Imajanor Rant

by Sheldon der Wehr, H.o.t.S.F.

This here guy came up to me and suggested a head cheese enema, so I interjected slowly and withdrew six inches, and Yahoo 17 showed up and told me to mind my own business. "Go slip a crusty fuck," I murmured seditiously. "No minor deities permitted without a Certificate of Clemency! Can't you read?" So Yahoo 17 looked at the entrails freshly spilled at his feet and hissed without malice. "Well slam me a Screamin' Jeehoover," he spat grungily, so he went off to plague some other mentally insufficient Imajanor while I hallucinated by myself about pornographology. Then the Great Wanton Mage sallied up to my booth and said, "Is this reality expertinent enough?" The answer was so scary I peed in his pants. So I gave him my last bottle of nighttime cough remedy, suggesting that a change of altitude would be of benefit. Then I vomited huge amounts of tomato juice, tabasco sauce, and grain alcohol, right into his beer mug. So pleased was the Great Wanton Mage with this tribute that he offered half off the usual for his Phallus of Understanding. But it wouldn't fit the adaptor plate I used, and an upgrade was out of the question. So I sneezed, destroying Bolivia accidentally, and asked for a raincheck. The Mage then looked up at the sky, one arm extended, palm upward, while the other hand scratched his ass, thus illustrating the meaning of life. Just then the Whore of Baby Lon winked at me, and I knew I had no choice. So I grabbed the Mage by the ankles and peeled the skin off him, wrapping my favorite dick with it and holding it down with red straps. Then I gave that tight bitch a pounding that she's still bragging about. That's where I got the damn scars, if you really gotta know! Now shut up... and give me food.

The preceding was brought to you by a grant from the

Institute for the Advancement of Assholistic Psychophagy

and was published originally by

Fools' Press -- 928 Creekview Drive -- Mesquite, Texas 75181-2338

Instigated by Sheldon der Wehr, H.o.t.S.F.