File under "bra"

Ahhhh, Doris. I remember her well. She was the eternally chipper, terminally nauseating blond air head who sang "Que, Sera, Sera" like it was a TV jinglle for a Fiat (or, was it an Edict?). Picks are for taking!!! Although, I wouldn't recommend taking one to lunch no matter how much you want to prove you're a card carrying, liberal, egalitarian, equal opportunity racist pig. Picks are scary fuckers. They used to be axe wielding blue toads, I hear. Anyway, they scared the shit out of the Romans who, of course, were just old Italians in battle dresses. OOOOhhhhhh, wait a minute, now I understand. That"s where the picks got the idea to wear dresses in the first place. Real Picks wear wool plaid dresses. No wonder they were so irritable. It was the sheep. (too bad they didn't grow cotton...or double-knit polyester... no I mean the sheep, silly). If Anna had only been there, she'd a put a stop to that foolishness, straight away. She wasn't old enough at the time. She's over there now, trying to atone for her earlier failure. On a secret mission to wipe out plaid once and for all time. And good luck to her.
The picks once tried raising cotton. Hired a bunch of Egyptian mercenary cotton farmers terrorists, but when the picks tried to pay them in wool, they went back to Egypt in a huff (some kinda boat, maybe) and founded another soap opera. Got Richard Forsythe to play the lead. If I remember my ancient history correctly Linda Evans and Joan Collins were in it, too. Rumor about a big cat fight in the swimming pool. Probably just play-acting, though.

Ticker still ticking, bladder still galling. Little finger is still numb. Mostly righter with the world. Let's try for the tent next time you're in the city.

Don't let any doctors get behind you. They'll stab you in the back. Treacherous fuckers. They'll charge you for it, too.

Terra Hoot to you, too.
erd

From: Crank
To: JShep
Sent: Sun, June 20, 2010 12:03:45 AM
Subject: Please file under "brazil"

Jshep,

Got yr call-- sorrow to have missed and done tent annex/exhange/portal with those greasy Anglo mits you call claws. Sorrows too, for the not feeling well. We'll do it right proper. No worries, lories, or dories. Or Doris.
(Who the hell is Doris?!)

Anyway. Time to heat up the day old ramen. Time to watch CSI alone again, too. Sigh.

Signed,
Gary Indiana
Carpetbagger, Esq

(~<•>~)



(eyes used for tooth support)