Friend Behr trying to tough it out had to take sick day retire to Blofeld health spa room with bed and linens in it. Furniture is in there as well as you can imagine. Very lavish. "Ornate" is a term the internet kiddies now use (I keep up on Internet lingo, see: elves eating salad for more information on internet kiddie speak). I teach informal lectures for no class credit to people interested in learning how to communicate with internet kiddies. You could learn. It isn't hard. Just new terms like "buying the farm" and "pigs in blankets" are examples of internet kiddie speak. They put it in their posts and news feeds and bulletin boards. It is a culture. Check it out. You will learn.

I had to pull out the yellow yarn. One of the cloying women came in and soothed me and was also trained in non-scientific medical procedures (because I refuse all scientific based medical care based on my desire to have acres full of doctors' heads on pikes to teach a lesson to the young people). Don't become doctors. It is the worst trade to get involved with. It fucks up our GNP something fierce. You wouldn't believe the things I've done to people while pretending to be a nursing home janitor, but when you get your big tax refund this year you'll be glad I still have the strength to force elderly women's heads into toilets and hold them there. I grew up on the mean streets of Berlin. Animals were put inside of me. I learned to shoot motherfuckers from a distance while standing on the Berlin Wall defending it (the only reason those vandals destroyed my beautiful wall was because I was in Baltimore at the time and failed).

Now I have to wait. .Chopper gets intel from animal friends (specially trained slave animals - Chopper exerts his dominance in many ways) and says that Interpol is after us because the Dutch boys went back to their base and told people what happened, and how the shaved head tattoo on noggin men took me into a cave and made me watch a movie about a submarine. It was riveting. I watched it seven times.

Need to lie down. The cloying polyester women put a gelatin on my torn guts and it is acting as a "bonding agent" (more internet kiddie slang for you to write down in case you go to a bulletin board some time) and I have to remain lying on my back. Hard to type with laptop in air and guts hanging out.


My friends.

If I get through the constant vomiting and uncontrollable loose "excrement" (internet kiddie speak) coming out of me, and through the bile that is leaking from my lesser orafices (ear, nose, frog).

When I was seven I caught a frog and slowly and inconsolably crushed its head in my hands because it saw me wet the bed and change the sheets. I kept that a secret from all by being strong and changing my sheets and washing the dirty ones. Righteous dude! Right on, he ain't no square (that is what the urban hipsters used to say about me). So I will get through the vomiting and water shits. It is gross in this room right now. No ventilation.

My friends.

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