I am so mind-numbingly bored. Someone entertain

I am so mind-numbingly bored. Someone entertain me.

Well judging from the date stamp on your fold, your mind is now comfortably numb with boredom, a perfect time to spring on you the story of the first Fagan slothed his Gefurtwanger

Fagan stroomed up before the tribal supreemos and laid the snorted sack before them. "BEHOLD! the Gerfurtwanger has been slothed!" they grunulatled in praise.

The townspeople rolled their kirtrables-not aNOTHer rannygazoo tale of that smegeggy Fagan! Nobody gave a mohacked nogrine anymore. Fagan was engluend and lapsychously smarthered

by the scene in front of him. He was pretty sure his folks were speaking some form of English, but he'd never heard these words before. He knew taking LSD before the family reunion

wasn't a good idea. "Uh huh. Uh huh." He pretended to understand even though it was gibberish to his head. He had to escape this situation as soon as he got the chance.

"I just asked you a question. What's the matter with you?" "I, uh, I am having..." He stumbled. "Uh...digestive issues. Gotta run!" Escaping to the men's room, he sighed, relieved

himself of his burdens (and his bladder, too), washed his hands, and then pulled out the flashcards from his jacket's compartment. Boy, confessing one's feelings was no easy task!

The words were poisonous if misspelled and equally toxic if misplaced. The arsenic bottle waited patiently, under the guise of cheap vodka bought by Antonin Artaud, as an unusually

obvious accessory. He closed his eyes in order to regain focus and filled the label with his gracious writing. "Well...", he thought, "that was simpler than expected..."