From: gblock@csd4.csd.uwm.edu (Gregory R Block)
Subject: Re: Heh heh (was Re: Huh? (was Re: Hah! (was Re: Huh?)))
Organization: University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee
Date: Fri, 4 Sep 1992 04:49:22 GMT

Gleeep@cup.portal.com (Dave - Silon) writes:
:   Did you mean "butt-kissing?"  Smoochy smoochy smoocy.

Stop it, that tickles, you stupid son of a... [SLAP!]

:   You seeem to have a thing for 'mould' - is this a latent side
:   effect of your quasi-sexual nether nibbling and sahara 
:   slurping on the gangrenous raisin-rawhide mounds of your 
:   blind-yet-insatiably-barren 140 year-old operatic nursemaid?
:   Molecules of malignant moisture massage your MANLY mastoid as
:   OverRipe Van Wrinkle croaks and wheezes your favorite aria from
:   "Senorita Moth."  Two tiny exotic island girls peek out from
:   underneath your shed Mickey Mouse Stimu-Groin Lust Enhancer
:   and signal to you in strange hand motions that they are in
:   the wrong movie.  "How unfortunate," you think as you lose
:   consciousness to the sounds of small, yet feral, roaches
:   mounting you voraciously for their own orthopteran delight.

I give up.  I lose.  I succumb to your lecherous verbage.  My will
fails before me, and all is becoming black...

My god, it's full of stars...

:   COUNT SUCKULA?

Leave your girlfriend's sexual favors out of the post, I paid
everything I owed.  :)

:   Hey! Leave the Holy Plastic Virgin Mother With No Orifices
:   out of this, you frenum-licking philistine.

Bite me in two, you whoresome, fanatical, book-eating, lip-synced to
Johnny Carson, digitally retouched, avocado-brained, anally-inflicted,
testosterone-sucking destroyer of blow-up dolls who eats the remains
of once-living TRUSSies and spits them out into big PHD diplomae, who
looks unusually similar, though far, far uglier than, an overgrown
nerve ending from the Seventh Slut of Eroticon Six.

:   Yes.  He knows I'll beat him in BattleShip.

It's twister he worries about...  He knows about your little ploys to
get him on all fours and bark like a dog.

:   [sniff.]  And after all I've done for them.  Who was it
:   that passed the safety legislation requiring all rodents
:   under 13 oz. to wear full-torso safety harnesses when in
:   the presence of TRUSSY'S GRAVE? Not you - Intestinal Cowboy.

Rot in hell, rump ranger.  Those weren't safety harnesses you were
making them wear, and they didn't appreciate the leather G-strings and
metal studded collars.  "All you've done for them" equates to placing
them under your eternal bondage, and they're not grateful for such
needeless suffering.

: TRUSSY must bear the fires of desyndication alone, 

[melodramatically, aside] No, not desynication.  Anything but
desyndication.

You indignant jellyfish, it will take more than the likes of a
zoglophular dweeb from Sentilor Seven to desyndicate him, or for that
matter, to even get within several light-years of him.  The Bugblatter
Beast of Traal would rip your gazobits from your genderless body and
feed you to the giant mutant man-eating mosquitoes.

: In other words, sod off, spandex chops.

Zark off, you Godolphinite.

--
(: (: (: (: Have you overdosed on smileys today?  Why NOT!?! :) :) :) :) :)
(: "...and here's Clinton giving the correct spelling of bong-resin..."  :)
(:	gblock@csd4.csd.uwm.edu			Gregory R. Block         :)
(: (: (: (: (: (: (: (: (: (: (: (: (:) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)
Newsgroups: comp.sys.amiga.advocacy