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'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
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##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #417 !!
#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
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##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "That Silly Dog" !!
##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> Trilobyte !!
..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 1/10/99 !!
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i used to be rastafarian, but then i changed my ways. i took
off the multicolored hat of my homeland, i dyed my skin a color akin
to peachish white, and moved away from reggae and ska musics. i grew
to like other things in life, there are so many other things besides
the daily ritual of smoking ganja and loving allah. there's also
growing pot, making love to the wimmen, buying hashish... i moved to
san francisco, land of the rice things and streetcars, and forded
myself a stream across the bloody rivers of the bastioned american
workforce. but all of a sudden, my black facial hair started to grow
uncontrollably. one second i'd shave, and a few minutes later i'd have
a full dreaded beard. it gave away my identity and all the
leather-wearing alligator gay homosexual men would throw me out of the
streetcars and out into the roads of the streets.
i was down and dejected and depressed and demoralized and
detoxed. so i went to find my reefer. i went into a drug store but
they only had aspirin and these chia pet things, and some old women
selling make-up, which i don't wear, because it doesn't complement my
complexion. well, no more than the darned flourescent lights do. i
went outside and found a dog, which i picked up and put in my coat.
"what is a former rastafarian without a dog?" i ask, but nobody answers.
nobody is listening. it is as if i am playing really bad music in a
crowded room. nobody listens to it but nobody tells me to shut up
because they're afraid someone else is listening and the wouldn't want
to make a really bad impression. you know.
my eyes became bloodhsot for no reason. i hadn't been smoking
up. i looked around at all the storefronts, there were non that
interested me. i scurried over to the italian restaurant to smoke me
some basil. it smelled like basil, it tasted like basil, it probably
was basil, but doggonit, if that stuff wasn't marijuana! i was more
happy at that moment than during the whole rest of my time in san
francisco. it was time to find love. girls aren't just plastered to
walls of buildings, one has to subvert one's self past the typical
methods of lubrication in order to find unfettered harlots.
i found one. inside the dog.
"come out, fair maiden, i will make you whole," i spoke to the
rear of the dog. i could see her in there.
she breathed a great sigh and came out of the dog. the dog
split open because she was much, much bigger than he. in fact, her
breast alone was the size of a medium-sized schnauzer, yum! i took her
to the drug store to get her some clothing and to clean the dog parts
off of her. i picked up one of the old women working there and wiped
off my woman with it. it wasn't happy about being used as a brush, but
then again, i wouldn't be either. i stepped on it and broke it apart
and threw it at things and knocked them over and knocked up my woman and
now all that was left was to find allah.
oh, wait, damnit, allah was the dog. isn't that quite a
catch-22. damn.
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!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #417, WRITTEN BY: TRILOBYTE - 1/10/99 !!