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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #826
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Everything Reminds Me of Cheese"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Effy
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 9/20/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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I sit here in front of my computer. It's late at night. I seem to
be on the internet again. What am I doing here? Didn't I disconnect five
hours ago? It reminds me of the time I surfed "velveeta.com" until the wee
hours of dawn, as the gold-orange sunrise spilled smoothly over the horizon.
I can sense the evil Chat Daemons dancing around my head. They swirl
around and sing and dance and prance and laugh. They chant a melodic parody
of Mary Poppins:
"I love to chat! Ha-ha-ha-ha!
Loud and long and clear!
I love to chat! Ha-ha-ha-ha!
It's getting worse every year!"
For some reason, this reminds me of all forms and variations of
cheese, from colby to blue! I think that it's because "chat" and "cheese"
both start with a "ch" and are both one-syllable words.
Glancing at my screen, I see I have ICQ open, as well as
"www10.chathouse.com/rave"...and oh yes! I'm staring right into the face of
#ezines! It's an exciting night as always. I have a lot of logs from
#ezines. Ha! Logs! That reminds me of the cheese log that Des was
supposed to send me for my birthday present! Of course, I never did receive
one. It doesn't bother me really, except that for sometimes I can't stop
thinking about what could've been...
All this thinking is starting to wear me out. How late is it? Oh
my. It's almost 4:30 AM. Well I'm not tired...not really. I could...aw,
fuck it...
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
Soon I am fast asleep. I begin to dream marvelous dreams. I am
walking in a field of wildflowers with TanAdept, Phairgirl, and a dozen
orange cats. Since we chat in #ezines, the word "chat" reminds me of
cheese. Soon we all have cheese logs and are hitting each other madly with
them, while the cats leap and bound in harmony. The orange fur faintly
resembles the color of cheese, and soon the cats' fur melts into beautiful,
golden rivers of cheddar.
All of this hype about cheese and cats makes me think of "An American
Tail"...
"There are no CATS in America, and the streets are full of CHEESE!"
Things begin to spin before my rapidly blinking eyelids. Everything
seems to be going in circles! Why does cheese make me think of cows? Is
this why I write so many Hoe articles about cows? Oh my god! Bill has a
cat named Patches that looks like a cow! Is this why Patches always made me
think of cheese? I am living in Wisconsin! We have cheese! We have cows!
Cheese and cows! That's why they go together. But cats and cows have
nothing in common! Well, actually they both start with the letter "c"...
and "cheese" also starts with one! Dude!
But the set-in-stone thoughts of cheese outweigh any wavering
thoughts of cows. I no longer need anything to remind me of cheese. My
brain is turning to cheese. Cheese spread. Spoon my brains out of my ears
and put it on a cracker. You'll be smarter. You might even start to like
cheese. Or what if I were blue? Would you pour my brains on a salad? But
wait, that's dressing. That strays from the ideal image of cheese. But
wait a minute. Could I be string cheese? Mozzerella? I mean really. If
you put me on a pizza, am I no longer cheese? Am I merely part of a pizza?
I like Doctor Seuss. Why didn't he ever talk about cheese? It's
goes so well with green eggs and ham.
"Would you eat some cheese?
Would you like it with a sneeze?"
I live in a house made of Swiss cheese now. Sometimes my friends
come visit me, and there are days when they are hungry. This makes me angry
because then they eat my fucking walls, and I have to buy extra blankets for
winter. I wish they made cheese roll-ups. I'm going to have to patch those
holes in the walls with fucking bricks. Hehehe! Brick cheese! Wait! No!
No! Fuck, no!
I wish I were a Jersey cow. Why the hell can't I be one? Do they
make cheese in New Jersey? Even if they don't, I bet they still eat it
there. I wonder if Jon Bon Jovi likes cheese. After all, he was a cowboy
("I'm a cowboy! On a steel horse I ride!"). And cows have so much in
common with cheese. Obviously they have a lot in common with Jon Bon Jovi.
So does cheese. Maybe I'll send Jon Bon Jovi a cheese log for Christmas.
Logs! Oh my fucking god! Where are the Hoes? What have they done with my
cheese? For the love of GOD! Cheese-Wiz CHRIST Almighty! Help! Help!
HELP!
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
I awake with a horrendous shudder. My eyeballs wiggle and curl in a
disoriented consciousness.
I am still at my keyboard. I am still in #ezines. I sigh with
relief, because I've found the Hoes, and I have a premonition that all
cheese, everywhere, is very, very safe. In a state of peace and accord, I
reach for my nutty cheese log, and the velvetty smoothness of everyday life
continues on.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #826 - WRITTEN BY: EFFY - 9/20/99 ]