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January 27th, 2006

I, man, am regal; a German am I.

Sleeping on my head was so good for me last night…

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So let’s see: what kind of skin do I want today? Rocky finish? Polka-dot pattern? The ‘ocean waves’ option? Studded with spikes and diamonds? Would it be too flashy to add the extra ears? No point in getting the toe-eyes; I’m actually wearing socks (AND shoes!) today.

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The crossword is singing to me.

“The pet that Nixon brought to Peking was Chiiiiin-neeeeese Checkers
And laughing at somebody’s salary is Paaaaaydaaaaay Snickers
The sweet suffix is –ose, inside your shoes are insoles
And the digs for your pigs: that’s called a sty, which is sometimes invaded by moles!
Question marks will often mark the answers made up of puns
(Rich birds live On Easy Tweet; now isn’t that overdone?)
It’s where rare words like “epee” go when people don’t use them no more
(Oh; that’s a word for a fencing foil. This language is fun to explore!)”

Okay. Time to hook a cloud and ride over to work…

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Try and try to justify...

Yeef. The Molasses Men pick today to start licking the bridges. The air resounded with belches and cries of "The pizzas are landing!" I had to get past them all by rolling up the hillside this time, which confuses everyone, not just the Shock Attack Voles.

I timed my arrival well, too; the hole in my building's wall was still open, and I jumped through before it irised shut again. The shrubbery yelled, "Hey, no fair!"

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Have YOU loved your asparagus today?

And now the clothes are trying to escape. Oh, no you don't!

Common problem, ever since we stopped killing animals for fur and started just draping them across our nethers. Remember Montgomery Burns singing "See my vest, see my vest, made from real gorilla chest" on "The Simpsons"? He's got nothing on me.

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The Suez Crisis going out for a bun.

...and so I said "Turnips! Turnips and anti-freeze!"

That won the argument, just so you know.

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And now the nose hairs are ready for tying in knots. I'm SO proud.

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OHSU now has a boat! It took collecting 146,000 Proofs of Purchase from all those Pre-Fab Dancers we use for our Rockettes Revue, and then throwing them (the proofs, not the dancers!) into the passing tornado at just the right moment (oh, okay, a few of the dancers volunteered to go in, as well) but it was all worth it. It was worth it because now we can recreate all 10 seasons of "The Love Boat" for that extra twinge of mellow horror that our patient-audience loves so tremblingly much.

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Forgot to tell you: I had Funky Chicken for lunch! The Funky Chicken, mind you, the apotheosis of all things Funky and Chicken-y, the gold-standard Olympic ideal of dancing fowl.

Ironically, it tasted like chocolate mothballs.

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The latest commercial on my brain-implanted radio:

"The American cowboy. Tough. Determined. Smelly.

"He settled the Old West with just a horse, a gun, and a whole bunch of beer. Our beer. Zeldenschlock Beer.

"When Pat Garrett gunned down Billy the Kid, they were both filled with our beer.

"When Custer confidently rode into the worst ambush in U.S. military history, he had just polished off a carton of Zeldenschlock Ponies.

"Now, you too can enjoy the recipe laid down by our founder, Papa Zeldenschlock.

"Yes, even though it's harder to make beer this way -- out of the back of a chuckwagon from ingredients we find in a cow pasture -- we still do it because, well, we're stubborn.

"Stubborn and backward and, like Papa, just a little loco.

"But that's how you get when you're out on the prairie, all alone, with just a horse, a gun, and a whole bunch of beer. Our beer. Zeldenschlock Beer.

"Enjoy a great tradition of the Old West -- getting drunk and shooting up the place -- with Zeldenschlock Beer."

(Non-Rabbit Hole disclaimer: this was a parody commercial I heard and recorded back in 1989 on the Don & Mike Morning Zoo. I still have that tape.)

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It's the only way to fly

Floating.

That's all.

Floating.

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...the flying shards of glass massage the backs of the chairs. Everyone's applauding and shouting, "Premium dream-ium!" Except, y'know, everyone who's not. Which is everyone.

Chalk it up to the tree roots that have been snaking along the florescent light fixtures. They ARE finding enough floating dandruff to feed themselves! (The water thing? Chlorophyll propaganda: it actually gets plants drunk. Confront your home bush about its use. It'll thank you later.)

Great. Now the third eye's bleeding. It needs licking. Hold on.

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Smack, smack. I tasted gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood.

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The evilpodiatrist knows whereof I flense!

I didn't agree with myself. Imagine a Moebius strip shedding its skin and you're almost 100% wrong about how I feel. I'll take some Murg; I'll feel better. It grows those extra fingers that are so good for feeling.

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Smile, elims

Palindromes are the only truth.

Just sayin’.
(NIYAS TSUJ!)

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Eat-ee some meaty, my Tahiti sweetie

The drilling continues apace. I’ll reach the magma mantle within milli-eons. (A thousandth of an eon. Work with me, people.) It’s the only way for my room to get some natural light at midnight: have a hole to the area 7,900 miles away, where it’s NOON!

The watermelons have driven me to do this, I must confess fiendishly.

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