So Sayeth The Peabs


Wednesday, October 27, 2004

Peabs Prefers It Sniffed, Smoked, Or Injected. Duh.

I think I just flazzumed my pants!
Peabs recently gave an interview with The Economist in which I was asked how I take my coffee, thus the title of today's post. She mars. I take most things that way, including smack, blowjobs, and herpes. Mmmmmm, herpes. Easily the favorite son of all of my STD children. Sort of like my very own JFK, just without the fucking hole in the back of his fucking head. Bovs and to the left on your effing Camelotees, Jackie O!

Peabs knows it seems a little late in the game, but we recently picked up an endorsement that will surely do nothing but help the Obvs in '04™ Campaign come election day. Longtime Peabs supporter and professional wrestler/acting legend Rowdy Roddy Piper jumped aboard the juggernaut that is Peabs/Cosby, and we met last night to discuss many important political issues and how I would tend to them as President. For instance, few of you know that Piper is an important figure in the Neo-Christian Rimjob Organization (NeCRO), a left-wing religious sect that sees the art of salad-tossing as Scripture. Robvs. Honestly, I know only a few squares who don't believe this, but then again Peabs knows some sick fucks (I'm looking at you, George Orwell, you fucking mo-mo!). Anyway, Piper proposed that when I become President, Peabs should pass a bill proclaiming every Wednesday as "Ass Wednesday." Frankly, I couldn't agree with him more. I'd make everyday an ass-licking festivus if I could. Yeah, because Peabs certainly doesn't now. Nor do I smoke happy sticks and donkey-punch crackwhores everyday, eiths. Schmobvs.

As the night progressed and the angel dust ran low, Dr. Bill Cosby decided it would be a mantastic idea for the three of us to take some DMT-laced peyote, call some "ladies of the night" and have ourselves a little hullabaloo, "Moby Dick"-stizz. In midst of our conversation on paint-huffing hemophiliacs earlier that evening, a coked-up Piper suggested Captain Ahab as a possible Halloween costume for yours effing truly. Now, we all know that Peabs already has a semblance picked out, and it's hotter than an effing meth-fueled suckjob from a dentureless Willem Dafoe. C'est la obvs.

Howevs, Peabs must admit: Piper's explanation for the Ahab costume was effing brills. Instead of dressing up like a sailor (hey!!), you would just eff a call girl doggy-stizz, pull out, and chase after her with your harpoon-like cock. Duhvs. If Cosby didn't get such a beautiful raging black hard-on from the idea, I would've used it myself. The costume, not the beautiful raging black hard-on. Though if you feed Peabs with enough crackrock and formaldehyde, I'll be passing out hojos like a Good Humor® ice-cream man on Cialis® in the gay district of Istanbul. Gobble!
Be that as it may, as mentioned above we decided to test out the Captain Ahab costume a little early. Personally, Peabs found it to be a rousing success, as did Coz. Rowdy Roddy Piper, on the other hand, took it to a different level. After poking his lovers with his rod (Ha, get it?! Rod.), he would blow a hot one on their mizz, and then put them in the sleeper hold and Cleveland steam their dozing tees. Mind you, we here at the Obvs in '04™ Campaign have no problem with this practice. We're just not professional wrestlers. Usually when I try to put fucking diseased sluts in a sleeper hold, I end up choking them to death and buttfucking their corpses. And contrary to popular belief, even Peabs doesn't dig on necrophilia. Much. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"But I thought that youuuuuuuuuuuuuu liked to flazzum Indira Gandhi's flizzum!"

How could Peabs forget? Indira, you will forever be my muse. And, you, people of the United States of America, will forever be my ooh-jah. Boo-jah!

6 days until the apocalypse. Bovs all over your tees, America.

dead every enourmous piece
of nonsense which itself must call
a state submicroscopic is-
compared with pitying terrible
some alive individual

ten centuries of original soon
or make it ten times ten are more
obvs in

Monday, October 25, 2004

The Following Gangbang Is Brought To You By Paul Bunyan.

Helloooooo ladies!  Kindly flazzum my bizzle bazzle!
Hey there, sailor! I just skullfucked your mother! And bovsed on her effing nipple clamps. Robvs.

On a related note, we are reaching the final week before Super Tuesday, and things are abuzz here at the Obvs in '04™ Campaign headquarters. This past weekend, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly hired a bunch of Chilean midgets, fed them some Valrex and PCP and played Rhode Island rodeo 'til the sun came up. Then we decided to reenact the French Revolution, except with with sock puppets filled with gravy, and a young Mexican pre-op trannie named Hombre playing the part of both Marie Antoinette and Alex Sanders! It was a performance that would make Ralph Macchio fistfuck your cousin and call him Sweet Tart. While it's been rumored that no one has any fucking clue what that means, Peabs still stands by the fact that piñatas are much more fun when they're filled with smack and jazzum. She mars all over your Ringo Starrs.

In order to win the Presidency, Coz and myself decided that we need a major scandal to occur these final days prior to the election. Personally, nothing says "scandal" like GHB and Dick Cheney. While it's common knowledge that Dick is a world-class asshole of gargantuan proportions, what few know is that he is also a maniacal pedophile who loves to "slip mickeys" into "young girls' drinks" and then "have raw, unprotected buttsex with their comatose bodies" and then "shit on their faces." This is most certainly celebrated in my campaign, but the Republican Party? Eh, not so much. Unless you throw some fucking blow into the mix. Bovs. Of course, we here at the Obvs in '04™ Campaign don't mind that eiths. Boo-jah!
I like to introduce little girls to their Uncle Hot Carl.
So Cosby decided to ambush Cheney on Saturday night. Peabs, with a belly full of special K and heart of fucking gold, was more than willing to act as his accomplice. Obvs.

Apparently, Dick likes to take his wife and daughter out for the famously ooh-jah ribs and tuna-fish casserole combo at the local Shoney's, then "excuse himself to the bathroom" in order to lube up with some tartar sauce, wildly masturbate to the Halliburton quarterly newsletter and phone Colin Powell, so that fucking perverted fuck can set up the tween fuckfest for the evening. Schmobvs. Using phone taps and gravity bongs, Coz and yours effing truly were able to redirect Dick's call to Dan Jansen, world famous speed skater and expert Colin Powell impersonator (not to mention quite the fucking meth-head, snatch). Jansen somehow convinced Cheney that the nightly gangbang was to occur at the home of Oscar-winning deceased actor Don Ameche Duhvs, no one fucking parties harder than Don. He's gets more fucking vag than your gay sister on a world-tour of my host mother's clit-ring collection. Oh, you didn't know Peabs is a foreign exchange student? Well, I am. From the country of Turkey. Gobble, gobble!

Anyway, the press was waiting for Cheney at Ameche's house. Howevs, I do not think the media was ready for what they were about to see...
Brainerd: home of Paul Bunyan, Babe The Blue Ox.
Let's just say that Dick Cheney showed up with testicles for eyeballs,wearing assless chaps and accompanied by Babe the Blue Ox, who was strung out on H and speaking complete jibberish. My guess is because she's a fucking blue ox. On heroin. Shmears.

Either way, none of this post is true and it's pretty motherfucking clear that I mixed a little more LSD with my morning gram of blow than Peabs had intended. Who the eff am I kidding? Obvs I dissolved an entire sheet knowing full well that I was going to ramble on, Zep II-stizz. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"My eleven year old daughter mopes around the house all day waiting for her breasts to grow. Bozzle!"

What in the fuck would you do without Peabs? I am your everything. Your body, your soul. The cream of the crop. The apple of your eye. The moneyshot on your fucking face. The cock in your vaggie vag. Obvs.

Suck it.

beloved i dreamed
i thought you would have deceived
me and became a star in the kingdom
of heaven
through day and space i saw you close
your eyes and i came riding
upon a thousand crimson years arched with agony
i reined them in tottering before
obvs in

Thursday, October 21, 2004

Mmmmmm, Baby. Your Ass Tastes Like Biscuits & Gravy.

Picture pages!
To quote the great German chancellor Otto Von Bismarck: "Expect me to punch you in the fucking face after you give me a sloppy beej, you effing Prussian handjob." That pretty much summed up last evening's Obvs in '04 Campaign fundraiser, in which most of my NYC supporters threatened to commit ritual suicide after the Yankees loss to the Boston Red Sox. So in order to liven their spirits, Peabs fed them all cocaine and oxycontin salad, dressed up like Babe Ruth and "called my shot" on their respective tees. Bovs. I have more jazz than Charlie Parker giving Miles Davis a fucking facial at Estee Lauder. She mars all over your Lars Ulrich. Darkness! Imprisoning me!

For those of you who didn't know already, this Halloween Peabs plans to throw an epic fundraiser called "Trick or Trick: An Obvs in '04 Joint." Your friend and mine, Dr. Bill Cosby, came up with a tigs idea for a costume last evening: Peter Cottontail. I figure all Peabs would have to do is get one of my gonorrhea-ridden cokehores to Hum-V the D™, gargle my jazz like Listerine®, and spit it out on my sweet, pretty A. That way, Peabs will have a nice little tail. All I'll need to do is snort massive amounts of crank and hippidy-hop around, shitting pellets on your fucking face and removing your ovaries with a carrot stick. Some say greatest Halloween costume since when Peabs went as General Augusto Pinochet. Let's just say Peabs was in full character that particular evening, calling everyone "Marxist whores", buttfucking them and dropping Sony™ Playstations on the back of their heads. You try telling me that ain't hotter than flossing your teeth with Coz's pubic hair. Obvs.

Anyway, here's another excerpt from my debate with Ralph Nader. Next week the site will return to it's normal format, so apologies for being busy. I'm fucking running for fucking President, people. Shmears. Be that as it may, Peabs still loves you in ways that only prison inmates understand– i.e. I love it when you bend over in the shower and make me call you Karen Carpenter. Obvs. I'm so fucking Catholic.

For today's homework, I plan to fuck your ass with a #2 pencil.
Blue: "Mr Nader, in my film "Violation of Ashley Blue," you played an anesthesiologist who had a fetish for ass-licking his patients while under. Do you feel that this is a metaphor for how you, if elected, would handle the Presidency?"

Nader: "Firstly, Ashley, I did not co-star in that particular motion picture; I was in "Train My White Ass 4," playing Professor Butt McButt. Be that as it may, I feel that your metaphor is fascist. If I were President, I wouldn't focus on ass-licking; I would focus on the environment."

Peabs: "I have no problem admitting that Peabs would focus on ass-licking. Rimjobs are a cherished tradition in this great country of ours. And if we're to take them for Granda, who knows what will occur next?! Next thing you know, you'll be tossing your aunt's salad and it won't taste of vomit and Benson & Hedges 120's. And what does that say about us as patriots? Or even more so, what does that say about us as human beings? Peabs'll tell you. But you'd have to let me fist your vaggie-vag before I give up any of those secrets. That's why a vote for Peabs isn't just a vote for America, it's a vote for Ass. I quote the great Indira Gandhi, whom I teabagged just five minutes before this debate: 'You must be still in the midst of activity, and be vibrantly alive in repose, and sodomize me with a Lortab enema and a smile. Suck it. Gobble, gobble!'"


and if what calls itself a world should have
the luck to hear such singing(or
obvs in

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Swimming Down The Dirty River.

Okay, yes. What you've heard is very much true: Peabs once had an unhealthy obsession with Shelley Duvall. So much that I actually went so far as to cocoon a pre-teen Duvall, Wilford Brimley-stizz. You have no idea what that means. Obvs.

Anyway, madness is ensuing upon the Obvs in '04™ Campaign. We've been receiving much backing from many a left-wing militant organization and illegal pharmaceutical special interest group, let alone gay-porn mogul Rod Cock (a longtime Peabs supporter, duh). Oh, you claim you don't know Rod's work? Ever see "Home Fries"? If you try telling Peabs that movie isn't a homoerotic buttfuck-fest of flaming trout proportions, I'll try telling you that Dr. Bill Cosby's god-given name was Hot Carl Camille Jacob Pissarro. Peabs would know. Shmears all over your fucking Crisco®, Lenny Briscoe. Boo-jah!

In case you haven't noticed yet, I'm on a shitload of acid today. Look, there's Grimace! Bovs.
I'm Grimace!
Without further or due, here is another excerpt from my epic debate with Ralph Nader. In the meantime, Peabs is going to go couch bombing with the image of Pol Pot fisting Bill Blass firmly implanted in my brain. To quote matinee idol John Garfield: "Realistic solid Jel-Lee cock with balls is 7.5 inches in length, and slim for easy entry." Schmobvs.

Blue: "Mr Nader, would you like to respond in your defense of recent allegations made by Representative Peabs that you are indeed Count Chocula?"

Nader: "The idea of me being Count Chocula is fascist. Clearly, Representative Peabs is delusional and under the influence of some sort, or many, narcotics. I mean, look at him right now! Sure, he's easy on the eyes in his custom-made Paul Smith suit; but he's got his penis hanging out of his pants, and I am pretty darn sure he is foaming at the mouth!"

Blue: "Representative Peabs, would you care to respond? By the way, your cock looks delicious, and I'd love to make it the focus of my next hoagie. Mmmmmmmm, cock hoagies."
I am Ralph Nader.
Peabs: Firstly, Peabs would like to state for the record that yes, I am on many narcotics, and never have I denied such. Furthermore, I know for a fact that Ralph Nader is Count Chocula because Indira Gandhi told me so. She mars. I also have a sneaking suspicion that he is also Atticus Finch. On a related note, I Peabs, am certainly a turkey. And you can gobble gobble that to the bank, Mr. Creamjeans. I'll ass-fuck you for Lent. Bovs."

all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or
obvs in

Monday, October 18, 2004

Milking The Head Of Prostate.

Pull my finger and I'll shit on your fucking face.
Hey lovers, how was your fucking weekend? Better than Peabs'? Doubtful. Robvs. I stuck my D™ in more orifices than Liberace at an effing glory hole convention. Ooh-jah!

Much has occurred in the Obvs in '04™ Campaign these past few days: Dr. Bill Cosby was assaulted and gang-raped by a group of gay turkeys who thought that he was a giant vat of mashed potatoes; and yours effing truly participated in a debate with fellow Presidential candidate Ralph Nader. Not to mention I decided to play a prank on Powers Boothe in which I bought a copy of "Red Dawn", choked myself with a garden hose, and beat off into a mason-jar to the scene where Lea Thompson gives C. Thomas Howell a rim-job. Let it be known that Mr. Boothe does not take kindly to one actually buying copies of his movies. Apparently he's also not a fan of Peabs fucking his wife with a spork, tarring and feathering her and calling her Colonel Sanders. Finger lickin' bovs! She mars. Peabs, so fucking opaque.

Anyway, back to the aforementioned debate. Personally, Peabs felt it went very well, but I'll let you be the judge of that. Since we are now reaching the last two weeks before the election, the next few days will be a pretty busy time here at the Obvs in '04™ Campaign headquarters. With that, during the ensuing days I shall treat you with some excerpts from last Thursday's debate with Ralph Nader. Bovs all over your effing butt plugs, you fucking herpes-infested cockrings.

Ashley Blue (adult film actress, debate mediator, cocksucking cokewhore):"Mr. Nader, how do you feel about the country's current laws regarding the legalization of territorial gerbiling?"

Ralph Nader (Green Party Presidential candidate): "People of America, territorial gerbiling is fascist. If I am elected President, any... what the hell kind of question is this? I don't believe this issue was brought up in President Bush or Senator Kerry's debates.

Representative Peabs (D-Mich.):"Umm, I'd like to respond to Mr. Nader's comments. In 1997, Peabs sold Ralph a sheet of blotter acid and a tricycle. And with that tricycle, he drove that blotter acid to a pet store. And at that pet store, he bought himself a gerbil. And where is that gerbil now? People of America, when Peabs is elected, those gerbils will be fighting for their right to burrow in the asses of both men and women, and should be allowed to do so. They were there first. They are the American Indians of the 21st century and beyond. I think what Mr. Nader fails to realize here is that I'm really, really fucking pretty, and Peabs just bukkaked his daughter with a shower of jazz only comparable to the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Bovs."

More debate highlights as the week progresses. Peabs apologizes for being busy, but it takes a lot of hard work and dedication to run a fake campaign for President and talk about myself so much; let alone smoke so much fucking crack that I shake like Michael J. Fox. Schmobvs. I would think you'd understand, but none of you are as fucking drop-dead gorgeous as yours effing truly, so just kindly suck it. Shmears. I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Nubilously! Flazzum!"

Gobble, gobble.

i charge laughing.
Into the hair-thin tints
of yellow dawn,
into the women-colour
obvs in

Thursday, October 14, 2004

Jacuzzi-Bagging Narcoleptics

Okay, Peabs has a confession. Myself and Dr. Bill Cosby are responsible for Bill O'Reilly's recent sexual antics. And Peabs couldn't be any fucking prouder. Well, actually I could be; "Caribbean shower fantasies?" Shmears, Bill. You could've come up with something a little more tigs shats boombies. You know, like "cum-guzzling she-male golden-shower-loving cokewhore fantasies." She mars all over your Amit Kumars. Dood!

Needless to say, I shouldn't be too shocked at O'Reilly's debaucherous gestures. Sure, he came onto me multiple times during our past interviews, spitting out terms of endearment like a Peter North moneyshot in your effing eye, you fucking twat. Be that as it may, it was behind the scenes where my influence really came into play. Coz's too. Schmobvs.

After our second interview, it was pretty clear that Bill and yours effing truly were on the same page about a lot of things. We certainly disagreed on most political views, but when it came to snorting Acyclovir and eating the ooh-jah out of a narcoleptic's boo-jah, we had comparable, healthy appetites. Mmmmmmmm, boo-jah. Some say tastier than turkey. Gobble!

Coz and myself decided to take Bill O'Reilly out on the town and do it up, Obvs in '04™ Campaign-stizz. I don't really need to get into too many details, but let's just say that Bill couldn't exactly hang with Peabs. I mean, don't get me wrong, that jack-off loves assfucking just as much as the next guy. But he lacks imagination. Shmears. For example, Cosby was cutting up some gram-long speedball rails and the motherfucking douchebag had the audacity to say:

"But isn't it bad to mix cocaine with heroin?"

To which Peabs politefully responded:

"Are you effing SIDS? She fucking mars, Bill! You effing dildo! That's like saying freebasing ketamine and chasing it with bumps of Wellbutrin is like eating out Mindy Kohn's ass! You have a lot to learn, my friend. A lot to learn. Bovs all over your effing cameltoe, you fucking pussy."
Shop-Vac: Fucking mothers since 1865.
So Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly decided to teach our naive friend what a "jacuzzi-bag" was. Granda, it worked, and Bill came around. He still lacks creativity, in my humble opinion. But then again, Peabs is the most creative fuck on the planet. The prettiest, too. I'll fuck your mother with a Shop-Vac® and make her toast me some Eggos®. But don't expect me to eat that shit, you fucking cunt. Robvs.

Tonight, Peabs prepares for my much-anticipated debate with Ralph Nader. I assure you, my loyal followers, that I shan't disappoint. Shmears. How could I? Peabs a fucking specimen, a marvel. A fucking miracle of modern science. And I should know: I created "modern science." With my bare cock. Bovs. Isn't that right, Bill Cosby?

"Yooooooooouuuu best nots forgets the Jell-OOOOOOOOOO®! Flozzle!"

Well said.

I'll have transcripts from tonight's debate posted here next week. Until then, kindly jazz all over your fucking chlamydia-ridden perenium, you effing monkey paws.

or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who'd given my Unde Sol a Victor
obvs in

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Somewhere Over The Rainbow, I Shoved My Cock Down Your Thrizz.

Lions and tigers and Peabs, oh my!
Peabs just ingested half a jar of E and inhaled a dozen gravity bong hits of Laughing Buddha, and I'm feeling a bit- how should I put this?- honest. Which is rare, because everything that comes out of my pretty fucking mizz is a bold-faced lie. Shmears.

So today, on the eve of my Thursday debate with Ralph Nader, Peabs would like to share with you a little secret: I wrote the original script for the timeless classic "The Wizard of Oz." Schmobvs.

Originally titled "The Wizard of Obvs," my version of the film was much darker than the movie that would eventually be released. Not filthy fucking dirty in that "the Lion fistfucks the Scarecrow as he teabags Dorothy, who moans 'There's no cock like Holmes, there's no cock like Holmes'" sort of way. Err, wait... no, exactly in that way. Obvs.

In the Peabs version, Dorothy is running a brothel in Topeka, but isn't exactly making ends meet with her prudish, pre-op trannie call girls. So she decides to dabble in a little drug dealing- mushrooms, to be exact. The Lion, Tin-Man and Scarecrow are actually just figments of Dorothy's imagination; so much that she ends up hiring three lactose-intolerant Amish albinos to dress up as her respective hallucinations and act out Vaudeville scenes, with dildos strapped to their ooh-jahs. Why no one greenlighted this idea is beyond Peabs. Bovs on your effing Butterballs®, you fucking turkeys! Gobble, gobble.

Anyway, the real story was the legal battle Peabs had with MGM over the rights of the characters in the film. Representing myself (obvs, I'm quite possibly the greatest litigator in history), I was able to reach a settlement out of court: in exchange for the characters from the original script, Dr. Bill Cosby would play the Tin-Man, and MGM would provide yours effing truly with a lifetime supply of vicodin. Personally, I think I made out on the deal. And quite frankly, I thought you were amazing as the Tin-Man, Coz.
Bozzle bop!
"Yooooou've gots to know I flazzumed Judy Garland's bozzle bop!"

Tonight, the two real candidates for President square off in their third debate. For those of you who give a shit, watch. Howevs, the real debate occurs tomorrow, when Peabs and Nader go toe-to-toe in a completely fictional debate. Schmobvs. I best go prepare. And by prepare, Peabs means snort some fucking speedballs and mainline some Diethylproprion; gotta look nice and emaciated for the American people. Obvs.

Until then, when you're masturbating with a Vaseline-covered dildo and about to secrete all over your son's face, just know that Peabs loves you. Why? Because I'm fucking wonderful. Suck my fucking cock, you effing handjobs.

am was. are leaves few this. is these a or
scratchily over which of earth dragged once
-ful leaf. & were who skies clutch an of poor
obvs in

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

I'll Jerk Off On Your Face And Call You Dad.

Razzle dazzle!
Fuck, Peabs is fascinating.

In preparation for Thursday's debate, yours motherfucking truly and Dr. Bill motherfucking Cosby took the red-eye in from Zaire and went our respective ways, trying to create some more buzz for the Obvs in '04™ Campaign. Coz hit the church circuit, feeding the audience crank-laced puddin' pops and convincing them that the Bible was actually written during a coke-induced episode of Picture Pages. Schmobvs. Your beautiful and fearless leader, on the other hand, visited the Pacific Northwest with an ex-fling in mind. And by ex-fling, Peabs really means she used to cover me in Smuckers® jam and suck my D™ with a mouth full of Jif®. Moms like her choose Peabs. Obvs.

Anyway, my ex-fuck is actually reputable pedophile Mary Kay LeTourneau, whom Peabs used to partake in many a golden shower with when I was in preschool. She had phoned me while I was mid-rail, begging for some of that "hot lunch" I used to give her way back when. I figured she might be good for research (sloppy head) on the issue of national education; an issue certain to come up in the debate. Normally I have no problem assfucking married women - BOVS - howevs, LeTourneau is one fucked-up mama. And I've effed plenty of fucked-up mamas, but the shit she used to make me do to her was fucking vile, even by Peabs' admittedly low standards. The peanut butter and jelly thing was tame compared to what occurred after I won the National Spelling Bee at the tender age of 3 and a half.
See this baby?  Yeah, I fucked it.  Hard.  With a strap-on.
For those of you who didn't already know this, Peabs was a boy genius. I know this doesn't come as a shock to you, considering how effing brills I am now. Be that as it may, as a young lad my parents were big fans of exploiting their first born and his genius, so they entered me into the National Spelling Bee, even though I didn't even come close to matching the age requirement. How Peabs was allowed in the contest is a whole other story (it involves blowing 10 inch rails off of my D™, nothing new). Anyway, I destroyed the competition. Duh. I got so bored with languages, I made up my own, so how could Peabs not spell every word imaginable? Shmears.

Coincidentally, LeTourneau had been a private tutor of mine since I was two, and we began a passionate affair soon afterwards. She always claimed she had something really nasty up her sleeve for 'lil Peabs, once she felt I deserved it. Apparently, spelling pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism correctly made her really fucking horny, because once I returned to Seattle, she was like I had never seen her before. Gobble fucking gobble.

Clad in Saran Wrap®, she also wore a giant black strap-on dildo. Unbeknownst to Peabs, she was much more flexible than I had ever remembered; Mary Kay was giving head to very own dildo. The sight was a tad bizarre, but not as strange as when she lead me into a room filled with powdered sugar, asked me to shit all over her, and then kick her around so that the sugar would stick to her body. I was then asked to shoot a hot load down her throat, which she playfully gargled. I asked her what the fuck she thought she was doing, and she responded by saying she "wanted to be Krispy Kreme® for Halloween." To which Peabs responded with more vomit than my first day at a heroin detox clinic.

I haven't eaten since.

Despite the fact Peabs has suffered from every eating disorder known to man because of Mary Kay LeTourneau, I decided to still pay her a visit. She claimed she had changed. Peabs should've known better. She mars.

Peabs should've bolted the second I walked in the door, with Mary Kay begging for me to blow a hot one on her face and call her "Papi." But, obvs, I didn't. Needless to say, I'll have a lot to express regarding our nation's educational system this coming Thursday. Bovs all over your fucking tees, you trannie-fucking cockface.

into crossing sidewalks the
unwary june-bug and the frivolous
Thou dost hang canary birds in parlour
obvs in

Monday, October 11, 2004

Blumpkining The Elderly.

Guns of the Navarone.  Obvs.
Peabs was way too effed to update last Friday. Then I realized: Peabs doesn't fucking post on Fridays! Fridays are meant for doing opium bongtokes, ripping lines of Kool Aid® and buttfucking Genghis Khan. So anywizz, now I'm back and fresher than a vagina full of Massengill®. Mmmmmm, Massengill®. Schmobvs.

As mentioned last week, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly challenged fellow Presidential candidate Ralph Nader to a debate, which has been set for this Thursday. And with that, we were able to get a hold of the questions (thank you fistfucking and cocaine!) and doctor them to give the Obvs in '04™ Campaign a distinct advantage. And because Peabs loves each and every one of you (lest we forget I want to empty my spizz onto your fucking face, you silly little hookers), here is one of the aforementioned questions and how Peabs plans to answer:

Representative Peabs, in a recent interview you stated that in order to better health care in the United States, you must "club senior citizens over the head with a blunt object." How is that possibly going to make anything better at all? Oh, and by the way, you look amazing in Prada. And you have a really big cock. Discuss.
My cock tastes like salsa.
"Firstly, Peabs would like to thank everyone here, wherever the fuck we are, for putting on this fucking debate. I'd also like to thank my supporters for that kinky call girl you threw in for last night. Damn! I haven't been sucked off like that since Kathy Najimy deep-throated my D™ on the set of "Sister Act 2." She mars! Moving on, I'd like to point out that blumpkining the elderly as purpose for health care reform was not solely my idea. You see, one evening Dr. Bill Cosby and my pretty self were hosting an anal gangbang; all proceeds were going to the Obvs in '04™ Campaign, snatch. The extremely talented Jon Secada was in attendance, fresh off of a performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, which I hear he is just simply amazing in. Incidentally, Jon has a thing for older women, so Coz introduced him to Sophia Loren's she-male twin, Brophia. Throw a little LSD and Diflucan into the mix, and suddenly Secada's beating Brophia over the head with a crowbar and jazzing all over her closed-head injury. Robvs.

This gave Bill Cosby, a doctor mind you, an effing tigs idea: quarantine senior citizens to bathhouses, lube the geezers up, and give them a bunch of blunt objects. Sooner or later, they'll just off each other, and BAM! Health care reformed. Now sure, Peabs was on so much heroin that I thought I was getting my ass rimmed by Cosby's 1966 Emmy for "I Spy", but that's neither here nor there. I'm fucking wonderful; that's what's important here. Peabs also just blew more coke than Ken Caminiti on Opening Day in '97, so you'll just have to humor me. Bovs on your fucking clit-ring, you fucking buttplug."

And that's just one brilliant answer. Just wait until we get to the Cosby-penned questions. They'll make you want to masturbate into a Kangol® hat, wrap in tin-foil, and give it to Samuel L. Jackson for Thanksgiving. Gobble, gobble! Peabs is a turkey!

Tonight, Coz and yours effing truly are taking a bit of a break and flying to Zaire and reenacting the "Rumble in the Jungle." Howevs, our interpretation will be slightly different than the original. Coz will play George Foreman; but his conceptualization will include blowing mali during round breaks, and having dildos for arms. I shall take on the role of the great Muhammad Ali; but present-day Ali. I'll do a bump every thirty seconds on my flight to Africa, so that by the time we land, I'll be shaking like Peabs has Parkinson's. Isn't that right Dr. Bill Cosby?
"Yoooooouuuuu've gots to know that Michael J. Fox has the flazzum flozzle!"

it will become you;and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more
obvs in

Thursday, October 07, 2004

Frankly, Peabs Enjoys Rim-Jobs Above Anything Else.


Long-time Obvs in '04™ Campaign supporter and reputable ass-eater Alex Sanders had yet another of his infamous fundraisers for Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly last evening. In fact, I'm pretty convinced that Alex will be making these parties a daily ritual from now until the elections, so if you're into salad-tossing and blowing teener-long rails of speed off of a trannie's cockring, then Peabs might suggest hightailing it to Van Nuys. Schmobvs. It's hotter than my effing load down your thrizz, you fucking slutbag.

Anyway, the party was a complete success in many a facet. Cosby discovered that when you liquefy ecstasy and then do shots of it, the result is a feeling only comparable to getting blown by a pre-teething newborn. Bovs. Certainly, Peabs did his fair share of microdots and participated in multiple gangbangs, but that is no different than any other night. What really made the evening was the fact that I made close friends with adult film star Ashley Blue; and by "close friends" I really mean Peabs fed her with so much cocaine that I convinced her that "all the tea in China" was really in my testicles. Teabagging. Some say more robvs than John Wilkes Booth. Sic semper tyrannis!

Coincidentally, the lovely Ashley had been approached by Ralph Nader, who asked the vixen if she would act as mediator to our upcoming debate. Luckily, she decided to take on the task, and I knew I could make this work in my favor. Don't get me wrong; I still feel I have a legitimate shot at the Presidency, but I play fucking dirty. Obvs. I've been face down in dirty snizz since Ike was in office. If there was any way in which Peabs could get an upper hand on the debate, I was going to pull out... all the stops. No, wait. I was going to pull out and blow jazz on her mizz. Duhvs. My cum is like porcelain. Gobble!
My name rhymes with bizzle boz!  Flazzum!
Since Ashley was coked out of her effing mind (thanks to your fearless, gorgeous leader), Peabs was able to coerce the silly lass into letting Coz "double-check" her questions for Nader and myself. Schmobviously, Dr. Bill Cosby "edited" these questions so that truly meaningful topics were touched upon: for instance, the effects of freebasing crystal meth as opposed to snorting; giving handjobs for crack and it's impact on the economy; and the psychological and Oedipal significance of auto erotic asphyxiation by way of used tampon.

Peabs is certain that fucking crackhead wack-job Cosby threw in a "flizzum" here and a "bozzle bop puddin pop" there, so tonight I'll have to ingest an assload of mushrooms and turpentine and make the questions a little more comprehensible. Because Peabs speaks perfect English and never makes up any words (obvs). I also never talk about myself (Peabs, Peabs, Peabs) and the amount of drugs I consume (kilos) or vaginas I penetrate (tens of thousands, most likely yours). Nope. Not me. Never. Shmears.

Tomorrow, Peabs shall treat you with an excerpt of some of the edited debate questions and how I plan to answer them. Until then, bovs on my mastectomized tees, you fucking IUDs! Anything to add, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"I like to barbequuuuuuuueee the bizzle bazzle!"

lily has a rose
no rose i've
and losing's less than winning(but
love is more
obvs in

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Sex Gifts For Australian Businessmen.

Last night, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly decided to sauté our pretty bodies in tryptophan-laced Benadryl, huff some ether and refer to each other as Jennie-O. It was a wonderful distraction from our difficult everyday lives of politics-by-way-of-coke-snorting-and-anal-gangbangs. Schmobvs. Peabs highly suggests that the next time you get your filthy fucking paws on some tigs (CH3CH2)2O, you should dress up as Richard Branson, hire a mongoloid with three vaginas and build a treehouse out of popsicle sticks. It's both invigorating and asinine, but then again, so is my existence. She mars on your fucking handle-bar moustache, Rollie Fingers! Gobble!

In midst of last evening's shenanigans, Coz thought it would be a fabulous idea to challenge fellow Presidential candidate Ralph Nader to a debate. While Peabs may have skipped out on last week's debates, I felt it was certainly more important to go skiing with the fucking douchenozzle star of "Airwolf" than clown the two front-runners. I mean, shmears. Dubya is a sorry excuse for a cokehead, and quite frankly, he's not very effing bright. And Kerry? Well, while he and I have agreed on many things, the fact that Peabs sodomized his wife with a billygoat and fucked her unconscious, trembling body in a vat of ketchup hasn't exactly made us compadres. Duhvs. So hogsviously Peabs would've embarrassed the two handjobs, and it was only fair of me not to participate. Nader, on the other hand, is a different story. We have a pretty effing sordid past.
The result of fisting Uncle Sam.
Cosby and Nader used to be prominent figures in the east coast underground religious swingers movement from 1971 to 1998. In fact, they were actually close friends and collaborated on many "projects", including the infamous "Cocaine and Able" jawn of 1997. It was during this particular production that Coz and Nader had their falling out, and Peabs played a significant part in the process. You see, Coz felt it was necessary to bring in a "freelance gigolo" to play the part of Cocaine, and who better to do so than yours effing truly? Apparently, Nader did not take too kindly to this; it was pretty fucking bovs that he was intimidated by my gargantuan D™, let alone my passion for acting. Lest we forget the fact that I fingerfucked his grandmother while jerking off into her Frosted Flakes, moaning:

"You like the way Tony jazzes in your fucking cereal, Mildred? Huh? Call me tiger, you fucking slut. Grrrrrrrrrr."

Needless to say, since then, there has been an unbridled rivalry between Ralph and myself, and I think that a debate between the two of us would do wonders for our approval ratings. Bovs.

Although, my ratings can't possibly get much higher. Why? Because you simply fucking love Peabs. Let's face it, America. I would be the son of God if I weren't God already. My urine would cure cancer if it weren't tainted with mali. My vomit was once sculpted to form an even more meticulous and detailed version of Michelangelo's David, and sold as a dildo to a banker from Sydney. Obvs.
Yoooooooooooou've gots to know that Theoooooooo parted the Red bozzle bop!
Peabs is a fucking phenomenon. A cultural icon. Your 44th President. Shmears. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?


one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more
obvs in

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

The Unbearable Likeness of Peabs.

This is something new: another fucking picture of Peabs.  She mars.
Miss me? Shmears. You needn't answer such an asinine question. Your lives are clearly boring without me. Peabs is just that fucking fascinating.

Peabs knows what you're thinking:

"But Peabs, you said you were only going to be gone for a 'week or so,' and here you are a month later, even prettier and seemingly more methed out than when you left us."

Really, honestly, I'm fucking touched. And I don't mean touched in that "Daddy touched me there and proceeded to give me a wicked hummer at age 7" sort of way. Though, oddly, they are similar. Bovs.

So I lied. So Peabs was gone for a month or so. Big effing dizz. Politicians lie; duhvs, I am most certainly a lying politician. With a remarkable ass and testicles like a fucking donkey on Levitra®. Gobble!

It appears as though much has happened in my absence (Janet Leigh died? Slut.), and I somewhat apologize for my hiatus. I assure you, my lovely followers, an absence of this magnitude shan't occur again. Dr. Bill Cosby once said "if you can't razzle them with your dazzle, flizzum them with your flazzum."

And that is what Peabs is here to do: Flizzum you with my flazzum. That, and talk about myself. Duh.
I fucked Marty.
You may be wondering where the fuck yours effing truly and Coz have been. And rightfully so. Well, it's no secret that the Obvs in '04™ Campaign had been losing ground, so it was clear that Peabs had to do one of two things: freebase crank and ski the Swiss Alps with Cosby and Jan Michael Vincent, or raise more money for my presidential campaign and prepare for the debates. It's pretty obvs, considering my absence from said debates, Peabs chose the former. So what was said to be "a week or so" turned into approximately a month. Hey, you try smoking a cockload of angel dust with motherfucking Stringfellow Hawk and tell me you don't lose track of time, you fucking handjobs. Shmears on your effing lab-maj.

For those of you who are unaware, Peabs met Vincent in Somalia in the early '70's. You see, I didn't always live this glamorous, charmed lifestyle. Sure, I'm fucking loaded and my mother was a crackwhore, so Peabs was high and rich from the time of my birth. Howevs, I blew most of my trust-fund up my nose before the age of... well... that's not important. Needless to say, when I was offered the job as court jester to an Isaaq clan-family in northern Somalia, I jumped at it. Sure, they offered me "all the horse in the Eastern hemisphere", but I still wonder to this day if it was worth it. As fucked up as I am in the head, I didn't think I would have to dress up like an effing dildo, cover myself in mint jelly and insert my quasi "cock-body" into Shaykh Daarood Jabarti's vault (which he had conveniently fashioned into a giant vaggie-vag, clit-ring and all). I kid you not: it drove me to heroin. Schmobvs.

Jan Michael Vincent happened to be the clan-family's skag dealer, and we became fast friends. We ass-fucked local prostitutes and compared Ernest Borgnine stories; did you know that an 11-year-old Jan acted as fluffer to Ernie on the set of Marty? Obvs you didn't. I just made that up. Suck my fucking cock.

Frankly, I have no idea where Peabs is going with this, so I'll just say it's good to be back. With the election just around the corner, Peabs is going to need all of the support I can get. And by support, I mean it would be fucking tigs shats to the boombies if you fed me some mescaline, tossed my fucking salad, and beat me off into your childhood jizz bib of reminiscence, you fucking SIDS-ridden whore. Don't forget to milk the prostate, cowgirl. Oohjah!
Rudy-tudy fozzle-bozzle!
Back on the campaign trail tomorrow, lovers. Until then, bovs on Cosby's effing tees.

"Yooooooooou've gots to bovs on my bazzle! Fazzle shazzle mozzle-tov!"


may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or
obvs in