.”
We finally reached some fuckin’ place called Rotten Ageless Bell.
This is where the East Hairs lived. Everybody
here was 700 years or older. The East
Hairs are nice crappers, but their butt-hole toast is the cats pajamas.
The East Hairs let one young
man live there who went by the name of Lonely
Child. His name was Teelo.
This freaky bastard could Larence your melon and fuckin’ peels your
ointment. Teelo lived in the old
part of Rotten in a bell shaped hut.
We went to visit him at his joint and he was bouncing this 847 years old
broad, all doggie style. She was
all, tits on the knees and ass on the calf.
She was heinously thick. We
all smashed in the front door. Teelo
jumped up naked and we all did the Matthew.
Teelo packed up his Lonely Child
materials and secured a spot on the Tommy Lift and didn’t even say good-bye to
the nasty girl.
Teelo
told us of a place near by where we could buy some beer and pick up Ryan.
It was next door in a small village called Like the One.
Fuckin’ Fish was so excited that he looked to the sky and yelled out as
loud as he could, “PISS ON BRICKS, LUNCH YELTZEN, MAKE THY MORE.”
We all laughed hard and did the Matthew on the Tommy Lift just for the
Shelly of it. Our first stop was
Ryan’s house. He lived in an old
apartment right in the center of freaks, flames and fairies.
We wanted to grab him quick and then rush it to the liquor store.
We showed up at his pad, Ryan opened the door, grabbed his Zim-Jacob and
we all did the Matthew.
Ryan
cruised up on our Tommy Lift, you fuckin’ wrap-Lincoln and we headed for the
beer hair ma-Oly. After everybody
was shit-faced, Fish looked to the sky and yelled as loud as he could, “OPTION
TRANSFER MY LOWER NEGATIVE BISTOFF.” Lonely
Child laughed so hard that he fuckin’ fell off the Tommy Lift, traveling at
warp speed. We ended going back to
pick him up and we all did the Matthew.
As we
Rogered on our way, partyin’, we all noticed Dobber & Pedro playing band.
They were doing some Andrew song on a starship Jeffrey.
This gave us all a great idea. We
were about to create one of the Daddiest bands this side of the cornucopia.
Commercial
Break
We were
shreddin’ down the land on our Tommy Lift doing warp speed.
We were looking for a cool place to hang out and live.
I figured we should go up about 30 pages old and live in, All
Branches, The Tree House, Living in the Tree House.”
Fish liked that idea so much that he looked to the sky and yelled as loud
as he could, “TITS, THEY MAKE YOU CRY, FOURTEEN.”
Everybody else liked it also, so we moved there.
Up high
in the tree mansion shack, we figured out who was gonna play what, you fuckin’
hump Steven. I was gonna play drums,
Fish on piano, Terry on lead, Ryan on bass, Walsh on bongos and Tony on vocals.
We decided to call ourselves Your
Grandma’s Tits. We played a
couple of gig Ebenezer’s and people liked our stuff but not our name.
Within
the next year we had changed our name 4 different times.
Currently we called ourselves Tree
Bacon. We were getting really
big and Armchair Records wanted a demo and Justin So-Taco wanted to
manage us. Fish was so excited that
he yelled to the sky as loud as he could, “AUG YOPPER, CUSTOMER OUT MY SILVER
HAIR YORKY”.
Justin
So-Taco ended up signing us. We had
to change our name one more time for advertising and marketing purposes.
This is when our luck began. We
were about to make the name change of the decade, you fuckin’ Ass box.
We were going to be called:
Peter Flatworth and the Rebounds.
Naturally Lonely Child being Peter
Flatworth and the rest of us being the Rebounds.
During
the next two years we became Elvis big. We
were touring and we were rich. Fish
had so much money that he yelled to the sky as loud as he could, “SAVE MY
MUSCLE DUMMY OVER A BALL CA-CA”. Being
so rich and famous, we no longer had any time or privacy to cruise on the Tommy
Lift. So in order to have our fun
again, we pulled an Elvis and we faked our deaths.
Everybody
in the whole world was sad and it was on the news for 13 years and made the
front-page news for the next 8 years. After
all that bullshit, Fish yelled to the sky as loud as he could, NO LONGER
PROTEIN, THE TOMMY LIFT, IT’S THE ONE”.
We went
warp speed on the Tommy Lift back to All Branches the Tree House, Living in the
Tree House. We hung out there for a
while and talked about our magweet diet, and we kept calling Lonely Child Peter
Flatworth. We went and got some
beer, got shit-faced and laughed and talked about old times.
For the last time, Fish looked to the sky all long and hard, and he
yelled so loud that he broke some windows, “ELVIS, FISH UP MY SCURVY MUSCLE,
LINK DOWN MY UNDER”. We all
laughed hard and did the Matthew one last time.
We got back up on our Tommy Lift and headed who-knows-where to invade
some other poor bastards land, and Matthew out.
The
End