poor harrys tryna navegate teh wildarnes of fashion. li8ke many of us hes woeful per;lpexed.

but i culda givan im teh answer if hed only asked.

i fouund a very informertive documentery in coops bolgrol. its a vital record of the like zeitgeist an whatnot. itsabuot robots! not just abuot robots but also in adition about girls too! an than teh palice come an chase emaway form teh bonfire. its a cinamatic statmant of near-hutttonian plangency an insight. no foolin!

you ready? you sure? okay then.

ok so ur palyign kitanwar an u finnd one a those cases whe're like 61% of teh poeople votad for teh wroorn fuckigin kittan who is oviuosly signifcantly less godamn cutte tan teh othar one. so is it nrormel in taht case to yel 'fuckity fuck you! waht the fuckis wrong wiht you moarons?!' an wack teh monitor?

i mean lotsa people yel at teh tv wehn theres sports on right? its teh same principal.

ok i saw towo sings tody which siad 'if u lived he're youd be homa now'. so im liek yeah sure! tehy cant bofth be right.

carrreeeepy!

form giall.

ms wrods spelchejkar dosn know any actuall words.

dont ask me wyh tehy bothard. wel at lest they kep themselvs busy.

upddate!

im a dumbas! fote etar obserfes

It's tranche. Tranche, tranche, TRANCHE. With an 'e'.

hes right too. bugerty buggarty buggerr. withouot teh 'e' its all about teh stergeon (u balief taht one? i got my doubts. bet its one a them plagarism-detecter fakes that dictoinarys invent. like the plsatic marker bits in exploasifs. annybody (*cough*) got a oed handy? mians at home).

hey look thers traunch to!

anyhow wrod dosnt know 'tranche' with a 'e' ehtar.

update!

yep its in teh oed! 1512 an 1668 an 1840!

1840 Ainsworth Tower Lond. 11. xxxix, In the old terms of his art, he leached the brawn, ... tranched the sturgeon, undertranched the tunny-fish, ramed the crab, and barbed the lobster.

not a man to be triffled with obvuoiously. bil gats is gona be sory.

wel i did teh robotax htign agian an its rely prety slick! it goes an gets ur ifvestmant stuf an what not. dont ask me how but it evan knew abuot teh mony i gave the nuns for teh wave poeople in aferca or whatevar aftar last crismas. wel tehy said they we're nuns. shuld teh five a clock shadow have rased more dubots than it did? but u cannt ask a nun for id can u? i mean like 'yeah prove it sistar!' u know? just dossn come out right. but anyhow im stratign to wndar who they relly worked for.

but anyway! greaate nun story!

so ok im on teh gardan [sic] state park[sic]way in new jersy wihc is alot like that one circal of hell whe're evry boddys wearin a lead suit. excep at 80 mph. an my engine just sorta sighs gently an stops runign. which is usuly bad. but so i glid ovar to teh sholndar an dashed acrossd three moare lanes a graffic on foot (cuase i was in teh expres lanes in teh middal) an scarmbled thruhg a ditch (fula water! its decembar!) an up a bank an fuond a garage! menwhile id left my cat in teh car an im shitign bricks about teh por dumb brute beast all aloane there. so they tol me i hada go back to the car an waite for a cop to came by. aarrgghh! but so i did.

so finley cop comes by an cals a towtruck an i get a tow to teh next town. im in the cab wiht cat an drivar an all an they only take cash so he driaves me across this big mall parkignlot to a cash machien. but hafway across he sudanly slams on teh brakes! his face goes dead white an he nervosly an ingratiatignly waves tihs one sorta rusty ol car in ahead of im. i look an its fula nuns. so i look ovar at im an he sais...

"Fuckin' nuns, man. You don't wanna fuck with them."

buncha birts are wroked up abouut teh unger genration tlakin like idjits. cant ramembar how i got theire.

anyhow i lefta comant ona artacle but teh bums didn print it. intimedadet i guess.

The English have always spoken a bizarre, incomprehensible jargon. If they can't even understand each other any more, they have no one but themselves to blame. Perhaps now they will learn their lesson and talk good honest American like sensible people.

A. C. Hynes

Boston, MA

an much moare!

whan i wast at teh orphenege theyrewas a lital boy named mopo their. he was nice enuough. he chewd on wood alot. he didit moare as he got oldar. hed be gnawlign away u know at night on teh legds of is bead an aftar a while u got useto it. hed eventuly chew righght throughh but he was quick! like bialed asparegas! he aways got outa the way in time. thered be a crassshsh an hed gigal like 'ha ha u didn get me this time!' than hed hafta ganaw on the othar legs to get it evand out.

last i herd he wsa swroking for meril lynch on walstreet.

I must ask poor Arlington to add a link in the window margin to Topic Drift.

Because the angry means success. Because Cola Head puts on his nicest denim overalls and dusts the candy brick. Because Denise Huxtable chill[s] us to the marrow with her relentless, unprovoked dancing.

P.S.

Reeling still from the mortifying incident after lunch, for which I did apologize quite abjectly — and Giles was very kind, which somehow only made it worse — I searched for articles about raw garlic making one lightheaded and perhaps a little... you know. But all I found was this:

Perhaps avoiding frank discussion of bowel movements is one secret of a long-lasting relationship.

Perhaps that was my mistake.

Update

Comments closed due to recurring comment spam on the colon theme from some stinking, shit-rolling imbecile that calls itself "Rik Martin".