It was a dreary day. Simoleon rose from

It was a dreary day. Simoleon rose from his bed disheveled and confused. What day was it and why were his bed sheet soiled? He remembered the dream he had where his bowels were

getting uppity and plotting to take over his entire body. A poisoned suppository had put an end to that treachery. Simoleon sniffed his filthy sheet, and was horrified to discover

how much he enjoyed it. He inhaled the rancid perfume until joy gave him a nose bleed. "I'm so thankful" he thought. Simoleon's empty colon was pulsating. He lept out of bed,

and hurriedly dressed for the day. He had to get away from this French whore. Her rancid perfume would be the death of him if he kept bleeding out through the nose from the scent.

And yet...there was something about her, he decided, glancing at her creamy white thighs clad in holey stockings. She reminded him of... "Helga! My GOD! Helga!" he cried. She

looked up blankly & smiled showing blackened teeth, then recognizing John she looked down & shook her head "No Helgas". "No, Helga, Goat Club is over." She did smell like a goat.

Helga sniffed. "Ahahah! The first rule of Goat Club is that you do not talk about Goat Club. So that means you're out!" She'd been waiting for this moment. John scratched his chin

ny chin chin while he considered his rebuttal. Helga had been the only one to maintain that Goat Club had rules. John thought it was time to defy her and burn some bridges. It

remained a mystery, the origins of Goat Club and its cryptic prophecies. John waited for the right moment of the meeting to stand up and deliver his scathing repudiation of the

word "moist" but when the perfect moment arrived John leapt out of his chair only to find Helga had glued him to it. He jerked face forward into the ice cream cake; foiled again!