Tag Archives: Ethiopian

Bra Swappers Near The Kranepool

Styx On The Run, (Madam's Organ)
Styx On The Run, (Madam's Organ)
samplex

Date: Thu Aug 29, 1996 3:14:54 PM

YAST passing up good beer and illustrative dress rehearsal to all things considered means I'm three cards shy of a full smashguard! My Lord, what's happening here? I queried Tim about dining full flush, and his standard "oh I don't know, guess we'll have to see how things and money blah blah" was the very next thing I remember hearing. I wasn't sure if the spacecraft from which I'd just been beamed back had interrupted my normal continuum, so it's tough to say if Tim prefaced his remarks with any noticeable interest in the meal deal of the week, or not. Since you've written yourself out of the Blumwreck beerfloat already, does this also mean Little Ethiopia won't see us darken their doors either? Sarcasm is the best of weapons with Blum since he often prefers to be licked to liked. Flames or female impersonators. Take your pick. The proof is in the pud. Ding! My popcorn is ready, so I'm off I to see the wise aardvark of Anacostia with a cache of dirty limericks a bunch of us wrote back in the pearly years as a last gasp Prodigy hunch. Back pack fresh. Catch you guys on the fly. By night. Fall is almost here. Yeah! Birthdays. Anniversaries. Death warrants.

What's this about dark skinned maidens of high quality serving finger food and honey wine. I haven't had Ethiopean food in ages (nor has a number of actual Ethiopean residents. Suddenly I find myself wrapped up in the plot to reserect Adid, thou he may be less worm eaten than we suppose! What with a simple case of beer can be suddenly construed as a tub of Tej. I guess this Labor Day remains unplanned as usual. —BLUM

Bob, why did you send the above penile implant as an attachment? I had to dig thru a half dozen folders plus launch MS Word just to read it. We have plans to eat Ethiopia back into Sam Kennison's joke graveyard this weekend. No solid plans have been made, just the idea to do it, but I can tell you right now I am not going to eat raw hamburger. That's Sue's (a STOO?) delight, not mine. You are certainly welcome to join us, but at this writing neither place nor time has been established. I'm leaning toward Fasika's myself, although I certainly have no qualms about the Red Sea. I'd just as soon avoid Georgetown if that's okay with you two ex-Georgians. Uh, wowser! that makes four ex-Georgians and Tim a gonzaga...

And Madam's Organ sounds okay. Might run into Styx. Need to return her stuff since she's reluctant to make the trip to Cap Hill from Church Street for swappers. Will tote her baggie full of underwear and condoms just in case we do. I suggest Friday night bullseye since I am kind of anxious to get out of the house, the earlier the better. Any pert rebuttals? My Labor Day Plans, are, oh gawd, not another holiday!

Date: Tue Sep 3, 1996 11:55:53 AM America/New_York

Bob, it's an emergency. I tried this weekend to mail you a "cc" along with five others. Your name was fourth in the "cc" list. After trying three times to post the note only to jam at your name with hard enough error to trigger the message box that your specific mailing address was problematic, I wiped you off that posting, and must try again. This is a trial nicker.

"We're all guinea pigs!" chortled the sandpicker.

Arguments 4 Sisters in-shacks-and-shod, left on the curb outside SMASH!Records sucking from a cup of joe forced to listen to some point blankers strumming in the alley, making more foreign noise than certain neighbors I know like to allow? I hear Tom's voice now. I don't see him. The bluescreen strikers have probably circled the wagons around their fearless leader, and allowed Tom to slip through them on his way to hitch a ride with Croyden back to The Thin Whistle where, yep, everybody knows his name, and a few will buy him drinks. Your bottom dollar, Tom Howell knows the ropes in those venues where secret handshakes are not something...
Sorry I fell out early Sunday night. I was beat, and had tried to arrange an even earlier bed for myself, but hoardes unfortunately in some cases create their own dancecards. We gone out to Madam's Organ the night before, left dynamited, came home to more. Can't sleep forever, even in hangover mode, so I was up, and was ready to go down again around eight. Steve wore me slap out with his buzzfly antics that afternoon as I was trying to learn a next level of webmaster skills.

"Hope you bag the cracker," each Cardinal taking the field tossed under his breath.

I wore him slap out in a letter I sent yonderways over the globe with too much spin so to knock a hole in your POP sockets, I'd guess. We'll shrink back just a quarter beat, the Steveskier & I. Two weeks is usually the bag limit for fragilities, but left field is always kept open by STOO for short term sorrows. Mixed metaphors are an extreme method for exciting and immediately exploiting the synapses of any number of slave subjects. Driver habits will cause mileage to vary. But all this is to be expected. In these Dollhouse Crime Committee Reports he's not any different than any other j-birds jonesing into the DH jawingroom, simply yet another. Lemme tell you whattaburger Bob, I know you put a lot of time and effort into your friendship arks. I manage only by default person to person, bellicose ripwriting & jawpicking, and a better balance of barnyard jawboning, all natural litter-strewn ruts scraped into stone, granite, interjected the Navy adjunct who had been Pop's best friend for all this tiny fact mattered during that limited trust, sunken subliminal pathways I still haunt in my eye to eye contacts. An anonymous pirate's reward often short a pisspot, why am I so greedy for my own writing pad privacy, and if not that, then my own command launcher? None of this mushy chaotic middle ground democrapic stuff-of-testosterones which is nothing but insult to the (uh, working needs of my people...?) exclamatory largesse, and should never affect my orders to execute all the specific declassé inertia I survey. Call that runaway liberalism to the mat in asking why is it I am such a prick without a price on my head? Am I batter-suited as the do then talker or the talk then doer, and how to I get to know the difference between the lion and the lamb? The beginning or the end? I am both reported the Jew who was to diasporas as I am to diapers. What does that make ME I ask him. Brothers-in-arms-and-legs-only? Arguments 4 Sisters in-shacks-and-shod, left on the curb outside SMASH!Records sucking from a cup of joe forced to listen to some point blankers strumming in the alley, making more foreign noise than certain neighbors I know like to allow? I hear Tom's voice now. I don't see him. The bluescreen strikers have probably circled the wagons around their fearless leader, and allowed Tom to slip through them on his way to hitch a ride with Croyden back to The Thin Whistle where, yep, everybody knows his name, and a few will buy him drinks. Your bottom dollar, Tom Howell knows the ropes in those venues where secret handshakes are not something...

Well, had enough here. Gotta go sow some mo' iMote somewar elts...

"When in doubt, start a commune, not a bomb hoax" whispered Salome with four thumbs on my knot. Then some piker leaned over, checking out her cleavage as indifferently as he could manage with the eyes he had, to grab the mike away from her, and plunge a marginal apology sharply into her neck of the woods. "That's bogus." she said afterwards.

GT