Diary entry: wasIcool

“Hey Zork, how bout another t-neck”

“Man what happened to the last one I comped you”

“Crapped on my cat.”

“Crapped on your cat, what’s the beef?”

“Fuckin crapped on my cat”

“All right, but this is the last one on the house.”

“Say, you going packing tonight?”

“Yeah, after the game. You?”

“Don’t know we’ll see whether or not this one is gonna do the trick.”

At that, Corn Holetester said farewell, pleased to be holding a brand new ‘neck. Course he had three more at home, they hadn’t really crapped on his cat, not that it would matter if they had. Like telling the patrol unit that he had diarrhea just to get out of a speeding ticket.

Soon I was in the clear, I had just taken my best friend for another ‘neck, and now I was zipping down Vector 7. Took ramp 20000000047 and pulled around onto the parkway. Then I skidded into my trailer complex, while simultaneously yelling


out the window.

       Gratz meef,
            Reverend Speefnarkle