"No! Do not throw that away, you hear? I

"No! Do not throw that away, you hear? I saved those Kleenex from when I went to see 'Titanic' & cried so hard, I wanted to save 'em in a ziploc! And put that down! That's my

collection of toenail clippings for when the CIA wants them for my monthly drug test. Hey, I lovey dovey yousy doozy weary much, but don't touch those! They're my

little parmesan niblets. Yeah I'm disgusting. So is my whole crew. We're known as the Fugly Bunch.

Every day we meet behind the dumpster on Main Street to discuss stupid shit. God I make myself sick. One of these days I need to get a regular hobby. I used to have a hobby, it was

talking to rocks. Talking to rocks was awesome. It was like talking to your own subconscious, if your subconscious was completely incapable of talking, moving or, not being racist.

Making friends with rocks was easy. Controlling your subconscious, took some serious meditation. Tap in, tap in and feel the top of your head. Kathy led the class of new recruit

s out into the meadow to lie down and look at the weather. Then Kathy snuck off to phone her bookmaker to put a pony on a 20-1 shot at Chepstow. Meditation for rocks took it out of

The sphere of phrenemophobia, so I could just watch the waves and the tide rising almost to where I sat. My red shoes got washed away so I could dance all night no more. Depressing

enough that I went on to put on my blue shoes to dance the reds. A gaggle of gingers felt offended and they commenced to give me a pink belly with extreme prejudice. Soulless gits!