Martin loved words. He never tired of new

Martin loved words. He never tired of new euphemisms for his snack,his crane,his ho-ho,his little fireman,his pogo stick,his proteinaceous milkshake maker,his pugnacious

The unnecessary foreplay conducted by an amateur whore monger. "After my third trip to Vegas I learned to skip the whore d'oeuvres." Martin had another entry for Urban Dictionary:

but he couldn't type because Martin was back on crack. He had a dream that he was in a marathon and woke up jogging naked down the 405 freeway

& got fined for jogging in the carpool lane.To him the dream was saying: naked is ok but no jogging, cars or pools, & cops could give his life direction. He walked naked into the p

lease Touch Museum- an unfortunate name for a kid's museum -made more awkward by his nakedness. Surely cops would swarm him here; he stopped aghast. All were naked and the only cop

was too, standing there with his billy club for all the world to see. The naked cop pointed it at him & then to a small sign: "No clothes required to enter Please Touch museum."

He took all of his clothes off and entered the Please Touch museum, joining the milling naked throng. He touched a **** with his ***** which then ******. He felt the need to lie do

wn in order to **** the ***** better, but the floor was already occupied by the ghost of a swamp ghoul. It stared balefully at him. "Filthy human," it gurgled before squirting

a stream of pungent, green fluid at him. He closed his eyes, waiting for the burn of his face falling off, or his eyes rotting or something. 'You're clean now,' it says, grinning.