Timothy Leary's dead?

After I was sufficently stoned, I met God. She's black, you know. She wears white stockings and high heels and nothing else. Her tits are magnificent! Why wouldn't they be? She INVENTED tits!

I thanked Her for my penis and asked Her if I could have tits. She said "No. Some people have a penis AND tits, but in your case, it would be perverse."

Oh, well. I guess we can't all be like my friend, Francis London, who lives in both worlds.

Where was I? Oh, yes...

Never tighten a wingnut with a tool...

I'm getting damn sick and tired of your snide references to wingnuts.

Why don't you return to your preoccupation with hatpins, you Neanderthal asshole.

Being a silly bitch,(Yes, you heard me.) you do not realise that SOME of us actually enjoy the caress of an adjustable wrench.

You don't know what you are talking about. You have never experienced the orgasmic experience of being "too tight".

Back off or I will tell everyone about that goat you sleep with.

Heed my warning, Clown, or I will tell the goat about those sheep you have been seeing.

"finger tight" is what I have been preaching for years. It is gratifying to meet someome who understands. (You understand, of course, that I could make a sexual joke here. I am a blantanly rude sonofabitch.)

CJ?

I had a girlfriend who actually had the ability to move her body parts around. Sometimes she would wear her labia on her forehead. I, of course, was embarresed when she did that but we always got a seat on the bus.

I hope you rust.

The fact that you are wearing his pants proves nothing. He is still alive. He and Fritz Perls are wandering about Esalen, without pants, totally oblivious of the fact that they are naked from the waist down. Their neckties, however, are perfect.

It may be said

Tim Leary's dead.

So let us mourn his blazing head.

He came. He saw.

He raised his paw,

And flapped his flabbergasting jaw.

"Shut your yap trap.

"Toss the claptrap.

"Shake and wake up from your daft nap."

Said the fellow

Of smiles mellow,

Of Harvard sheepskin and lime jello.

He turned his back

On off-the-rack

Grey flannel suits and ties that lack

When he embraced

The mien of grace

And moments gone without a trace.

that Leary's dead.

It is not true

He lives in you

He lives in I

If you want anything, go to the pub down the way and ask for Mary. Tell her I sent you. She'll do anything for a few quid (or even a few squid, she loves seafood). If you want to have sex with her, you'll have to do it there, on a table. She is a nymphomaniac, an exibitionist and angoraphobic, she won't leave the pub.

(Be advised...If you DO choose to shag Mary, they turn the lights up and raise the price of drinks. The earplugs are complementary. She's a screamer.)

[Oh Jesus Christ. I'm turning into a peverted Brit.]