TRUE STORIES FROM PEOPLE OR PUPPY-CHILDREN

A moose bit me once. I was just talking to it and it up and bit me. So I said, "You shit. I don't taste good! Eat my brothers." And went on my merry way.

I talked to Chuck E. Cheese. I called him up on his pay phone and, well, what do you know, he said he wanted my sexy body. (I get this from guys all the time.) So I shoved my tongue down his throat. Well, I guess he got the wrong idea 'cause then he tried to strip me. So I said, "Oh, I'm not that kind of a child!" and he said, "C'mon baby, it'll only take a few minnows," and I said, "Sorry, I don't do it with guys who have plastic johnsons." And with that I whipped out my trusty mallet and smacked him over the head with it. He fell to pieces. Just before he died, you could just barely hear him saying, "Blah . . . blah . . . I'm going to . . . eat . . . you . . . blah . . . " with his dying breaths.

There was this huge wad of eyesnot (that's one word) in my left eye two days ago. I saw it there, making its home on my lower eyelid, sitting there all moist and squishy, as I took out my contacts. After seeing it, the only thing I could think of that described its full disgusting nature was this: "gookie." Yes, folks, this is what gookies really look like. I obtained a cotton swab and pulled it out of my eye. It almost came out twice, then snapped back in and felt all cold & wet. It had begun to take on a whitish color, also. The third time, it came out. By that time I had become quite attached to it emotionally, and so I named it Otto. Otto is on his way to the landfill.

One time I was celebrating my sisters birthday and this really cute guy was the host (we were celebrating at Chuck E. Cheese). He did not come on to me. Anyway to get on with this story. Chuck and friends were on a drink break and our host and all my sisters ugly little friends were trying to take over the place. We had a pretty normal time until . . . . chuck and friends came back on and began singing. Our host went crazy!! He jumped on the table and bgan to dance to the music. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

Don't ever try to buy me courdoroy pants. I had a bad experience with them when I was a child. Then I went to the Gap, and this Gaither preppy tried to sell me some for my Treble Makers outfit. "No," I said. "I don't do courdoroy." "Oh, come on . . . " the preplet nagged, "they're kind of industrial, and that's rilly in now." I glared at her. She rolled her eyes, and gave me this "omigawd" look (she's dead now), and I just laughed. Who did she think she was? Listen, courdoroys give me very bad memories, I'm not going to buy them, and I will not accept them as a gift, so don't even try wasting your money on them. When I hear the sound they make, I start feeling paranoid, and smothered, and sheltered, and patronized, and I get the feeling that I need liberation, and I start singing "We shall over come!" at the top of my lungs, and then I black out, and when I wake up I just say "Levi's, Levi's, blue jeans, Levi's" over & over again.

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