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Our resident audiophile dissects his iTunes library to share some of his favorite (and highly recommended) tunes



Strippers, doctors, and church; one man’s journey of self discovery of making plenty of poor decisions and type 2 diabetes



Our resident whiskey & hooker expert tackles a rant on carbs, nature vs nurture, cocaine & Tony Stark


Remembering the good ole days; a story for the ages about anything older than 40



A explorative look at-- hey look! a distraction & another diversion



...17 Our resident audiophile dissects his iTunes library to share some of his favorite (and highly recommended) tunes HELLO EVERYONE ...15 Our resident audiophile dissects his iTunes library to share some of his favorite (and highly recommended) tunes


An introspective exam on everyone’s favorite fast food joint, complete with pedophiles, meth heads & Nazi’s




A deviled tongue, rhyme viscious edible spoken words, just delicious



ARIES - Don’t be afraid to hate your mother this month, it’s not like you were planned. It will be a good time to actually come out of the closet. It will feel a lot like admitting you enjoyed watching Charmed except everyone won’t assume you’re a total bottom. There are people who wish bad things upon you merely because you are a minority. Trust your instincts. TAURUS - No one likes sloppy seconds so keep your hands to yourself. You might feel the urge to succeed at work this month, but nothing will happen because you aren’t as qualified as you think you are. Try crying less to strangers because nothing smells worse than vulnerability. The best things in life have to do with sex. No one buys the cow without trying the milk first and you were destined to be ground chuck anyway.


CANCER - The best things in life are free which is a good thing in your situation particularly. Life is full of challenges and you are no exception. Try something new like learning to read or watch public television. You might just be surprised how good just “giving it away” feels. LEO - Be proud of yourself this month because no one else is going to be. Everyone might compliment you, but that is because you indirectly ask them to. Everyone loves a lush. Drink as much as possible this month because we all know you have a lot you need to forget. That mistake you called a lover last month is going to spread some rumors about you but unfortunately they will be true. Size does matter after all.

GEMINI - You are a great liar which will come in handy with matters of the heart. Keep that fling a secret for as long as you can, but don’t be surprised to find out you’ve been given an incurable disease. No one is perfect and now you are a few more degrees less than not perfect. Keep your chin up.

VIRGO - Whatever. Have you ever had a friend that no matter how many times they beg for advice, they still do the exact opposite of what you suggest to them? It’s okay though... I’m over it now. I kind of feel sorry for you anyway, again, and so does everyone around you. Yes, even your mother. I’m not going to say I told you so, because that’s part of syphilis’ job. Anyway, good luck at your new job, you’ll probably be fired in a month anyway.

LIBRA - Party animal! You’ve got to start calming down soon. Just because someone says you should let loose, doesn’t mean it’s an open invitation to take off your pants. Although, romance is in the air. When you’re not busy clubbing or dancing, and drinking until your liver implodes you might want to pay on your student loan. An Aquarius probably pissed you off last month so ignore all those txt messages; they’ll get the hint eventually.

CAPRICORN - There is a Taurus in your life that might ask for a promotion, but don’t give it to them because they aren’t qualified. You might feel badly about something trivial, but don’t beat yourself up too badly. Telling everyone that the Leo you dated last month has a small penis will make you seem edgy and cool. Tell as many people as possible.

SCORPIO - Don’t be afraid to lose your job-- a lot of people are. You always seem to land on your feet anyway. You are going to get some great news around the 16th but don’t let it go to your head. Everything that goes up must come down and everyone who is happy will eventually break a rib in a random bar fight. The last thing anyone wants to see is a sloppy Scorpio. SAGITTARIUS Not everyone can say they have been to the places you have. Not everyone can lie as well as you but don’t let this talent fool you because no one really cares. Take up a hobby that makes you look a little less like a douche bag and you might actually be taken seriously. Pay attention to restraining orders, but remember that whatever happen that no one sees... doesn’t actually happen. You’re not crazy, just spoiled.

AQUARIUS - You’re a real winner this month. While most people translate your eccentricity as a charming character flaw, you’re actually masquerading the fact you’re a selfabsorbed asshole while passing it all off socially as a charming character flaw. Dick bag. You’ve been busy all month with repetitively stroking your own ego, and just like a selfish asshole you’ll forget the basic things in life; talking to people, caring, or even showing up at your best friend’s birthday party. Dick bag. PISCES - It’s funny when your wrong and you apparently love to make people laugh. Disregard obviously good decisions because evolving is overrated and a waste of time. The last thing you need is success because it’s not as fun as downgrading. Try jumping off of high places to feel a rush because you only have to pay bills if you open the envelope. Children will be scared of you this month so withdrawal your resume from that after school program. Don’t be too proud to beg.

rAMeN ForT
“We dig,” Hairy said, sweating, hand-scooping the loose sand. “We dig until the digging’s done. It’s the end of the road; this is all we’ve got.” He had a point. Brian looked back the way they’d come, at the tortured skyline they’d escaped. They’d entered the city to scavenge supplies and rations, having exhausted other options. Within a day, the Rippers came, flooding out of doorways and alleys, hurling rocks, howling for blood. Taking to the sewers had worked: Hairy’s crazy notions were paying off lately. After amaddening chase they lost the maneaters, emerging by chance on the opposite side of the city they’d approached from. To the west, a sprawling city with a thousand hostile eyes. To the East, nothing but towering sand dunes. “End of the road,” boomed a deep voice over Brian’s shoulder. It was Jazz, normally the quiet one, smiling down at him. Jazz questioned with his eyes and gestured back towards Hairy, red-faced and sputtering over an indentation in the sand. Jazz and Brian fell in beside him as he causght his breath, and they all dug together. They’d been wandering the dunes when Jazz stopped. He’d

Marshall Edwards III

been behind the other two when he stopped, but they felt him stop, because Jazz didn’t stop what he was doing unless it was important. He led them to a flat spot of cement the drifting winds hand uncovered. It was clearly the roof of a building, likely one that had been buried since the War. With the three of them working, they cleared away the debris from the roof, eventually finding its limit and working back to the center. Hairy talked on, philosophizing on what sort of building it would be, and what treasures they would find inside. Jazz smiled and nodded at just the right times. Brian said nothing; between Hairy always being right and Jazz being the quiet one, there was nothing left to say at all. Eventually they found a roof access hatch. Hairy let out a war whoop and they poured into the space. The top floor offices were funny and dim. After some fumbling around, Brian found a flashlight and a fresh pack of batteries. They forged out of the offices into a cavernous space that, as they reckoned, took up the bulk of the building. The flashlight’s swinging beam sheened off something strange, and Hairy ordered them forward to investigate. The silvery glint became rows of columns of palates

of plastic rectangular ones. Brain gently removed one from a box and held it to the light for them to all read the packaging. Ramen, it said. ----“Romans. I freaking knew it.” Hairy grunted, hauling another palette of noodles by rope through the roof access. “This used to be a Roman fort. You know back in Roman times.” Miraculously, Brian had something to say. “I-is that true? I don’t think they made it this far.” Hairy dropped the box with a crunch and grabbed Brian by the throat. “No? NO, you don’t think so!? You dumbass! They made to India, and to Egypt, and they damn sure made it here! I mean hell - why do you think we speak English?” He threw Brian aside and picked up a box of ramen and slammed into place on the ramparts. “The Romans came here. It says “Roman” on the fucking package.” Brian got to his feet, rubbing his anguished neck. He picked up a little plastic package and shook it, the contents jingling inside. “So why do you think they wrapped these bricks up one at a time?” Hairy frowned, pausing in his work. “Hell, I dunno. I can’t think of everything. Maybe it was more affectionate that way.” “Efficient.” Jazz had appeared behind them, setting down a big box of noodles.


“So...” Brian chose his words carefully, so as not to get thrown around by his neck again. He gestured down at the shabby wall Hairy had, which stretched as high up as the shin in some places. “What’s your plan to get the Roman blocks taller than this?” Hairy looked at his paltry wall, wracking his brain. “Well, we... we need some of that sticky stuff. You know like they build with? It’s brick and muster, or mudder, or...” Jazz put his hand on Hairy’s shoulder, and Hairy turned. In Jazz’s hands was a round tin. He cracked the lid to reveal a thick gray-brown paste with a separated liquid floating on top. The other two huddled in close to inspect. Hairy locked eyes with the gunk, his brow curdled as he read the label. “Ta-hee-nee. What the hell is this?” “Mortar,” Jazz beamed. Brian stuck a finger in the mix, swirled it, and held it up to his face. After an experimental sniff he licked the finger clean. “Tastes kind of like... peanut mortar.”


everyoNe die

Peanut Scholar

So, the most difficult, but best possible article idea came to me. It would help me in that anonymous attention whore, look at my ideas and give them validation kind of way. I can’t want to take responsibility for it, and I don’t want to explain it, at all. I tell about my guilty feelings without having a reason to think I could be blamed for a wrongful death. What was I doing with him? He was one who had put in hours into books and philosophies. I want to know what he had to tell. It’s not my first time of seeing or hearing of my partner in crime suffering consequences much more painful than mine. I don’t know why or how I’ve escaped unmarred so many times. It’s not fair, but I’ve never known the world to be fair. I’ve definitely paid something, but for a long time my biggest thorn in the side was my lack of a freakout. What did I do? Shut down? Take some time to evaluate how things are going? He has friends that I see. I kind of think of it all as ‘that time of my life,’ but I don’t know what they see or feel. A lot has changed since then. I’ve bought a cheap car, I’ve gone through two jobs, but I’ve not moved out on my own. My family doesn’t worry like

they used to. I’ve proven myself to be consistent enough to no longer be dangerous. That is more than I could ask for, especially how soon I was given, granted, had earned some of that. Not scaring people. His friends are around me, and I like to avoid them, but moreso I’d like to apologize in a very impersonal kind of way. I like avoiding them, but I want to console them. I wish I could, I guess, clear my name -take responsibility by expressing my guilt without saying I’m guilty. Can I claim that we were partners in our reckless behavior that night? That’s definitely an edgy kind of thing. I can say that life moves on. Mine will. He’ll never get a chance to have a good day or a bad day; will never wake up and piss on a day by stubbing his toe; he’ll never get to walk down this street.



Hello readers, this is Daniel Paul bringing you November’s music article for What White Elephant. There are a few new sonic gems I have discovered recently that I would love to share with you. The first is the new album by Tori Amos titled ‘Night Of Hunters’ that was released on September 20 in the United States. I have been listening to this album for several days now and am truly inspired. ‘Night Of Hunters’ is a 21st century classical song cycle that carries the concept of “a woman who finds herself in the dying embers of a relationship” as stated by Tori Amos herself. Each song has these amazing piano melodies that pay tribute to composers such as Schubert, Chopin, and Bach. Another great aspect of the album is the debut of Tori’s daughter singing on five different tracks. Her daughter’s role on the album is a shape shifting, childlike-creature who represents duality as well as the hunter and the hunted. She guides Tori back in time taking her on a peyote hallucination to further expand her mind helping her realize that she lost her own strength and fire when she left her world in favor of her lover’s world. Tori’s evolution over the span of her career has been, in my opinion, a substantial one. She always has the most interesting concepts backed up by lyrics that are juxtaposed with ancient mythology and modern themes. ‘Night Of Hunters’ for anyone that is a “Toriphile” will be pleasantly surprised by this album. In my opinion it falls somewhere between her two albums

hello everyone


‘Scarlet’s Walk’ and ‘The Beekeeper’ where she really explores the idea of the repressed feminine side within society, which cripples us boys more than we know. Props to the ladies! Despite the title which insinuates a darker concept, ‘Night Of Hunters’ is a very hopeful and somewhat positive album. It really follows the idea of self-discovery and inner strength regardless of whether you are a man or a woman ending with a beautiful ballad of rebirth, but don’t worry there is plenty murky, obscure Tori-bits to keep us fans pleasantly satisfied. Another album I was introduced to by my best friend is one by the name of ‘Ghostbird’ by Zee Avi. This 26 year old musician has a very soft, melodic, Polynesian sound. Her rhythms are sure to stick in your head and not at all be unwelcomed for the length of time they decide to hangout in there. I have been chanting the song ‘Concrete Wall’ for two weeks now, “Boom Sha Clack-Clack, Boom Sha Clack-Clack!” I look forward to seeing this artist do well, because she is a true talent. A few other artists I have recently been loving are Ebony Bones! (with the exclamation point) whose debut album is titled ‘Bone Of My Bones.’ Beth Ditto’s EP ‘I Wrote The Book,’ who is the vocalist for the band ‘The Gossip’ and has always been a joy to listen to. And last but not least Beirut’s third studio album ‘The Rip Tide’ which I believe will be one album I listen to quite a bit when all snuggled in on a cold day. It just has that wintery ambiance, and his voice is just so damn sexy. Hope you enjoyed, Daniel Paul



MAdcAp bedlAM&goliATh
Madam Super Duper


First off... I am writing this on my Blackberry and I don’t know why but whenever I do I seem to forget words or misspell obviously easy words... maybe because the screen is smaller and harder to read... maybe cause I can only use my thumbs to type. Now that that is out of the way, another preface to this is that my stupid cat is jumping and crying at the wall for no apparent reason. Can cats see ghosts? Of course if it is a ghost its incredibly lazy because she always goes to the same spot. The point of this... abandonment issues and my poor taste in guys. Or should I say a hypothetical bad taste in guys completely unrelated to me because I cannot remember if I am facebook friends with any of them anymore. Regardless....let’s look at my past in no particular order.... hypothetically. A self proclaimed private party stripper who sold ecstasy (allegedly) at an afterbar at my apartment and asked permission to make out with someone else for a 6 pack. A doctor who refuses to meet me in public and doesn’t even turn the lights on in his house when I would

come over.... a LOT of stubbed toes. The news anchor who enjoys watching video footage of himself for hours and almost chipped my tooth during foreplay. A dairy queen employee who forgot to break up with his boyfriend but it didn’t matter because he got arrested on the way to our date. The guy with the kid who is married to his ex boyfriend. And last but definitely not least....the halfway house resident who I met at a bar...???.... who on our third date went home with (see above) private party stripper AND dairy queen employee at the same time.

What can I blame on this string of bad luck?
I’m thinking it’s because when I was a kid I went to church with my parents. My dad was the preacher and church bus driver and I always wanted to ride the bus with him and all the old people he was dropping off. I remember being CERTAIN these old people had nothing but candy and gum and various confections on them and thus being on the bus would give me sugar OVERLOAD. Every single time I’d get to ride with him all I’d score were Halls cough drops and big red which I hate to this day. However, every time I wasn’t able to ride the bus I would cry my ass off even though I never got what I wanted. I think that church burned down... all of those old people are for sure dead but the appeal of the candy bus lives! All of these guys that I mentioned in detail partially for entertainment value... partially to put in front of me are like little church candy buses that only offer a bad taste in my mouth but still make me cry when I can’t catch them. How do I put a stop to this behavior?


Yeti Detective

Of course, we can’t talk about carbohydrates without talking about fad diets. And we can’t talk about fad diets without talking about people’s stupid attitudes toward food. My least favorite idea in regards to diet is, “our natural, intended diet.” What in the holy fuck does that mean? Think about it. Did nature create us because there was an excess of leafy, green vegetables, grains or bovines? No. Nature created us because, “duuuuuuuuur.” Nature doesn’t have intentions. Nature is not your fairy godmother. If nature intended you to not put billiard balls in your mouth, she wouldn’t have given you such a huge goddamned cocksucker. Seriously. Try it. All nature really wants from us is for us to make more people and then die. That’s why we’re horny and mortal. She doesn’t give a shit what you shove in your taco hole in between humping things and keeling over. So have a cupcake. Unless you’re diabetic. Then maybe don’t. Want to be vegan? Do it. But that’s not your “natural, intended” diet. Want to subsist entirely on puppy faces? You’re probably under way too much stress, seek help. But also, do it. Eat those puppy faces. They’re probably chock full of protein or something. But that is also not your “natural, intended” diet because that’s not a real thing. Nature gave us a lot of awesome things: supernovae, jellyfish, orgasms; but not purpose. Purpose is up to you. You have to decide it for yourself.

Is that hard? Fuck, no, it isn’t. What kind of pussy are you? There is literally NO wrong answer. Your life can mean anything you want it to. Me, personally, I’m hoping to be Tony Stark: Ironman by the age of 24. This is a difficult goal, as I am already 28. So I have to build a time-machine first. And I just stopped being homeless two months ago. But that’s for me to worry about. You can just be a social worker or president or some bullshit. And that leaves us with two questions: Question 1: How the hell did I get from carbohydrates to here? Question 2: Where did my giant pile of cocaine go? So, dear reader, before you think about engaging in another fad diet, think about what I’ve said here today. No, wait. Think about science. Don’t think about what I’ve said. I’m powerfully deranged and possibly unconscionably high on cocaine. Unless I’m not. Unless one of you stole my drugs... And if that happened, I swear to CHRIST that I will find you, I will get my staple gun, I will fold you in half, and I will make you into a oneman human centipede. Human oroborus. Something. You’ll be really good at somersaults. But make no mistake, your new found gymnastic prowess will not outweigh the constant extreme discomfort of being folded in half with your lips stapled to your asshole. I have to wander off now.

pAsT hisTory A sTory oF The Ages
Walking in my back yard one night, a mere fifty some years ago, I saw a young neighbor slipping up to scare his mother, pumping water in the front yard. Quickly I plotted a plan,and running around my own house, (I was young then) I (being barefoot) approached him and as he approached his mother, I tapped him on shoulder as he reached to frighten her... He fainted, his mother turned around and began screaming, “What is going on here?” I could not stop laughing...

Blanche 1941


Soon one wise old man decided to alter this tradition and moved his toilet a few feet backwards, spread branches in front of it and covered them carefully with leaves. It happened to be very cold that night, as the boys rushed up to push the building over, one fell into the hole. The young men knew they could not take the other young man home this way, so went to river to wash him off, after breaking the ice, they proceeded to try to clean the young man up...an impossible task, and one very cold young man will never be interested in taking up the old Halloween tradition again, I feel certain. And then there were moments when we shared things, we had no telephone, so our neighinsert bors said if we needed to make a laughter call we could use their phone...My husband came back very talkative, he said, “their walls are made of You see in those days we cardboard, and he wrote my name made our own entertainment, no on the wall.” television, or electronics to occupy our time. Time outside was a lot. There was no air to cool the house. And of course there were those frequent trips to the outside facility called a toilet. Each Halloween as we returned to school the following day we would walk through town on our lunch hour, counting how many toilets were over turned and how many houses had been papered.


In the country as a child, we attended the one room school house, but this was after living in the City of Greeley, CO. Moving way back into the backwoods... There we drove to West Plains or Mt. Home, Arkansas to use the telephone. The gas was hardly affordable but when Dad could get a hold of a dollar, at 17cents a gallon he could fill the tank on the car, he only believed in people driving Chevys... We had a big car and somehow five of us sat in the back, when we stopped to sleep, three were on the seat, two in the floor, on occasions one found refuge in the back window space.. I was queen of the getting car sick society When rest areas (makeshift rest areas, as rest areas had not been invented) were found, boys were directed to one area and the women to another. Dad would find bananas for a few cents a pound and we would have a treat as we traveled. Me, I was queen of the getting car sick society, so often got to ride in front. Old cars smelled of gas… One of my brothers was crying and Mom asked. what is your problem, He said it was not fair because I would arrive where we were going before he did because I was in front. I am not sure whether I would

turn it around and live on the farm first, and then the city but I can sure attest to the fact, so much genuine history of life before convenience and self gratification became an American way of life but I will always remember getting kicked out of church because our dad bought a “hellavision”, however we found a new church soon. And clearing fields of the rocks, and drinking water at the spring that poured out of the side of the hill... Thank God for memories, one can feed on them. But today is okay.... Life is so easy, I ponder on the past, and take life for as long as it will last...

cArbs & AlieNs
ANd beArs...
Carbohydrates are good as fuck. I don’t even know why we’re debating this. Who doesn’t like noodles? Noodles are delicious. I’m not even sure where to go from here... I’ve already said what needs to be said. It would be redundant for me to talk about noodles anymore, so let’s explore something else. I’ve been watching the television show, “Ancient Aliens” on the History Channel. It’s very interesting! The more I watch it, the more I’m conviced that our ancestors were visited by ancient alien astronauts. It makes more sense to me than most theories of human development I’ve heard. I guess what I’m trying to get at is that you should definitely check that shit out. Moving on...

Jon Burrito

oh My

Now I’d like to take some time to address a very serious issue in our great nation. I’m talking of course about bears. In the past few years the Bear Kingdom has been spreading its borders within North American. They’re getting smarter, and even worse, bolder by the day. That is why I’m trying to spread bear awareness whenever I can. So just remember, bears are real, and they are hungry for people. Knowing is half the battle... So that’s about all I got right now. I wish I had more interesting things to say here, but I don’t. So I’m wrapping it up right now. Peace out for now. Bitches.



How many poorly thrown together figureheads does it take to make the youth of America go absolutely mental over lunch and dinner choices? Just one. Add to the mix a ragtag group of misfits that have absolutely no place in fast food marketing whatsoever and you have a gold mine and the longest running trend in the entire fast food industry. I am talking about none other than the scariest image a child could ever hope to conjure; Ronald McDonald and his quirky, sometimes edible friends. We will begin with the ringleader himself and let our focus trickle down to his lesser known minions, masquerading as lovable personifications of fun and happiness. Not only is this motley crew of sketchy characters an inappropriate choice to represent the younger side of the most popular food chain in history, some of them are downright frightening. The fear of clowns is a legitimate psychological condition called “coulrophobia” wherein the sufferer exhibits a paralyzing fear of clowns. This is common enough that when searching Google using the terms “fear of”, “fear of clowns” was the fourth result. It can be billed to your health insurance as a substantiated medical diagnosis. Of course, the majority of these phobics are not regular adults; functional people who hold down jobs and pick up dinner for families on the way home from said jobs. They are innocent children; by definition complacent to the decisions of their elders. To begin with they are being fed the highest in gourmet cuisine (ultra-processed slop dripping

The pAiNT

with grease) expertly prepared (haphazardly assembled) by a trained chef (apathetic, high school dropout with snot creeping down his or her pock-marked upper lip). So it only makes sense that to further the strain on their circulatory system they are force fed a garish, painted face with blood-red hair, sunken eyes and a grin to startle a great white staring at them when it is time to chow down. Ronald McDonald appeared in 1963 as a cheap knock-off of the popular and exceedingly more innocuous Bozo the Clown. His purpose is still a mystery. Wendy’s does not need a mascot to sell kids cuisine. Nor does Jack in the Box, Arby’s, Taco Bell, Sonic, the list goes on and on. He began his misbegotten career as the face of McDonald’s in spite of the fact Spike 2. Spike that clowns have little to no bear ing on children’s food. Objectively, he is no more than an irrelevant anachronism hastily outlined and fleshed out just as quickly. A morbid homage to medieval times where court jesters and fools would juggle, tumble or sing ballads for royalty. Now, however, he peers out hauntingly from paper bags and cardboard boxes known as “Happy Meals.” Even discounting the obvious scare factor of being a clown (and a non-imaginative, surface level creation of a clown at that) he is a grown man wearing face paint and a wig who takes groups of children on magical adventures with no adult supervision. Suspicious to say the least, especially when you take into account that McDonaldland bears a striking resemblance to the infamous “Neverland Ranch.”To the

observant this screams “child molester.” Draw your own conclusions from this, but again consider that he is inherently frightening to young children, he serves no discernible purpose, he regularly drags children off to an imaginary land with no authority but himself, and he is easily approaching 70 years old. By himself he is a menace, but with the help of his friends, they’ve become a pandemic.

Clad in jailhouse garb, the Hamburglar is always in search of an easy score. He cannot control himself long enough to get a job and work for his dinner like the rest of the world. He would rather achieve instant gratification and risk the judicial system of McDonaldland. His fruitless endeavors invariably end up with either a failed attempt at petty theft, or a rousing chase ensues wherein he is always captured and the loot (a hamburger, yes a 99 cent pre-formed disc of heart failure) is returned to its rightful owner. Once again, the target audience here is children. They are supposed to think it amusing that a criminal is stalking their lunch? A masked villain creeps up behind you while you are enjoying a magic show or singing along with your friends and STEALS YOUR FUCKING FOOD? Unacceptable. The following question begs to be asked: What is in those hamburgers that someone would break out of jail and assault a small child just to get their hands

on one? The answer is sad, yet obvious. Meth. Meth heads are the only creatures low enough to steal from the mouth of an innocent youth. The Hamburglars behavior is a textbook example of a junkie fiending for his next fix and he is nothing more than a reminder of what rock bottom looks like. Certainly not the type you want hanging around impressionable youngsters. Speaking of impressionable, Birdie the Early Bird is no role model. Not only are her flight patterns daring to say the least, but her clumsiness and lack of concern for everyone in the vicinity actively encourage other children to live their own lives at similar breakneck speeds. Birdie is a known alcoholic and takes to the air after a bender with reckless abandon and no caution whatsoever for who may be left broken and bloodied in her wake. She is without a doubt dangerous, her extensive knowledge of karate notwithstanding. These facts alone speak to her instability, but to paint Birdie in an accurate light there is still one vital piece of information that has yet to be taken into account. She is a BIRD and in commercial after commercial over the years she can be seen feasting on none other than chicken nuggets. She stuffs her gullet with tiny processed chicken patties and no one seems to have any problem with that. Birdie is a flight risk and admitted CANNIBAL. Devoid of morals, it has been long speculated that Birdie sometimes aids in the capture of her feathered brethren for immediate processing and subsequent deep-frying. Eating your own race has long been denounced as terribly improper behavior in today’s society;

however Birdie has made a career out of it. Flaunting her dismissal of ethics and conduct, she consistently contributes to the genocide of her own race. Not far behind her are the Fry Kids. First of all, they are walking talking food. Their origin remains a mystery as does their biological makeup. Quite possibly a mass hallucination from drinking the “orange soda” on tap all throughout McDonaldland, they are little more than cannibals themselves as they frequently dine on their fellow side dishes. When viewing from afar it is difficult to tell one from another. They all dress alike and travel solely in small groups, shunning others that are not like them. Adolescent superficiality maybe, but the reality begs to be brought to light. This is typical gang behavior. These hooligans roam the streets, skateboarding and roller blading down the sidewalk and generally run unchecked. Fully cognizant of themselves and nothing more, the Fry Kids with their sociopathic demeanor are a poor example to kids looking to make friends or to fit in and remain productive members of society. The most cumbersome, useless character of them all, Grimace is also the most dim-witted. Its catch phrase is “Duh” and it is often confused on the simplest of tasks, becoming angry when something becomes difficult or challenging. It is still unclear what creature exactly Grimace is supposed to be, other than a walking, morbidly obese punch bag. It is frequently picked on for having such a low IQ and is in fact so incredibly stupid, that it does not realize it is being made fun of. Grimace goes right along with all the insults, smiling the slow, dreamy smile of

the less fortunate and the innately retarded. Grimace is of indeterminate gender and is seldom referred to by name since no one actually knows what it is. Male, female, alien, gelatinous blob. The list goes on and on. It is also subject to panic attacks, inspiring epic tantrums and freak outs which put all of the other occupants of McDonaldland at risk. Like a rabid dog, Grimace should not be associated with or approached. In conclusion McDonaldland is a nightmare world of corruption, full of insignificant spokespersons with their own sordid histories. As far as mascots go, they could not have chosen a worse band of characters. Ronald McDonald is a pathetic outdated excuse for a clown and a creepy child molester, luring his quarry with promises of soda and fast food treats. The Hamburglar is a career criminal with no hope of reform. A drug abuser who will prey on even the youngest child to get what he so desperately craves. Birdie is a modern day Hitler, selling out her an entire society to make a buck and then cannibalizing them when the deal has been struck. She is also a drunk driver and shows no signs of remorse for her crimes. The Fry Kids are Neo-Nazis on the prowl for fresh recruits to boost their numbers. Grimace is at best a potentially violent and emotionally unstable transsexual and cannot be relied upon for any semblance of rational thought. McDonald’s has mistakenly chosen these untouchables for their trademark appeal to children everywhere. One can only hope that in future generations these invalid references will be retired and the children will once again be safe.



I’ve been snipping weeds with shears sharpened with my fear, forgetting all along I could have ripped them out by the roots. I need to remember, I bought a ticket to this roller coaster ride remember that sometimes the warning sign says, “not all rainbows take to being meat sacks”. I need to remember, that I can’t always see what’s in front of me that the track may drop off on the dream side, that motion sickness is just a secondary, to all this creating I am capable of. I need to remember that I am a gift, not just that I have one, just like you are. We need to remember, to give ourselves permission to feel the river running through our veins because none of us really wants to be in the do-over line when we are done this time. We don’t want to be a re-run of all the races we didn’t try to win. but most of us, forget to tie the laces on our living.

We trip on the love left flopping about. I’m still striving to be an apple tree, while I’m honestly busy being a thunderstorm, all electric emotion rumbling on the wind twisted believing whatever I believe... Like how we are all so incredibly amazing I am sure that someday, even through this animal hide we are wearing, we will all understand how important we are. I’ll remember, that some tear drops twinkle in moon beams to remind us we leak star shine and those of us who do are the sparkliest of fireflies. So sew your songs to your soul, wave your banners or take up your pens because it only takes a butterfly’s wing to change history.



Peanut Scholar A man without many friends has a lot going for him. Without needing to worry about the things that usually comes along with a friend, he has time for truly more important things. He can tan. He can walk (and talk) with himself in the sun. He can stuff his mouth with food and talk till it all falls out. He has none to impress. He can study the interesting indentions his toenails make on his shoes. He can read a lot of books, and establish a creativeness so rad that his fiction can be stranger than truth. He can flip off and tell off every soul he knows, and not lose any steps from where he started that day; Until he tells off someone with a gun. He can start a farm. Start an irrigation system. Start killing things Start harvesting pumpkins. He can find lonely people to watch and decide if he’s doing it better. He can avoid feeling sorry for the people that don’t really make a difference. He can do everything for himself, and do nothing for others. alienation! He can say there is something not to do and nobody will argue. He can travel, and not worry about having to remember things to tell or show people. He can avoid remembering lots of things. He can avoid impressing/depressing people. He can stay to himself. He can talk to himself. He can walk by himself. He can avoid me. .

The Man With The Green Hat Doug Deeper was Floyd Pinkus . He kept his costume in a hall closet at his Uncle Lem’s . Now Floyd Pinkus only arose to occasion occasionally . So you had to be there to see it see . But I warn ya it warn’t pretty sight . . Ella Bow was Bone Red . She kept secrets in a hall closet without costumes . Now Bone Red only sang long blues ballsy . So you had to hear it to be near it . But I warn ya them two aint right .




It was a good afternoon. Jazz rationed out some water, and Brian found some shellacking tools and spoons for the tahini. They made good progress, but no one could discern what to do with the little silver packets that were piling up. Hairy decided that, if the mortar could be eaten, maybe the Roman bricks could be too. After a hard-scrabble crunch that left Hairy spitting out bloody brick bits, he decided they weren’t edible. The silver packets, they found, were a boon. The powder inside was vaguely edible, especially if chased with a shot of water. Brian liked the yellow ones the best. The fort was the only sign of life east of the city. They looked towards the metropolis with the assurance that many eyes looked back. The rippers hadn’t come for them yet, but the sun was still in the sky. The trio had gathered anything worth throwing to the rooftop, but it was all for naught if it was too dark to aim. “Water,” said Jazz, breaking the silence. Brian looked at the taller boy: he wasn’t offering water, and if he was demanding it, there was a little water close at hand. He looked to Hairy for guidance, but he was slumped over and dozing.

And then Brian smellled it. He knew the smell from when the three boys belonged to a larger family travelling together through the desert wilderness. Brian’s parents and Hairy’s parents and a few others. They were raiding an old high-rise, combing the maze of cubicles for anything valuable. One of them cried with joy when they busted open a supply closet metal door to find rotund, sloshing jugs of water. In good spirits, they carried the jugs down the stairs to the staging area. At the top of the stairs, someone’s grip slipped and a jug went tumbling, smashing against the landing. For the rest of the day, the smell of water hung in the air, deliciously heavy. That was what they smelled now. In the northern sky a shadow stretched towards them, a fairy tale they’d read about but had never dared to expect. The rolling clouds dipped closer, riding a muggy wind. The fort would fail and wash away. The Rippers would come for them soon. But now, on the eve of the first rain he’d seen in his sixteen years, there was nothing to do but sit back and watch.




That’s because you smell like pussy and dog poop. It didn’t say douche... it said Irish dude. My inner nihilist is cock blocking my Zen. It’s like a game show that punishes you; an all expense paid trip to Kentucky.

Have some of that-- whatever it is... industrial poison and chemical toxins. Why... you don’t do voices? There’s a Republican delegate in my trousers. That was the best one hour, twenty two minute and forty four second conversation I’ve ever had.

If they had a baby... this is what it would You’re really good at making people taste like. think you’ve died. This woman I was being really rude to, I tried to shoot an arrow into the sun. but she couldn’t tell. After the fifth try I realized it was a pretty silly thing to do. After all, the Children are needy, dirty, miniature moon is much closer. people that beg for things. Either the level of alcohol I have consumed has made her voice bearable or the blood from my ear drums has dried creating a buffer. Wow-- that is so cool. will that be check, cash, or card?

ThiNgs overheArd
You’re in a relationship with my cock in your mouth. At least she has good taste in penises. Oh-- was I not supposed to joke about LSD and sodomy in front of uptight Christians?


Is this a good chip? That is the best chip I’ve ever had. Wow, you never buy me $40 worth of supplements. I can’t say words. I can’t say words that start with b. I can’t say words that start with r. Hi. My name is Kyle. Talk to me. But I don’t want to ignore him... I want to get to know him, I want him to be my best friend. I am complicated and disastrous. But tell me, do you stop and stare when you see a wreck or a fire?

TV evangelist: “God is the source of our wealth”......I’m broke, asshole.

Maybe we should talk about the weather? When I say “you’re funny”, what I really mean is you’re not funny, unless of course you’re actually funny. You’re welcome crazy face!



Oh! Tiny harlot! Will you ride that horse all the way home and put your tiny boobs away?

SERGEANT HEARTSTOMP - Design DANIEL PAUL - Resonance Expert YOUNG & DUMB - Advice Specialist MADAME SUPERDUPER - Horoscopes PEANUT SCHOLAR - Cultural Director

“Do you like the boobs?”









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